Vinnie Jordan: 1955-2001
For those of you that have been my friends since the alt.tasteless days, the name Vinnie Jordan needs no introduction.

For those of you that've never heard of him:

Vinnie Jordan blasted on to the 'net in the early 1990s. He found a home in alt.tasteless (in fact, he was named Mr. Alt Tasteless for 1997) and its less slutty stepsister group, alt.peeves, and he was well-known on the ba.* and scruz.* groups. A Google Groups search on pigface@deeptht.armory.com, pigface@netcom.com and vinniej@sco.com will show his meanderings into other newsgroups through cross-posted flamewars and trolls.

He had a number of noms de 'net: Pigface, Notorious P.I.G, One Sick Individual, King of Beasts, Missing Link, Dirty White Boy, Filthy McNasty, Pickled Punk, Doggiestyle, Official Asshole of the 1996 Olympics, and I.M. Bent.

Off the 'net, Vinnie was a gentleman (except when he was channeling Pigface; in that case, he could be both funny and infuriating to be around, depending on whether you were his target or his audience). Yet Vinnie had a streak of self-destruction and seemed destined (and at times, determined) to meet an early death. He said he expected to live to age 40 and that anything after that was borrowed time.

Vinnie was expressive and profane and belligerent. But those who knew him well knew another side to Vinnie — a side that was rarely expressed in the public sphere of the 'net. You'll see proof of that in some of the e-mail exchanges that people have contributed. Vinnie died in 2001 at age 46, in Santa Cruz, California.

The following post was among the first of Vinnie's works that I read after aimlessly wandering into a.t. in 1995, and one that I have reposted in various other forums every July 4th as a nod to his twisted talent. I warn you that it isn't pretty, but I hope that you'll enjoy it as much as I (still) do.

Subject: Independence Day
Date: Wed, 5 Jul 1995 06:00:54 GMT

Fuck your 4th of July.

Independence Day is the day that all Americans celebrate their freedom, but that don't have no legitimacy here at the work farm.

And what am I doing here? Well, it was originally a rape charge, which was later unsubstantiated. Unfortunately, while I was being held at the county jail, some punk that had had his wife raped right in front of him went ballistic, and came after me in the chow line. I beat him so severely with the edge of my metal supper tray that they took him out of the chow hall, convulsing seriously. I didn't kill the prick, but he ain't been heard from since, so I must've fucked him up big-time.

Anyway, today's going to be my Independence Day. Colburn's going down.

When I first got sent here, Colburn hadn't heard that my rape charges were bogus, so he and a couple of his boys attacked me in the shower. Beat me, and fucked me in the ass. Things like that, you just don't let them go. So, one by one, I went after them. As a group, they were too much for me, but one-on-one, I was superior. First, I caught Little Bobunder the bleachers. I grabbed him under the chin, took two running steps and smashed his head firmly into a 2x4 that conveniently was two inches lower than the top of Bob's head.

Next day, I see Colburn in the yard. He looks me up and down, 'cause he don't know if I just nutted up on Bob, or if I was bent on revenge. It wasn't until I feloniously assaulted Kelly that Colburn knew what my mission was. I found myself alone at the end of my working shift down in the laundry. All the other cats were back in their bunks. Just then, Kelly walks by, and I don't know if anyone else is around, but I know I ain't going to get another shot at Kelly, once he figures out I'm after him. So, as he walked by the hall I was pressed up against, I reached around his throat and cut off his wind, until he went down to one knee, gasping for breath.

When I let up on the choke hold, he was off balance, and I was ready to leap down his throat, if he was stupid enough to try to challenge me. He wasn't.

More's the pity.

Anyway, I explain to him that he's going to catch a beating. Image, and all that. He starts blubbering, "It was Colburn. He's the one that said to get you..."

I cut off this line of reasoning with a sharp slap to the chops, and I tell him that I won't beat his sorry ass to death if he will just tell everyone that I did. He said yes, and then I administered a beating that would have done De Sade proud. They took Kelly away on a fuckin' stretcher, and tried their best to splint and needle-and- thread his body back together.

Good luck.

Again, next day I saw Colburn. He gives me a "C,mere" wave, and I saunter on over to see what he wants. He says, "Let it go. You got your revenge with Bob and Kelly. You come after me, you're gonna get got. And I mean it, Vinnie." I deadeye the fuckstain, and without another word, I walks away. Confidently, and with a new purpose.

And that's why you see me here, waiting in a blind alley for my quarry. He'll be coming down the hall shortly. Just watch what I do to him.

See this? I been workin' on it in the workshop. I've been melding this copper wire together with the acetalyne torch, and it's nearly a perfect substitute for a roll of quarters, and if you know your basic street philosophy, you know I'm going to plant it in the palm of my hand, in order to emulate the premise of having a mitt of steel, before I punch this prick out.

Hush, now. Here he comes.

Look at the surprise on his beefy face as I crash the strengthened fist into the center of his forehead. How his head waggles on his shoulderblades, as I tie his hands behind his back.

"Vinnie," he says, "Don't do it. There's a lot of cats in this joint that'll off you just for fucking with me." I knew better. I talked to a lot of the spades out in the yard, and they'd have no problem with an environment that didn't have Colburn in it. I also talked to a few of the dudes that Colburn figured as allies, only to find out that they only listened to him out of fear.

I'll tell you, it's hard to take a threat from someone with his hands tied behind his back. A bully, whom everyone hates, but are too afraid to go out after themself. He ain't got nothing in the way of backing. On the contrary, I've got carte blanche to off the prick. That's how he ended up here, in my lap.

Listen to the punk blubber, "I didn't mean nothing. I thought you was bad goods. I thought you was a rapist. If it means anything, I'm sorry!"

It obviously don't mean shit to me. Watch, as I run the blade of this homemade shiv across the throat of this punk who violated my manhood. Then, watch as I open a slit in his stomach, and grab a handful of his intestines and shove them through the spot where his front teeth used to be, before I punched them out with the enhanced "Fist of Fury." Watch the look of horror on his face, as he realizes that the blood and bile that are pouring down his throat are coming from his own abdomen.

Watch, as the realization of his own mortality shows on his features.

Yeah, they'll bust me for murdering this punk. But I avenged a wrong, a necessity in this prison life. And, you know what? I got no regrets. I may spend the rest of my days in this hellhole. But, it'll be easy time.

'Cause there ain't nobody else here that's gonna fuck with me. No time.

Never.

Tags: alt.tasteless, death, farewell old friend, independence day, mortality, remember when, vinnie jordan
From: Jesus Just Left
Mood: Nostalgic