Category Archives: Opinion

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: America Loves Animals

Jack Colt, scoring in G Land.

Jack Colt, scoring in G Land.

America hates animals like Charles Manson loves Jews. The question is this: were a man to fornicate a male horse, is said man indulging in a homosexual act? If a woman suckles a juvenile dog’s lipstick cock, is said woman satiating her pederastic compulsions?

What comes first in normed categories: species, gender, or age?

Ruminations, for the mind and soul.

Please peruse these case studies, and leave your comments in the box below.

Exhibit A.
Exhibit B.

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.

Health Slut: Swine Flu, The Antibody

"Isn't she lovely" - Stevie Wonder (blind negro)

Sweet, tender, gentle bacon. Glory!

Those swindlers at the World Health Organization (WHO, a pseudonym) recently released the scientific equivalent to an extremely silent but deadly anal miasma.

The National Enquirer’s retarded half-cousin, The New York Times, reported last week that the WHO  (not the rock band of renowned kiddie-fiddler Pete Townshend, but the blasphemists mentioned above) has ceased tracking and reporting swine flu related casualties.

The journalistic and epidemiologistic virtuosity that lies inveterate within FTVS’s essence forces us to pose the question no other news institution has the testicular fiber to pose: why?

The answer resides somewhere between A) that there are inherent difficulties in establishing robust enough quantitative data sets correlating the relationship between causality and mortality when examining the H1N1 virus, and B) that if swine flu leads to the symptoms characterized in the picture above, this supposed “virus” is indeed more a celebration of life than it is an arbiter of necrosis.

FTVS heretoforth endorses swine flu, and asks that you, our demanding and fanatical reader base, not succumb to the wantonly sensationalistic bait that is being dangled by the CDC.

Swine flu, FTVS proclaims, is not an epizootic threat! FTVS also demands that the wondrous pig mammal receive immediate exculpation from the smear campaign that has racially profiled his species.

Music Slut: Sven Vath, An Ethical Man

The utility of electronical music does not rest exclusively in its raison d’être as a potent amplifier of self-dosed synthetic and organic molecular treatments. An exigent ambition of the techno sonata is the  proto-pseudonymous role it plays in helping certain members of society incise a firm, athletic epistemology.

Sven Vath demonstrates:

Based on the evidence above and the previously conducted groundbreaking research of the Wighnomy Brothers, FTVS has concluded that a methodologically-unassailable study is direly needed. FTVS scholars will conduct cutting-edge R&D examining the positive correlation between very abbreviated-yet-gentlemanly vestimentary shorts, and fruity German techno pioneers.

Acquisition of funding is expected as soon as possible, likely from the Gates Foundation and the personal bank account of FTVS secretary Nelson Mandela.

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.

Q&A Slut: Answered by FTVS

We all need help, sometimes.

We all need help cleaning up our messes.

Does the mess that arises from personal satisfaction oftentimes confound you? Let FTVS and Yahoo Answers help. Please click the link to discover groundbreaking yet opportune strategems for addressing post-coital fluid agglomeration.

Please submit your Question of the Week so we can aid you in your navigation of the intricacies of everything.

Technology Slut: Tamagochi Menagerie

Man's Best Friend

Tamagochi animals, those interactive digital pets that require their owner’s constant attention – pushing buttons serves as petting and feeding and picking up shit. While most children let theirs die faster than they did their guinea pigs, a few children never learned.

These dedicated children are now adults, and most certainly perverts who would do unthinkable things to their Tamagochis if not prevented by biological incompatibility. They forgo society in favor of nurturing decade-old mechanized varmints.

TamaTalk, haven’t you learned that amicicide is more pleasurable? Let FTVS pet-sit.

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.

Culture Slut: Modern Feminism

Editor’s note: This is Rachel’s first, and possibly last, contribution to FTVS. Rachel is a female doctoral student in economics at a leading university somewhere in southern California. This post is a heavily altered version of her original submission, and may not entirely reflect her thesis.

T

here exists an extremely misguided view of what it means to be a feminist, and I’d like to take the opportunity to expunge the public of these impertinent, passé stereotypes.  You, dear reader, might conjure the bra-burning, unshaven and unkept, militant, loud, opinionated woman always discovering some great crime against her sex when I mention the f-word.  This image must be expanded within your psyche if you are to understand the true scope of the feminist threat.

Today’s feminist may take another, less discernible shape. Indeed, the modern angry wench might not have a pubic area covered in dead moss, but instead a somewhat sanitized, stubbled expanse that appears more inviting than harrowing. Do not be fooled, for the army of manly womyn have discovered the utility of the waxed vagine. The beast weeps underneath, still.

She does not walk around in homely moccasins; she models designer stilettos as they allow her to maximize her manipulation of phallic blood flows.

The modern feminist does not exclusively burn bras; she also wears them, both for comfort and aesthetic pleasure (aesthetic pleasure meant to highlight the succulent teats, or rather, inflict a mirage-like illusion of succulence, for those teats espouse sour milk).  She does not walk around in homely moccasins; she models designer stilettos as they allow her to maximize her manipulation of phallic blood flows.

She doesn’t isolate herself to a group of women, because the modern woman does not choose her posse based on gender. She chooses them based on who will pretend to tolerate her.  Demonstrate for equal pay?  Ha! Equal pay is something to be expected, thanks to gender-based affirmative action policies.

When equality assaults tradition, a natural confusion arises.  On a first date, tradition dictates that the man picks up the check.  Is this acceptable behavior to propagate as a modern feminist?  Does it send out a signal of dependency; does it hint at subservience?  No. As long as the woman provides fellatio in the restaurant parking lot post-meal, this practice remains acceptable. Some think they have discovered the perfect middle-road by splitting the check.  How uncouth.  Ladies, let him pay.  If he’s deserving of our time and efforts, we should simply let him forgo the condom. — Rachel