On my first winter in Toronto back in ’98, I was having a particularly miserable night. It is all well and dandy to prance around with sneakers with holes of them in Sydney, but do the same thing in Toronto in -10, and your feet quickly turn into iceblocks.
There are very few things, except some drug combinations and certain personalities, that turn me into a surly asshole – but frozen feet made a quick job of it. The funny thing was, I was walking around drinking imported Japanese beers and smoking Cuban cigars – all bought by my welfare cheque.
For some reason over there you can get imported Tall Boys(500ml) for less than domestic or even 40’s. And as there is no trade embargo with Cuba, you can get a two buck Cuban that are better than most domestic ones ten times the price.
The wind picked up so I slunk into the El Macombo and had a look around. Some band was just packing up and the place was about empty. I sat down at a table top video game that had a folded newspaper on it. I open it to a random page and started reading.
The story was about a young lady who had managed to get a dildo stuck up her asshole. But judging by the x-rays, the damned thing looked like it was at the top of her intestine. It was fucking huge too. The next story was of a bloke who took acid every day for a year. I couldn’t believe it – here was a street paper with well written and fucking hilarious articles.
I would grab Vice as soon as it came out every month and send a copy to my fiance in Tokyo as well. The Do’s and Don’ts were still written by Gavin Mc Innes and were masterpieces of irreverent wit. Put simply, it was a magazine I had waited my whole life for.
As chance would have it, a short time later I was drinking in a pub and I was explaining to some people I had just met how I had found this great magazine that had this article about a chick getting a dildo stuck way up her ass. The girl at the table went bright red then admitted she was the girl in the article, and she told me the dildo was called “Charlie” and was nine inches long.
She also invited me to her engagement party and that Gavin McInnis would be there. My mind swam with ideas and propositions, I would give him a copy of my movie “Flange Desire”!, I would write some shit that would blow their minds! I would tell them my vasectomy story! (more on this later)
As my drug/drink use was once again spiralling out of control, I decided to quit the day before the engagement party. So on the night I could hardly converse let alone think straight. The dildo chick introduced me to Gavin and told him of the chance meeting/dildo coincidence, he thought it was a great story, I had my opening to tell him about my vasectomy story and what did I do? I said, “Ah, I gotta get something to eat.”
Which surprised me seeing as I am usually so articulate. After a few hors de vors I started to get claustrophobic and paranoid. So I marched up to Gavin who was sitting with some friends, said “keep up the good work” and gave him a Flange Desire VHS with some of my inspired writings folded into it.
In retrospect, I can see that my writings were inappropriate, take Number 8 in a list I compiled called, “The Vice Guide to fun things to do for kicks” – 8. Bludgeon a hermaphrodite to death. As I walked home that night with my freezing feet I realized I had missed an opportunity and cursed myself for not giving up drinking and drugging a few days later.
I still picked up Vice every month but stopped sending in to my fiance in Tokyo as she had fallen in love with a Japanese girl. I kept trying to complete my novel but drugs and women kept getting in the way. Vice published a couple of my letters and I still thought of it as a top rate street paper although my love for it was always tinged with regret.
Things weren’t going that well for Vice in those days and I heard that the founders were close to bankruptcy. Just when they were on their last legs, a fan in New York who also happened to be a millionaire, pumped money into Vice and saved it – or that’s what I heard, but who knows what really happened.
Anyway, they changed the format from a newspaper to a glossy magazine. The advertising became out of control, pages and pages of the shit before you got to an article. But it didn’t matter, they still accepted unsolicited submissions and had excellent, fucked up articles that no other magazine would dared to have printed at the time. The Do’s and Don’ts were still written by Gavin and I realised that I had come to hate him – I can see now it was pure jealousy, he was firing off some of the funniest one liners I had ever read – far superior to “bludgeon a hermaphrodite to death” anyways.
For the next couple of years I was flat out gigging with Riot99, trying to get my book finished and having major problems with drugs and girls. So I pretty much forgot about Vice. In 2005 I moved back to Australia and decided to get my shit together so I settled in far north Queensland. Finally, I managed to write the vasectomy article for Vice. I also got a mate of mine in Toronto who had also had a vasectomy and taken pictures, to answer some questions in a frank interview about being sterilised. Check it out below…
Ever since my first root, I haven’t used condoms. As far as I was concerned, it was bareback or nothin’, and as for all this AIDS nonsense, everyone knows that only sluts and poofters catch the high-five. Besides, on the off chance of my catching AIDS, I would just go out and fuck me a virgin, a sure-fire cure.
The arithmetic of sex however, could not be ignored. It equated to cum + cunt = baby. Fuck that. So I started asking around for a vasectomy. Whenever I hit up a doc for another pill script, I would casually enquire about getting the snip. Most of them would pretty much freak out saying all kinds of dumb shit about how great it was to have kid’s etc. etc.
The majority of Doctors I spoke to were a bunch of pussy-whipped motherfuckers so I had given up hope of shooting blanks until I met this guy who told me that the Family Planning Clinic did it for free and didn’t ask too many questions. The staff at the clinic were helpful and informative and I booked an appointment right then and there. Seeing as I was going overseas in a month I asked the doctor how long it would take to get a zero sperm count.
She explained that it usually took 4 months as most guys who got vasectomies were in their mid-forties and this is how long it took them to have 18 “emissions” – something to do with clearing all the spermatozoa out of your tubes or some shit. She also told me that the current Australian record for the amount of days to get a zero sperm count after a vasectomy was 10 days.
I immediately determined that I would smash that record to pieces. My girlfriend was happy when I broke the news to her. She was on the Pill and smoking so my getting a vasectomy would reduce the chances of her ovaries being turned into blackened slush.
On the day of the operation, I turned up with my shaven nut sack and lay down in the operating room. I propped myself up on my elbows to watch. All the Doctors and Nurses were women. The worst part of the whole operation had to be the fucking freezing needle.
The Doc pinched the head of my lizard twixt forefinger and thumb and lifted it up. Then she took a large gauged needle and rammed it in into my pecker about halfway down the shaft. Once it was deep in the meat she pushed it almost all the way down to my balls. I had to look away briefly as it hurt so fucking much. Next, she made a small incision with a scalpel right where the shaft of the pecker hits the nut-sack.
It looked like a little gaping red sideways pussy. A ‘squint hook’ was then inserted into this little pussy like orifice and they fished around for my vas deferens. Apparently mine were troublesome to locate and they had to fish around for ages. She was quite rough when she did this, ramming the squint-hook in and out of the little pussy-like hole with gusto. The curious thing is that when the hook struck the vas deferens it would pull up on my balls (that weren’t frozen) which felt like one of those “dick-flicks” that were so popular in high-school.
I was still up on my elbows watching the whole thing when she fished out the vas deferens. They looked remarkably like thin little strands of purple spaghetti with miniature octopus suckers on them. I must admit I felt the first pang of queasiness when I saw both of them tied off and sticking out of this weird little pussy like hole on my dick. Then they cut off the looped section, effectively sterilizing me.
The Doctor then pulled out a cauterizing instrument and applied it to the end of each cut section. A barely noticeable wisp of smoke was sent up each time she cauterized. It was one of these little wisps that did me in. I caught a whiff of burning dick-meat, it smelt like burning hair and my elbows gave out. I let them finish it off as I lay on my back and looked at the ceiling trying not to puke.
At home, I had everything prepared to beat the 10-day record. Lubricants, porn mags, porno movies and my girlfriend clad in dick stiffening lingerie. When I unzipped, my black and blue ‘twig n berries’ fell out to her shocked horror. I also noticed that my balls had swollen up painfully to an enormous size. My pecker looked like someone had laid it out on the palm of their hand and used a meat tenderizer on it.
I didn’t care though, I had my sights set on getting that record and nothing as trifling as a deformed cock was going to stop me. My girlfriend soon proved useless, she would suck too far down on my snarler and I would scream in pain, or she would accidentally smack my suffering balls when she tried to give me a hand-job. I had to resort to jerking off using only the top inch or two of my cock daintily held twixt forefinger and thumb. It took ages each time. This became my primary focus for the next few days and by the seventh, I had done it!
A few days after bringing in my sample, the Doc phoned to inform me that I was the current record holder in Australia for the amount of time taken to have 18 emissions after a vasectomy. I had done it in 7 days and shaved three days off the fucker! No one was going to beat that record without doing serious damage to themselves. (My Vas deferens bled internally and I had an extremely painful ball of dead blood in my ball-sack for about a week)
It seems lately that lots of happy-go-lucky young men are getting vasectomies these days. A friend of mine recently went through the operation and had the foresight to video and photograph the procedure. The following is an interview with him:
ME: What made you want to get a vasectomy?
CC: People. When I get pissed off at life, I take it out on the things in myself that tie me to humanity socially. Like the ability to reproduce.
ME: Come on! You mean to tell me that being able to go bare-back had nothing to do with your decision?
CC: Are you on crack?
ME: That freezing needle fucking killed, what are your thoughts on the needle?
CC: That was probably the worst part about it. But I didn’t get it two inches down the underside of the shaft, as I had heard horror stories about. Mine went right into the ball-sack. But yeah, it fucking hurt.
ME: The doctor and the nurses that operated on me were all women; did you have a similar experience?
CC: Bully for you. No, I had a dude.
ME: How did you feel lying there with your pecker exposed to the world like that?
CC: There was a picture of Hawaii on the ceiling that I guess people are supposed to get lost in. Like “Oh, hey, I forgot about Hawaii. What vasectomy?” But I was taking pictures so I had to look. Plus it was pretty cool to see my re-productive guts pulled outside of my body.
ME: What did they think about the straightedge tattoo that you have on your dick?
CC: They said, “So I can see you’re not afraid of needles.”
ME: When they cauterized your vas deferens did you catch a whiff of the burning dick meat?
CC: Yeah, they burn a wall of scar tissue into the Vas. There is a little puff of smoke. It smells like twenty different kinds of hell.
ME: Do you now find that chicks are more likely to go “bare-back” with you now despite all this AIDS nonsense?
CC: What’s an AIDS? No, just kidding. I was single at the time and that shit is just asking for trouble, snipped or not. The Vas won’t save you from that John Holmes shit. Honestly, I was really more into getting it done for the Never Ever Pro-creating aspect.
ME: Yeah, yeah. But you must admit it feels a lot better, especially bareback anal. Wouldn’t you agree?
CC: (No comment)
ME: Come on! You must admit!
CC: Your ass or mine?
ME: How long did it take you to “cough your filthy yogurt” for the first time after getting the snip?
CC: I definitely under-estimated the recovery period. I had a jock-strap with an icepack and the day I took it off and just hung loose for a few hours I got that sick kicked in the balls feeling for a few days straight. Ow. So it was maybe five or six days till I tried my hand at “giving it hell”.
ME: Don’t you hate it when people ask you if you still “cum”?
CC: Yeah. It’s a stupid question. Sperm is only about 2% of what’s in semen. It’s microscopic. Everything else about it is the same.
ME: Did the doctors think it was kinda weird that you wanted to film the whole operation?
CC: Yeah, but he said he needed some procedural pictures himself and I guess nobody ever offers a thing like that. I just sat up on my elbows and took the pictures. There was a light right over it so, photographically, it worked out great.
ME: Did your vas deferens bleed internally after the operation?
CC: I don’t think so. But then I didn’t beat the bloody hell out of the thing like you did.
ME: Do you feel less of man now that you will never experience the victory of impregnating a woman?
CC: Yeah, I’ll never conquer that masculine battleground. I really don’t feel like I’m missing out. At all. I’ve got a goddaughter and she rules, and a lot of friends with some awesome kids. That’s good enough for me.
ME: How long did it take you to have 18 emissions? And did you break any Canadian records?
CC: I did it over a few weeks. I was living in Montreal and there’s probably some fucking Gaston there who’s done it in two days and holds the record.
Unfortunately I have lost the pictures that my friend provided for the article – they were something else, you could see the vas deferens being yanked out of his nut sack. I sent it to the New York office of Vice and the associate editor got back to me saying it didn’t fit in with any upcoming issues themes but that he would like to use it on the Vice website as an “Exclusive.”
When it did get put on the Vice website, the dirty fuckin sons of bitches edited the hell out of it, among other things, they took the part about “fucking a virgin as a sure-fire cure”(common belief in Africa) which made the article just seem nasty and unfunny.
Not only that, but the pussies started the article with, “Dear Vice,” making it look like a bloody letter. What I hadn’t realised, is that in the years that I had not read the magazine, it had turned into a shit-rag for trendy lefty fuck-heads and they had employed talentless “staff writers.”
The article I wrote was for the magazine as it was when I first picked it up in ’98. So anyway, I emailed the associate editor and gave him shit for censoring it and said that it was hardly an “exclusive”(there was no way to access it off the site) I also asked them to delete it. The cock head wrote this back:
“No problem, article deleted. An exclusive is a story unique to one source (in this case our website), can’t say I understand how this doesn’t qualify– “dear vice” is an internal marker we use for anything that didn’t originate from our staff. Not sure how to be much more upfront without seriously belaboring a point.”
This is what is called “double-speak” in 1984. Lawyers, politicians and Vice associate editors are very skilled at double-speak. Despite his promise he failed to delete it so I spammed him for a week with the following email:
” Dearest Thomas,
whilst pinching off loafs, my thoughts have often turned to you, and I have envisioned you bravely piloting the stalwart vessel that is Vice tenaciously gripping the helm as you navigate the stormy waters of corporate advertising with your buttocks firmly clenched and teeth steeled against message dropping mail programs and us mere mortals who have the veracity to belabour(spelt with a ‘u’ in the Queens English thank you very much) points on the merest of whims. I know my humble treatise on vasectomies can hardly rate a mention in the heady world of Williamsburg rooftop shindigs and anal shenanigans that you zany Vicesters most likely indulge in, but I do often think of my pasteurised and homogenised article languishing in the “exclusive” yet shadowy recesses of your global empires website and you have therefore forced me to once again ask you to do what you said you would and delete the fucking thing.
Thank you and God Bless.”
You all know the rest of the story; Vice magazine lost all of its edge and turned into an unremarkable shit rag that’s about as captivating as watching two dogs root. At least we still have Unbelievably Bad and they publish all my goddamned shit. Go get fucked