The internet's heating up. Screengrab via World Star Hip Hop

Teens are America's greatest natural resource. They're full of new ideas, smarter than ever, and not yet racked with cynicism and guilt. Some of the best things we've got—rock 'n' roll, energy drinks, hickeys—wouldn't exist today were it not for teen demand. Not to mention that teens are sustainable; left unchecked, they'll create more teens just over a dozen years. And yet, to reference a perennial college freshman favorite, the teens they are a-changin'.

The global recession hit those on the low end of the socioeconomic spectrum the hardest. Part time employment and summer jobs are now harder to come by. Consequently, teen purchasing power is on the decline. Plus, teens are good at streaming things for free, and Macklemore made them think used clothes are funny, so they have less incentive to buy new things. At this point, it's baby boomers who have the real discretionary income. As marketers catch up to this shift, the prized demographic will become those over 55. Our nation's youth will be forced to adapt to their ever-evolving circumstances. Will teenage ingenuity emphasize their continued relevance? Or will our younger siblings collapse into a messy room of hormones, broken curfews, and not-yet-illegal drugs? It is with this background in mind that we launch a new column: This Week in Teens.

Talking heads are going nuts over the Fire Challenge. Photo via YouTube

-If there's one thing teens love, it's trends. And if there's one thing local news stations love, it's scaring people who think they might come into contact with teenagers (this is easy to do as teens are inherently terrifying). Combining these two passions is this week's top news story: Teens are taking off their shirts, standing in the shower, pouring flammable liquids on their chests, and lighting themselves on fire. Sometimes the teens start flapping around—because of the fire, remember—before they can turn on the shower, and then the flames spread to their shorts or the shower curtain and they end up in the hospital with severe burns. It's called the Fire Challenge mom, and it's all done in the name of internet fame.

Media savvy readers are probably wondering if the Fire Challenge is real, of if we're being knockout gamed (that is, hit over the head with something that maybe happened a few times). Well, that depends. For one thing, it's on Worldstar, baby, and I've found maybe a few dozen unique videos or photos of people undergoing the "challenge." Apparently there's even been one fatality, a 15-year-old named James Shores in Buffalo, although all the articles reporting his death are spam repositories and racist message boards, and all seem to copy and paste text from the same article. What's clear, though, is that for every video that exists, there are dozens of articles simultaneously decrying and publicizing the challenge's existence. As with so many trend stories purporting to warn parents about what their teens are up to, by covering the story, the media has made the problem way worse. It's safe to say that our teens are almost entirely not on fire. This is all probably for the best, though it is pretty cool to imagine groups of kids casually aflame while loitering in front of 7-11. Just remember: the trick is to put out the fire before the vapors stop burning and your body starts.

-Do 1/3 of teens not know that HIV is an STD? Is this this article in the Daily Beast a bit disingenous for reporting a study's claim in the headline as if it were a fact, and then questioning the study's methods? Am I making things worse by sharing a piece about a possibly dubious study? And what if I'm really, really careful about making sure to wash 'down there' after sex?

-A central part of being a teen is lacking money, freedom, and a sense of control over your own life. Put simply, it's boring. That's why teenagers love drugs. As a whole America is steadily moving toward less harsh drug laws, but on a state-by-state level things vary widely. Case in point: Whereas Colorado has legalized marijuana, a few hundred miles south, in Georgetown, Texas, 19-year-old Jacob Lavoro could face life in prison for selling brownies containing marijuana and hash oil. "I'm scared. Very scared," he says, which is totally understandable given the fact that he may soon become the latest in a long line of casualties in an increasingly antiquated drug war. 

-With their sweaty hair, tight pants, and highly-commodified spirit of rebellion, skateboarders make perfect teens. They're loud, vaguely threatening, and their t-shirts tell you who made them. But don't let the destruction of public property fool you—under their counter-cultural exterior, skateboarders are just like other teens, albeit a little worse at throwing a football. That's why it's so great to watch their toughness collapse in the face of a truly scary sight: angry moms. While in some of the videos the skateboarders appear to be provoking the moms, it's more satisfying when the moms are entirely at fault. Motherboard says that in these fights there are no winners, but that's not quite right. The winners are those of us watching at home. 

Malia Obama and a pal at Lollapalooza. Photo via Twitter user cleaaaaver

-Now that every sound ever recorded is available on the internet, for free, instantly, defining oneself by one's taste in music might've fallen out of vogue among teens. That said, dressing in flower crowns, flag print, and bathing suits is timeless and so is experimenting with ecstasy and making out in public. This year's Lollapalooza was a success, as thousands of teens and non-teens alike showed up to watch performers like Eminem and Lorde, who is definitely 17 and not 35. The real story of the festival, though, was the appearance of 16-year-old Malia Obama. Seeing as Jimmy Carter was already long out of office when his 15-year-old daughter Amy wrote that love letter to The Ramones, this all raises the question: Is America ready for a sitting president with a hipster daughter?

Follow Hanson O'Haver on Twitter.

Russian President Vladimir Putin meets with Peruvian President Ollanta Humala. Photo via Flickr user Presidencia Perú 

On Wednesday, a survey released by the Levada Center, Russia's premier independent polling outfit, revealed that a record-high 87 percent of Russians approve of Vladimir Putin’s performance as their president. This will no doubt galvanize the Western press, since whenever a study is released indicating a spike in his approval rating (as was the case with a recent Gallup poll), journalists tend to leap at the opportunity to use the data to present Russia as a sort of Mordor and Russians themselves as half-breeds gleefully worshipping their power-hungry, evil overlord. The same overused adjectives to describe Putin are always bandied around, words like “stony-faced” and “bare-chested,” as though Russians love Putin because he can flex his pecs while insouciantly fishing out in the wild. In reality, many Russians laugh at his nudist hunting fetish just as hard as their Western counterparts.  

But it’s easy for these crass caricatures and misunderstandings to develop when the data is presented, as it always is, without any cultural context. From a Western perspective, and especially from a right-wing/left-wing binary, it’s only natural to assume that Russians must approve of Putin because they are all radically homophobic, misogynistic, muscle-idolizing megalomaniacs. But Russia is not the West, and in the course of interviewing dozens of people in Russia about their views on Putin in the last month, I found that the perception of the man is rather different when looked at through the prism of Russia’s own culture.

There are, for one thing, plenty of Russians who are rabidly anti-Putin. Generally, they tend to be well-educated, cultured libertarian types who dissociate themselves with Russia (which they find barbaric) and refer to themselves, somewhat vaguely, as European. There are also, of course, many Russians who are rabidly pro-Putin. These tend to be your average machos who can never give any rational reasons (much less political ones) for liking him, suggesting that, like many extremists, their opinions stem from ideas pounded into them by parents at dinner tables—or else the type of family tragedy that led the main characters of American History X to become neo-Nazis. But these extremes are just that—polar opposites—and the vast majority of Russians is composed of people who half-support Putin. They largely fall into two categories: what I call the “Nobody cares” camp on one hand, and the “At least he’s better than what came before!” crowd on the other.

I use the term “half-support” quite consciously. In the West, we have a tendency to see issues through strict binaries: something is either right or wrong, good or evil, fresh or rotten. But Russians live in more of a gray area, and when you ask a Russian a question the answer is almost always some form of: “Well, on one hand [x] is true, but then, from another perspective, so is [y].” The same multi-faceted mentality can be seen in their take on virtually everything, including their president. While in the United States, most people tend to be either vociferously pro-Obama or anti-Obama, just as they are often staunchly Democratic or Republican, the sentiment among Russians who claim to support Putin is not nearly as strong, and is usually accompanied by a shoulder shrug and a half-hearted, “I guess he’s OK.”

This reticence to sing Putin’s praises derives from the fact that most of his citizens are perfectly well aware of the man’s multi-layered corruption, not least of all because corruption has been an integral part of the Russian government since its very inception.

Russians rallying against Putin after he reclaimed the presidency in 2012. Photo via Flickr Vladimir Varfolomeev 

“Putin is the main crook, and everyone knows that,” Vadim, a director at an English language school, told me, reclining comfortably into his swivel chair. “Everyone knows that he controls the entire legal system and the press and so on, in part because he’s very transparent about it. But he’s a strong leader, so people like him. Russians like leaders with a big pair of balls, and his are huge. Putin is a bad guy, but I think one of the reasons Americans hate him so much is also because he makes Russia a strong country, and that scares Americans because they’re still afraid of Russia. But, anyway, what can you do?”

This amiable expression of indifference is common here, particularly in the vast “Nobody cares” camp. There’s a remarkable word in Russian: “pofigism.” It comes from the slang term, “pofig,” which means “not giving a shit.” It’s a darkly funny term, the addition of the suffix “-ism” speaking to the fact that, in Russia, not giving a shit has transcended from a state of emotional apathy into a full-fledged ideology. This is important to consider because one of the greatest differences between America and Russia is that while America is a highly politicized society, Russia is not.

“You have to understand that Russia is a country that went from having a string of tsars to a string of dictators,” an elderly hospital director named Seryezha told me. “So people don’t care about politics because we don’t have a frame of reference to a time when anyone had any influence on it. People in America seem to think that, in Russia, if people don’t protest against something, that means they implicitly support it (like the gay propaganda laws, for example), but that’s not true. It’s just that we don’t have a culture of activism here. In fact, protesting is considered vulgar, insecure and simply a form of personal attention-seeking. Just be who you are and let others be.”

Sergey’s view that protesting is more often than not just a self-involved PR stunt is echoed by many other Russians and backed up by research. A 2011 Gallup poll found that, out of 130 countries, America has the highest civic engagement score while Russia has one of the very lowest on Earth. What that means in practice is that people’s convictions are considered an intensely private, as opposed to public, matter, and thoughts do not manifest as frequently into actions, because the idea that one has the right to act on one’s beliefs comes from a “freedom of speech” culture that Russia just does not have, and never has had.

It’s easy to shake one’s head and think, “Oh, those poor, backward Russians,” but it’s worth acknowledging an uncomfortable truth instead: lofty ideas are a luxury of the well-fed. The reason that we can afford to keep up with all the news on Twitter and then have heated debates about current affairs over glasses of wine at French restaurants is because, on a global level, America is a relatively rich (and therefore spoiled) country. People in other parts of the world simply can’t indulge in conceptual ideals.

Putting on his serious face at a 2009 meeting in Davos. Photo via Flickr user World Economic Forum

The vast majority of Russia consists of lonely little villages frozen in time, places that often have no internet, no cellphone reception, no indoor plumbing, and certainly no Twitter. Russia is populated largely by people like my aunt, who lives in a desolate, isolated rural area near Samara in the southeast. She wakes up at the crack of dawn to feed the livestock, then spends her afternoons trying to sell produce at the market, her evenings taking the cows out to pasture and back, and her nights running around the village asking everyone whether or not they’ve seen her alcoholic husband—and then dragging him home once he’s been found. Any spare minute is spent looking over her son, who has permanent brain damage as a result of a bad polio vaccine administered to him as a child.  Her entire emotional state is determined by a very simple philosophy:

“When there are potatoes, it’s a good day,” she says. “When there are no potatoes, it’s a bad day.”

When I ask her how she feels about Putin, I immediately feel embarrassed and suddenly very aware of just how entitled my “life of the mind” in New York is. Her response is characteristic of the responses I received from many people I interviewed in the provinces, and her so-called support is automatic and a product of what to Americans would seem like woefully low presidential standards.

“Oh, dearie, I don’t know about such things. We’re not being invaded by Nazis and there’s food in the stores, so as far as I’m concerned he’s doing a good job.”

That there’s food on the shelves of stores is a basic statement I heard echoed over and over again—which is now somewhat ironic given the ban on some food imports from Europe, Australia, Canada and the United States enacted by Moscow this week. While Americans tend to admire Mikhail Gorbachev because he “brought freedom to Russia,” Russians remember the last leader of the Soviet Union with a shudder because so many people starved to death or were forced into a life of crime thanks to capitalism’s shaky footing. With all due respect to the noble cause that is democracy, freedom is a pretty small consolation prize on an empty stomach. Or, as my friend Seva puts it, “Americans love ideas, but you can’t eat ideas.”

My friend Anya, an aspiring music therapist, protested against Putin in 2012, but has since started leaning toward the kind of tepid support of the president espoused by most of the people I interviewed.

“He’s a terrible human being, but at least he can hold himself with a degree of composure," she said. "He can formulate a sentence eloquently, he’s well educated, he’s always in control of the situation. It gives ordinary citizens a measure of peace to know that they’re being led by a fully-functioning adult. He’s not a drunk, like [former President Boris] Yeltsin, who was just embarrassing. He doesn’t lose his temper and lunge at politicians, like that lunatic Zhirinovsky [the leader of the Liberal Democratic Party]. And he isn’t a paranoid schizophrenic, like some of our former dictators.”

To Americans, Putin seems horrible, because they compare him to outwardly decent men like Barack Obama and Bill Clinton. But to Russians, he is at the very least an improvement because they compare him to former leaders who set the bar awfully low.  

And what Anya, an urbane intellectual, is saying is in some ways connected to what my aunt, a provincial farmer, meant as well. In the absence of transcendent ideals, people are instead concerned with tangible outcomes. And here’s where one needs to acknowledge another uncomfortable truth: While Putin is unequivocally terrible in regard to human rights and general human decency, he has tightened up what used to be a mess of a country in quotidian ways.

You can’t smoke in most public places anymore, which is a godsend because it means you can have a drink at a bar without choking to death in a steam-room of smoke. You can’t buy liquor in stores after ten at night, which seems to have significantly reduced the number of zombie-eyed men zigzagging through the streets on sunny afternoons. There’s a card now that you can use to ride in the metro, trolleybus, and marshrutka (a little minivan), which eliminates the hassle of constantly scrambling for change when late. In big cities like Moscow and St. Petersburg, the streets are shockingly cleaner and safer, and the highways are packed with BMWs instead of the boxy Ladas that used to ubiquitously sputter black smoke into the air as recently as three years ago. There’s a Starbucks on Nevsky Prospekt, the main street in St. Petersburg. The appearance of this global coffee corporation may seem completely frivolous, but it isn’t to Russians, for whom, like McDonalds 24 years earlier, the Starbucks is a tangible if illusory indicator that they finally—finally!—get to have some of the same consumer goods as those in the West.

An ad for Putin and then-presidential candidate Dmitri Medvedev near Moscow's Red Square in 2008. Photo via Flickr user maailma.net

It’s easy to dismiss all of this as materialistic, even Faustian, but to a country that had so little for so long—many rural inhabitants still have next to nothing—smart phones and cars that don’t drive backwards of their own accord are a good enough reason to put up with a seemingly soulless leader. In the absence of abstract ideals, it is the minutiae of daily life that most matters, and it is these very minutiae that, up until now at least, Putin has cleverly provided.

That’s what makes the materialistic nature of his recent round of bans and prohibitions such an interesting potential turning point. There seemed to be little outrage in Russia over the laws that have made headlines all over the West in the last few years, like the gay propaganda laws, the swear-word censorship, and the blogger registration rule. But there was a visibly negative reaction to this month’s ban on the production and distribution of certain types of synthetic underwear, and the internet is as of now going apeshit over Wednesday’s decree restricting or banning for a period of one year food imports from European countries that have sanctions against Russia. You can take our so-called liberty, but you can’t take our lacy panties and our fancy French cheese. Russians lived too long without it in the black-market days and they will not give it up lightly. So perhaps we’ll get that revolution after all.

But perhaps not. For every person on the internet complaining about these recent laws there’s another one saying, “Putin is doing the right thing. Yea, I like McDonalds, but fast food is bad for you so I’m glad these chains are closing down. Yea, I like lacy underwear, but synthetic material is bad for the skin so I’m glad he’s making them illegal to obtain.” Choice, as psychologist Sheena Lyengar pointed out in her book The Art of Choosing, is considered inherently good in America, but that’s not always the case in other countries, where choice is viewed as a dangerous tool in the hands of human beings. We are, by nature, too weak to do what’s best for us—too lazy to go to the gym even when our doctor warns us it’s pivotal to do so and too self-indulgent to quit alcohol even when it’s destroying our lives. So for these societies it’s beneficial, if irritating, for a leader to eliminate the problematic paradox of choice.

Government systems are like parenting styles. America is an authoritative type, encouraging its children to exercise their free will responsibly; Russia is, it goes without saying, an authoritarian parent, setting strict rules and punitive measures. The highest achievement for Americans is to be “happy,” the highest achievement for Russians is to be “good.” It’s very subjective to suggest which style is better than the other, but the fact remains that for many Russians the authoritarian style is preferable because, on a cultural level, the perception remains that humans are dark and lazy by nature, so it is in fact beneficial to have someone forcing you to be your best and most productive self. And, for many Russians, Putin is precisely that stern father figure whose rules, while undeniably onerous and often cruel, are ultimately for their own good. So while the majority may admit that he is a competent but corrupt politician whose blood runs cold, to them Putin represents the human incarnation of a necessary evil.

Diana Bruk is a freelance writer who was born in St. Petersburg, Russia, and raised in New York City. Follow her on Twitter.

If you’re the kind of guy who thinks the woman of your dreams could be waiting for you in a paid-for chat-forum, let me give you proof that this will never happen: This is Hugo from Sweden. When he was 21 years old, Hugo was employed to hang out in online chat rooms pretending he was "Anna, Dirty Chick, 19" – giving sad, lonely, horny men something to wank to.

I caught up with Hugo to find out what it’s like to be a 21-year-old boy pretending to be a filthy girl.

VICE: How did that job come about then?
Hugo: I was supposed to study at a restaurant school in Denmark, but I went to Berlin in the summer before my studies, and decided to ditch the school and everything else and move to Berlin. I was obviously totally broke, so I needed to find a job – anything – so I did.

How did you find the job?
I would go on Craigslist every day, so at some point I found an ad looking for a chat administrator. It said you could work from home, and that all you needed was a computer. I thought it was pretty interesting, and the money was quite good. It was commission-based, which sounded a bit weird, but I applied. Then I had a Skype interview.

What was that interview like?
My interviewer was a girl – she was the recruiter for the company. I found out exactly what the job was at the beginning of the interview. She fooled me more or less into working as a sex-chatter. For example, she presented me with question that a customer, or a horny old man would only ask, and was like, “How would you respond to this.”

What went through your head at that point?
I thought it was lovely [laughs]. Nah, I thought it was weird, but fun and exciting – kind of like being an actor.
 
What was the job like?
I worked four hours a day, on two different chats. One chat was pretty similar to mIRC. It was a pay-for sex-chat where I was sending out mass-messages regarding girls looking for boys. When a customer entered the chat, looking to talk to “Anna, Horny Chick, 19”, a red text would pop up on my screen to let me know. And then I had plenty of different already written answers that I would copy-paste into the chat along the way.

Then there was this other chat, where a box popped up every time someone got in touch. It had my name, age and a photo of "myself". I was coached on how to keep the customers talking to me for as long as possible; I had to ask open questions, mention personal things and find out about things that the customers liked – anything to make them want to get in touch again.

What kind of stuff was that?
It was about finding out their interests and goals. It was about getting them to love me. My aim was to get them to fall in love with me. I mean, there were these really lonely people that I chatted with all the time. They were just happy about the fact that someone wanted to hear what they had to say at all. It was mostly about showing some interest in their life.

Were there any guys you spoke with repeatedly who would get in touch regularly?
Yes, a few. This was a few years ago, so I don’t remember all of them but there was this one guy who from the beginning said that what he was looking for was an honest relationship. He said: “I used to be a criminal, but now I want to move away from that and find a girl who I can be honest with, and build something beautiful with her.” Then on the other side of the phone was this 21-year-old guy, pretending to be a woman, writing “of course, we should build something beautiful together.” I thought this was pretty shitty on my part.

Did you never think of exposing what it was you were doing?
No, I had signed contracts and stuff. I wasn’t allowed to tell customers anything about that. I could get sued.

For how long were you working with this?
Seven months, I think. It was the only thing I did, four hours a day, which just about covered my rent.

Was there a part of the job you enjoyed?
It was fun in the beginning but it quickly grew old. I mean, people were really hopeful on those chats. You would think the opposite but it wasn’t about sex that much – it was more about company. There were plenty of lonely people on those chats, which is really depressing. So in the end, it was just really sad.

How did you go about having cybersex? Did you make it all up or did you draw from your experience?
When you are a young man you kind of have this inside of you already. If you’ve been watching a little bit of porn, I’d say you know how it works. I also had a bunch of pre-written sentences that I could get inspiration from. Like, if there was a lot of stuff that needed to be shared, I had pre-written stories that I could copy-paste. So if I knew that a guy was really into BDSM, I could begin our conversation with an already written story about that, and be like, “I’ll suck you like this or like that…”

Did it ever happen that you couldn’t be bothered to have sex because you were talking to all these lonely men about sex everyday?
No, that was a job only. I didn’t care and I didn’t think of it as sex. Separating my job and my private life wasn't really an issue. It wasn’t like I actually had to have sex with someone.

So it wasn’t like you considered stepping it up a level or two?
I was actually offered to invest in a chat once. The guys who had set up one of the chats I worked for, asked me if I wanted to invest money in a new chat. They needed a 100,000 krona [€8,000] or something like that and in return I would get a percentage in the business. But I thought that sounded, well, a bit weird.

Is this something you would consider doing again?
No.

Would you recommend it to someone else?
Definitely. It’s fun! Everybody should try sex-chatting at some point in their lives!

@caisasoze

Sunset over Marcahuasi. Photos by author

“What the fuck is that?” I shout, pointing at a light above me. The night sky is incredibly clear, which is one of the reasons so many ET-chasing stargazers come up here to the mountains of Marcahuasi, Peru. I’ve managed to pitch a tent and build a fire, and I’m warming my hands with the flames and the rest of my body with a bottle of rum when I spot it.

It looks like a plane at first, faintly flashing blue, gliding towards Orion’s Belt. Then I realize it’s not gliding at all, but performing a zig-zag that, as far as I’m aware, is impossible for a 500-ton block of flying metal to achieve. It strikes a straight path for the first half-second, then spells a wobbly W, before going back to the start point to do it all again.

I rub my eyes and stare at the fire for a bit. ‘Must be some kind of optical illusion,’ I think—or I’ve just hit the rum a little too hard. But my friend sees it too, and when I lift my head to take another look… fuck, it’s still there.

In the scheme of things, this should be a win. You head to Peru on a UFO-hunt and you actually see a UFO. But now that it’s staring me in the face on the creepiest mountain on Earth, all alone except for my terrified friend—who’s desperately trying to get into the tent and suppress her nerves with sleeping pills—I’m not so sure I’m up to this. Maybe I’d have been better off just writing another gourmet food tour guide for the Delta Airlines’ inflight magazine.

A few days earlier in a Lima café, I’m sipping a coffee with Marco Barraza, who you might say is to blame for this whole thing. I’m asking him why the Peruvian air force has, as of last October, reopened its office of UFO investigations, not quite realising the terrible frontiers to which such an innocent question will deliver me.

Writer for Peru.com and the Spanish-language Discovery Channel, Marco’s a UFO investigator of international standing whose website is the most read on extra-terrestrial matters in the Spanish language, with 25,000 daily visitors. He has been lobbying for the office to be reopened for years—its last period of operation was between 2001 and 2003.

While the name of the Department of Investigation of Anomalous Aerial Phenomena may be pretty enticing, DIFAA isn’t a top secret cubbyhole brimming with the kind of stuff that would get Robbie Williams and his fellow ufologists too overexcited. Instead, it’s fulfilling “a real need”, according to Marco. “Some of the unidentified aircraft—whether meteorites, falling space debris or meteorological balloons—can be dangerous,” he explains. “There are air collisions. And there are many illicit flights, mostly narco-traffickers launching drones. There’s also a national security issue.”

Marcahausi lagoons

Marco isn’t referring to the threat of alien invasion, but issues with neighbouring countries like Chile. Unidentified objects in the night sky are likely to come from foreign militaries, he says, which is why DIFAA is overseen by a colonel from the national air force. He and a civil advice council meet at least once a week to review the latest credible sightings.

“There are some very interesting cases,” says Marco. Sadly, those cases are classified, but one extraordinary incident dating back more than a decade was revealed recently by former DIFAA boss, retired Commandant Julio Chamorro, during a rare interview; then-President Fujimori was on a fishing trip in the Amazon with his full security entourage, when a luminous sphere rose from the water and hovered over the boats before shooting off into space. This, along with frequent sightings at La Joya military base in the southern region of Arequipa, are said to have prompted the office’s opening.

I’ve loved science-fiction since William Shatner first fired his phaser, but to me it’s always been just that: fiction. However, Marco assures me that sightings around so-called “sacred” sites are consistent. One of them has drawn extra-terrestrial theories for decades, so I head there, south, to the Nazca Lines, a series of ancient geoglyphs—large designs formed with rocks or other natural materials—that range in intricacy, from simple lines to motifs of fish, monkeys, spiders and lizards.

The "astronaut", one of the Nazca Lines

The tiny six-person plane tilts 60 degrees to give us a better view of the first geoglyph, a slightly distressed-looking whale. Struggling with intense nausea, I’ve recovered enough to see the bizarre “astronaut” laying on a hill, like a five-year-old’s first Etch A Sketch, only enlarged a billion times. The enormous, perfectly symmetrical hummingbird isn’t so childish, with a wingspan of a little over 100 yards.

Obvious questions have formed since the lines were discovered in 1930s. How did ancient people make these giant pictograms without planes? Maybe, as controversial extraterrestrial writer Erich Von Däniken argued, they were landing strips for alien aircraft. Back on the ground, local tour guide Orlando explains the prominent theories, including the ideas that they’re a vast astronomical calendar, or point to underground water sources. But what about aliens?

“There’s something in all the theories,” Orlando says. Then, more quietly: “I believe that we are not alone. Gods were always coming down to the people. There are paintings on ceramics found on the lines which show winged beings…”

Soon we’re knee-deep in Sumerian legend and whispering about the Annunaki, who proto-historians believe genetically engineered humans 300,000 years ago. Maybe, Orlando suggests, the lines were meant to be seen by “alien gods." It would certainly explain why they’re so fucking massive.

As for UFO sightings, Orlando recommends visiting nearby energetic zones such as the ancient Nazca capital of Cahauchi, and Orcona, where people visit to see strange lights at night. I go, but witness nothing of the sort.

Footage of giant figures recorded in Marcahuasi

If there’s one place in Peru that I can really hope to see a tall grey man with gangly arms and legs, it’s Marcahuasi. A hotbed of sightings and strange phenomena, this peculiar area in the mountains 100 kilometres (~62 miles) east of Lima is little known by tourists. However, it’s famous among UFO enthusiasts, not only for the bizarre rock formations that proto-historians claim are massive sculptures pre-dating human history, but also for the giant figures that regularly show up here.

In truth, I’m as doubtful as anyone. And after four hours bussing it on a narrow, fog-choked mountain pass, I wonder what the fuck I’m doing in San Pedro de Casta; composed of a few eerie buildings and misty streets, this tiny town is the base from which we’ll hike to Marcahuasi in the morning.

The village’s only hotel is spooky as hell, with not another soul in sight, my loudest “Hola!” finding no reply. Eventually, a tall guy with a luminous-green bandana tied around his head turns up to say that the owner is away and that the caretaker will be along shortly. In the meantime, Igo—as he calls himself—enthuses about how very “special” this mountain is. Saving me from another discussion about positive energy planes, the sweet, ancient caretaker eventually shows us to a freezing room with no hot water.

Igo (on the right)

Before bed, Igo warns me of the dangerous power of Marcahausi. People have been known to wander naked, raving that they’re communing with spirits, he says. He himself claims to have seen mysterious figures in the twilight.

Alien hotspot or not, the hike through the hills up to Marcahuasi is lovely in the bright morning sunshine. After setting up camp, there are hundreds of colossal melting faces jostling with misshapen animals to explore in the rocks, while a wander to the edge of the mountains shows that we’re above the clouds. Wary of getting lost come afternoon, we turn back before reaching the mighty tower of rocks known as The Fortress, at Marcahuasi’s farthest point.

Above the clouds in Marcahuasi

As the setting sun turns the landscape a weird purple-orange, I’m finally beginning to feel that there is something almost magical about this place. Whether or not it’s this “energy” that everyone’s been banging on about, I have no idea, but as night brings with it a perfect view of the cosmos, I’m starting to think that UFO hunting isn’t so bad.

And that’s when I see it—an inexplicable light zigzagging about the sky. It can’t be a plane. It’s definitely not a star. And there is no Earthly technology capably of darting around like that. When I retire to the tent half an hour later, I’m no closer to explaining what it could be.

The Monument to Humanity

The next day, after glimpsing the Monument to Humanity—a rock that looks uncannily like a gigantic human head—we have some trouble leaving Marcahuasi. A wrong turn leads us through a field of cactuses, and then, bewilderingly, we think we can see The Fortress. Just as we turn back, mist descends. Within minutes it’s difficult to see beyond outstretched hands. It’ll be dark soon and we consider camping where we are, but there’s no food and little water left. Things are looking grim. It’s like the mountain doesn’t want us to leave.

Luckily, the fog lifts for a moment to reveal a old woman—up here on a search for missing goats—who points out the way. Hours later, starving and exhausted, we make it back to San Pedro de Casta, not that the town is hugely welcoming. Eyeing us up suspiciously, the locals seem like ghosts. Even our friend Igo unnerves me: “I’m glad you made it back!” he chuckles. There’s one bus leaving the next day, and I make sure we’re on it.

Marco will call shortly after to tell me of “a very special event” happening at the end of the month in Chilca, a desert plain known for sightings. International media will be in attendance. Safely back in England, I politely decline. I’ll never know what that weird light was in Marcahuasi, but I’m just glad Marco’s out there looking for the truth so that I don’t have to.

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If you can believe it, this is the fifth film in the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie franchise. No one has ever accused the classic Ninja Turtles origin story of being particularly subtle or clever, but this shameless cash grab remake somehow made the whole backstory of this universe a whole lot dumber. As one would expect, there's a bunch of really distracting shit in this movie, not least of which are the numerous gratuitous shots of Megan Fox's ass. If you've also seen this turdburger (and you should NOT read this if you haven't seen the movie), hopefully you'll find this article as cathartic to read as it was for us to write.

WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS SPOILERS

–Why is the CGI so bad on April O'Neil's face? The Turtles and Splinter looked great, but it seems like they barely put any effort in at all when rendering April's face. It was totally un-believable, and barely moved. And when it did move, the expressions did not correspond with what was happening around the character. Did they just run out of money or something? The graphics were better on Lara Croft in the first Tomb Raider game.

–The Foot Clan was "So named because they step over the people of this city with no regard"? Who the fuck gave them that name? That's a terrible name for a gang.

–Was the opening scene an homage to Fruit Ninja?

–Why is Megan Fox so bad at pretending to take notes?

–How come no one in that lab was willing to tell little Megan Fox to stop feeding turtles fucking pizza? 

–Megan Fox went through four years of college and she doesn't know what "froth" means? What did that entire scene mean, even? It's like it was google translated into Japanese and back again.

–How come that dock worker has Skype? Does he have relatives overseas that he needs to contact?

–Does he know that he doesn't have to respond to Skype calls? That he has to be accept a contact request for someone to even call him? That he can block people on Skype? 

–Can someone tell me why Whoopi Goldberg has no eyebrows? 

–How many times do we really need to hear characters in this film use the word "vigilante"? 

–Whoopi Goldberg runs a news channel but is unwilling to run a news story based on witness testimony? No wonder Channel 6 is getting hammered in the ratings, right? Right, guys?

–Wait, what the fuck, Whoopi? She's showing you pretty strong evidence that there's a vigilante foiling crimes (the graffiti at the crime scenes) and you still dismiss her? You need to be fired.

–Why didn't April show Whoopi the photo she had of the four Turtles on her phone that she's totally cool showing to that Sacks dude?

–Shredder referred to people claiming the Foot Clan was a myth, and he would make the world see they were real. Did the crime spree everyone in New York was talking about not take care of that? Like, the Foot Clan and Shredder were on the front page of every newspaper in town. I think the cat's out of the bag.

–Why would anyone wanna be in Shredder's gang? The guy is a total moody dick. 

–April went to the lab while it was on fire to... save her pets? What about her FUCKING DAD?

–Oh, you say that Sacks guy had already shot her dad, and he was dead? I'm still very concerned that her first instinct was to rescue some fucking turtles. "In an emergency, save the turtles first" is not a great lesson to teach your kids, OK?

–Why did April put the turtles in the sewer after saving them from the burning lab? Why not just hold onto them? They were important enough to save, but not important enough to keep? What the fuck?

–Why isn't Krang in this movie? I would fucking loved to have seen a gritty CGI Krang.

–How did Splinter know there was a bomb on the other side of that sewer wall?

–"I guess April arrived early this year." Really? Who talks like that, except for shitty movie villains?

–Does Splinter not have the mutagen in his blood, too? If it's so valuable, why just leave Splinter and Raphael's bodies down there in the sewers?

–Does April's phone not have a video function? I mean, she can use it to Skype, clearly. Also, she's a TV reporter, and a video is probably more valuable. Why keep taking shitty pictures? 

–Couldn't she have bought a real camera?

–"We will drain every last ounce of their blood to get it, even if it kills them!" What does he mean EVEN if it kills them? Isn't that guy a scientist? How does he not know that draining all of their blood will most definitely kill them?

–The weight of two turtles hanging off of it was enough to make that building start to fall apart? That is one flimsy-ass building.

–Why didn't that guy just walk over to April and shoot her in the head in the lab at the end? Why fire into the barrier that she was hiding behind for 10 minutes?

–Why, at the end, were the Turtles falling in slow motion, but Raphael's big emotional speech was regular speed? Was he meant to have said all of that really, really fast or something?

–Why wasn't April killed from the impact of falling hundreds of feet on to concrete? Did that big metal structure she was inside cushion her fall?

–Donatello claimed he had "always wanted" to flip a car using his cool ninja stick while sliding down the side of a mountain. Really? Had he actually fantasized about doing that? That's kinda weird, but I guess it's no weirder than being a seven-foot-tall turtle.

–Why the fuck did Shredder jump off the roof of the building and grab onto the spire with the poison on it? Ostensibly, it was to grab the green stuff from Megan Fox, but he was in a giant robot suit. Pretty sure he could have just grabbed it and kicked her off the roof, she weighs like, 100lbs.

–Seriously, why does Whoopi Goldberg have no eyebrows? It's freaky. She looks like a California Raisin.

–After saving the day, the Turtles reiterate that they would like to remain hidden, and for their existence to not be revealed to the public. Isn't driving around in a garish, unmarked van painted like a turtle shell a truly horrible way to not be seen?

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This image of a pool on Mars ran in the 2014 VICE photo issue. We asked Zoë a few questions about her work to give us some more context.

The VICE News Capsule is a news roundup that looks beyond the headlines. Today: top leaders of Cambodia's Khmer Rouge sentenced to life for crimes against humanity, Ukrainian official says pro-Russia rebels meant to shoot down a different commercial flight, Egyptian researcher opens museum of torture, and Libyans flee fighting in the capital Tripoli.

Photos by Amy Lombard

When I was in elementary school, I curled into a ball and tried to suck my own dick. I failed, but thanks to a new robot called the Autoblow2, my fifth grade dreams are finally coming true.

Invented by a former lawyer named Brian Sloan, the Autoblow2 is a machine that gives dudes “surprisingly good” blowjobs. Earlier this year, the sex toy became a viral phenomenon when Sloan raised money on IndieGoGo to commercially produce the device.

“I think that if you asked men what their ideal masturbation-improving device would be, many would say, ‘Something that does it for you and you don’t have to do anything,’” he told VICE earlier this year. 

I agree with Sloan and other dude’s sentiment. Since I’ve never had a boyfriend, I have to log onto a smart phone app whenever I want my balls licked. Many nights, I have ended up with an obscene amount of lube in my bum, listening to a feminine guy brag about how much he loves sports as if he was masc 4 masc. On top of this, gay sex is a messy activity that typically involves some sort of combination of lube, spit, poop, cum, and blood. It's disgusting, but having sex with someone you sort-of like—even if you just met them on your cell phone—is always better than masturbating alone, so when Sloane asked if I wanted a review copy of the Autoblow2, I jumped at the chance to receive head without dealing with another human being or gay sex's messy aftermath. 

Getting ready to use the Autoblow2 involves a process as lengthy as gay sex preparation. Before I used the Autoblow2, I had to clean the sleeve that would suck my dick—a beige-colored sack that had a mouth-shaped top and a dick-shaped bottom. Running the sleeve under hot water, I felt like a sorority girl washing her dorm sheets for the very first time. 

Sloan said my sleeve was a size B for average-size dicks, but the cock bag fit on my entire arm, so I'm not sure what average-size peen Sloan has seen. 

Along with the sleeve and electrical cord, my Autoblow2 also came with a gallon of lube. This seemed odd at first, but as I set up the Autoblow2, I realized the robot requires as much lube as a virgin's butthole. 

You can't squeeze a soft dick into the toy, so I doused my hand in lube and then jacked off to a video of a bro in cargo shorts fucking another bro. I chose this video over a video of two twinks going at it, because the great part about masturbation is that you can imagine yourself making out with someone who would never kiss you in real life.

After the frat bros helped my lube-soaked dick reach peak erection, I plugged the Autoblow2 into an outlet. As I held the device over my dick, lube poured out the same way blood dropped from my asshole the first time a guy fucked me in the butt. So far, sex with the Autoblow2 was a little too much like real sex for my masturbatory taste, but I slid my dick into the machine and slid the switch to on anyway.

 Instantly, I felt the device sucking my cock, trying to suck the little baby Mitchells out of me. The blowjob felt rough. It reminded me of head I recently received from a Columbia grad student, who used too much teeth, but unlike the stubble-covered Ivy Leaguer, the sleeve's lips were soft. I laid back and enjoyed the Autoblow2. Tonight, I am going to cum in someone's mouth without receiving rug burn on my cock, I thought—at least until I remembered the Autoblow2 made a loud drilling sound. 

I moved the on-switch to make the roboto shut up—I didn't want my roommates to hear my sex with a robot—and instead the machine made louder sounds and the pace of the blowjob quickened. I felt like Optimus Prime was transforming on my dick, but where Shia Labeouf's best friend's metamorphosis typically involves the destruction of a city, the Autoblow2 only made my spine curve like a 13-year-old gay boy watching Hugh Jackman dance for the very first time. Eventually, I accepted the noise and went with the robotic lips' flow, because fuck the moral of Terminator 2, kids. Machines give really good head.

Of course, a blowjob alone rarely makes me come. On an average night, I pull out of a guy’s mouth and then put my wet one up his ass. My night with the Autoblow2 would have been great if it also worked as an ass machine, but the device is the NeXT Computer of robotic sex toy, not the tablet computer. So I flung the Autoblow2 to the side and finished myself off with my hand. Since I used lube to masturbate instead of an old T-shirt like I typically do, I came all over myself. Sex with the Autoblow2 was as messy as gay sex, but without the fun of screwing an asshole. 

This isn’t to say I stopped using the Autoblow2. A few days later, I whipped out my dick and serviced myself again—this time without the help of porn. Once again though, I couldn’t orgasm with only the machine's help. I had to pull out, jerk off, and then reinsert my cock into the device right before I came. The blowjob was great, but when I was done, I lifted the machine off me and found my dick covered in more jizz and lube than it has ever been covered in before. Even worse, I had to scrub my jizz off the sleeve afterwards, which is insane considering I don't even clean my butthole right away after I bottom.

The Autoblow2 gives some of the best—and nosiest—head I’ve ever received, but evenings with the robot are as lonely as traditional jack-off sessions and as messy as bloody anal sex. Nothing is every going to be as simple as a night with my hands. 

Follow Mitchell and Amy on Twitter. 

The mass protests surrounding Gezi Park, the corruption scandals, the Soma mining accident—none of these incidents will stop the majority of Turkish citizens from electing Recep Tayyip Erdogan as president. Among other things, this means that ambitious development projects and the AKP party's controversial policies will likely multiply. 

Last year's Gezi uprising was sparked by a government project to transform the park in central Istanbul into a gigantic mall. While a relentless police crackdown has led many of last year’s protesters to abandon hope, the problems at the heart of Erdogan’s vision for Turkey's urban development have not gone away. People directly affected by the development of certain neighborhoods are often left with only two options: to abandon hope or to fight.

One group that has decided to take the fight to the government is the Revolutionary People's Liberation Front, or DHKP/C. This extreme-left party—which is labeled a terrorist organization by the EU—is entrenched in many of the disenfranchised neighborhoods that have become targets for ruthless urban development. To stave off the forced relocation of inhabitants, the DKHP/C militants are prepared to combat not only the police, but also violent drug gangs that terrorize their neighborhoods, which they believe are collaborating with the state.

VICE News traveled to Istanbul to meet the DHKP/C on its home turf, document its fierce clashes with the police on May Day, and understand what motivates these violent, self-proclaimed champions of the poor.

Photo courtesy of Dogfart

Whenever I interview porn stars, they mention the production assistants they rely on for baby wipes and lube. I worked as a PA in cable television for two years, so I’ve always found it fascinating to hear my former job title associated with inspecting buttholes and maintaining a stock of lube. Recently, I spoke to Doron, a production assistant for an interracial porn company called Dogfart, to learn more about the job. As he wrapped up a shoot starring a Miley Cyrus look-alike, we discussed lube, updating porn sites, and the other hot, wet parts of his successful career. 

VICE: What did you do at work today?
Doron: Today I looked at a new studio location, then I got back and printed out several model agreements. [Dogfart] had Jenna Ivory shoot a gangbang with 11 black guys—that took a while to do. Then, literally as you called, I was taking pop-shot stills of Miley May as she did a handjob scene. I'm still on set right now.

How did you become a production assistant?
Back in 2003 I was working at a coffee shop, but that didn't pan out. From the age of nine, I was always a wrestling fan—but not so much anymore—so I went to [a wrestling company that employed some porn stars], which was five to ten minutes from my house, to pass out flyers. I met Chico Wang, who was known as Wanker Wang back then. A year later he was running this site called LukeFord.com, which was the Perez Hilton of its time, a kind of [porn industry] gossip site. He was running that site, and he was running [two porn] pay sites. [Wang] posted on Luke Ford that he was looking for a “minion.” I said, “I've always liked porn. I've always wanted to do this. Let me send him an email.” Anyway, he called me, and we went for Thai food. As we were driving in a [car], there was a bottle of piss in the back. He interviewed me; we had a decent lunch. He found out that I had never used [photo editing software] before, or dumped video to tape, or done any of that stuff, and I didn't hear back from him for a few weeks. [At some point], he said, “You know, I'll take a chance on you.” I learned how to set up lights, get paper work done—pretty much all the stuff I do now—and then at some point, he got it in his mind to put me on camera. 

You performed on camera?
I did from [2004 to 2006]. It ended up with girls smashing food on my face while I shit talked them and they shit talked me. 

While you were performing, did you still work as a production assistant?
I was still doing the production assistant role—I was actually setting up my own scenes. I was setting up my own scenes, performing, and then when those scenes were done—and [they got] messy—I would clean up it all. Then the next day, rinse, lather, and repeat.

What have you learned about dealing with porn stars?
I've got to remember that for a lot of the girls we shoot, it's their first time. I don't expect them to knock it out of the park. I always tell them, “Hey, if there's anything that makes you feel uncomfortable, let me know. Have fun, don't feel rushed, don't try to impress us.” If a guy's struggling [to get an erection], give him a minute. The last thing you want to do is yell, “Why can't you get your dick hard?” because that never works. Yelling at male talent, or any talent, never works. You've got to have a thick skin and patience.

What are some of the most mundane tasks you have to do?
Nothing is really boring or mundane. I mean we just shoot a scene, and I'll edit it in like two or three days, but nothing is boring because it's all really important. The paperwork is really important. The lube is really important. Even if it seems mundane or unimportant, it's crucial.

What’s the craziest thing you’ve seen while working in porn?
The craziest stuff has always [happened outside of production sets]. Not so much with Dogfart—Dogfart is cool as hell—but my years from [2003 to 2007], those are the years that stick out in my mind as “How the hell am I still alive at age 34?” Getting robbed at gunpoint, the drama on set—that stuff I don't miss.

You were robbed at gunpoint?
It was an old shoot house that [we worked from]. We had cameras and computers. That's where I updated the [two pay] sites. It was a great place because we had lights; we didn't have to shoot on location or bounce around from place to place. This one day, I was in the living room watching cartoons, and these two guys had their guns drawn pointing right at me, and I thought for a split second, This is just a joke, and then seconds later, when they had me tied up, I thought, OK. This is not a joke. For about 30 minutes, I was tied down with a blanket over my head. [I thought] any minute a gun was going to go off and I wasn’t going to hear anything because I was going to be dead.

Do you like where you're working now?
I'm making the best business now that I ever have. It's cool working for a place where they just say, “Hey, we're just giving you more money” without even having to ask. I like where I'm at now.

Follow Sophie Saint Thomas on Twitter.

As the 72-hour humanitarian ceasefire entered its second and third days last week, the people of Gaza used the lull in fighting to take stock of the destruction, flee the fighting, and demonstrate their defiance.

VICE News correspondent Henry Langston traveled to the Rafah border gate with Egypt, where hundreds of Gazans and Egyptians alike attempted to flee. With only two bus loads making the trip each day, however, many left disappointed and were forced to return the following day.

Meanwhile, in the towns of Shejaiya and Khuza'a, residents returned to neighborhoods completely devastated by the fighting.

As the ceasefire entered its last 24 hours, Hamas organized a demonstration in the center of Gaza City. Thousands converged from different mosques across the city, waving Hamas flags as kids with toy guns and grenades rode on their fathers' shoulders. Abu Ubaida, the spokesman for the military wing of Hamas, said in a speech that evening that if Israel refused to reopen Gaza's port, rockets would once again threaten the people of Israel.

There was another demonstration showing solidarity with Gaza in London on Saturday. It was probably one of the biggest yet. The police estimated that 20,000 marched from the BBC headquarters on Portland place to Hyde Park. Confusingly, the organizers put the figure at 150,000. Whatever the exact numbers, it was pretty big.

As well as the usual chanting, flag waving and speeches that come with these sorts of large demos, there was a bit of direct action at the end. After the speeches finished in Hyde Park and everyone was slowly heading home, about a hundred of the protestors set off down Oxford Street.

I ran into them outside of McDonalds on the corner of Edgware road where they were shouting “boycott, boycott!” and generally getting in the way of the main entrance, preventing any passers by from getting inside for a cheese burger, or anyone inside from getting out. I asked a few people why McDonalds should be boycotted but the responses I got were a bit vague. Someone said that it was because McDonalds is an American company and America supports Israel. The fast food giant released a statement a few days ago distancing it’s self from what’s happening in Gaza after some of its Malaysian outlets were targeted by boycotters.

From the McDonalds, the protestors set off down Oxford Street shouting at branches of other shops they accused of backing Israel. The police were very quickly on hand, setting up a cordon between the crowd and the shops at every stop the protestors made. Police liaison officers in calming light blue bibs asked the protestors not to get too rowdy, and the protestors generally abided by that. No one actually got into any of the shops to cause any trouble—I don’t think they were trying to—preferring to stand outside shouting angry things, or lie down pretending to be dead to evoke what's happening in Gaza.

Earlier in the day, members of London Palestine Action (the guys who occupied the arms factory last week), briefly occupied several branches of Barclays, which they say invests in the arms trade.

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Keep up with what's happening in Gaza with the VICE News series, Rockets and Revenge