It wasn’t long before Oscarina noticed that her butt was changing colors—first turning purple, like a throbbing finger that had been wrapped too tightly with string, and then a cadaverous gray. From there, things got much worse. Her flesh started to crust and painfully peel off until, a few months later, the whole mess collapsed like a badly baked cake. The cheeks of her ass drooped down, loaded with a stew of poisonous goop that collected around her lower buttocks. What had once stood high and felt supple to the touch had become hot and hard and stinging. Oscarina’s derrière had transformed so much that it no longer looked like it was part of a human’s body; her five-year-old daughter mistook her fluid-filled cheeks for a poopy diaper, calling it a “full Pamper.”
Her, the new film from VICE’s Creative Director Spike Jonze, is in theaters now. You should go see it!
Grace “Let’s Dance!” and more in A-Z of Wink!
I Fuck, Therefore I Am
A few months ago I published a piece about a torrid, semi-relationship I had with a cuckold fetishist on this other website. Before the article went public, my editor sent me an email warning me not to read the comments on the piece unless, of course, I could take insults lightly. I was no stranger to shitty, nonsensical comments littered with the word “whore”. After all, I’ve been writing for VICE for three years.
The cuckold piece was as explicit as editorial would let me be. A writer I once interviewed told me that to be successful by the age of 25, you have to live your life as though you do not have parents. I have parents, and they learned very quickly to not read most of my published work.
I didn’t read the comments on my cuckold piece, but a friend of mine did. He gave me the Coles Notes: “The comments aren’t so much about your writing, but just people calling you crazy, a whore, or damaged,” he said. “They are telling you to get therapy. Also, LOL at five pounds worth of comments from people who gobbled your story up just so they could poop out their insecurities all over the page.” I laughed, because what other reaction is there? One man even went so far as to tweet at me and tell me how messed up I was.
Right up until 9:14 PM on November 22nd, 1987, what appeared on Chicago’s television sets was somewhat normal: entertainment, news, game shows. That night, as usual, Dan Roan, a popular local sportscaster on Channel 9’s Nine O’Clock News, was narrating highlights of the Bears’ victory over the Detroit Lions. And then, suddenly and without warning, the signal flickered up and out into darkness.