I first got to know Colin Self in the dark of a West Village club—then by the light of my laptop. Self is a nightlife impresario. A vision in plum lipstick, the Laura Dern look-alike is perhaps best known as member of the New York-based drag supergroup Chez Deep. Beyond the drag stage, Colin is also a musician, party host, and DJ (at Eckhaus Latta’s défilé this New York Fashion Week, he sensuously spun self-help recordings into Orbital and Prince), as well as a video artist, community organizer, and social activist. Like a proper digital native (b. 1987), Colin anchors all this online—his Twitter is divine.

Colin is a modern-day role model. An embodiment of queer theory, Colin, in everything he does (whether that’s fundraising for his Radical Diva Grant or wailing in micromesh at the club), is a testament to the individual’s potential to be himself, herself, or themselves. While Colin takes sex-positive pleasure in his “ultimately male body,” he also identifies with all genders: “man, woman, whatever—I’m also an alien and a witch and a celestial spirit.” His interest is in the trying-on of new modes of being.

Through all of his manifold practices, Colin seeks to foster open-mindedness in the individual while “creating spaces for individuals to engage in open dialogue.” His goal with projects like his annual Next Time Symposium, a multi-day salon on drag arts, performance, and politics, is to show that, just as femininity can be put on and taken off with a touch of lipstick, so too can ideas.

On the afternoon I met Colin Self, at his three-floor shared space in deep Bushwick, he didn’t feel like wearing lipstick. He put it on and then wiped it off, staining his rosebud mouth. Wigs didn’t suit his mood either. He dressed, instead, in plain muslin overalls for the house tour and a Thierry Mugler blazer—which he described as “officious"—for the interview. Beneath a monster Jon Rafman on the wall and a stick-bug tree house, we talked about performance, queer pop culture, and how Colin came to be himself.

VICE: Is Colin Self your real name?
Colin Self: It is! And I’m so grateful for it. I’m always thinking, like, thank you, Dad! It works on so many levels: selfies, self-care, self-actualization...

They call that an aptronym—when someone’s name is apt for them. Where are you from?
I grew up in Aloha, Oregon, which is on the edge of the suburbs in the forest between Portland and the Oregon Coast. My dad is a composer and an engineer, and my mom started a music school when I was really young. I have three sisters—two older, one younger—who are all really crazy. I grew up in a house very dominated by the women and their energy.

How did you end up in New York doing performance?
I remember going to this Sleater-Kinney concert when I was 14 and seeing these girls wail on their guitars and thrash about, and I said to my friend, “This is what I'm going to do with my life.” I was also really inspired by Riot rrrl—that’s how I ended up going to college in Olympia. There, I met all these amazing female performers who were using performance to enact ideas of affect and mysticism to transform spaces and people. They became my mentors. Eventually, I moved to Chicago to finish school, and after school, I moved to New York. That was in 2010.

When did you start performing with Chez Deep?
Chez Deep started in 2012. We—Sam Banks, Hari Nef, Alexis Penney, Bailey Stiles, and myself—started as a “drag supergroup,” but we've transformed into something else. We're more like an art collective than a performance troupe now. We came together as a group of futuristic androgynous performers who had fragmented participation in gender variation. We’re all cyborgs, aliens, witches, transmutants, and hybrid creatures, all working towards demonstrations of self-care and care for others through several mediums: drag, but also monologues, dance, singing, writing, curating. For the next year, we’re mostly going to be working on videos together.

Where did the name come from?
It actually comes from a misinterpretation of my friend Jamie’s Twitter handle, @twobitchesdeep. One of the members of my group initially misread it as two-bit chez deep. He thought “chez deep” was a really cute name, and we ended up choosing it because that’s actually what we are—deep house, a place of depth, of internal/eternal expansive consciousness, of goddess worship, all that stuff.

It was your Twitter presence that convinced me I had to interview you. You’re such an anomaly on my feed, which is full of feminist call-outs, miscellaneous self-promotion, and cultural commentary. Among all that chaos, you’ll pop up, saying something mindful and serene—you’re like the eye of the storm.
Twitter feeds are dangerous. You have to be careful what you read. I just try to post ideas that are helping me understand myself and how to operate in the world. Mantras, prayers, affirmations—there’s a need for those to counteract all the chaos and hysteria and complaining. We are in a dark place with this kind of social commentary—it’s almost like a black magic. Language is the most ancient form of magic, and so many of us have forgotten that we are creating things with our language. Right now, we’re experiencing a global hypnosis that I call “Kardashianism.”

What’s that?
Kardashianism refers to the worshiping of and desire for blind wealth and beauty. The Kardashians are a group of beautiful, wealthy women who, other than promote their wealth and beauty, don’t do anything, and yet it seems like everyone I know is praising the them as demigods. Don’t get me wrong: Kim Kardashian is beautiful. Her body is flawless. But our obsession with US Weekly, Perez Hilton, and the like detracts from focusing on ourselves and our community. It's escapism, and it’s infectious.

One of my favorite all-time tweets of yours was, “If you’re not queer, you’re not paying attention.” Queerness is trending right now. Mykki Blanco is a new idol. Rupaul’s Drag Race is in its sixth season. Last year, we were introduced to Chelsea Manning and Lorraine Cox. There’s even a petition to get Carmen Carrera to be the next Victoria’s Secret Angel. Even Miley Cyrus is styled so gay. What do you think about this new queer mainstream?
It's so crazy! I mean, gay, drag, and trans histories have varied stories and positions. With trans, for instance, the world is becoming a little more trans-aware, but the trans scale is so wide, and what the media is getting is only this tiny part of it, which is better than nothing at all, but the fraction shouldn’t be mistaken for the whole. And Rupaul’s Drag Race is fun, but why does the title of "America’s Next Drag Superstar" mean that you go on a world tour promoting vodka, get $100,000 cash, and then you don’t do shit? That says nothing about our world or the trans world around me. It was really frustrating to see drag become so aestheticized and fetishized, but without the struggle or community aspect, without the knowledge of how much homophobic and transphobic violence there still is in the world, even in New York City. There are so many people in America who watch Rupaul's Drag Race but who could never sit down and talk to a queer or trans person about firsthand experience.

What do you think about so-called homonormativity and the pursuit of a more traditional or domestic gay life through institutions like marriage?
I think it’s wonderful. Personally, gay marriage is not a priority, but I definitely believe anyone should be able to love and marry who or whatever they want. Or not. Variety is good. Any queer person who’s fighting for all queer people to be the same is working against themselves.

It's a known fact that corporations are better people than people. Mitt Romney knew this truth just as Walter Landor did: Branding is inescapable. It's an intrinsic part of the social fabric of our existence. It's also very lucrative. But when tragedy strikes, who's left to pick up the pieces of a shattered corporate image? That's where people like me come in. As an expert in brand management, I offer my services to companies around the world who might have taken an unexpected hit in their DAU/MAU analytics or scores on Klout. 

So let's check out the latest gossip from today's hottest corporate citizens. 

Courtney Love says she may have found the missing Malaysia Airlines flight, which is consistent with her personal brand image of consistently embarrassing herself publicly. I can offer no new information on the status of MH370, but I can tell you one thing: Regardless of what happened to that plane, Malaysia Airlines as a brand is going to be just fine.

Person/undeveloped brand Hadyn Long, the Flight Centre spokesman, said the company hasn't skipped a beat with bookings since the March 8 disappearance. "It hasn’t had an impact, but it’s very early days. People at the moment are more concerned with what’s happened to it," he said, adding Malaysia Airlines was a respected airline with a good reputation. "The numbers are holding up pretty well." Any marketer worth his weight in content will tell you any press is good press. You have to admit they've definitely stepped up their Twitter game.

Here's an example of average content prior to the disappearance—uninspiring and completely failing to engage their core demographic:

We want you to have your say! Let us know what movies you want to watch in-flight at http://t.co/D6zYvPrxJT

— Malaysia Airlines (@MAS) February 26, 2014

On the other hand, here's a tweet after they’ve stepped into the spotlight, and you now see a sense of urgency that ignites their base:

We share the anxieties of family members & we're doing everything possible to get more status updates on MH370. - http://t.co/xGT1P7SsHM

— Malaysia Airlines (@MAS) March 8, 2014

Championship brands find ways to win when the chips are down. I think this is a great opportunity for Malaysia Airlines to capitalize on the attention. It's time for a rebranding effort, and as the internet's leading brand-awareness ambassador, I'm just the guy to help.

So let's see. Right now, when people think of Malaysia Airlines, what do they think about? Probably the fact that they're missing an airplane full of human beings and nobody knows what happened. OK, great. So how can we use that to our advantage?

Malaysia Airlines could target the huge market and untapped demo of missing persons, and also get bonus wordplay points, with the addition of “International” to its company name.

Another great way to rebrand is to position the company as the airline that tells it like it is. Look, man, sometimes things like this just happen.

Appealing to the consumer's rational side is always a great optimization strategy.

The important thing is to keep people making the association. You want people to remember you might not make it from Malaysia to China, possibly going underwater or being hijacked or being the first air vessel to have passed into the newly established multiverse to forever evade the collapse of society like some sort of Magic Malaysian School Bus.

Man, now the branding ideas are flowing—flowing like pings sent from the aircraft, pings that may well be a distress signal, perhaps from someone on board, like some kind of Con Air situation with a Nicolas Cage type who could take action to dispense vigilante justice but won't because of a solemn vow made to his daughter. Maybe that's the situation on board MH370 right now at this very second. Maybe it's just a matter of time before this hypothetical person leaps up, busts heads, and restores order to this goddamn mess, because somebody fucking has to. 

So there's no shortage of options here, Malaysia Airlines. But all eyes are on you. Time to optimize that brand. Your audience is engaged. The content needs to follow.

How would you revamp and improve the Malaysia Airline brand? Engage my content with your content in the comments.

Grant Pardee is a writer, comedian, and brand expert. See him and other VICE west coast contributors at ENTITLEMENT on Wednesday, April 2, with headliner Reggie Watts, at Los Globos on Sunset Blvd. in Los Angeles. Follow him on Twitter.

Photo by Gabe Morford

Love. EMB. MACBA. Pier 7. The single-word names and acronyms of some of the most beloved skate spots in history instantly conjure up romanticized thoughts of low-fi skate footage that shaped and changed generations of skateboarders. In the upper echelon of defining skate plazas is Pulaski Park in Washington, DC, just blocks from the White House. The main difference between Pulaksi and the aforementioned spots is that Pulaski has never gone through a phase when it was kosher to skate there. It has always been a complete and total bust. Overzealous cops patrol and protect the plaza at the corner of 14^th Street and Pennsylvania Avenue NW as though it were the actual residence of the President of the United States. It is not uncommon for the police to chase, arrest, and ticket someone for just walking through the plaza carrying a skateboard.

That said, it’s a minor miracle that DC-area native and Krooked pro Bobby Worrest was able to amass nearly four minutes of footage (55 tricks in all) and pull off an entire part shot solely at the biggest bust on Earth. We sat Bobby down to hear some of his horror stories with the DC police and what went into making this part. 

You recently shot an entire part at DC’s most famous skate spot, Pulaski Park. For people who don’t know, what’s the history of the park in skateboarding and how hard is it usually to skate there?
Pulaski is a plaza in the city that’s all marble, but that doesn’t mean it grinds like marble. Chris Hall, Pepe Martinez, and Andy Stone definitely made careers out of that place, but it’s always been a total bust. We’re running every day from the cops. Every day. I haven’t been caught in a long time, but when I was younger, when I first started going there, the cops would come around in cars and hassle everyone. I was caught a few times, but I haven’t been caught since I was 16. I remember getting chased around. I got caught and handcuffed and put in the back of the car. They searched my car. They took my board and gave me a $50 ticket. That’s how it is to this day. If they catch you, they take your board and don’t give it back and give you a $50 ticket.

What’s the worst cop story from Pulaski you know?
One summer, cops on foot and in cars rushed the whole plaza trying to bust everybody. Everyone split, and while one of the cops was chasing a kid down the steps, the cop fell and broke his ankle. The other cops caught one or two kids and put the blame on one of them, Mike, saying it was assault on a police officer because the cop got hurt. He was charged with assault on a police officer and had to deal with that for the next year. I think he beat it because he’s not in jail. But it’s always lame shit like that.

Were you dealing with that kind of stuff the whole time you were filming this part? I thought maybe you banged it out during the government shutdown.
No. The government shutdown didn’t have anything to do with the police manning the parks. I think the government shutdown was only for the people working in the office buildings. I was running every day.

Photo by Gabe Morford

Well, damn. How did you manage to film a whole part there then? How long did that take? Would you get one trick, then run?
Yeah, I would come close to getting something after filming for an hour and then—boom!—the cops would show up. So I had to run, hide my board, and wait it out. But we didn’t get caught the whole time filming. I rode my motorcycle from California to DC at the end of July, so I filmed the majority of this in August and September. All in all, it was about five months of filming.

Are you ever going to film there again? Is there anything left for you to do?
There’s so much shit left to do there. If it were up to me, if I had more time, I would still be filming for this little part. There's a ton of things I still want to get. There are so many combinations that you can do there. Some days things work there, and other days they don’t.

Are you surprised no one ollied the walls until Chima Ferguson and Johnny Layton went there over the past couple years?
Yeah, it’s pretty gnarly. When I heard Johnny did it, I was tripping. We always thought Reese [Forbes] would come back and do it. Or Darren Harper might do it. But those are the only people I think who have the pop for the double walls. When you go there and look at it, it’s absurd. I’ve gone as fast as I can and ollied over the one wall and kind of went to the side of the second wall, but I wasn’t even close. I think I’d land on top of the second wall if I got lucky. It’s pretty gnarly.

Johnny told me he thinks Chris Pfanner can kickflip it.
Oh, man. I bet that fool could frontside-180 it. Kickflipping it would be pretty buck. I haven’t really seen that dude kickflip something that big, but I wouldn’t put it past him.

So you filmed a full part at a plaza; what’s next? Full part on some rails? Can we expect some Cold Worrest?
Nah. No full part on the rails, but I have been skating rails lately. I’m just kind of psyched on skating some shit other than ledges again and not forcing myself to jump down gaps.

Photo by Chris Nieratko

When did you officially relocate to the West Coast?
I don’t know if it’s official yet. I’m just posted in Long Beach for winter while it’s snowing back there. I’m planning on going back to the East Coast in a few months when the weather gets burly hot again. I like Long Beach. It’s cheaper and mellow. Cherry Park is right down the street, and it’s kind of like DC in a sense to me. The only similarity LA has with DC for me is that I grew up outside of the city, so I was used to a 30-minute commute into the city, and now, living in Long Beach, if I’m going to skate LA, I have a 30-minute commute. As funny as it may sound, the commute kind of reminds me of home.

What does the rest of your year look like?
Just keep skating. I’m working on some video stuff, trying to film some shit in DC before the deadline for this little video thing I’m working on with JT Aultz and Massimo Cavedoni. We’re gonna call it The Three Pack, like the three-tall-can pack.

Before we end this, I would like to give a shout out, though. The direct inspiration for my Pulaski part was Josh Kalis and Stevie Williams from the Love Park days. Seeing that Sabotage video was pretty inspiring too. It showed you don’t have to film all this Cali shit—those dudes are still skating plazas in Philly. That’s what I want to see. That’s what I grew up seeing. When you grind a ledge, you know you’re grinding it. I love seeing those Sunday clips of Kalis at JKwon; it’s fucking rad. JKwon is the closest thing to Love Park or Pulaski that we have out here, and Kalis kills it. People hate on JKwon, but they don’t know what it’s like to grow up at a skate plaza. Even if you can’t skate that day, even if you’re hurt, you know all your buddies are going to be at Pulaski on a Saturday, so you still go down there to hang out. There’s always something happening, like fights. Bum fights. Luckily I’ve never witnessed any bum sex, but things can get pretty rowdy when they’re smoking crack and shit. A plaza is not like your local skatepark. You’re in the middle of the city, and anything goes.

Follow Bobby Worrest on Twitter or go to KrookedSkateboarding.com.

More stupid can be found at Chrisnieratko.com or @Nieratko.

The Central African Republic's capital of Bangui has seen its Muslim population drop from 130,000 to under 1,000 over the past few months. Over the past year, thousands across CAR have been killed and nearly a million have been displaced. The United Nations recently stated that the entire Western half of the country has now been cleansed of Muslims.

CAR has never fully recovered from France's colonial rule, and it has only known ten years of a civilian government—from 1993 to 2003—since achieving independence in 1960. Coup after coup, often with French military involvement, has led many to refer to the country as a phantom state. The current conflict has now completely erased the rule of law and order, and left the UN and international community looking confused and impotent.

In March 2013, the Séléka, a mostly Muslim rebel alliance, rose up and overthrew the corrupt government of François Bozizé, while bringing terror and chaos across the country—pillaging, killing, and raping with impunity. In response, mostly Christian self-defense forces, called the anti-balaka, formed to defend CAR against Séléka attacks.

Clashes grew more frequent throughout 2013 as the Séléka grew more ruthless. In December 2013, French and African troops went in to disarm the Séléka and staunch the bloodshed. The anti-balaka, seizing on a weakened Séléka, then went on the offensive.

CAR had no real history of religious violence, and the current conflict is not based on any religious ideology. The fighting, however, turned increasingly sectarian in the fall of 2013, with revenge killings becoming the norm. And as the Séléka's power waned, the anti-balaka fed their need for revenge by brutalizing Muslim civilians.

“Too few peacekeepers were deployed too late; the challenge of disarming the Séléka, containing the anti-balaka, and protecting the Muslim minority was underestimated,” the Human Rights Watch said in a recent statement.

The bloodshed has not stopped. The UN is still debating whether or not to send peacekeepers. Even if a peacekeeping operation is approved, it will take six months for troops to be assembled.

Photo by the author

For this week's Mahal, I lurked the streets of the Lower East Side with rapper and renowned lurker Lurkavelli. A member of New Lurk City, a New York City-based rap collective, Lurkavelli creates music with Regular Guy V and Migs Migster. Von Brown founded the group in 2010. When he left to start the Lurk Gads, he chose Lurkavelli as his successor. After hanging out with Lurkavelli in the Lower East Side, I chatted with the rapper, over dumplings, about his rap collective and the Lower East Side's crime problem. 

VICE: How long have you been lurking with your crew in New York City? 
Lurkavelli: Probably since the summer of 2010, when I used to sell shirts I designed. That was around the time I linked up with my boys Von Brown, Migs Migster, and Regular Guy V. At the time, they were supporting and buying merch from my brand. We all built a relationship and became homies. Von was starting a team and brought up the name New Lurk City. We threw dope parties everywhere from kickbacks to lounges.

In what way does the Lower East Side correlate with your lurking and rapping? 
The LES has everything to do with everything I'm about. For starters, I was born and raised in the Lower East Side right in Baruch Housings. I also feel the LES does not have someone to tell its story. Usually people think, due to the rapid gentrification in certain parts, that there aren't hoods out there or people on welfare who can't feed their families. It may not be as bad as in Chicago or certain areas in the Bronx or Brooklyn, but kids under 18 are still getting killed, and it's whack. Just last year my little homie was shot right around my way. Now as far as lurking, this is also the area where the bars and best venues are [outside of] Brooklyn. This is where the scene is at. We have got a lot down here. 

Do you predict the lurkers will remain in the Lower East Side forever or will gentrification force them out of the neighborhood?
Gentrification has been going on for sometime now, and it hasn't stopped us. I doubt it'll stop us in the future. To be honest, I doubt the lurkers' mentality will go away. Only way we're going away is if we [get killed], but even then there will be more lurkers out there.

Follow Taji Ameen on Twitter. 

Children at a Golden Dawn youth club

On Thursday March 13, the Greek Parliament's ethics committee proposed to lift the parliamentary immunity to criminal prosecution for three members of the far-right Golden Dawn (GD) party: Eleni Zaroulia (the wife of GD leader Nikos Michaloliakos), Michalis Arvanitis, and party spokesman Ilias Kasidiaris. The following day, Chrysovalantis Alexopoulos, a member of parliament, announced he was quitting the party in protest of its “criminal” activities, which he claimed to have no knowledge of. Then, on March 18, Stathis Boukouras, another of the party's MPs, was ousted from the GD after hinting he might quit too. Clearly, the Greek neo-fascists are in trouble—already six of the party’s MPs, including Michaloliakos, are in custody pending trial on charges of running a criminal organization.

Members of the GD have been accused of hate crimes against immigrants, gays and ethnic minorities, and to substantiate those claims, we were able to get our hands on unseen videos and photos that demonstrate the depths of the organization's ugly doings. Some of these videos were given to us by former GD supporters who have since denounced the group, while others were formerly available on the party's website but were later removed or set to private.

These videos and photos are significant because when pressed by the authorities, GD acolytes often deny that they've said and done things that they've said and done—for instance, after the alleged murder of antifascist rapper Pavlos Fyssas by GD member Giorgos Roupakias, the party's supporters appeared to come down with group amnesia and distanced themselves from Roupakias's violent activities while denouncing their own fascist views.

But in private settings, where members can talk and behave out of the public spotlight, things are a little different. After sifting through all the photos and videos, we've learned about some of the stuff that the nationalist organization is into.

WHITE POWER BANDS

Michaloliakos and Kasidiaris rage against TV channels that accuse them of being fascists, racists, and Nazis. “Yes, we are all these things for our [country], Greece…" Michaloliakos says at the 8:32 mark.

Four years ago, Michaloliakos and Kasidiaris were the main speakers at an event they christened the “Tenth Greek Youth Festival,” which celebrated GD's Youth Front and the organization's 30th anniversary. Thousands of supporters gathered in a dark room in Athens to watch their leader shout about being oppressed.

Kasidiaris, who was a relative unknown back then, took to the stage to introduce his boss.

“[I'll only say] a few words on behalf of the Youth Front before presenting the Chief,” he began. “For the general public, Golden Dawn Youth Front means chains, leather jackets, and shaved heads. This picture isn't far from the reality, but here you can also find 19- or 20-year-olds who you can discuss ancient Greek history and philosophy with.”

Soon enough, he was playing the victim card. “We saw representatives of the system launching tons of mud at our expense—slander in order to push us to the sideline and keep Greeks away from our call to fight,” he said.

Then Michaloliakos took the stage to rage about the “TV channel bums.” He waved his hands while shouting—almost foaming at the mouth at one point—about accusations that the GD was a Nazi organization. “We are not scared of journalists like Nikos Chatzinikolaou or Yiannis Pretenteris,” he said. “[We do not care] if they call us fascists, racists, or Nazis. Yes—we are all that for our Greece, for our country. Blood, honor, Golden Dawn.”

The speech ended with Michaloliakos shouting “Long live victory!” and a round of Nazi salutes. Clearly, all good speeches should finish off with a song, so after that inspiring show of nationalism the white power bands Pogrom and Der Sturmer got up to play.

Artemis Matthaiopoulos—who would later become one of the party's MPs—played bass in Pogrom at the time. Here's a snippet of the lyrics from “Speak Greek or Die,” the Pogrom song that, according to an account from the Youth Front, caused a “frenzy” that evening:

You come to our country / You have no job / You are hungry like scumbags and you eat children / You speak Russian, you speak Albanian / But now you faggots will speak Greek / Speak Greek or die! / I see them in city squares, I see them in the mountains / I see them at the sea, polluting the waters / But now you faggots will speak Greek / Speak Greek or die!

Der Sturmer's biggest hit, on the other hand, goes like this:

With sword and shield I am standing guard / Against the bastards who invaded my country / Fucking run—run for your life / As all my barrels spew fire to your peers / My weapons will once again become bloody / To end your misery, I sharpen my axe / Negroes, Jews, yellow and red fuckers / Your dirt will soon end in blood.

THE TACIT ENDORSEMENT OF DICTATORSHIPS

Michaloliakos gives a speech outside the Church of Agios Panteleimon.

On May Day 2010, in a speech outside the Church of St. Panteleimon in Thessaloniki, Michaloliakos expressed his dislike for elections. “Ladies and gentlemen, every now and then we have elections,” he said to his followers. “In this country, it is still legal to have any political views you want. We can say anything we like, so they say. I personally wouldn't mind if there were no elections, ever! And there should be a way to end this fairy tale. That's what I say—blood, honor, Golden Dawn. But, unfortunately, such a thing is not in sight.”

MOTORCYLE GANGS

The Golden Dawn's motorcycle gang, known as the Innova Battalion, parades through Athens's Nikea neighborhood. According to statements from witnesses, the pyrinarchis (local group leader) George Patelis was in command of the group.

The GD's motorcycle gang—nicknamed the “Innova Battalion” after the brand of bikes they favored—seemed to be on hand whenever the party needed to scare immigrants or locals who disagreed with it. According to a former Golden Dawn member, the Innova Brigade existed to provide a show of force on short notice. When questioned by authorities, Michaloliakos denied the existence of the Innova Battalion, but the pictures below suggest he may not have been telling the truth:

George Patelis on an Innova bike in the town of Piraeus

Golden Dawn MP and mayoral candidate Nicholas Kouzilos roams around Piraeus on his Innova bike.

PROMISING TO KILL ANTIFASCISTS

Ilias Kasidiaris gathers stones from the road after an antifascist rally in Crete spoiled his party.

In November 2012, the GD threw a party at a hotel in Crete. The speakers at the event were Kasidiaris, George Barbarousis, Nikos Michos, and Chris Pappas, all MPs. Antifascists natually held a rally outside, and GD supporters responded by demanding that the police disperse the crowd. When the cops declined their request, some GD members threatened to take matters into their own hands.

The local press reported at the time that Kasidiaris had tried to break through police lines to fight with the protesters, and that when the police stopped him, he threatened an officer. “[Let me attack them] if you don't want us to fuck [with] them all night and to end up with dead people. Because I give you my word—you will end up with dead people,” he reportedly said.

The video above shows Kasidiaris, in a motorcycle jacket and helmet, picking up stones from the side of the road and putting them in his pockets, ready to throw at activists—a completely normal way for the spokesperson of an entire political party to act.

BEING ACTUAL NAZIS

Formerly private videos of GD supporters show that they made Nazi salutes when the party's anthem was played (and also during the Greek national anthem). Unsurprisingly, some party members have swastika and “sieg heil” tattoos, and photos and videos of members raising their right arms have made their way around the internet.

These days, it seems like GD members have mostly given up the pretense of not being fascists and have started openly greeting each other in Parliament with salutes. Naturally, the GD members claim the gesture has nothing to do with the Nazis and insist it's an ancient Greek greeting repurposed by Greek dictator Ioannis Metaxas.

TRAINING PARAMILITARY GANGS

A few days after the murder of Pavlos Fyssas, the Greek newspaper To Ethnos published pictures of a GD paramilitary training exercise on the island of Salamis. It was the fifth in a series of meet-ups on the island, and the party claimed it was all about teaching recruits about “night survival.” For the GD, surviving a night in Greece apparently requires camouflage, masks, knives, bats, and pit bulls.

TRAINING CHILDREN TO BE THE NEXT GENERATION OF MILITANT RACISTS

Michael Papadimitriou, a local GD leader in the town of Piraeus, often organized events involving minors. During national holidays, GD staff “entertained” girls and boys—some as young as six—with “national awakening” courses that aimed to instill the spirit of bigotry in them. Hopefully, the kids are smarter and more tolerant than their parents.

The highest concentration of one of the most venomous snakes in the world is located about 90 miles off the coast of Santos, Brazil, on a small, craggy chunk of otherwise uninhabitable land. It’s known as Ilha da Queimada Grande, or Snake Island, and it’s the only place you will find 2,000 or so of the wholly unique golden lancehead viper, or Bothrops insularis.

When you step ashore, with a keen eye you spot one of these snakes roughly every 10 to 15 minutes after clearing the base of the island, and as many as one every six square yards in other parts of the island. This means, as you are walking through the waist-high brush, even with some good boots on, it’s like walking through a minefield that moves and, instead of blowing you into chunks, slowly paralyzes you and liquefies your insides, as the golden lancehead does to the migrating birds it feeds on in the treetops.

Well, “liquefying your insides” may be a stretch, but no one knows for sure because no one bitten has lived long enough even to be admitted to a hospital, or at least none of the researchers who accompanied VICE on their journey to Snake Island owned up to that fact. Nor did the Brazilian Navy, who allowed VICE exclusive access to document their annual maintenance inspection of Snake Island’s lighthouse—which has been automated ever since the 1920s, after the old lighthouse keeper ran out of food and disappeared while picking wild bananas in a small grove near the shore. According to legend, he and the members of his rescue party died one by one, all alone and in search of one another after each had been missing for some time.

The golden lancehead is so unique and its venom so potent that specimens procured by snake-smuggling “biopirates” can fetch up to $30,000 apiece on the black market (with prices going much higher depending on the location of the rich weirdo snake collector or, some have speculated, the black-market biopharmaceutical chemists attempting to beat Brazil on a patent).

Is that the craziest fucking description of a documentary you’ve ever heard? The answer is yes. So of course VICE’s editor-in-chief, Rocco Castoro, and senior producer, Jackson Fager, had to go there and nose around for themselves. On their return they said things like: 

“It was like a David Lynch movie through the prism of Satan’s asshole. The anti-Galápagos. Darwin in reverse.”

“[It's] cut off from the mainland and perhaps the land of a long-buried pirate treasure, according to the stories from local fishermen. But they also told us there were aliens on the island, so pretty much anything goes. It’s scorched earth. It's where I would send my worst enemies to live, and I look forward to setting up a business with the Brazilian government to do just that. After the World Cup, of course.”

“What I can tell you is that there are stone fucking steps hand-carved into the face of one of the prominent cliffs, all the way up. But you can’t dock anywhere near there. There’s also the possibility that [the venom] could be used for an anti-cancer drug, or perhaps anti-aging. Maybe it could save mankind. Whatever. They wouldn't have saved my ass.”

“There are blue locusts and so many of these weird, prehistoric-looking cockroaches on the ground at night that it crunches when you walk. Place is fucked. No one is allowed there for a reason. Don't ever go.”

“All that said, great shoot. Great diving, too.”

’Twas the day of Saint Patrick’s, when all thro’ the Smokies,
Many a tourist was stirring, it was often quite hokey
The children were sat on the parkway with care,
In hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there.

350 Santas and their helpers gather every other year in the Smoky Mountains to spread joy and trade tips. The five-day festival draws everyone from the beginning enthusiast to the well-worn veteran. 

The trade show floor is hopping. There are vendors selling everything from novelty t-shirts that say “Got Milk & Cookies” to belly padding and elaborate wigs and eyebrows. Workshops are scheduled every day and include topics like “Customs and Clausing in Other Countries,” “Hair and Beard Care,” and “Sign Language for Santa.”

The mostly male group is jovial and excited to start the public part of the festival. On Saint Patrick’s Day, when one would expect the parkway to be littered with green, people shout, “Meeeerrrrry Christmas.” The Santas, a couple Mrs. Clauses, and a few elves gather at the base of the National Forest. They chat easily in convention mode, sharing stories. The men, with their silky white beards (the vast majority of which are real) and naturally rosy cheeks, stick out in their respective towns, but are happy to be part of this fraternity.

Many of the men are former military members, and they trade jokes about the branches. “You know what Marine stands for, right? Muscles are required, intelligence not essential.” They all chuckle and begin to bust on the next branch. The Santa who will lead the parade in the color guard shared that he has PTSD from the Gulf War and is now a PTSD counselor. Another Santa spoke about his heart transplant and how he likes to give back by clausing.

Most own multiple Santa suits and enjoy speaking about the history and origins of the one they're donning for the day. The Danish Santa is a huge hit with a sculptural piece made of pacifiers hanging from his belt. He explains that children give their pacifiers to Santa in Denmark, when they no longer need them, as a rite of passage.

Most Santas are “on” all the time. Several line up at the entrance to the park and wave to delighted, and occasionally horrified, children.  Once the first float pulls out, the Santas snap into action and start handing out gifts and interacting with the kids on the parade route.

Happy Saint Patrick's Day to all, and to all a good night.

Nashville-based photographer Tammy Mercure shoots the loudest events in the South. Follow her on Twitter.

Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

I’ve loved sneakers since I was a toddler. Jootiyan, the Urdu word for footwear, was one of my first words, according to my mother. She said I insisted I wear shoes at all times, and once showed me several baby photos of me wearing nothing but little blue low-top sneakers, as I ran around the house smacking fixtures with a hairbrush. My mother indulged my sneaker obsession when I wore baby sizes, but once I grew older and more demanding, she reined it in. When I was eight, I began attending a Catholic school where we had to wear uniforms—navy pants and white button-up shirts. There was no restriction on footwear, so shoes were the only way to look fly, and competition was tight. I begged my mom for a pair of the newly released Jordan VIII. “All the other kids’ parents get them nice sneakers, because they know how important it is to look cool,” I complained. She shot back, “Those parents buy their kids expensive things to make up for not spending time with them, and they secretly hate themselves. Do you want me to hate myself?” She was hard to argue with. Instead of the Jordan shoes, my mom got me a pair of plain low-top sneakers similar to the ones I wore in my baby pictures. At first I hated them. Compared to the other kids’ bulky, multi-paneled basketball shoes, my sneakers were meager. My shoes gave my peers a new reason to scorn me. I was already a pretty weird kid, and my weak sneaker game only brought me more negative attention.

When I was alone, I found a way to appreciate my lame shoes. They kept my feet out of trouble when I was exploring in the woods or playing at an unattended construction site. I would sit on the curb and pull nails and bits of glass out of the soles, as I thought, That could have been in my foot. My mom noticed how beaten up my shoes had gotten and told me it was time for new shoes. She questioned me when I didn’t look excited. I told her, “I know I said I didn’t like them, but now I do. Sure, they’re not as cool as the Jordan VIII sneakers, but they’re mine. I’ve done a lot of stuff with them.” My love for my shoes moved her. She smiled, pulled me in for a hug, and then said, “That’s sweet, but seriously, those are disgusting. You’re getting new shoes.”

My next pair of sneakers was different—they were what was on sale at the store. Shoes came and went, but none of them felt as special as the blue low-tops. Years later, after we had left Thailand for the US, I came upon the same pair of sneakers. This time they were in adult sizes. I was a sophomore in high school, and I was still relatively new to smoking weed. My friends and I went on a blunt drive to the local mall. We were wandering around when I spotted the sneakers. I spent the last of my allowance on them and walked out of the store wearing them. I couldn’t believe that my beloved childhood kicks had re-entered my life. It felt like fate.

Later that evening, we went to hang out with a kid named Eric. He was kind of a nut job, but he had a bunch of weed and was happy to smoke us out if we came to his house. As we were walking across the lawn, he opened his front door. His dog bolted out from behind him and immediately attacked my shoes. Eric yelled, “Roxy! Get back here!” and then she left me alone. When we walked into Eric’s house, we heard his mom scream at him about letting the dog out. He rudely responded to her, and they started arguing, making my friends and me a bit uncomfortable. We ignored the argument and went upstairs to Eric’s room. He walked in after us and shut the door, muting some more screams from his mom. Eric sat down and made chitchat with us as he rolled a joint. The room was incredibly messy. I quickly noticed a gross smell. I glanced at my friends and saw that they had smelt the same scent. Eric’s mom’s screams grew louder, so Eric left the room to argue with her some more. As soon as he walked out, my friend said what we were all thinking: “Why does it smell like shit in here?” We looked around the room for a possible source. Eric began stomping back up the stairs, so we stopped talking. He walked in, shut the door, and winced. “Damn,” he said, “that is one nasty fart. Who was that?” We all looked at each other as Eric opened the window. He laughed. “Someone better claim that one. That’s a champion.”

He went back to rolling the joint for about 30 seconds before looking up and wincing again. “Seriously. Why is that fart not going away?” He eyed each of us. One of my friends said, “Hey man, it’s not us. It’s probably something in here.” My friend had upset Eric. “My room doesn’t smell like shit! I think I would have noticed it before! It’s definitely one of you. Check the bottoms of your shoes.” At his request, I lifted my brand new blue low-top sneakers off of his carpet, revealing a massive wad of dog shit. I was amazed that I hadn’t noticed it before—it was large enough to make me walk lopsided. Eric screamed and lunged at me. In one fluid motion, he snatched the shoe off my foot and flung it out the window into the woods behind his house. Screaming, he pointed at a line of shit tracks that I left in his room. He followed the tracks out of the room, raging loudly all the way down the stairs. We all followed him. I saw the aftermath my sneakers had wrought all over his house. Eric’s screaming prompted his mom to begin screaming again. Her screams started to get closer and then stopped for a moment as soon as she entered the room. Horrified, she surveyed the damage. She exploded. “Why is there shit all over my house?” she screamed. She was loud enough to scare us all right out the front door. “You guys should get the fuck out of here!” Eric yelled after us, as if we weren’t running fast enough.

My friends and I jumped into the car, but I wasn’t ready to go. “I have to get that shoe back,” I told the guys. They told me I was crazy, but I knew I was meant to wear them. “If it wasn’t for that shoe, that shit would be all over my sock right now,” I said. My friends were dumbfounded. I ran out of the car and snuck along the side of Eric’s house. Through some miracle, I found the shoe stuck in a bush right by the edge of the woods. I grabbed it and ran back to the car. My friend wouldn’t unlock the door. He rolled down his window and said, “There’s no way in hell you’re bringing that shitty shoe into the car.” He was my only ride home, but I backed away from the car and sat down on the curb. I grabbed a stick and started scraping the shit off my shoe. Right then, Eric popped out of his front door and yelled, “You’re still here?” This startled us. “Throw it in the trunk,” my friend said. “Let’s get the fuck out of here!”

After thoroughly cleaning the shoe, I wore the low-tops until they were completely destroyed, and then I wore them some more. I loved them even more than my previous pair. I’ve piled up a lot of sneakers since then, but you can always catch me in a pair of low-top sneakers like the ones I had as a kid. 

Follow T. Kid on Twitter.

Members of the Green Family, founders and owners of Hobby Lobby, have taken to YouTube to make their case to the public, perhaps not realizing that the Supreme Court is not the court of public opinion.

On Tuesday the Supreme Court will hear oral arguments in Sebelius v. Hobby Lobby Stores, Inc. and Conestoga Wood Specialties Corp. v. Sebelius. Both cases will turn on the question of whether arts and craft stores and Mennonite cabinetmakers are required to provide contraceptives and things like Plan B under the Affordable Care Act if they have a sincere religious objection to doing so.

No matter how the justices ultimately rule, the cases are set to have an explosive impact not only on the relationship between bosses and their employees, but also between business owners and their customers. Although little discussed in the lead-up to oral arguments, there is a complex issue at stake in Hobby Lobby and Conestoga Wood that extends beyond the birth control debate: whether or not corporations as legal persons are allowed to impose their religious beliefs on anyone who interacts with them, an issue that recently bubbled up when states like Kansas and Arizona attempted to pass laws allowing businesses to discriminate against same-sex couples.

To understand how all of these knotty issues are tied together, it’s important to consider the concept of corporate personhood.  No one is claiming that a corporation is literally a person—that would be absurd. A corporation is a person only in the legal sense, a designation that they’ve had in some form since the 1800s.

Yet the concept of a corporate person has only become a political issue in the past decade, and the broader public has only begun to take notice in the last few years following the Supreme Court’s controversial ruling in Citizens United v. Federal Election Committee. The concept of giving legal entities freedom of speech rights has been especially maddening to those who loathe the presence of ultra-moneyed players in the American political theater. Campaigns to amend the Constitution to restrict these rights have gained some support on the left, but the Supreme Court’s ruling on the issue remains unchallenged.

Many are similarly skeptical of the idea that a business entity could flout state and federal laws because its god(s) said that it had to. This includes people like writer and civil libertarian Wendy Kaminer, who wrote in The Atlantic in 2012 that “if the rights of diverse employees in a secular enterprise are subject to the beliefs of their employers… they'll determine, in part, laws governing the rest of us.” (It’s worth noting that Wendy has been an ardent supporter of the Citizens United decision.)

In the past, the Supreme Court has generally ruled against business owners who have tried to claim some religious exemption from a law, according to George Washington University law professor Ira Lupu. He cites examples like Braunfeld v. Brown (1961), which rejected Jewish merchants' attempt to overturn a law preventing them from selling liquor on Sundays.

This lack of precedent was likely at the top of Judge Robert Cowen’s mind when he ruled against Conestoga Wood's challenge in the Third Circuit Court of Appeals in July 2013. Extending such a First Amendment right to a for-profit business would, the conservative judge wrote, “eviscerate the fundamental principle that a corporation is a legally distinct entity from its owners.” Then again, the Tenth Circuit was comfortable finding the opposite to be true when it wrote a month earlier that “corporations can be ‘persons’ exercising religion.”

Planned Parenthood has also jumped onboard the YouTube-campaigning train with this video. What they lack in all-American wholesomeness, they make up for in stick figure drawing. 

So which interpretation is right? According to Ira, it’s not that simple.

“There’s no real case law either way. No case that says, ‘Oh, this is a business in the corporate form, so it doesn’t have religious freedom rights,’ and none that says the opposite,” Ira said. In other words, we’ve entered into a new area of First Amendment law.

The precedent needed to extend religious practice rights to businesses may be coming around the corner, depending on the outcome of Tuesday’s arguments. For some, it already feels like there is a precedent. 

Take Katie Roberts, for instance. Katie has lived in Amarillo, Texas since she was born and now works in the city as a physical therapist’s assistant to help support both herself and her fiance, Amanda Parrack.

On Valentine’s Day Katie walked into a local gym, the Amarillo Town Club, with questions about getting a couple's membership for herself and her future wife. She was curtly told that the gym only allowed couples married in state to hold a couple’s membership—an impossibility for Katie due to Texas's ban on same-sex marriage. After leaving without even being offered a single’s membership, Katie had a strong feeling that she’d been swindled.

“I knew what he said wasn’t true. There are plenty of people there who have been married that were married out of state,” Katie said.

Inspired by the support of other gay families who were denied membership at the club, Katie decided to start an online petition to change its official policy. She’s since gathered about 5,000 signatures towards her cause, many from her fellow Texans, and has been working to inform locals about how the gym is imposing its religious beliefs on others.

“I see this as discrimination,” she said, “and I want my town to be aware.”

It was right around that time that news broke of proposed legislation in Kansas that would allow wedding-related businesses to refuse service to gay couples.  The law quickly died after being exposed to harsh national scrutiny, but an even harsher “religious freedom” law was passed by the Arizona legislature and landed on Governor Jan Brewer’s desk. 

As executive director of the Arizona chapter of the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU), Alessandra Soler spent part of February fighting the Arizona law. She said laws like the one Brewer ultimately vetoed are transparent attempts to institute Jim Crow-style legislation against the LGBT community.

“It’s obviously being used to target the gay community, because people have strong religious and moral beliefs about same-sex couples here,” Alessandra said.

To Alessandra, the idea that “businesses can use their religion to discriminate against people” is legally and historically “unprecedented,” and she may be right. It would explain why groups—including pro-business organizations like the Chamber of Commerce—have objected so strongly to them.

It’s still an open question whether laws like those that failed in Kansas and Arizona will ever stand up in court, which is what makes the coming decisions in Hobby Lobby and Conestoga Wood so vital. Should the Supreme Court rule against the government, Ira said, the political and cultural momentum needed to pass more restrictive state-level religious freedom laws may grow. But the legal implications won’t be clear until the actual rulings come down.

“Whether it would really make a difference, I have my doubts. But if a person in the RFRA is said to include a corporate person, then every state would be more likely to say that businesses are persons, as well,” he said, adding that the court could even go halfway and say that business owners don’t have standing to bring such claims, but that their shareholders do.

Hobby Lobby certainly believes it has standing in this case. In its brief filed with the Supreme Court on February 10—and in many of the amicus briefs filed in support of the company—the lawyers for the Green family argue in no uncertain terms that a for-profit company is not only a person, but deserves the same protections currently afforded to non-profit companies and religious corporations like a church.

“It cannot possibly be right to ask whether for-profit corporations ‘have’ free exercise rights, in contrast to other entities organized in different forms,” the brief states. “The question is simply whether the law burdens religious exercise.”

Even today the idea that a business ought to serve as a moral extension of its owner remains a relatively popular idea. This notion resonates not only with the religious right, but among some libertarian-minded proponents of limited government, a handful of First Amendment purists, and even Amarillo’s Katie Roberts.

“I feel that it’s every private business’s right to stand where they choose on the subject,” Katie said. “You don’t want me there, I don’t want to be there.”

Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

An Atlanta man on trial for kidnapping, raping, and robbing a woman is playing the boldest card in the book: He's saying he couldn't have raped the victim because he's too “good looking,” TIME reported. That's right, ladies and gentlemen. He's so fucking sexy, no woman could have been raped by him, because no woman—or man for that matter—would have rejected his advances. This is his actual defense. The most disturbing part is that this is his second trial, because the first one resulted in a hung jury because one juror actually believed the guy was too damn good looking to rape someone! 

On the grand scale of sexual fetishes, toe sucking is pretty normal. It's the primetime network TV of sexual activities—it's not exactly for sexual newbies, who would certainly mangle the act with awkward hesitancy, but everyone else should give it a whirl. It should be relatively easy to find someone to consent to having her toes sucked, but in Lincolnton, North Carolina, according to the Smoking Gun, the only way for someone to fulfill this sexual urge is to waltz into a big-box store's shoe department, pretend you're a podiatry student, get a woman to try on different pairs of shoes, and then quickly suck her toes before running out. Don't believe me? Well, then ask Michael A. Brown, who was arrested for pulling this toe-sucking trick this week. 

Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Disappointment is a pretty common experience on the internet, whether you're reading fanboy rants about so-and-so starring in the latest CGI adaptation of their precious childhood obsession or lurking the comments sections of, well, anything. There's also the disappointment of clicking a link that claims to be breaking news, but actually contains nothing newsworthy at all. Nothing explifies this phenomenon better than the stories that claimed Kurt Cobain's suicide investigation had been reopened. In case you haven't heard, Detective Mike Ciesynski decided to process a few undeveloped photos from the Kurt case file. Why would he do such a thing? Because they have new evidence that suggests Courtney Love was responsible like we all thought! No, you idiots. It's because, as Mike said, he's “a cold case detective” and “it is 20 years later, and it’s a high media case.” In other words, the guy was probably bored and doing busy work so his boss wouldn't think he was slacking. At least, as a slacker who has been lazy at every job I've had, that's what I think. 

Follow Rick Paulas on Twitter. 

Dir: Joanna Angel & Tommy Pistol
Rating: 10

If you’re on the fence about getting that abortion, you should weigh things out and be honest when asking yourself, “Do I like people more than I like sleep—or vice versa?” Because, as I’m sure you’ve heard a million times, once that child comes prancing out of your pussy you’ve made a deal with the devil and agreed to never again get a sound night of rest.

My wife and I haven’t slept in five years. We’ve already made a reservation at the Waldorf Astoria for September 11, 2027, when our son will turn 18 and move out of the house. We’ll celebrate our first night of uninterrupted sleep in nearly two decades. Like prisoners counting the days, we Sharpie our white bedroom wall with hash marks.

We all know of the unspeakable experiments the Germans performed on prisoners during the Big One. Perhaps lesser known is the next-level cruelty the Japanese administered to our boys, like wrapping wet, pliable bamboo around naked POWs’ testicles, staking their arms and legs to the ground, and then betting on how long it would take for the bamboo to harden and force their balls to shoot out of their scrotums. The awful acts of past wars make modern interrogation methods such as waterboarding seem like an afternoon at Disneyland. And yet I feel if we really wanted to force our enemies to give up information, or simply torture them for sport, putting them on the same sleeping schedule as a new parent would trump any wartime suffering. Every mom and dad knows that parenting is the torture to end all torture!

Before I came to accept the fact that I would never sleep again, I nearly killed others and myself in a car wreck. It was my first week as a parent, and in my delirium I passed a road sign with a truck painted on it. The image of the truck was instantly burned into my retina. A quarter mile down the road, I slammed my brakes, thinking I was going to T-bone the sign’s imaginary box truck. As I swerved into oncoming traffic, the cars behind me either smashed together or careened off the road into a ditch.

In the years that followed, no matter where I traveled, my internal alarm clock would go off at 4 AM local time for fear that some small human would be waking me up by inserting one or multiple digits into my ears or nostrils. And not just to the knuckle! Oh, no—they can get their little fingers in deep, right down to the hilt! These days I’ve got a better handle on it. It’s something like addiction, I suppose. I’ve admitted that there is a problem and finally accepted that I am powerless before it. I know my senses have dulled. I know, from years of practicing in a mirror, how to disguise the deer-in-headlights look that all zombie parents have. I know if you are speaking to me I am not retaining a word you’re saying, and I’m OK with that. Most people don’t say anything important anyway.

The tagline for this Walking Dead porno parody is “A jizz shot was the only sure-fire way to return these undead creatures to the grave!” It reminds me of some advice I was given in my youth on how to avoid impregnating girls: “You can’t get a mouth pregnant.” Perhaps if I’d heeded that warning I would sleep better tonight and maybe even remember writing this review.

So choose wisely. I’m pretty sure abortions are cheaper than a night at the Waldorf.

More stupid can be found at Chrisnieratko.com or follow Chris Nieratko Twitter.

Screenshot taken from Bob Larson's website.

One weekend in February, Archbishop Isaac Kramer got called to a home in Parma, Ohio, for what began as a simple house exorcism and turned into a real trial—the possessed 19-year-old growled, spoke in Latin, and even threw his friend across the room.

“Where the [possessed] man was standing, all the snow melted under and around his feet, and he was barefoot and acted like it didn’t even bother him,” said Isaac, who is the primate of the Anglo-Catholic Church, a branch of Protestantism that borrows heavily from Catholicism. “When I started doing the blessing of the house, he would run out of the room I was in. He wouldn’t want to be in there. All of a sudden, he was running around without a shirt on, and there were red rashes all over his chest… Then he would begin growling at me.”

Incidents like that are what most people picture when they think of exorcism—a personal conflict between a priest and a demon, a lot of drama, “the power of Christ compels you,” etc. But just like everything else, demonic possession has been changed irrevocably by technology. Demons are now being cast out remotely via webcam or cell phone, and the next generation of exorcists take themselves just as seriously as Isaac does.

Carlos Oliveira, a Brazilian Christian exorcist who’s been plying his trade for almost 25 years, first in Brazil and now in Fresno, California, told me that he frequently banishes demons during phone calls with clients. His connection to Jesus Christ, a connection that enables him to drive away evil, can manifest itself on a landline or even a wireless hub.

“In order for me to talk to you—if you are in another state—the only way I can communicate with you is over the phone or over Skype or over the internet,” Carlos told me. “Demons communicate with one another, and they don’t have cell phones, they don’t have internet, and they don’t need that.”

Carlos, who doesn’t strictly follow the Catholic Church’s rules about expelling demonic forces, makes a living as a freelance exorcist, which sounds extremely difficult. He doesn’t charge for his services but will accept donations from clients—this is his full-time job, after all.

“I don’t get paid by nobody,” Carlos said. “So I do ask people to consider helping me out with a donation for my time and for the education. Of course, it’s up to them to say yes or no.”

The issue of paying for exorcisms is a pretty thorny one. Isaac refuses to accept payment for his services and abhors anyone in the industry who does, possibly because priests who charge for their services can come off like con men. That’s not to say there isn’t a lot of demon fighters who regard their work as a career, not just a calling. For instance, Bob Larson, an infamous televalengelist, is now offering to conduct exorcisms on Skype for a suggested donation of $295.

“They’re doing more harm than anything,” Isaac said of people in the industry like Larson. “They’re completely fake. When you perform an exorcism, it involves several prayers. It involves commanding the demons. It involves holy water. It involves other things… that you just cannot do through a computer screen.”

Arguments among exorcists about procedure may sound silly to a largely secular public who see their craft as the stuff of horror films—indeed, a priest in Indiana who performed a high-profile exorcism sold his story to a movie production company earlier this year. People may question whether demons can be driven out via webcam, but mostly they’ll just question whether demons exist in the first place. When something strange is going on in your friend’s head, who are you going to call—an exorcist or a psychiatrist?

“I would say about 30 percent of the time, [our profession is considered to be real],” David Biery, an Anglo-Catholic colleague of Isaac’s, told me. “Our society is becoming too secularized, and people are losing their morality. We have been so desensitized over the last 30 years, and it is making our fight tougher. It seems that these cases are becoming more common.” (Demonic possession might be on the rise as David claims—in January, it was reported that the Catholic Church is training more priests to perform exorcisms in Spain and Italy.)

“This is a calling,” Carlos told me. “This is a gift from God. I don’t cast out demons because of my name. I don’t cast out demons because of my expertise. I don’t cast out demons because I’m powerful. I cast out demons because of the name of Jesus Christ.”

In the final episode of Fresh Off the Boat - Season 2, Eddie explores Chengdu and tries authentic spicy Szechuan, gets buried in pure salt, rides a wave pool with a million Chinese people in floaties, cooks with Master Chef Yu Bu, and discusses the toll modernization is taking on culture, tradition, and food.

Collages by Marta Parszeniew using images by Flickr users poolski, piccadillywilson, swissdave, rasmusknutsson, and jikatu

London gang culture is pretty macho and misogynistic, but underneath the bullshit, gang members are probably just as likely as anybody else to be gay—not that they would admit it, because if they did, they'd risk being ostracized and beaten up. That’s what a young gay London gang member told me when I got him to agree to speak to me, a process that involved convincing him that I wasn’t writing for the Daily Mail, a tabloid that he believes hates Black people, and that I wasn’t a member of another gang on a sting operation.

We were introduced by my friend Mike, a social worker. Mike spends his days talking to people who feel trapped by gang culture, and he put me in touch with a young man I’ll call “Ty,” who has been a member of one of South London's biggest gangs for more than five years, despite being gay.

We meet at a Central London café. After wolfing down his burger, Ty tells me he joined the gang while at school. “Most of 'em lived on my estate [housing project], so it was impossible not to talk to them. My mum always told me not to deal with those boys because they were trouble, but typically I didn't want to listen. To be honest, I really wanted to hang out with them, and when you're like 13, 14, of course you're going to look up to them.”

It was during his early years in the gang that he had his first sexual experience, which was with a woman. “We went to this party, and this girl—who's way, way older than me—just takes me into a bedroom and well, you know what happens next,” he says. Ty was about 13 at the time, though he looked much older thanks to being tall and muscular.

But while Ty got props from the rest of the gang for scoring, he tells me that, “It just felt really weird. I didn't enjoy it much, but I thought that was normal with the first time. But even when I think about it now, it makes me feel sick.”

Ty had questioned his sexuality for a while because he wasn't attracted to girls in school or the girls who hung out with the gang. But he kept it to himself, learning to join in with the chauvinist banter by copying sentiments from rap lyrics. At parties, he would deliberately get hammered and try to have sex with as many girls as he could. It was a good way to avoid suspicion, he says, and stopped other members from asking questions.

Sadly, the depressing charade of chasing women he had no genuine interest in wasn’t the worst thing he had to do to maintain his straight façade. “The higher-up members used to really hate gays,” he says. “It was a common insult they’d use against other gang members, or people they really hated. That might be because they had religious backgrounds like me, but I remember times we used to go out at night, they'd say things like, 'Let's murk those batty men,' or that they'd kill their kids if they turned out to be 'bum lickers.' What's worse is that I joined in—I had to join in. There wasn't really a choice [not to]; otherwise you'd be seen as insulting higher-up gang members, which could leave you with a broken rib.”

He tells me about a gay couple he helped beat up last year. The gang saw them walking along the streets, holding hands and “looking like homos.”

“I was told to help the gang beat them up and [steal] their stuff,” he says. The gang shouted “fucking homo cunts” as they laid into the couple. Ty tears up as he tells me how ashamed he was, so much so that he couldn't look at himself in the mirror for more than a week. “If I saw them again, I'd want to apologize—I did it because I was scared, probably because that could have happened to me. It could still happen to me."

He discovered his true sexuality after a chance meeting with a school friend when he was 16. “We were close friends, played football and PlayStation all the time, and one day I bumped into him on the bus. We started jamming quite a lot during the day, when the gang wasn't really active.

"It was one day when we were playing basketball, and things were pretty heated, that we kissed. It was awkward at first, of course, but eventually it led to other things—for a few months we were seeing each other secretly, not just because of the gang, but because our parents were really, really Christian. For me, if it wasn't the gang that would bust me up, it'd probably be my mum."

The relationship lasted a few months. By the time it ended, Ty knew he was gay. He wasn't ashamed about it, he tells me, but he was scared about the other gang members finding out. I ask him how common homosexuality is in London's gangs, and he admits that it's difficult to tell. “Even if there are more gay people in gang culture, it's drowned out by all the talk of 'bitches,' money, drugs, and so on. Whether it's in chat, or in the music they make, it's a sign that basically warns people not to be gay; otherwise there'll be trouble.”

He does say that it's probably more common than the culture would suggest. “I can't be the only one. There are probably more [gang members] who are gay, bisexual, or curious, but of course no one’s going to mention anything,” he says. “If someone did come out—or someone high up in the gang came out as gay—I wouldn't be surprised if it started a riot or some shit.”

Ty is still in a gang, but he's working at a youth center trying to develop the skills he'll need to start his own business. For him, it's “impossible” to leave, especially while he's living in the housing project and surrounded by fellow gang members at all times. He tells me, “If I left now, they'd come for me. That's for sure. It's why so many young people can't leave either—older members just won't let them and threaten to beat them shitless if they think about doing it.”

Follow Hussein Kesvani on Twitter.

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