Donald Trump during a Republican primary debate in November 2015. Photo by Scott Olson/Getty Images

During the final presidential debate on Wednesday, Donald Trump told moderator Chris Wallace that he wouldn't necessarily concede if he lost the race. ""I'll keep you in suspense, OK?" he said, as a million journalists started writing their debate recaps.

As Wallace told Trump, losing graciously and respecting the results of elections is a long tradition in America. Losers always make noises about how important and great the process is—even if they suffer a controversial or close defeat, a la Al Gore, and even if they sympathize with Dick Tuck (seriously that was his name), who after losing the 1966 race for California State Senate quipped, "The voters have spoken, the bastards."

Has anyone ever flat-out refused to concede, and what would happen if someone did? To answer these questions, I called up James McCann, a political scientist at Purdue University who specializes in concession speeches and comparative politics. Here's what he told me:

VICE: Have we ever had a major presidential candidate not concede after losing the election?
James McCann: The concession speech is always given, but there are choices a candidate makes in how to give a concession speech. So one way to do it would be like the Al Gore example. Even when the most unusual thing happens, you show a kind of civil-spiritedness by conceding and very publicly kind of acknowledging the importance of democracy, etc. etc. even if there were irregularities or very unusual things happening during the election and the vote count afterwards. To others, the concession speech is meant to set them up for a later contest, so when you concede, you say, "Yes, I acknowledge we lost, but the fight goes on. Our ideas did not lose. We'll have another day to shine." That kind of thing. And that's very understandable, too. People in public life are careerists, for the most part. And you wanna always think about the next thing.

But Trump's not a careerist that way. He's never held public office.
In Trump's case, I don't know what his next thing would be. He doesn't have the same incentive to be big-hearted. If he says this is gonna be a one-off and he's never gonna run for president again, but if he does want to set himself up for some other professional activity, like start a new media network that could rival Fox , then you could see how he would have an incentive to be extremely defiant.

What happens if he just doesn't concede or says the election was rigged?
Say he's claiming fraud or irregularities in the vote or hijacking or espionage or people stuffing ballots. If that's his argument, then there's a heavy burden of proof on that. You can't just say that. You need some evidence if you're gonna be compelling.

I say this as a guy who has been an election observer and is familiar with the system here in the US—it would be extremely hard to have major election fraud. Our system of electioneering is so fragmented. We have this principle of federalism in the United States where it's really on a local level that you see election administration. There can be all manner of errors: A voter, for instance, could mistakenly cast a ballot for a candidate he or she doesn't like. But it's very hard to imagine any systematic violence.

Could he sue the election board, and would that hold up the process?
He could litigate it out and there would be a relevant court depending on the nature of the charges. Everything is subject to litigation if you want to press charges. If Trump wants to engage lawyers in various parts and if he has deep pockets to fund a lot of legal action, we might see a lot of challenges. But you would need evidence at the end of the day. He's sort of litigating this out in the public opinion right now. He's trying to say that the entire world is against him, and it's the mass media. That obviously is not something you litigate. It's just a rhetorical claim.

But there would be no disruption that I could foresee. In fact, the electoral vote is the one that counts. And electors, in principle, at a kind of abstract level, have the freedom to vote however they want. There's an avenue of litigation, I suppose, if Trump wanted to argue about improprieties with the selection of electoral voters or if he wanted to systematically cherry-pick or fight certain state results. It all depends on how the vote ultimately shapes out.

I seriously doubt that . So it's possible that the worst-case scenario would be if Trump claims in nonspecific ways that the system was rigged and that he was robbed and encourages people in ways to be violent—then it's a law and order challenge. And I have no doubt the authorities would respond to whatever riot situation would occur.

Is conceding just a symbolic gesture then?
Well a symbolic gesture, I think, is important. It's like when some NFL players don't stand up during the national anthem––that means something, it's conveying important information about an opinion they have and it's getting people to talk. But the consent of the loser to democratic norms is a big deal.

Let's put it this way: If you were a comparative political scientist evaluating the quality of democracy abroad in one of these newer democracies, one of the indicators you'd be on the lookout for is whether the losers stay beaten or whether they militate outside your formal institutions. If you see the latter, that would be indicative of democracy turning into something else––authoritarianism or something bad. There's a ceremonial part of elections, which is I think critically important in terms of maintaining a democratic system, because at the end of the day, there has to be a reservoir of trust and good will and the ability to let bygones be bygones.

Follow Allie Conti on Twitter.

(Photo by Kakei. R)

Everyone has that part of their body that makes them sad. Just standing at a mirror, exhaling really slowly, lamenting the size of their forehead, wondering whether to get a fringe, leaving the house wearing a hat. 'Who will ever love a forehead so large?' you think, a single tear rolling down your oddly proportioned cheek.

Self-loathing is rife in the UK. A new survey states that three out of four of women aren't happy with the way they look. And it's not just women – 34 percent of UK 10- to 15-year-old girls are unhappy with their appearance, men feel more pressure than ever to look buff and a record number of Britons got plastic surgery last year.

Fuck that. Can't we learn to love ourselves, or at least not be repulsed by our own physical appearance?

We hit the streets to ask people what their favourite body parts are, and to talk about how we should all be feeling ourselves a bit more (I mean figuratively, but sure also literally, why not?).

Hannah, 22

VICE: What's your sexiest body part?
Mine's quite weird, it's my wrists. I just like them because they're small. And I guess no one really notices them. People notice your legs or your bum but they don't notice your wrists.

That's cool. Wrists are hot, like how ankles used to be super sexy in Edwardian times, right?

Tyler-Louise, 23

How about your favourite part, Tyler-Louise?
My legs. Like the whole length of them. I think it's because I like being tall.

Do you think it's important to have a favourite body part for your self esteem, as well as parts of yourself that you maybe like less?
T-L: It's easy, like people seem to focus more on stuff that they don't like. But if you like a part of your body I guess it makes you feel a lot more confident. I think a lot of people also think that it is arrogant if you compliment yourself. You're allowed to like yourself.

Yeah!

Christian, 30

What's your sexiest body part?
My brain.

I can't photograph that. Got any externals?
My jawline, I guess. My girlfriend says she likes it a lot.

Do you think people just tend to like the parts of themselves that other people like?
Yeah, absolutely. I think most level-headed people tend to find themselves quite unattractive. I only see the bad stuff really.

That sucks. I'm sorry.

Ash

Georgina

Ash, 34 and Georgina, 34

What is your favourite body part?
G: My legs. I've never had a problem with my legs.

So do you think having a favourite is less a case of what you think is the best, and more a case of what gives you the least trouble?
G: No, I think you just look in the mirror every day but sometimes your reaction to yourself is different. Whether you're having a good day, skinny day, bad hair day. It all depends on the day. But I've never had an issue with my legs even on a bad day.
A: I would say my eyes. I do look at myself every day and think, 'I could look so much better'. But generally because I have so much to do I don't give it much more thought.
G: I think when you're older you care less about your appearance and feel more comfortable in your skin. It's a learning process when you grow older, move out of your 20s, you care less about what people think.

I'm excited for that to happen! So your relationship to your body is related to your age?
A: I think the younger generation tries a lot to look perfect, and because of that, they aren't living their lives. And that's scary, because they are living their lives to please others. And eventually they'll grow up and feel empty, because that generation is quite superficial. We didn't have Snapchat or Facebook growing up. We were told to have self confidence and believe in ourselves. There was no need for approval from others to make you feel good about yourself.

Do you think self-love is lacking? I think a lot of us really hate a specific part of our body, but it is quite telling that we don't speak much about the parts of ourselves we like.
G: Oh, I don't hate any part of my body.
A: You have to appreciate what you have. There are people who don't have limbs or who have diseases. You should be grateful if you have a healthy body.

Carla's armpit

Albert, 28 and Carla, 28

What's your fave body part?
A: My right hand. Or my left hand. I'm going to say left. I'm right-handed, which means I use it all the time, but I don't think of it as an aesthetically pleasing body part. And my left hand has my wedding ring on it.

Aw that's such a romantic answer!
A: No, it's just great for tapping things. It's like a percussion instrument. Like if I'm getting on the train and I've just made the doors it goes like "ding" when I grab the pole.

Oh, so less romantic, more annoying. And what's yours, Carla?
C: Armpits. Because they smell so good. Oh, and I once gifted someone my right leg.

Did they take it?
C: Yeah. It belongs to them now. I'm not sure what the rules are, but I feel bound to that promise.

Interesting. Thanks!

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Philippine president Rodrigo Duterte. Image via YouTube

Philippine president Rodrigo Duterte has cut ties with the United States, pledging allegiance to China as the two countries settled their long-running dispute over the South China Sea.

"I've realigned myself," Duterte said in a speech at Beijing's Great Hall of the People. "Maybe I will also go to Russia to talk to Putin and tell him that there are three of us against the world: China, Philippines, and Russia.

"With that, in this venue, your honors, in this venue, I announce my separation from the United States," Duterte continued. "America has lost now." It's reported that this prompted cheers from the crowd, which included 200 Chinese and Filipino businesspeople as well as Chinese vice premier Zhang Gaoli.

When asked about America's response to Duterte's comments, US State Department spokesman John Kirby said they would be seeking a clarification of what was meant by "separation." "It's not clear to us exactly what that means and all its ramifications," he said.

US-Philippine relations have deteriorated rapidly since Duterte, a former mayor, rose to the presidency in June. Back in April, the two countries were discussing expanding the Enhanced Defense Cooperation Agreement, which allows American army troops to use military bases in the Philippines.

By September, President Barack Obama canceled a trip to the Philippines, after Duterte referred to him as a "son of a whore."

Duterte has also launched a hardline war on drugs in the Philippines, which has killed more than 2,000 drug users, dealers, and innocent civilians in a few short months. The Philippine Inquirer keeps a detailed list of those killed day-to-day, chronicling names, ages, and why they were killed. While police have shot dead some of these people, the majority have been slain by vigilantes, who the Duterte government has failed to crack down on.

When the UN urged the Philippine president to stop the slayings, Duterte argued the killings couldn't be considered crimes against humanity because those being killed "aren't human." Specifically, while visiting a group of soldiers, he asked: "Crime against humanity? In the first place, I'd like to be frank with you: Are they humans? What is your definition of a 'human being'?"

An improvement of the country's relationship with China does open up economic possibilities for the Philippines. After Duterte's speech in Beijing, his trade secretary, Ramon Lopez, said $17.6 billion in deals would be signed between the two countries.

However, the Philippines will have to compromise on the long-disputed South China Sea—an energy-rich region that Brunei, Taiwan, Vietnam, and Malaysia have also claimed as their own. Earlier this year, the Hague actually ruled in favor of the Philippines over the South China Sea dispute.

Read: STD Infections Are at an All-Time High in the US

Image by Pedro Ribeiro Simões, via

This article originally appeared on VICE Spain

Whether you're longing for a threesome with your neighbours or want to fuck a stranger while riding a horse in the surf, most of us have at least one sexual fantasy. And while it's important to follow your dreams, I like to think that it's better for some sexual fantasies to stay what they are – fantasies. I'm too worried the reality will disappoint, and that if something actually goes wrong, it'll just end up being one big sloppy, embarrassing mess.

To reaffirm my personal hesitation when it comes to actively exploring every sexual scenario that comes to mind, I asked five young people to tell me about their worst experiences when trying to make their sexual dreams come true.

A GOLDEN SHOWER

I had never received or given a golden shower. The concept itself didn't seem particularly exciting to me, but I do love experimenting – so when my boyfriend suggested it to me, I was happy to give it a try.

Neither of us had the slightest idea of how to go about it, but we both agreed that it would be better if it happened spontaneously, without overthinking it. One night while he was sitting on the toilet, I felt like this was the moment. I climbed on top of him and started peeing a little bit.

He immediately got aroused. I decided to take it one step further, climbed off of him and sat in the bidet next to the toilet – aiming a firmer stream of piss at him. Everything happened so fast, but I quickly realised my aim was off when he yelped, jumped up and ran under the shower. I had peed in his eyes.

The following day, the bathroom still smelled of piss and his eyes were still red. It felt disastrous at the time, but we laugh about it now.

- Ana Jiménez, 28

SEX IN PUBLIC PLACES

My ex-girlfriend had an almost intimidating sexual appetite, and one of her fantasies was to do it in crowded public places. The cinema, fitting rooms or restrooms in restaurants – she didn't care much about where we did it, as long as it was very public.

It wasn't my particular fantasy but I liked the idea, so during the months that we were dating I went along with it. It was always great – the idea that we could get caught was so exciting. In reality, actually getting caught wasn't all that much fun. It happened once, during one time when she had suggested we also try out another fantasy she had – fucking me with a strap-on. She chose a multi-story car park in Barcelona as the scene of the crime. I won't get into the details of the act itself, just that I was at the bottom of the stairs to the parking, bent over with a fake dick up my bum, when a family with three small children came down those stairs. The parents started screaming at us, and we ran. It was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life, and I feel terrible that I might have scarred three small children forever.

- Jaime Gol, 23

A sex box on an aeroplane. Image via Wikimedia Commons

SEX ON AN AEROPLANE

I'm not sure why, but I get horny on aeroplanes. One time while I was on a long flight with a girlfriend, she felt the same way. We decided to follow our urges to the lavatory.

She had gone first and had left the door open. When I was inside, I locked it behind me immediately. The lavatory was uncomfortably narrow – clearly not meant for two people. I tried to sit down so she could sit on top of me, but there was no comfortable way of doing it. When I finally had a position I could hold for a little while, some very heavy turbulence set in.

The captain announced over the intercom that everybody needed to fasten their seat belts, which we ignored at first. The turbulence, however, was hard to ignore and we were thrown around the lavatory. And then, of course, the flight attendants knocked on the door to tell us we had to go back to our seats. I felt claustrophobic and I couldn't remember what it had ever been like to feel horny. We opened the door and went back to our seats as quickly as possible. I was too embarrassed to look up to see if anyone saw us coming out of the bathroom together.

- Javi Cuello, 26

A THREESOME

After leaving my ex-boyfriend, I felt like I had woken up, sexually. I went from having sex once a week because I thought I was supposed to, to doing it just about every other day – because I wanted to. I also got it in my head that I wanted to have a threesome, and my best friend and flatmate Eva was up for joining me, provided we found a guy we both liked enough.

One night while we were out partying in Valencia, we met someone who fitted that description. We started talking to him and mentioned our shared fantasy. He was completely on board. A bit awkward, but excited, the three of us left the bar and headed to the student flat Eva and I shared.

Since none of us had ever done such a thing before, we decided to take it slow and have a drink first. One drink led to a few others, which led to us making out together, which led to us fucking each other. It was all fun and games, until Eva and I noticed that something yellow and smelly was seeping out of this guy's mouth. It was vomit. He was vomiting while having sex with us. It still gives me the shivers when I think about it.

- Patricia Morella, 34

RIDING YOUR BOYFRIEND

For a long time, I had been hoping to find a boyfriend who would be open to being fucked anally, and a few years ago I was finally lucky enough to find one. I bought a dildo and a strap-on harness about two weeks into dating him. Although I knew it was his fantasy too, I never dared to mention it to him.

After dating him for almost a year, I decided I needed to bring it up and suggested it while we were in the middle of having sex. It went over well – just talking about it already got us really hot, and after he had fucked me, it was my turn.

I strapped on the harness and he bent over while I surveyed the lay of the land. This was my moment. I entered him but I was incredibly excited and had no idea what I was doing. That was an unfortunate combination – I was too rough and I went in way too deep, too soon. He screamed and I thought I had completely ripped him up inside. We stopped and he turned on his back, crying. The harness is now back in my closet, it won't come out again any time soon.

- Anahi Canela, 32

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Illusration by Sarah MacReading

We are pretty damn good at lying. In fact, most of us can't go ten minutes without fibbing.

Of course, most of our daily lies are harmless. If I run into an acquaintance on the street and they ask me how I'm doing, I almost always say something to the effect of "I'm good" even if I'm hungover, $200 short on rent, and freaking out about a weird rash on my stomach. We lie every time we type "lol" at an unfunny joke, which is most jokes. We pretend to totally remember someone who claims we met at some party. These lies have been deemed OK to tell, for the good of society.

When it comes to romance, this is especially true. In terms of dating, lying is not only standard, but encouraged. Rejecting someone by "letting them down easy" essentially means to lie. That's where the stock clichés come from. I don't want to ruin our friendship or I'm still not over my ex or I don't have time for a relationship. Of course, in some instances these clichéd responses are genuine. More often than not, however, they're a complete farce. Now, thanks to social media we can more easily see the lies happening in real time. We can see that the person who said they were too busy for a relationship just Snapchatted a concert they were at or a Netflix binge they were partaking in. Lying is intended to protect our feelings, but is that really what ends up happening?

I spent the last four months having hopes for a relationship that never happened, and was never going to. I developed feelings for this guy quickly, and was under the impression the feelings were mutual.

At the start, we were both on the same page. He said he wanted a relationship, and I said I did too. I took this as a go-ahead to consider us dating. That's when things changed. Right as I made this ludicrous insinuation, he began distancing himself from me. Then, I started giving him shit for avoiding me and not texting me back, my number one pet peeve. I hate not being texted back more than I hate pretty much anything else. Naturally, arguments erupted. Each cycle of fights bringing forth new reasons why things couldn't work between us: I can't give you what you want right now, I don't have the time, I need to figure my life out.

My feelings were still so strong that I didn't want to give up. I wanted to believe these excuses. I wanted to believe that he was into me, but hesitant to take things further for reasons that had nothing to do with how he really felt about me. Now that it's completely over, I've come to realize that our entire saga—and many others like it from my past—could have been avoided with this one simple trick: honesty.

In 1996, Brad Blanton published the book, Radical Honesty: How To Transform Your Life By Telling The Truth. On his website, Blanton claims that lying is the "primary source of modern human stress, the primary cause of most anxiety and of most depression." Radical honesty grew into a movement urging people to be honest always—even if this honesty might hurt someone in the process. As Blanton writes, "I recommend you hurt people's feelings and stay with them past the hurt. I also recommend that you offend people. We can all get over having our feelings hurt and we can get over being offended." While there's truth to Blanton's words, this still seems like something that is easier to agree with than to actually participate in.

Thinking of all the lies I've told men in order to save face, I wonder, would things really have been better off if I told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but it? Would I be less pent up, less frustrated, and ultimately, happier? Not knowing the answer, I decided to experiment with radical honesty for myself.

It started with having a very real conversation with the man I couldn't let go of. I told him exactly what my feelings were towards him. Never before had I been so open with someone about how badly I wanted them. Telling him I liked him, even though I knew he didn't like me back, taught me my first lesson about radical honesty: More often than not, honesty will leave you feeling incredibly vulnerable. I then asked him, "What are your feelings for me?" Lesson number two about radical honesty: Just because you're being truthful doesn't mean you'll get that in return. He was still skirting around this very direct question, still giving excuses, and ultimately still not telling me what I needed to hear. I realized at that moment I would rather be offended than fed more dishonesty, which leads me to lesson number three: Closure is essentially the need for blunt honesty, which is rarely received.

A week later, I went on a date. He was my type in almost every sense, but the more time we spent together the more I found myself being turned off by the fact that he wasn't really doing anything with his life. I hate myself for being so judgmental about this, but passion is a huge turn-on for me while a lack of it does the complete opposite. I got a text from him the next day asking when we could see each other again. At that moment I knew what had to be done. I had to be radically honest. In other words, I had to be a bitch.

This brings me to lesson four: You have to accept the fact that you're capable of being an asshole. I knew that what I was about to do was going to hurt his feelings, but according to the rules, it needed to be done. I responded: "Your lack of ambition is a turn-off, and I don't see myself dating you because of it." His response was, "Damn Alison," and that was that. I felt bad, but with that bad feeling also came a sense of relief. One that I don't think I could have gotten with a lie or stock excuse. It didn't feel good to hurt his feelings, but it did feel cathartic to tell the truth. The both of us were better off in the long-run because of it.

After these two experiences I've come to the conclusion that radical honesty is exactly what this modern age of dating needs. Radical honesty could very well be the thing that ends the issues that plague single people everywhere, like ghosting, fuckboys, false hope, unattainable closure, manipulation, and confusion. When it comes to the every day "how are yous" and "remember mes," I am going to hold on to the notion that a little bit of lying is OK. However, when it comes to romance, a lot more is at stake both emotionally and physically. That's why I'm vowing to keep it up with being radically honest with the men I date. At this point, there's nothing to lose.

Follow Alison Stevenson on Twitter.

The author with her dad

I don't know if there was a specific moment when I found out my father was dying. I only remember my short life with him in two parts: when he was healthy and when he wasn't.

The first time he collapsed, we thought maybe it was just from exhaustion. He had been working in the fields 12 hours a day, preparing our farm land for the biggest crop our family had ever grown, excited over the prospect of the extra money we could make and what that money meant for our family. If everything went as planned, maybe it would be the first year we wouldn't need food stamps to survive the winter.

When he collapsed the second time, we knew it had to be something more. There could have been earlier signs, but my father hated doctors, hated hospitals, and avoided them completely. After he underwent testing, everything became sort of a blur I only remember now in fragmented images, emotions, bursts of words, and conversations leftover in my brain. Stage 4. Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. Chemo. Radiation. How much time does he have left? What are our other options?

Just as quickly as my family learned of my father's diagnosis, everything in our lives changed. Soccer practice was canceled indefinitely. Family pets were adopted out. At this stage of the disease, the lymphoma had spread to his bone marrow, so anything that was deemed an extra drain on our time and resources was immediately discarded.

What I remember the most about this time is the deafening silence. I was alone all the time, either in hospital waiting rooms or in my parents' farmhouse half an hour from any real civilization. No one would explain to me what was happening to my father, so I let my imagination run wild. But instead of worrying about him I began worrying about myself.

Every time I visited him in the cancer ward I passed by other people with lymphoma—namely, other children. Children who were my age, children who were younger, children with bald heads and masks on their faces in rooms with glass walls that waved to me as I walked by. I became obsessed with death and haunted by the idea that I, too, was dying. When this anxiety turned into recurring nightmares I had every night I was afraid to tell my mother. She didn't need one more thing to worry about so I knew it was up to me to find solace in other ways. I was only ten, but it felt like childhood was something that had already left me.

It was at this age I learned how to take up less space, to become quieter than I was before, to become so still and breathless it was as if I wasn't even there. I realized my presence was a burden to my mother, an obligation. Some of the other kids at school started calling me "Ghost" not only because of my pale skin but because I wasn't much more than a mirage in the company of others. My roommate said something to me the other week: "You move so quietly around the house sometimes I forget you're even here." I guess some things always stick with you.

Illness and death are the things that change people and families. It forces us to reveal ourselves in layers, uncovering the seams that keep us together, while at the same time discovering the ways we can slowly unravel underneath. That's what happened over the next several years: My family unraveled. My mother forgot how to speak and write for a short time. My older siblings delved deeper into their addictions. My father was in and out of the hospital for different types of treatment and monitoring. And I was stuck in the middle of everything.

While my friends were focused on boys and keeping up with school gossip, I tried hard to keep up with the daily rhythm of teen life. But, as time went on and my father became sicker, I started to feel more comfortable in the company of adults who ignored me than I did with my own peers. It was less exhausting that way.

Not everything was shitty, though.

I liked the pity trips to the mall and TGI Fridays my family took me on when my father went through his bone marrow transplant. Spending money is always a good distraction, especially when you're waiting for someone to die. When I was 14, my older sister started taking me with her to her favorite biker bar on nights she didn't want me to be alone. At least in the throng of locals drinking shots of whiskey and pounding Bud Lights I learned a little about life outside of the cancer ward and high school—both places I felt invisible. In the camaraderie of blue-collar workers, bikers, outlaws, and town drunks, everyone had a story of their own. In their presence, I wasn't a kid to take pity on. I was someone who had scars of my own, who had rightly earned a spot at the table next to them.

Now, at the age of 31, I've lived half of my life without my father. When my friends talk warmly about their childhoods, the family vacations they took, the extra-curricular activities they participated in, I have a hard time relating. I don't know what the typical childhood is like. I don't know what it's like to have the average dad or family unit when you're a kid. And I have no idea what it's like to be able to call your father up as an adult and get advice like so many of my friends are able to. All of that shit sucks, sure, but I don't really look at it in a woe-is-me kinda way, but more so in a that's life, kid–shit happens kind of way.

It's hard to miss a life you've never lived. But even more so, I think it's harder to miss a family you never really had to begin with.

Follow Koty Neelis on Twitter.

Blame Wallonia. Image via Wikimedia.

A small French autonomous region in southern Belgium appears set to sink a multi-trillion dollar agreement between the European Union and Canada. Canada's trade minister, furious, has left Belgium entirely, firing off a blistering statement, slamming Europe's inability to ink a deal "even with a country as nice and as patient as Canada."

The deal, which could boost trade between the two countries by more than $25 billion per year, had moved relatively swiftly since both sides signed an agreement in principle in 2013.

But now, things appear to be falling apart. Chrystia Freeland, Canada's minister of international trade, stormed out of the negotiating room in Belgium after marathon negotiations with the regional government of Wallonia.

A year ago, Ottawa seemed sure that, after tough negotiations, the Comprehensive Economic and Trade Agreement (CETA) would get ratified.

But Wallonia, an autonomous region within Belgium, is likely the last hold-out in Europe, and could be the deal's undoing.

That also spells bad news for the Transatlantic Trade and Investment Partnership (TTIP), the sister deal between America and Europe. CETA was seen as a test drive for that agreement, but between Brexit, growing isolationism at home, and the organized effort to kill CETA in Europe, optimism is fading for an American version of the deal.

Freeland is happy to get the hell out of Belgium. Photo via Facebook.

Speaking with reporters outside of the Walloon parliament, a visibly upset Freeland appeared to have given up hope that the deal will be done at all.

"Canada has worked, and I personally have worked very hard, but it is now evident to me, evident to Canada, that the European Union is incapable of reaching an agreement—even with a country with European values such as Canada, even with a country as nice and as patient as Canada," Freeland said. A copy of the remarks was later sent to journalists.

"Canada is disappointed and I personally am disappointed, but I think it's impossible. We are returning home. At least I will see my three children tomorrow at our home," she added.

Since being elected last year, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau has tasked Freeland with doing the heavy lifting to get the deal done. She has jet-setted across Europe, sitting down with skeptics of the deal in Germany and Bulgaria, amongst others, to allay their concerns.

Now, at the 11th hour, the tiny regional government of Wallonia, with a population smaller than that of Alberta, is set to destroy the deal.

"At this point, I have the feeling that there is a will to continue," said Paul Magnette, the premier of Wallonia, just prior to the breakdown in negotiations. "There are new, significant advances that we've made, notably on agriculture. In coming back, there remains difficulties for us, particularly when it comes to arbitration."

Magnette is a member of the centre-left Socialist Party, a pan-European political movement that has been skeptical of the investor-state arbitration process set out in CETA.

Elio Di Rupo, former prime minister of Belgium and current president of the Belgian Socialist Party, blasted the deal after negotiations broke down. Di Rupo said the deal would undercut public services, give too much power to American multinationals, and hurt environmental protections.

The Walloon concern that the deal may undercut public services has been denied by both sides.

"EU Member States will be able to keep public monopolies for a particular service if they want to," reads a briefing from the European Commission. "CETA will not force governments to privatise or deregulate public services like the water supply, health or education. EU Member States will continue to be able to decide which services they want to keep universal and public and to subsidise them if they want to."

Canada, meanwhile, has respond to skepticism in the process by adding new transparency measures to the process.

Critics contend that the dispute resolution process would allow corporations to sue local governments, giving them a path to fight against environmental regulations or labour laws.

The process, however, is nothing new. Canada and Europe are already subject to more than one international dispute resolution panel, and have been sued by corporations for anti-trade practises—sometimes successfully, and sometimes not.

In one 2010 case that was held up as an example of these panels' faults, the Philip Morris cigarette company sued Uruguay for implementing plain packaging requirements. However, the tribunal ruled in favour of Uruguay, and ordered Philip Morris to pay $7 million to the government to cover their legal fees.

One of the main reasons Wallonia is so dead set against the deal, and why its parliament voted by a large majority to reject the deal, is because its farmers would have to compete with Canadian beef and pork.

There is still a path forward for the deal, but it is murky. Today is the deadline for the deal, and it is unclear how the deal will proceed once it passes.

The European Commission has spun the disastrous end to the negotiations as a "pause," with commissioner president Jean-Claude Juncker vowing: "I'm not despairing, as we're going to find a solution in the coming days with our Walloon friends," according to European media.

Follow Justin Ling on Twitter.

Khizr Khan, the gold-star father of a Muslim American soldier who died fighting in Iraq, first gained national attention by provoking Donald Trump with his pocket Constitution at the Democratic National Convention in July.

Now, a few months after the feud between Trump and his family, Khan is back in a new emotional campaign ad for Hillary Clinton in which he asks the Republican nominee—and voters in the key battleground states where it's airing—a simple question: "Would my son have a place in your America?"

In the ad, Khan revisits photos and military memorabilia that belonged to his son, Captain Humayun Khan, who was killed trying to shield his fellow troops from a suicide bomber.

"My son moved forward to stop the bomber. When the bomb exploded, he saved everyone in his unit," says a teary-eyed Khan. "Only one American soldier died. My son was Captain Humayun Khan. He was 27 years old, and he was a Muslim American."

The ad ends with Khan's question for Trump, reminding viewers of the Republican nominee's hardline stance on an immigration ban on Muslims—even potential war heroes like Captain Khan. According to CNN, the ad will play in Florida, Iowa, Nevada, New Hampshire, North Carolina, Ohio, and Pennsylvania in the hopes of pulling more undecided voters over to the Democratic nominee before November 8.

Read: We Asked Immigration Experts How Trump's Muslim Ban Would Actually Work

Photo by Gage Skidmore via Wikimedia Commons

This week, Donald Trump's long-standing complaints about the vote being "rigged" against him reached a crescendo when on the debate stage he refused to say whether he'd accept the election results.

This sparked an outrage against Trump in the media, and it's true that it's unprecedented for a presidential candidate preemptively denouncing the mechanism by which he wants to win the White House. But it's also true that the American electoral process is something of a mess.

One issue is that the US voting system is actually a bunch of smaller systems stapled together. The states all have different rules for when and where voters can register and even who is eligible, with some places allowing felons to cast ballots and some excluding them. Some states conduct elections entirely by mail, some states use voting machines, and still others use in-person paper ballots. And maybe most controversially, most states' elections are overseen by an elected secretary of state—a Republican or Democrat with a rooting interest—whose choices about which policies to promote and implement can decide whether thousands of citizens ever get to vote.

This doesn't mean any secretaries of state ever do anything illegal or improper, but these men and women—there are 37 elected secretaries serving as chief election officers in their states—can make decisions that influence the outcome of elections, generally by increasing or depressing turnout. Kansas Secretary of State Kris Kobach, a Republican, has been in a running legal battle with the ACLU over whether voters in his state should be required to offer proof of citizenship in order to cast a ballot. In Oregon, where the secretary of state is a Democrat, voters are automatically registered at the DMV and all the ballots are sent in by mail, making it easy to vote.

And when an election is close, the partisan nature of the office makes it easy for disgruntled folks on the losing side to spin theories. Katherine Harris, the Florida secretary of state during the infamous 2000 presidential election, was not just a Republican but a state co-chair of George W. Bush's campaign; she remained a villain in the minds of many liberals for years. After a razor-thin margin gave Democrat Al Franken a Senate seat in Minnesota in 2008, Republicans blamed loose rules and illegal votes allowed under Secretary of State Mark Richie.

Like many odd features of American democracy, this system is unique to the US.

"We are one of the few advanced democratic countries that allow partisans to run our election process," Richard Hasen, a professor at the University of California, Irvine, and author of the 2012 book, The Voting Wars, told me.

To get a sense of why this is discomfiting, try this thought experiment: You're about to play a basketball game. But the other team has hired the ref, plans to help him get an even better job in the future—and, oh yeah, in his spare time the referee runs the other team's fan club. Would you trust that ref to call the game fairly?

Like many odd features of American democracy, this system is unique to the US.

"It's certainly not a best practice," Daniel P. Tokaji, an Ohio State University professor and expert in election law, told me. "If you look at other democracies, they think the way we run elections is crazy, with a partisan secretary of state. There's an inherent conflict of interest between a responsibility to run elections fairly and their partisan interest in helping the party that helped her get elected to office."

None of this justifies the idea that fraud and deceit decides elections. Politicians across the spectrum have denounced Trump's "rigged" rhetoric. (The fact that many election officials are partisans is actually a defense in some cases—Senator Marco Rubio pointed out in his defense of Florida's system that it was run by Republicans who weren't going to steal the contest to Hillary Clinton.) The simple truth is that it's very, very hard to actually rig an election.

"Even if we were the most nefarious, evil, and astute criminals, we'd have a hard time pulling stuff off," Oregon's former secretary of state, Phil Keisling, a Democrat, told me. "There are so many eyeballs that are applied to an election, it would be career-ending, and they'd put you in jail.

"What you've seen is a number of secretaries of state be at the forefront of what I consider odious, unnecessary laws like voter ID laws," Keisling went on. Critics say such laws disproportionately burden African Americans, and thus disadvantage Democrats at the polls, while proponents say they're necessary to fight voter fraud. "There's no real problem to be solved, but real risk of disenfranchisement as a result."

The power of the office has not gone unnoticed. Politico reported in 2014 on the rise of three political action committees aimed at capturing secretaries of state offices across the country: SOS for SoS, which aimed to spend up to $10 million in nine states to support Republicans; and on the left, super PAC SoS for Democracy and PAC iVote.

And secretaries of state admit there is some pressure to use their offices to partisan advantage. Sam Reid, a Republican who served three terms as Washington's secretary of state, recalled overseeing one extremely close election that went to recount in 2004. (Democrat Christine Gregoire ended up winning by a margin of 129 out of 2.7 million votes cast; her Republican opponent challenged the result in court but eventually lost.)

"I will say that Dems were very hostile, were sure that this Republican secretary of state was going to put his fingers on the scale. Republicans, some of them, thought I should be putting my fingers on the scale," Reid told VICE. "There are expectations, but that goes with the office."

Reid says he tried his best to conduct business fairly, and that despite being partisan, "once you walk through the door of that office, you have a job to do."

Still, many experts say that elections—and public confidence in them—might be enhanced if they were overseen on a nonpartisan or bipartisan basis instead of letting individuals from a party run the show. One state, Wisconsin, had such a board, but the Republican-dominated legislature voted last year on strict party lines to dissolve it, to be replaced by boards with partisan appointees.

Which points to another problem. Any solution to the apparent conflict of interest presented by partisan secretaries of state would have to be approved and initiated by state legislatures, which, of course, are dominated by partisan interests.

"We've never viewed it as a realistic possibility," Reid said.

"I don't think we are going to get to that [nonpartisan oversight] in the near term," Hasen added. "But we can take steps, such as increasing transparency, that can help deal with the greatest concerns."

Everyone I spoke to for this article rejected Trump's preemptive "rigging" declarations as nonsense. "You're impugning the premises of the democratic system that's relied on peaceful transfers of power for 200 years," Keisling said. "Until you can prove there's a problem, shut up."

Still, Trump is obviously either tapping into widespread skepticism about elections or worse, creating it—a poll out Monday from Surveymonkey/NBC showed that only 53 percent of Republican voters would definitely or probably accept the election result if their candidate lost.

"I think may inevitably be necessary, in part because of the accusations made, but also because of the reality of polarized politics," Keisling said. "I think going forward, when the dust clears, the states are going to have to take a look at it."

Follow Joel Mathis on Twitter.

People assemble to honour Abdirahman Abdi in a protest at Ottawa police headquarters on Saturday, July 30, 2016. THE CANADIAN PRESS/Fred Chartrand

The number of public complaints filed about the conduct of, or service provided by, Ottawa police officers jumped by 133 percent in the third quarter of 2016, according to a report from the Chief of the Ottawa Police Service that was removed from a city website after VICE News inquired about it.

When Ron Dalton was arrested and charged with second-degree murder in the death of his wife in 1988, his youngest son was still a baby and his oldest was 11 years old. By the time he won an appeal and was released from prison to await a retrial in 1998 his youngest boy had turned 11 and his oldest was in university.

Bicycle thieves are the scum of the earth. Stealing bikes is a lazy, shitty crime of opportunity that disproportionally impacts people with no money. People who try to do it deserve swift, creative punishments, that should—if at all possible—deter them from offending again, right? That's what Daniel Idzkowski, creator of the SkunkLock, is hoping his new invention will do.

As Idzkowski notes in his Indiegogo video, a thief can force his way through pretty much any standard U-lock using a cordless angle grinder. But while SkunkLock is a U-lock, it also contains some sort of pressurized mystery gas—the recipe to which Idzkowski has not yet revealed. Apparently, once an unwitting thief cuts into the lock, the gas will shoot out, engulfing them in a noxious cloud.

"The chemicals are so disgusting they induce vomit in the majority of cases, and elicit an instinctive response to run away immediately," the Indiegogo page promises.

Sure, the thought of sweet revenge on some of the world's shitheads is nice, but it's worth noting that the strategy comes with a couple of potential gaps in its efficacy. First of all, the same hardware stores where you can buy cordless angle grinders also sell respirators, which can make the doodoo gas less than effective. It's also not clear how Skunk Lock can promise that an "instinctive response to run away immediately" will really prevent a thief from finishing the job, but whatever.

Each donation of $99 or more will earn you a SkunkLock when the product is ready in June of next year. At press time, SkunkLock was about halfway toward its $20,000 fundraising goal.

Follow Mike Pearl on Twitter.

Read: How to Be a Cyclist Without Being a Dick

When you think of spooky families, a few names naturally pop to mind: the Addams Family, the Munsters, the Trumps. And if you thought the latter couldn't get weirder, you're in for an early Halloween treat.

While Donald Trump is making headlines for his batshit performance at the final debate, his eldest daughter, Ivanka, is also raising eyebrows after BuzzFeed CEO Jonah Peretti called her a hypocrite for being "shocked" by her father's language. He tweeted that Ivanka once told him that she'd never seen a "mulatto cock" but would like to. Vulgar and kinda racist? Like father, like daughter, we suppose.

The hosts of VICELAND's late-night show Desus & Mero, Desus Nice and the Kid Mero, wrapped up the week by talking about the tweet and the surreal final debate, where Donald called Hillary a "nasty woman" and further solidified rumors about his alleged coke habit.

You can watch the first four episodes of Desus & Mero for free online now, and be sure to catch new episodes weeknights at 11 PM on VICELAND.

Still via 'Logan'

Hugh Jackman IS Wolverine! Jamie Foxx IS a dirty cop with everything to lose. Michael Fassbender IS an Assassin's Creed! This IS the trailer round-up.

In the lead-up to Waypoint's launch on October 28, the site's staff is giving a preview of some of the titles that they'll be playing during the massive 72 Games in 72 Hours livestream.

This is less of a story about Doom 2 as a game, though it's certainly an excellent one, than a story about what happened to me after Doom 2 came into my life.

Sometime in the fall of 1994, I walked into Comp USA, a now-dead computer warehouse chain, with my dad. I was nine years old at the time, and we had two pieces of software in mind: Quicken, the financial budgeting software, and Doom 2: Hell on Earth, the gory shooter sequel from id Software. That first program might be apocryphal, something my mind's subtly implanted over the years, but it's hard for me to imagine we were only there for Doom 2.

Even though I can't find any photos online, I know there was a promotional standee in front of the pile of boxes. A cyberdemon loomed large, its protruding, bleeding stomach forever etched in my mind. My dad probably (and rightly) wondered what the hell that was all about, but I never got any guff from my parents about video games; they presumed it was all silly nonsense.

(They were mostly right, but I'm forever thankful that silly nonsense became my career.)

I don't remember what prompted my family to get our first computer—school, maybe?—but I do know that everyone in the family looked to me when it showed up. As a kid, I learned how to operate the family VCR faster than my parents. This was the way of things, especially as I got older. The arrival of new technology into the home meant I had to teach everyone how it worked.

But as it it turns out, Doom 2 was the one that would end up teaching me.

Doom 2 introduced me to the concept of software. I'd never installed anything before! Prior to id Software's shooter hellscape, my experience was flipping on pre-loaded Pong and shoving dusty cartridges into Nintendo consoles. Installation meant mulling over hardware requirements—"What's RAM?"—and other head-scratchers. A family friend came by the house to walk me through it, though not much stuck. But hey, at least the game was running? Thing is, when that person didn't answer the phone, I had to figure things out on my own.

That didn't, uh, always work out; I busted my computer (and my friends' computers) more than a handful of times trying to do weird shit. I learned what formatting does to a computer the hard way. It really does straight up delete everything from the hard drive! I learned Windows and OS X are different operating systems, meaning you can't shove a Doom 2 CD-ROM into your friend's Mac, drag a bunch of files over, and try a bunch of experiments to get it running "because you swear you saw someone say they did it on a message board." But each crash was a learning experience, and every time, what brought me back was playing more games.

Doom 2 is the reason I learned about mods. Who didn't want to run around a shooter with sprites from The Simpsons?Hell, my first experience with a horror game might have been with the still-impressive Aliens TC. (Back then, TC stood for total conversion, a mod that completely changed the base game.) Getting mods up and running wasn't easy, requiring players to do funky things with file structures and embark on downloads from creepy places on the internet. Furthermore, it represented my first encounter with people doing things they weren't supposed to with a video game—they were breaking it. This was Doom, yes, but not the Doom that you were "supposed" to play. That felt awfully edgy to a nine-year-old!

Doom 2 is why I pirated a game for the first time. When I learned about the existence of Heretic, a shooter using the Doom engine but swapping guns for magic, I needed it. Still using atrociously slow dial-up at the time—though to be fair, upgrading from 14.4k to 28.8k was a big deal—I'd quietly hope my parents wouldn't pick up the phone, cutting my AOL connection. At night, I'd sneak downstairs, toss blankets over the computer to try and mask the obnoxious modem sound, and download more parts of the game, while everyone slept. Only years later would I learn you could turn off the angry "eerrraarrngghyrrrr" sounds modems made back then.

Doom 2 helped me understand level design, as I downloaded editors that (in theory) allowed me to create my own nightmare mazes. I never got past the concept of making a door, but seeing what a level looked like from the developer's perspective was a formative moment.

Doom 2 got me under the hood of computers, by getting me into into first-person-shooters like Star Wars: Dark Forces, which became a personal obsession. The problem was that Dark Forces wouldn't run on my PC without a bunch of tricks. I barely had enough memory for the game to function, but if I simply turned on my computer, it wasn't enough. Back then, it was possible to boot up and pick and choose what parts of the system came online. One by one, I'd randomly pick which parts were allowed in, like my printer.

Sometimes, those parts were crucial to the game running, sending me back to square one. Other times, you'd thread the needle, feel like a hacker, and the game would magically boot up and start playing. Lord have mercy on you if you figured out the right boot sequence, but forgot to write it down.

Doom 2 was the first game I understood to be made by people. At the end of Doom 2, you could famously leap through a hidden door behind the final boss and find the head of designer, John Romero, impaled on a stake. When I read about the secret, and eventually pulled it off myself, it got me wondering: Who is John Romero? Oh, he's a programmer. Wait, what's a programmer? This internal monologue led to a mountain of research that gave me a better understanding of how games were made, that actual people were crafting these experiences.

The list could go on, but the point is made: I wouldn't be the person I am today without Doom 2. Before I wrote all this down, I hadn't realized how much Doom 2 changed my life. It might not have had much to do with the game's high-speed shooting, or its creepy (if cartoonish) demons, but the impact was profound all the same. My understanding of technology and games was forever shaped by id Software's shooter. Thanks, Doom 2.

Follow Waypoint on Twitter, Facebook, and Twitch, and tune in to our 72 hour launch live stream marathon, starting at 12PM ET on October 28th!

Follow Patrick Klepek on Twitter, and if you have a news tip you'd like to share, drop him an email.

For this episode of VICE Talks Film, we sit down with director Barry Jenkins to chat about his fantastic new film, Moonlight—a coming-of-age drama about a boy named Chiron grappling with his identity and sexuality in a rough Miami neighbourhood. Jenkins talks about how he taps into his empathy by creating films, the way Moonlight's music is used, and how his childhood in Miami influenced the casting and cinematography.

We're excited to announce that 20th Century Fox and Insurgent Media have signed on to help VICE Films bring you a film adaptation of the seminal Norwegian black metal book, Lords of Chaos.

Jonas Åkerlund, who directed Spun, will direct the film off a script he co-wrote. Rory Culkin is set to star.

The original 1998 Lords of Chaos book by Michael Moynihan and co-writer Didrik Søderlind tracked the career of early 90s Norwegian black metal pioneers Mayhem, from their violent, bloody stage performances to the infamous church burnings to the subsequent murder of guitarist Øystein "Euronymous" Aarseth by Varg "Count Grishnackh" Vikernes, who stabbed Aarseth to death in 1993.

Culkin will play Euronymous in the film adaptation, with Emory Cohen as Varg Vikernes, Jack Kilmer as Dead, and Sky Ferreira as a band groupie named Ann-Marit.

VICE Films will produce the Lords of Chaos feature alongside Fox, Insurgent, Kwesi Dickson, Chimney Pot, and Eleven Arts.

All photos courtesy of Little Brown and Company

In 1899, George and Willie Muse, then nine and six, were abducted from Truevine, Virginia, and forced into the circus. The brothers were both albinos born of African-American parents at a time in Southern history when blacks had little to no rights. Their white skin and black features gave them an exotic appearance that the Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey's "Greatest Show on Earth" exploited by having them pretend to be cannibals, sheep-headed "freaks," and "Ambassadors from Mars" in sideshows.

The brothers were international superstars long before the age of television, playing to huge crowds at Buckingham Palace and New York's Madison Square Garden. But throughout all this their mother Harriet refused to accept that they were gone, and spent the better part of three decades trying to get them back.

In a new book, Truevine: Two Brothers, a Kidnapping, and a Mother's Quest: A True Story of the Jim Crow South, out October 18 from Little, Brown and Company, journalist Beth Macy gives a gripping account of what black oppression was like at its most extreme during the beginning of the 20th century. She recounts the Muse brothers' tale, but more importantly details their mother's quest to find them. For decades, the closely guarded story of how "Eko" and "Iko," as they were called in the circus, became George and Willie once again was only known to family members—many of whom were illiterate. It took Macy 25 years to get the full story, using "gentle persistence" and building trust with the remaining family members before they'd share the entire narrative with her.

In her book, Macy paints a striking portrait of rural Virginia, the complicated stardom of circus freaks, and the amazing story of a black woman defying white men in order to transform two black boys from property back to humans. Recently I talked with Macy about the Muse brothers journey, why their mother deserves a statute, and how racism during Jim Crow was more insidious than separate water fountains.

VICE: Prior to reading this book, I wasn't familiar with the Muse brothers. Can you tell me a little bit about their lives during the peak of their "fame," so to speak?
Beth Macy: They were among the top acts of the Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey sideshow throughout most of the 1920s and 1930s, a time when that circus, a.k.a. "The Big One," was king and also the top form of entertainment in America. Next to Christmas Day, circus day—the day it came to your town—was the most important day of the year, and people flocked to see the circus trains unloading in the early morning hours, even if they couldn't afford money to go to the shows later in the day.

The Muse brothers performed in front of British royalty and at sold-out shows at Madison Square Garden. Their act was sometimes featured in headlines of the New York Times. When they were young teens, they were featured as pure "exhibits" with smaller traveling carnivals; their milky skin and blue eyes were considered novelty enough. After a few years, their managers gave them instruments as props, but the joke backfired. It turned out the Muse brothers harbored the ability to hear a song once and play it on almost any instrument, from the xylophone to the saxophone and mandolin.

Their story is quite amazing on the surface, but you dug way deeper, spending 25 years to get to the bottom of this story. What was that process like along the way?

There are worse ways to wake up in the morning than with an orgasm. Luckily for us, 40-something year old entrepreneur Tony Maggs has made waking up to one everyday a reality—at least for women—with a new product.

A sex toy and an alarm clock in one, Little Rooster has already sold out around the world, he says, including in countries that Maggs coyly tells me have some of the strongest taboos against female sexual pleasure in the world.

I managed to grab Tony before he boarded a plane to China to talk about just why he felt the one thing the world needed was a pink vibrating alarm clock, and why it makes him the man to save women's mornings the world over.

VICE: Hi Tony, what made you want to create a tool like Little Rooster?
Tony Maggs: Most alarm clocks work by irritating you until you wake up and, as a result, you wake in a bad mood. I figured that an alarm that woke you with pleasure would turn the act of waking up into an enjoyable experience and make mornings happier - and it does!

What kind of woman did you have in mind when you created Little Rooster?
Women who hate feeling irritated in the morning. Women who want to wake sexy. Women who love the idea of waking up slowly and sensually to the feeling of gently increasing clitoral stimulation. Women who hate their alarm clocks.

Do you think an orgasm is the best wake-up call, then?
We did a survey of our customers and most people said they used Little Rooster between three and five times a week. So our customers certainly like waking sexy if not every day, then most days.

We also asked our customers what it felt like waking with Little Rooster. Over 90 percent said things like "I wake up feeling happy, excited, lucky, and very turned on." Quite a few sexual therapists have contacted us interested in using Little Rooster to help women who find it hard to orgasm due to conscious inhibitions.

Doesn't an ordinary alarm clock work just fine though?
Ordinary alarm clocks are so unpleasant that most of us wake in a bad mood, even when we have a wonderful day lined up.

OK, could you tell me how Little Rooster works?
You slip Little Rooster in the front of your panties when you go to bed and in the morning, Little Rooster's 'leg' starts vibrating against your clitoris. The stimulation starts gently so you don't wake immediately. Then over the next five minutes, the vibrations slowly increase so you wake sensually, pleasurably, feeling confident, happy and aroused. Plus, it has a snooze button so you can wake up this way as many times as you wish!

What about guys? Surely straight men are going to feel left out now that women would rather wake up to Little Rooster in the morning?
Left out? Just the opposite. Most men love the idea of their partner waking up this way—which is why over half our sales are to men buying Little Rooster as a gift.

What would you say to women who might think having an alarm bell in their knickers overnight is a bit of an inconvenience?
Not only inconvenient but uncomfortable, right? My one regret with Little Rooster's design is not making it look as comfortable as it feels. We went through over 300 prototypes and three dozen women of all different body types tested them and gave me feedback. And the result is that everybody who tries it says that Little Rooster feels far, far more comfortable than it looks.

That's because Little Rooster is so small and light. It weighs under two ounces. It's narrow between your legs so you can move around without it getting in the way and so that it can nestle between your labia. And it's thin against your front so you can lie on your belly without it digging into you. Little Rooster keeps in place, however much you toss and turn. So I would say that sleeping with Little Rooster in their knickers overnight is far less of an inconvenience than they might think.

What if I don't want to wear underwear?
No glove no love, baby. Well, some people find they don't need underwear but I don't recommend that.

What's the most memorable feedback you've had?
One person wrote to say that they'd been Googling, searching for a vibrating alarm clock due to hearing loss. I found that quite touching. And I'm always amazed at how creative people are. The woman who uses Little Rooster so she can have a snooze on the train in to work and get off at the right stop, for example. That's just brilliant!

You've had orders from 72 countries. Where's the most random place you've received an order from?
We recently had to rush an order to a guy who wanted to give a Little Rooster to his partner while he proposed. One woman ordered a dozen for a hen party. Quite a few parents buy Little Rooster for their daughters as leaving-for-uni gifts. And we of course often get her-and-her double orders from same-sex partners. Call me a sentimental old fool, but moments like these make me grin with joy.

Isn't £69 a little steep? Or do you think the pleasure outweighs the price?
Little Rooster definitely isn't cheap. On the other hand, it's rechargeable and very quiet. Many customers email to tell us how Little Rooster has changed their lives—not just their sex life and how they feel all morning but how they relate to their loved ones and colleagues. If you consider the change it can have on your life, £69 is a small price to pay.

Will there be a male version? Some men might say women have all the fun...
Yes! You can join our For Men mailing list for news of the launch.

Thanks, Tony.

@its_me_Salma

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