Philly Vice: The Untethered Files

The Heroes We Deserve (Unfortunately)

Enter Detective Hugh Honey — a man so vain he once attempted to arrest his own reflection for impersonating him. A former calendar model turned self-appointed lawman, Honey dresses like he’s allergic to natural fibers and talks like every sentence is part of a cologne ad.

He's got the jawline of a Greek statue and the attention span of a sugar-addled raccoon. According to internal affairs, he’s “technically still on probation.” According to himself, he’s “a danger to crime and a gift to women.”

Beside him rides the hammer-fisted fury of the force: Detective Vince Vinegar — a man whose moral compass always points toward explosive confrontation. He’s intense, emotionally unstable, and once tried to bench press a parking meter because it “looked suspicious.”

Together, they form a unit that no one sanctioned and no one can seem to shut down.

The Cases They Couldn’t Handle — But Did Anyway

Philly Vice’s case files read like the fever dream of a VHS rental clerk with a head injury:

• Operation: Pants Thief – a months-long sting on a Zubaz bootlegging syndicate working out of a South Philly laundromat.

• Jazzercise of Death – an undercover mission in a cult that worshipped Richard Simmons and performed ritual squats at sunrise.

• Meatball Justice – busting an illegal hoagie cartel based in a roller rink front, where mobsters laced the meatballs with HGH.

Every mission ends the same: high-speed chases through narrow alleys, synth guitar solos played on a boombox, and at least one explosion caused by a tossed bottle of hair spray.

Their motto? "No paperwork. No apologies. No SPF."

The Testarossa Heist and the Pretzel Kingpin

But now, something darker simmers beneath the neon skyline.

Enter Johnny “Loopback” Tascadero, a criminal mastermind with a taste for VHS bootlegs, counterfeit pretzels, and monologues delivered while petting a ferret. His plan? Flood Philly with fake workout tapes and chemically unstable mustard packets, destabilizing the snack economy and brainwashing the city’s most vulnerable — the aerobics community.

When Loopback's goons torch a Wawa and leave behind nothing but a Jane Fonda tape and a melted TastyKake, the message is clear: Vice just got personal.

Hugh Honey is furious — mostly because they blew up the only gas station with decent mirrors in the bathroom.
Vince Vinegar just wants a reason to punch someone who owns a jet ski.

They fire up the white Testarossa, slap on pastel blazers, and hit the streets with the wind in their hair and the law in their rearview mirror.

A City on the Brink. Two Idiots in Linen.

As the pretzel conspiracy deepens, the duo must battle:

• Corrupt aerobics instructors with hypnotic thighs

• A saxophone assassin known only as “Blue Reeds”

• An elite rollerblade strike team called “The Curd”

• Their own inability to follow even the most basic police protocol

And in the final showdown — under the neon glow of a Boathouse Row warehouse rave — Honey and Vinegar must do what no other vice unit could: not die immediately.

With justice in their hearts and Aqua Net in their hair, they deliver the kind of justice you can only find in shoulder pads and Ray-Bans.

Philly Vice: The Final Word

Philly Vice isn’t just a unit. It’s a way of life.
A pastel-drenched, poorly-lit, completely improvised way of life.
And if you ask them what it all means, they’ll look off into the sunset, rev the Testarossa, and whisper:

“Justice… comes in gradients.”