As you all know, there was a beautiful and sacred day last week dedicated to celebrating women. Here at the VICE Toronto office, outlandish requests are sort of the norm, but something about the ancient mysticism of women really upped the fucking ante in the delivery department and when we made this very reasonable request:
We were certainly not expecting (well, we were) this:
No, it wasn't Drake, which was too bad because it would have felt nice to tear him a new one for the way he is always proud of us for eating salad. That said, it was hand made and pretty incredible.
Because we got our hopes up and it also sounded like we were right (breakable things clinking inside), we decided the traditional method of extraction for piñatas would be a bad idea. So we each grabbed an arm and tore it asunder.
It was overflowing with strange, Mexican candy and familiar, soothing balms.
Because we are inclusive we allowed patriarchy to navigate inside the decapitated head of our piñata.
The ones that look like stop lights are pretty good and the ones shaped like little corns are supposedly strawberry flavoured with chili flakes, but upon review only tasted like chili flakes. There is also a mango kind but one of us is allerg.So thank you, mystery gifter. But all we know is you work at a Mexican restaurant. Could you please fill in some blanks for us like, are we now engaged and is there real mango in the mango flavoured candy?
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