SO A BUNCH of my fellow Portland Mercury editors (I edit the rarely printed "Rigmarole" section of the paper, home to such fictional articles as "I Lost My Phone and 15 Other Lies About Why I Didn't Save Your Number," "What the Fuck Is Broasting?" and, of course, the Pulitzer Prize-mentioning, "If Whitney Houston Was from Newark Then Why Didn't She Go by Whitney Newark and Save Us All a Bunch of Time and Embarrassment?—An Exposé.") have put together their lists of five gifts they'd like for you to buy them.

I'm not gonna do that. Instead, local dufus Ian Karmel is going to recommend three local gifts that you can give your own damn self—because I love you. While you're enjoying them, think of me, but don't text 'cause I lost my phone.


1) Ivizia

I know I already covered the strip-club experience in Portland pretty extensively, I know it's cliché to mention how banging they are, I know the fact that I'm talking about another stripper pushes me dangerously closer to becoming Luther Campbell BUT YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS! One of Ivizia's routines involved roller skates, a Jesus puppet, and a song from Jesus Christ Superstar that I would probably know the name of if I hadn't been so busy getting poon in high school ("poon" is the name of the currency in the MMORPG I played). As a comedian, you get a little bit jaded to comedy, but this was one of the funniest things I've ever seen—and yeah, I had a boner, but it's only because her routine was so funny that my dick was also trying to laugh. Check her out at


2) The Blogs Who Will Make This Blazers Season Bearable

It's becoming clear that this season is going to be maddeningly inconsistent. The emergence of Damian Lillard and Meyers Leonard will intoxicate you, even as the dismal bench and frustrating front office also will intoxicate you, but like when you take mushrooms when you're sad. Luckily, Portland has a small group of bloggers who take these lemons and then throw them away and write insightful, funny content about our basketball team. Get to your internet and check out Blazer's Edge, Portland Roundball Society, A Young Sabonis, and especially Ben Golliver, Sean Highkin, and Dane Carbaugh, who you can follow on Twitter. Speaking of basketball, does anyone else think Rick Adelman looks a little bit like Hitler? Look, it's not Rick's fault that he looks like Hitler. There are only so many ways people can look, and some of us are gonna look more like Hitler than others. I look like a fatter Artie Lange—you think I'm happy?


3) The Fried Pickles at Fire on the Mountain

They're so good you won't give a fuck how loud that dude's banjo is. Plus, Elvis liked fried pickles. I think I heard that once. Even if it's not true, it seems like the kind of thing Elvis would've been into, right? I feel like that's the real tragedy of Elvis' untimely death. He'd probably peaked musically, but with his money, hunger, and lack of shame, he really could have revolutionized the world of fried novelties. Rest in peace, you sweet, fat hillbilly. Oh, but yeah, try those fucking pickles. They come with this sauce that's probably mostly mayonnaise, but let's just not look into that and instead live in the glorious suffocating comfort of ignorance.