Vice Magazine – Your Guardian Angel: Examining Four of Vice’s Most Selfless Acts

September 15, 2014 / by / 22 Comments

There are a lot of heroes on the Internet. There are hero dogs that save children from illnesses and pull owners from burning buildings. There are hero children who save elderly people from drowning. There even hero burgers that save restaurant-goers from boring meals* (This may or may not be a paid promotion from the McDonald’s Corporation). Search the word “hero” and you’ll find hundreds of pages in results. However, there is no hero quite like our supreme savior: Vice Magazine.

According to a profile of the media conglomerate by The Independent, Vice Media was “founded in Montreal…as part of a community-building welfare programme.” (No, we’re not joking this is really how Vice started.). Its early content focused on Canadian fashion and the music industry, with its site serving as both a digitized magazine and a store. In the twenty years since its noble beginnings as the Voice of Montreal (its original name), Vice has taken on a new role: hero tribute. Much in the spirit of Katniss in The Hunger Games, Vice has recognized that there are a finite amount of terrible, painful, bizarre things that humans will be forced to do by our unseen overlords – and they have nobly decided to volunteer their editorial staff for all of them. In order to give you an idea of just how heroic the people working at Vice Magazine really are, we have compiled the four bravest things they have done “so you don’t have to”:

I Got Cocaine Blown Up My Ass So You Don’t Have To

Perhaps the most generous of Vice’s sacrifices, the altruistic publication had one of its writers, the brave Justin Caffier, partake in one of society’s most fundamental, rigidly-enforced traditions: the anal cocaine insertion procedure. It is rumored that the last man to sacrifice himself to this brutal tradition was made a special assistant to Suleiman the Magnificent, with complete legal immunity throughout the Ottoman Empire. Young Mr. Caffier has yet to receive similar honors from the United States government for his noble deed, but rewards are sure to come soon.

I Listened to the New Billy Ray Cyrus Album So You Don’t Have To

Much like a war hero tossing himself upon an exploding grenade, Drew Milliard saved countless potential victims from certain death by listening to Billy Ray CyrusThe Journey. Milliard survives the endeavor, and like that same war veteran – he recounts his memories of that fateful call to action. He manages to keep his sense of humor intact throughout the painful retelling, making hilarious jokes about incest along the way. We are indebted to Drew Milliard (and the rest of Vice) for partaking in what was surely a horrific experience that would’ve claimed another victim if not for Milliard’s selfless act.

I Went to the Belmont Stakes So You Didn’t Have To

Waterboarding. Sleep deprivation. Solitary confinement. The means of torture in this country are varied – and Vice’s Barry Collins took it upon himself to save potential victims from the worst form of torture of all: Drunkenly watching horses run around a racetrack. Mr. Collins, despite a pounding headache brought upon by whiskey shots and suffocating cigar smoke, made himself a modern-day Jesus by attending the Belmont Stakes and living to tell the tale in order to save the victims the cruel gathering would have otherwise claimed. You can rest easy tonight knowing that it will be another fifty years before a cruel overseer attempts to force you to get drunk and bet on horses.

I Tried Bull Penis So You Don’t Have To

I remember it like it was yesterday. I was fifteen. The clouds hung upon the sky like a blanket of discomfort. I knew something bad was going to happen that day. When I walked to school, my fingers shook and my knees trembled. I had no reason to believe something horrible would happen to me, but an aura of fear wrapped around me like an inescapable coffin. And then it happened.

A man in a sleek gray suit apprehended me on the sidewalk and said those fateful words: “You have been selected to try the bull penis.” The words lingered in the air like the storm clouds above: “bull penis.” As I clamored to find a way to explain that they had chosen the wrong person, a saint appeared in front of me. It was Arielle Pardes. She grabbed my shoulder and guarded me from the man as she proclaimed, “I’ll do it. I’ll try the bull penis.”

I didn’t see her again after that day. Seven years later though, Vice released the article detailing her sacrifice, and I finally discovered the identity of my guardian angel. Maybe Vice dispatched her to me. Maybe they brought her in knowing that there was no better home for such a noble woman. No matter the reason, I’ll never forget what Ms. Pardes did for me that day, and neither should you.