McInnes, who saw fit to entrust Baby Balls with his beloved invention from Vice’s Montreal days, the Gross Jar. Over the course of nearly a decade, the glass receptacle had been stuffed with a monthly addition of the most repulsive ingredients he could get his hands on: used tampons, chicken blood, urine, and so on. When Morton was awarded custody of the Jar, he dialed up the grossness. In went a dead rat, a mouthful of spit from a colleague who’d come down with the flu, five scabs picked from the face of an editor who’d blacked out drinking, and the droppings of his cat, which the
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