Category Archives: Culture

Culture Slut: Wiggers, Uighurs, and Everything In Between

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A gang of Wiggers listening to the new Keak Da Sneak EP.

Confused by the semblance of the Wiggers and the Uighurs? Let FTVS explain.

The Wigger people are a thickly persecuted Turkic ethnic group sparsely habituating Western China. The Wiggers are to the People’s Republic of China (PRC) what the Palestinians are to Israel. Superlatively surveilled by that mongoloid President of theirs, Mr. Hu Jintao, and constantly strangulated by Mao’s visible hand, these denigrated Silk Roadies do all they can to keep it good in this bad world.

The Wiggers reside almost exclusively in the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region of Western China. This effervescent tribe has been anomalously prominent (by anomalously prominent FTVS means maybe mentioned in passing once or twice) on the 24 hour news networks as of late. Why? FTVS wondered too.

The media first came knocking when insurgents organized yet another unsuccessful rebellion against the Sinese machine that has sought to oppress the Wigger movement for so long. More recently, our dearest Centrally Asian friends received attention when several Wiggers were holidaying at Guantanamo Bay (though these punctilious gentlemen have since been relocated to Bermuda, a place very similar to Turkmenistan).

A gang of Uighurs. Likely defying the Chinese government.

A gang of Uighurs defying the Chinese government.

The Uighurs are a different ethnic group, mostly from North America, and are not to be confused with the Wiggers — we beg you, dear reader, to overcome your phonetic prejudice for the rest of this article (yes, Uighur and Wigger are uncannily similar in pronunciation, like vagina and vajina).

The Uighur people are an ethnically Caucasian yet aspirationally Negro minority group largely found in the United States of America, Canada and sometimes even Europe. They are the Quebecois of the Zhongguo: reprobated by their racial archetypes, and derided by the more robustly, phallusly endowed people whom they seek to emulate. You are surely familiar with the most well-known Uighurs: Eminem, K-Fed, Scott Storch, et cetera.

Thus, strong similarities exist between these two groups, beyond phonetic semblance of course. Additionally, the political marginalization of each group is largely analogous and thus reinforces the mundane confusion that is rampant in the uneducated circle of today’s youth. FTVS, one more time, takes it on herself to clarify the obscured with its clairvoyance.

The Wiggers and the Uighers, FTVS declares, must unite to confront the societal vicissitude that encumbers them both. Only then will this hermaphrodite of a world reconcile the reproductive parts of its whole.

Culture Slut: FTVS LovEvolution 2009 Special Report


FTVS’s own Bob Albatross and Jack Colt met again in San Francisco last weekend to cover yet another grandiose display of latent homosexuality and geometric sensitivity at the LovEvolution 2009 in San Francisco. The plan was reasonably simple while not unreasonably nugatory: press registration at 11.30am at 111 Minna Street, attentively study with ethnographic precision the float procession, and proceed to the Asian Art Museum from 3pm-5pm for the media hours to interview FTVS approved DJs.

FTVS recognizes that some may consider 3pm a “reasonable time” for a media hour. However, when you do not plan on wasting your entire day while hundreds of thousands of rave trash get in touch with their inner selves at 135 beats per minute, and within proximity there is a supply of donkey dust so large it could turn the Replublican Party into a gay-loving fraternity … well, 3pm is indeed too late. Luckily, the gentle souls that organize this sweat fest provided FTVS with superabundant libation tokens to pass the time.

Due to extreme fortitude, Albatross and Colt successfully located and interviewed Adultnapper and Lee Coombs, two of today’s finest electric prodigies, and performed what will be remembered as the most groundbreaking interviews, forever. Leslie Stahl was unavailable for coverage (too busy gurning), but FTVS was there.

Albatross and Colt’s recollection of the interview and their subsequent insights are blurry at best. Though through the haze they recollect crashing a Freemason convention at the Grand Ball Room of the Fairmont Hotel later in the evening. Did FTVS succumb to the most taciturn of secret societies? One hundred (100) percent, absolutely. Details on the Masonic virtue of FTVS will be heavily reported later this week, both here and also everywhere else most likely.

Photo Editor’s Note: The gallery below is one hundred (100) percent functioning even if, for reasons beyond our technical brilliance, the thumbnails do not appear.

Photo by Jack Colt © All rights reserved.

Culture Slut: FTVS Exclusive Photo Coverage of the Folsom Street Fair 2009

Editors’ note: The following photographs meticulously document the proceedings of the Folsom Street Fair 2009 in San Francisco. What sets FTVS apart from the rest of the world media is its disciplined attitude towards groundbreaking and truthful coverage which, in many cases, involves the display of multifold penises. For this reason, we must warn our reader that the truth may sometimes be hard to grasp. Please ask your fellow employees and bosses if they like to peruse the reproductive organs before feasting your eyes upon this Man Booker Prize winning photograph essay.

Photo by Jack Colt © All rights reserved.

Culture Slut: FTVS Exclusive Coverage of the Folsom Street Fair

Jackie Chan filming on location - Photo © Jack Colt

Jackie Chan, filming on location in San Francisco. Photo © Jack Colt

Dearest readers,

It is no secret that FTVS is a harbinger of etiquette and calculus. Scouring the global earth for narratives of incision and firmness, the FTVS team will do anything to ensure the barometer of journalistic integrity is routinely exploded. Like an orgasm, but with extreme prejudice and pleasure.

It is with this lawful certitude in mind that FTVS icons Jack Colt and Bob Albatross covered the Folsom Street Fair 2009 this past weekend in San Francisco (California, United States of America).

The coverage is as groundbreaking as the cocks were plentiful, and this week, FTVS will release its first multi-part feature upon the globe.

We invite you, dear reader, to join us in savoring the sweetness of a punishing photo-essay, comprised of sagged breasts and languorous balls — an army of flesh that fought gravity … and lost.

Art Slut: Micheal Leon Studio Dot Com

Because skull art is so 2010. Or 2007.

Micheal Leon is the brilliant man behind much of what is geometrically correct today. We encourage our readers to study his new internet site. While his name implies he may be an Italian cuntlet, FTVS fact-checkers have assured us that he is not. Indeed, the man lives in Portland (suggesting he is a recovering heroine addict), and Mr. Leon can apparently shred on a board of skate. He’s like Ed Templeton, but his art doesn’t suck dick.

FTVS is pleased to inform our readers that “Skull Wearing Sunglasses” number thirteen (13) was acquired yesterday by the team, and will sit proudly next to Anastasia Ward’s animated “Mole”.

Commentary Slut: West Java, Indonesia

Red, flabby, and extremely dangerous.

The Dutchman: red, flabby, extremely dangerous.

Dear reader, I come back from my voluntary exile to the Indonesian archipelago with distressing news. During my journey, I uncovered an evil breed of White men and women (previously unheard of). A breed of Europeans that only inspires disgust and contempt. Indonesia is for surf and cheap whores, period. Only one part of the coastline is good, the south; and the further away one goes from the island of Bali the thinner the crowd and the cheaper the whores.

Half way through my tribulation, I made it to Pangandaran, a small town located on the southern coast of West Java. Pangandaran is blessed with reasonably good waves and the locals are poor enough to engage in the most refined and intricate debauchery for under ten (10) American dollars (including tips).

The Benchong: Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger.

The Benchong: harder, better, faster, stronger.

I went to the Bamboo Bar at around 8.15pm my first night. I figured it was an opportune time to enjoy a cold beer and gauge the local “night butterflies.” It is then I encountered the devil’s children. White, flabby, spectacles-wearing, account manager-looking sons of bitches in beige pantaloons and light blue or lavender shirts.

They were sitting around the tables in groups of five or six, male and female, sipping Guinness or Heineken, and occasionally bursting into laughter for reasons I did not understand. They spoke English with Dutch, British, French, and even German accents.

They said they came here to “experience the real Indonesia.” They laughed at me when I mentioned Kuta, Bali, claiming “it is too touristy.” Such individuals are leeches and should be castrated immediately, and FTVS’ legal division is currently lobbying the Indonesian government to refuse them entry in the future.

They come to the holy place with tiny backpacks filled with hand sanitizer, and plastic sporks — by far the worse invention of mankind — with no desire to bring back handcrafted Indonesian garbage. They do not buy whores. They do not hire cars or drivers or guides to go surf. They do not contribute anything to the local economy or culture; and they pollute the country by simply sitting flaccid in their green plastic chair. They epitomize what is wrong with the White race, and to them I only have three words: Go fuck yourselves.

Culture Slut: Scholars and Sweet Babies

zizek_wed-784030There typically exists an inverse correlation between an academic’s prominence and the droopiness of his matron’s labia and/or jowls. Slavoj Zizek does more than merely offer an exception to the rule, he sadistically waterboards it in a rusty vat of bull semen.

FTVS by no means venerates the Horkheimean, proto-Marxist drivel that Slavvy (as his friends refer to him) repulsively spits at his audiences, but we do applaud his capacity to endear and subsequently penetrate scorching Argentinean ass.

What is his recipe? Groundbreaking research suggests it may indeed be a hermeneutic form of rophynol, also known as the love drug.

FTVS would greatly appreciate acquiring this potent, slow-release recipe of chemical goodness. Evidence indicates it is exclusively sheathed by several accomplished yet physically maladroit scholars, such as Zizek and Stephen Hawking. How else can one explain their lavish spoils of tender lips and smooth, soft buttocks?

Most importantly, acquiring this sleepy love elixir would significantly unburden the FTVS operating budget. FTVS’s coffers are syphoned to Jack Colt’s abysmal thirst for puerile Indonesian jiggy jig, and the inevitable bail surcharge that regularly follows. These expenditures have skyrocketed  particularly over the past 10 days. FTVS interns visit Western Union on Mr. Colt’s behalf most mornings – such is the price of fame, teen lust, and an unbridled appetite for decency.

Culture Slut: Jack Colt – Feared To Be Victim of Terrorism Soiree

Before Picture, Sent by Jack Colt by IPhone Camera

Before picture, sent by Jack Colt on his Nokia iPhone camera.

UPDATE: JACK COLT IS DOING VERY NICELY. PLEASE READ THE MESSAGE BELOW, BUT IGNORE ALL MEANINGS EXTANT WITHIN.

Dear readers,

Jack Colt, founding organizer of FTVS and esteemed quantitative analyst, is missing in the Indonesian archipelago. Wavelength signals transmitted via FTVS newswire indicate another flaccid terrorist encumbrance in the nation’s capital, Jakarta. FTVS eagerly awaits word on Mr. Colt’s normally robust health. Meanwhile, candle lit vigils illuminate the nation.

Before despair disseminates, there are myriad variables that require processing:

It is widely known that Mr. Colt enjoys absolute hibernation during his initial 5 days in the former Dutch colony. He is commonly understood to subsume himself in unbridled labial/vaginal adventures predicated on fiscal exchange, while sometimes exploring the testicular conquests of gender mismatch.

Congruently, upon Indonesian reintegration, our dearest Mr. Colt oftentimes indulges in aggressive “arvo” sessions protoluxed with exorbitant  psilocybin intake.

As a result, his lack of correspondence can not be taken alone as proof of his imminent death via virgin-providing (that is the point, after all, is it not?) suicide bomb. Intensive research suggests the weapons were prescribed by several unassuming Indonesian males – bagus, they are, err, were not.

Dearest Jack, our thoughts are with you, and we pray to Artemis that you have not been exploded by nitroglycerenic compounds, courtesy of a few bad apple, unhappy Indonesian dickheads.

God bless, and may your journeys be flawless.

Culture Slut: The King is Dead, Long Live the King

You see, a pious litmus test for ecumenical sagacity can be found in the subtler tones of how one presents him or herself while in the public eye – it is not about minute violations of societal norms (such as murder or touching strippers). FTVS’s interminable search for decency, and, alternatively, exposure and castigation of impropriety, is by no means meant to be preferential or partisan. It is truth sought!

And what better illumination of verisimilitude can be found than this dedication to the puberant moments of Sir Michael Jackson (not to be confused with Sir Paul McCartney, also a fan of innocent and FTVS-endorsed little boy sleepovers):

The US prison industrial complex would be wise to steal some pages from the Philippines’ prison playbook. Rehabilitation, not retribution, is what fondles the soul. It is also something MJ steadily taught us in his pursuit of nubile Macauley Culkin replicas.

Culture Slut: The Greatest Challenge of Our Time

Let us not compare sources of inspiration.

Let us not compare sources of inspiration.

Until two weeks ago, Lance Armstrong’s arousing victory over testicular malignancy was the most acceded ‘hero’s journey’ of our time. The grace with which he vanquished billions of pudenda-attacking metastasizers captivated our collective psyche, and defined him as the world’s apotheosis of hope (that is, until the harlequin Obama copyrighted the term).

Lance even went on to reproduce! With multiple women! What glorious sperm he must have! Four-time Tour de Uterine Canal champions! His singular nut must possess at once the perseverance of Prometheus’ flame and the beefiness of Thor’s hammer!

However, the Western world has found a new lodestar of hope. One that goes beyond the triviality of colonizing cells or shattered colored-glass ceilings. As you are likely aware, an FTVS founder recently broke the most vital of appendages while defending himself from an envy-fueled physical attack. Fame – to which Michael Jackson, JFK, Anna Nicole Smith, that Nirvana guy, and now Bob Albatross are testament – is not without its consequences.

The world can cease its heaving sobs over Farrah’s fall to that devilish butt cancer ambush, and redirect its gaze to this more recent, more compelling calamity.

A lesser man might relinquish all hope and would likely take his own life, or perhaps embark on a Columbine-like pursuit, were he to face such a profound injury. Amen, our fearless padre is not a lesser man. Indeed, on several occasions his physical prowess has been likened to Stephen Hawking’s, as has his mental fortitude been compared to that of Steve McNair. Or perhaps vice versa.

As the heroic FTVS founder refuses to abandon his, nay, the world’s dream of seeing him one day again pound the ~ and q keys on his keyboard, 6 billion humans hold their breath and offer their succor to Mr. Albatross.

Like the long roads of the Tour de France, the keyboard is a wild beast that is nary tamed. As a champion of qwerty maneuvering, Bob Albatross refuses to submit to the deafening odds he presently faces – and as he stares into, or rather stirs the the abyss with his umbrageous pinky, the abyss wets its bed to a nightmare of its bad uncle.