Category Archives: Hotels

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.


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.