A few months ago, a death-row inmate from Nevada sent our music editor, Kelly McClure, a fan letter. His name is Scott Dozier, and he seems like a nice guy on paper—on the other hand, he did steal $12,000 from a dude who had brought the cash to buy stuff to make meth, then shot him, hacked the body into two pieces, and put it into a suitcase. He also killed another man in 2002, and they never found that guy’s head or arms. So just keep that in mind when you read the excerpt from his fan letter below. 
Dear Ms. McClure,
You are hilarious and awesome and I love you, not, however, like you’d reasonably (and correctly the vast majority of the time) presume someone on death row means when they say they “love” you. 
You’ve made it plain you’re a lesbian—which is terrific, but again, not like you’d reasonably presume when someone on death row says, “Gee… I think it’s terrific you’re a lesbian.” (I guess I can reasonably presume you’re not the same Kelly McClure from Boulder City, NV, who shared her virginity with me in the shower at Jeff Yinger’s house in the summer of ’85 for two reasons: I) I can’t imagine you’re old enough. II) you’re a lesbian… although she did play softball…)
I digress.
If you’ve ever had even the most remote personal or journalistic interest about life on death row, living as a “condemned to die” individual, associations or dynamics therein from someone who is not a creep… I’m your guy.
I’ve written the magazine before to no avail, and will likely continue to until the government-sanctioned murder of my corporeal being (and maybe my “soul” too, guess we’ll see ϑ), as I’ve got a surplus of time on my hands and a catastrophic dearth of intelligence, hilarity, and awesomeness. I can only draw and work out so much.
If you’re interested you can check out my “fit for public consumption” pastels at/on my Facebook page/wall (whatever the frick it’s called). No (in the event you’re wondering), I do not have FB/computer access, it’s managed by my sister and a friend.
My most sincere thanks for the little taste I get monthly, the mag rocks way hard ass, I love it (and yes I’d marry it). I read it cover to cover at least three times and wait with bated breath for the next issue to arrive. 
Be nice to yourself, all my very, very best
Sincerely,S.R. DozierAKA Skoti
Bring a box of tissues and read more from our Hopelessness Issue:
The Secret Drinker’s Handbook
Don’t Get Caught
The Right to Die Is the Right to Live

A few months ago, a death-row inmate from Nevada sent our music editor, Kelly McClure, a fan letter. His name is Scott Dozier, and he seems like a nice guy on paper—on the other hand, he did steal $12,000 from a dude who had brought the cash to buy stuff to make meth, then shot him, hacked the body into two pieces, and put it into a suitcase. He also killed another man in 2002, and they never found that guy’s head or arms. So just keep that in mind when you read the excerpt from his fan letter below. 

Dear Ms. McClure,

You are hilarious and awesome and I love you, not, however, like you’d reasonably (and correctly the vast majority of the time) presume someone on death row means when they say they “love” you. 

You’ve made it plain you’re a lesbian—which is terrific, but again, not like you’d reasonably presume when someone on death row says, “Gee… I think it’s terrific you’re a lesbian.” (I guess I can reasonably presume you’re not the same Kelly McClure from Boulder City, NV, who shared her virginity with me in the shower at Jeff Yinger’s house in the summer of ’85 for two reasons: I) I can’t imagine you’re old enough. II) you’re a lesbian… although she did play softball…)

I digress.

If you’ve ever had even the most remote personal or journalistic interest about life on death row, living as a “condemned to die” individual, associations or dynamics therein from someone who is not a creep… I’m your guy.

I’ve written the magazine before to no avail, and will likely continue to until the government-sanctioned murder of my corporeal being (and maybe my “soul” too, guess we’ll see ϑ), as I’ve got a surplus of time on my hands and a catastrophic dearth of intelligence, hilarity, and awesomeness. I can only draw and work out so much.

If you’re interested you can check out my “fit for public consumption” pastels at/on my Facebook page/wall (whatever the frick it’s called). No (in the event you’re wondering), I do not have FB/computer access, it’s managed by my sister and a friend.

My most sincere thanks for the little taste I get monthly, the mag rocks way hard ass, I love it (and yes I’d marry it). I read it cover to cover at least three times and wait with bated breath for the next issue to arrive. 

Be nice to yourself, all my very, very best

Sincerely,
S.R. Dozier
AKA Skoti

Bring a box of tissues and read more from our Hopelessness Issue:

The Secret Drinker’s Handbook

Don’t Get Caught

The Right to Die Is the Right to Live

Killers on Death Row Love VICE’s Kelly McClure
Oh hey, it’s me, Kelly McClure, Music Editor and butthole expert for VICE. I just have something I’d like to talk to you about real quick. Are you busy? Okay. Do you need a beverage or a snack? Have a seat.
Not sure if you caught our last issue, The Hopelessness Issue, but towards the front of it we ran an excerpt from a letter I received in the mail in September. The letter was from a man named Scott Dozier who is currently living out a life sentence on death row at Ely State Prison in Nevada. Dozier was convicted of murdering a guy for drug reasons, dismembering him, and stashing the guy’s torso in a suitcase, which he then threw into a dumpster. The guy’s head, lower arms, and lower legs were never recovered. AND WE’RE IN LOVE!
In Scott’s first letter to me, he wondered if I was the same girl who’s virginity he took in a shower somewhere in his hometown many years ago, who (and I don’t believe this) shared my first and last name. In case you all were wondering, I’m not that girl. Today, after returning back to the VICE office after our week long holiday break, I was pleased (as in horrified) to see that Scott had sent me a new, four page letter. He took some time with this one, both emotionally, as well as creatively.

The bulk of the letter was Scott thanking me/us for writing about him in the issue, and saying how he KNOWS that us/me writing about him does not mean that I am looking to strike up a relationship with him in any way (!!!!!!!!!), but the take away quote has got to be this:
"When they slip the needles into my strapped down arm, and I tell them with the utmost sincerity and honest, warm smile: "ya’ll have a good day, alright." My last thought will be "and I got published in VICE."
So, I guess I should stop spending my work days bitching about how it’s cold in here, the bathrooms stink, and there’s never any coffee or cups, because there’s a guy out there who’d give anything to be in (or hack off) my shoes.

Killers on Death Row Love VICE’s Kelly McClure

Oh hey, it’s me, Kelly McClure, Music Editor and butthole expert for VICE. I just have something I’d like to talk to you about real quick. Are you busy? Okay. Do you need a beverage or a snack? Have a seat.

Not sure if you caught our last issue, The Hopelessness Issue, but towards the front of it we ran an excerpt from a letter I received in the mail in September. The letter was from a man named Scott Dozier who is currently living out a life sentence on death row at Ely State Prison in Nevada. Dozier was convicted of murdering a guy for drug reasons, dismembering him, and stashing the guy’s torso in a suitcase, which he then threw into a dumpster. The guy’s head, lower arms, and lower legs were never recovered. AND WE’RE IN LOVE!

In Scott’s first letter to me, he wondered if I was the same girl who’s virginity he took in a shower somewhere in his hometown many years ago, who (and I don’t believe this) shared my first and last name. In case you all were wondering, I’m not that girl. Today, after returning back to the VICE office after our week long holiday break, I was pleased (as in horrified) to see that Scott had sent me a new, four page letter. He took some time with this one, both emotionally, as well as creatively.

The bulk of the letter was Scott thanking me/us for writing about him in the issue, and saying how he KNOWS that us/me writing about him does not mean that I am looking to strike up a relationship with him in any way (!!!!!!!!!), but the take away quote has got to be this:

"When they slip the needles into my strapped down arm, and I tell them with the utmost sincerity and honest, warm smile: "ya’ll have a good day, alright." My last thought will be "and I got published in VICE."

So, I guess I should stop spending my work days bitching about how it’s cold in here, the bathrooms stink, and there’s never any coffee or cups, because there’s a guy out there who’d give anything to be in (or hack off) my shoes.

How to Dress Like a Right-Winger
Anders Breivik, the hideously, almost cartoonishly evil Norwegian psychopath who killed 77 people supposedly as a “protest against multiculturalism” but also because he is a twisted, soulless heap of hate,announced during his trial on Monday that he specifically targeted people who looked “left-wing,” and even spared Adrian Pracon, a 22-year-old Labour Party activist, because, in Anders’s terrifyingly emotionless words, “This person, (Adrian) Pracon appeared right-wing, that was his appearance. That’s the reason I didn’t fire any shots at him.” Clearly, if this crazed-right-wing-gunman thing becomes a trend, politics aside, it’s going to be much, much safer to dress like a right-winger. (I guess that will leave you vulnerable to left-wing gunmen, but, dude, have you seen the guys in Occupy? If they decide to attack you, just through some gluten or red meat at them and they’ll shrivel up.)
This brings up an interesting question: What makes someone look right-wing? In this age of women with the short hair and men who are—you know—how do you judge someone based on appearances? And, more importantly, how do you get the homicidal maniacs who are, even now, wandering the streets, to judge that you should live based on your appearance? Well, like this:

ABCD—ALWAYS BE CLAD IN DOCKERS
Sometimes, the power of the federal government, threatened cuts in entitlement programs, and the freedom of women to have abortions make you so paradoxically angry that you have to either paint your body in protest as the lazy Native Amer—sorry, “Indians”—painted themselves for battle. And sometimes you want to rock out and play guitar in your conservative rock band Madison Rising, which is a totally serious thing and not a joke, no matter what anyone says. How do you avoid being mistaken for a liberal and shot by someone exercising his second-amendment right? Wear some khakis. Boom! Instant turn to the right. Warning: You can go overboard with the khaki look.



PUT A REAGAN ON IT
Even if you’re going to do something unchristian and non-procreative, like this Aryan flower appears to be about to do, wearing Reagan means wearing conservatism. Fuck eagles or the flag—he’s the true symbol of America.
Continue reading

How to Dress Like a Right-Winger

Anders Breivik, the hideously, almost cartoonishly evil Norwegian psychopath who killed 77 people supposedly as a “protest against multiculturalism” but also because he is a twisted, soulless heap of hate,announced during his trial on Monday that he specifically targeted people who looked “left-wing,” and even spared Adrian Pracon, a 22-year-old Labour Party activist, because, in Anders’s terrifyingly emotionless words, “This person, (Adrian) Pracon appeared right-wing, that was his appearance. That’s the reason I didn’t fire any shots at him.” Clearly, if this crazed-right-wing-gunman thing becomes a trend, politics aside, it’s going to be much, much safer to dress like a right-winger. (I guess that will leave you vulnerable to left-wing gunmen, but, dude, have you seen the guys in Occupy? If they decide to attack you, just through some gluten or red meat at them and they’ll shrivel up.)

This brings up an interesting question: What makes someone look right-wing? In this age of women with the short hair and men who are—you know—how do you judge someone based on appearances? And, more importantly, how do you get the homicidal maniacs who are, even now, wandering the streets, to judge that you should live based on your appearance? Well, like this:

ABCD—ALWAYS BE CLAD IN DOCKERS

Sometimes, the power of the federal government, threatened cuts in entitlement programs, and the freedom of women to have abortions make you so paradoxically angry that you have to either paint your body in protest as the lazy Native Amer—sorry, “Indians”—painted themselves for battle. And sometimes you want to rock out and play guitar in your conservative rock band Madison Rising, which is a totally serious thing and not a joke, no matter what anyone says. How do you avoid being mistaken for a liberal and shot by someone exercising his second-amendment right? Wear some khakis. Boom! Instant turn to the right. Warning: You can go overboard with the khaki look.

PUT A REAGAN ON IT

Even if you’re going to do something unchristian and non-procreative, like this Aryan flower appears to be about to do, wearing Reagan means wearing conservatism. Fuck eagles or the flag—he’s the true symbol of America.

Continue reading