Despite boasting an all-star cast that includes Randy Couture, Kellan Lutz, Wesley Snipes, Robert Davi, and Kelsey Grammer, The Expendables 3 failed to rake in much cash at the North American box office. With a final gross of $15.9 million, the latest installment in the epic trilogy also ranks as its least popular entry. Somehow, we don't think that's going to stop Sylvester Stallone from scrounging together enough cash to make another one of these poopsicles. Ignoring the most obivous question (Why? God, why?), let's take a look at some of the other headscratchers the makers of this film so generously provided for us.

WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS SPOILERS

–Why transport a dangerous fugitive on a train? Trains travel on tracks and are very, very easy to follow. Planes, boats, and cars can actually, you know, change course to avoid danger.

–I know disposable movie henchman are, traditionally, not too bright. But why would you climb on to the roof of a train while there's a helicopter out there that just machine-gunned 10 of your comrades? Why not use the cover of the train?

–There's a prison that doesn't officially exist, but with a dedicated set of train tracks leading directly to it? 

–"Tax evasion"? Is this movie really just one long in-joke? It sure feels like it.

–In that part where they're talking about Terry Crews's gun, and Dolph says something about blowing its wad really fast, then Terry is like, "You got that problem too?" and Sly says, "You really walked into that one,"  what one did he really walk into? I can't even find a joke there, let alone an obvious one. 

–Is there a person alive capable of watching Mel Gibson act angry and not thinking about him abusing his wife?

–What exactly are the skills of the Expendables? They're a very loud, very inconspicuous group of idiots who only ever manage to acheive anything through luck. The train assault, Snipes managing to parkour around the harbor unseen, not getting shot at the art museum when the lights were out, not getting blown up by tanks at the end—this is all luck, not skill. 

–"Conrad Stonebanks" sounds like a DuckTales character's name. Am I supposed to be afraid of him?

–Did Mel Gibson just shoot Terry Crews in the butt?

–How do the Expendables have so many outfits with them? Is there a secret cargo hold on that plane that we don't see? Statham's chunky knits alone could fill up a small aircraft.

–How did Stallone manage to assemble so many human beings who look like erect dicks with faces crudely drawn on? Truly impressive.

–Will Dolph Lungdren be going as Claire from House of Cards for Halloween? He really should. 

–Wait a minute, so this whole film series, from the beginning, was about old men rejecting the notion that they're too old to kick ass, but this movie is about how NOW they're too old? Fuck, they were too old in the FIRST movie.

–While Sly is recruiting new members and flies all around the world to go look at each candidate for ten seconds, would it not have been easier to call them? Or rent out a conference room at an airport Marriott and fly them all in for a group interview? At the very least, find out who you're meeting prior to the 20 seconds before you meet them. I know he has his own plane, but flying from Mexico to Vegas to Wyoming to New York City must have taken fucking ages. 

–That woman is a TERRIBLE bouncer. Some guys fight, so she beats the shit out of them, then smashes a glass bottle in a guy's face? She should be fired. 

–Also, why does she keep saying "men" after she kills men? Is misandry her motivation? Are these hate crimes against men supposed to be cool?

–Stallone won't hire Banderas on the basis of his age? Banderas is at least ten years younger than Stallone. 

–Why is the security at that art museum so bad? 

–Why is Stallone so easy to locate and sneak up on? That happens at least three times during this movie. 

–Does every movie really have to have the bad guy captured directly in the middle of the story so that he/she can give a big speech? The Dark Knight. Skyfall. The Avengers. Star Trek: Into Darkness. Now this. It's almost like they do these things on purpose.

–Why doesn't Banderas just go solo? Does he really, really need a team? There must be solo assassins in the world, right? Or is this a universe where all professional killers have to join a guild?

–When Statham says, "I missed you too, you demented bastard," and Stallone is like, "You could've just left it at demented!" Could he, though? And say what, "I missed you too, you demented"? That doesn't work, Sylvester.

–WAIT, is the country they're in at the end of the movie called Assmanistan? Like, Ass-Man-istan? Jesus.

–Harrison Ford is high up in the CIA, and he can't understand Jason Statham's accent? An English accent? How did he get to where he is today if that's the case? Has he not seen a Harry Potter movie?

–Is "Morons needs friends" the moral of this movie? It was said in a way that made me think it was supposed to be poignant.

–Is the part where Lundgren is getting made fun of for having a wrist computer a callback to a deleted scene? They mention he'd previously busted someone's balls for having one, but who?

–You want to know the truth about Benghazi? Ask Antonio Banderas, I guess. He was there, man.

–At the end, in Assmanistan, what exactly is the plan? Walk into the trap in one giant group to make themselves easier to kill? They don't make any kind of effort to sneak up or assess the threat. One of them even says, "You know he has eyes on us." Why just stroll right on in?

–"This is EXACTLY what he knew would happen—us tearing at each other." What now? Surely that's not what Mel Gibson expected to happen? Surely he expected you to get blown up by the dozens of bombs he planted around you?

–After one of the generic young guys killed a bad guy and stole his motorcycle and helmet, how did the other Expendables know not to shoot him? The recognize his clothes or something?

–OMG did Schwarzenegger just say "choppah"?! That's like that thing he said in that other movie!

–Again, I know that disposable movie bad guys aren't that smart, but why take it in turns to try and shoot Banderas and that MMA lady at close range? Why not just stand 20 feet back and shoot them so they don't get a chance to beat you to death?

–Can helicopters fly upside down?

–Who wrote the one-liners for this movie? Were they auto-generated by a computer? "They got valet parking here?" *Blows hole through wall with tank.* "Here's some right here!" What the FUCK are you guys talking about? Are the characters meant to be having strokes or something?

–Did Banderas really say the happiest moment of his life is taking cover behind a table, then murdering two strangers? His life clearly sucks more than he's letting on.

–There have been like, 20 members of the Expendables now, and it's taken them this long to cast a woman? :(

–Why is Jet Li in this movie? So he could get called short a couple of times?

–There it is again! Schwarzanegger definitely did just say "choppah" like in that other movie! LOL.

–OMG! Did Sly just say "I am the Hague" kinda like that thing he said in that other movie?!

–Are they implying that Arnold and Jet Li are gay at the end? Or was it just a weird homophobic joke that didn't really make any sense?

–What kind of karaoke place plays the actual song for you to sing over? Surely there's a version of "Old Man" without the lyrics that they could use?

Follow Jamie and Dave on Twitter.

Photo by Flickr user Ms. Phoenix

I assumed he was probably in his 30s, having only interacted with him on Twitter and never clicking to enlarge his avatar, as doing so would have made me feel like a creeper. He conducted himself with a level of maturity on social media beyond his years—beyond, in fact, the maturity of most internet users. It was only when he announced that he was turning 19 (“feeling old”) that it hit me: this guy is a kid, and he's already done so many things. The hatred was sudden and violent.

I don't really hate education reform activist Nikhil Goyal, but who among us can help but resent his success? We're not angels. And at 19, Goyal has already published one book critiquing the US education system and has another one being published by Doubleday in 2015, The End of Creativity: How Schools Fail Children. He's been named on Forbes' list of “30 Under 30” people to watch and first came to my attention when he was invited to South by Southwest to speak about education reform. No one likes a prodigy, but Goyal is nonetheless likeable and saying what most of us felt when we were back in high school: this is bullshit.

“School is really screwed up,” Goyal wrote in his first book, One Size Does Not Fit All, which he published when he was just 16 (this fucking guy). “Thirteen years of being in the system annihilated my creative potential.” When he was younger, he loved to learn because he could choose to learn about whatever it was that fascinated him about the world. As he got older, he found his creativity stifled, his education dictated from above. Learning had become so very boring.

By the time he was to graduate high school, Goyal was ready to tear it all down. “Reforms will not cut it,” he wrote in his first book. “Only revolution will suffice.”

I was interested in what exactly he meant, so I called Nikhil up and asked him questions.

VICE: Why do you hate school so much, young man?
Nikhil Goyal: Even when I was younger, I didn’t really like going to school. I consider myself to be a self-directed learner and the traditional school environment just didn’t fit well with me. I was told what to do all day. I didn’t have much freedom. And a lot of what was being taught in school, I just wasn’t interested in it.

But I think my hatred, my distaste for it, grew in high school. It was in the summer right before tenth grade, I moved from one high school to another. And this new high school, it was a very high-ranking high school, prestigious, a lot of kids go on to Ivy League and top universities, and there was so much pressure and stress put on the kids, in terms of the college applications and taking Advanced Placement courses, and that’s really where it just came to a point where I wanted to do something about it. I was just so frustrated with the system; it opened my eyes to a lot of the problems with it.

Photo courtesy of Nikhil Goyal

As I understand it, you had issues with the American school system back when you were 15, but they were very different. You thought that school should actually be more of a structured learning environment; the school year should be longer; there should be more homework; more testing. So you’re saying high school changed that?
I was looking at the Indian system—I’m Indian-American—and if you look at that system, they have longer school days, longer school years, more homework, and I was kind of under the impression that was the right way to go. And then I started to do a lot of research and noticed the psychological problems and the stress that was put on the kids and how much harm that was actually doing to them. And I saw that further when I went to this new school: that my previous opinions and assumptions were just wrong.

I said and wrote things when I was 25 that I deeply regret. That’s not nearly as bad as what I used to believe.
Even that first book I wrote. I’m 19 and I wrote that when I was about 16. And there’s a lot of things in there that now I disagree with. I’ve changed my opinion a lot and I think just reading more and experiencing more of the world has given me a much better perspective on things.

Photo by Flickr user alamosbasement

You seem to be going in a more radical direction. I take it you’re not going to quote [New York Times columnist] Tom Friedman in the second book then?
That’s definitely not going to happen. I didn’t read much about capitalism or neoliberalism. I didn’t know as much back then. That’s something I find particularly interesting because I see that many young politically minded people who support the Democratic Party gain their knowledge on issues by reading the opinion pages of the New York Times and Washington Post, which espouse militaristic, neoliberal nonsense. And that's what I did for some time. So I didn’t understand the structural, institutional problems as I do now.

How does having a more holistic view of how schools fit in the institution of capitalism informed your critique of schools? I mean, it seems to be why there’s such a focus on math and science test scores and keeping up with India and China.
Even back then, I was very much skeptical of these international comparisons, but I hadn’t understood how it fit into a larger framework and narrative. Now I see that, for example, what’s happening in Chicago and Philadelphia and other cities, there's a neoliberal assault on public education. And I connected the fact that the tenets of capitalism were seeping into the sphere of education. That’s given me a lot more insight into why these so-called “reformers” are making these suggestions.

And actually making things worse, in your view.
Much, much worse.

Photo by Flickr user smkybear

You’re not a reformer. In fact, you say you’re a revolutionary. So let’s say I name you superintendent-for-life. What are the major, structural things you would address right away?
A lot of my research and reporting over the last two, three years has looked at many unconventional, alternative schools. In the early 1900s, in Spain, there were a lot of schools known as “Anarchist Free Schools.” Many of them later sprung up in the 1960s and 1970s in the United States. These types of schools basically shun every principle of traditional education. They believe that children are natural learners. They believe that children should be trusted and have a voice. There should be democratic processes within the school itself. There shouldn't be any of these arbitrary features such as grades and tests; that children should just have freedom.

I’ve visited a number of these schools that are outside the framework of traditional education. The problem is that the ones we have today are mainly private schools. They’re not as accessible to low-income kids. But there are a couple of them that are not as radical but are publicly funded. The results have been extraordinary. One of them is a school in Philadelphia called “The Workshop School.” This is a project-based learning school particularly for low-income, minority children.

Are you in college?
I graduated from high school in January 2013, and I’m not in college at the moment, but I’m not ruling it out.

Why not? You’re a bright kid. Is it based on your critque of schools?
The primary reason is that I couldn’t go to college as well as continue all the work that I’m doing; I do a lot of speaking and writing, and I’m working on this new book, and I just wouldn’t be able to do both. I think that in the work that I’m doing, a formal credential is not as important as it seems. Having a credential wouldn’t actually be that much of a benefit to me.

Kids who are caught up in this public school system that is stifling their creativity—what advice do you have for them? How do you get through the system without being crushed by it?
It’s a question I get a lot from young people. It’s very difficult because, by law, if you’re a certain age you’re forced to attend school. You have no other choice. But the system, as oppressive as it is, there are some loopholes. If your family is affluent enough, you can go to one of these really great free, democratic schools that I mentioned. And there are some school districts, not as many today as there were in the 1970s, which have programs for kids who are failing or who have behavioral issues—it’s funny because these programs are actually so much better than what the other kids have to go through. You could try to graduate early. There’s homeschooling. But it’s very difficult to pursue alternatives within the current confines of the system.

A lot of people say charter schools are an alternative.
I don’t support the privatization of education. There are some good charter schools out there, but I’m very wary of them. They often leave out kids with learning disabilities. They expel kids at very high rates. They send out kids who don’t test well. So there’s a lot of discriminatory and just really awful practices that they partake in to maintain a really homogenous population of students who just test well. I live in Woodbury, New York. You’ll never find a charter school trying to make its way into this privileged community. You really only find them in poor black and brown communities.

And you’re suggesting they siphon off the best students and artificially inflate their test scores, because they’re for-profit institutions and that’s the best way to secure more contracts.
It’s strings attached, in terms of their funding, for a lot of them. They have to meet certain test scores; it just turns into this ruthless test-preparation factory.

Follow Charles Davis on Twitter.

Welcome to Genitales! For the next few weeks we’re going to be checking in on the state of North American genitals in 2014. We’ll be talking foreskins, vaginal odor, sex reassignment surgery, STIs, orgasms, childbirth, and more. How are everyone’s penises and vaginas? How are we feeling about them? I really want to know. Message me on Twitter to fill in the survey. For the inaugural column, we’re talking dick size.

The smallest penis in Brooklyn and the (alleged) largest penis in the world. Photos courtesy of Nick Gilronan and Jonah Falcon

There’s something fascinating about penises.

In truth, my fascination is less about penises themselves and more about the disjunct between what they are—dangling, fleshy, easily agitated protuberances—and what they are asked to represent: authority, virility, power. They are masculinity’s synecdoche, and rather an odd choice.

For a start, #notallpenises get to be representative of strong, manly qualities. We know the hierarchy: big = good, small = bad. For an organ that changes size upwards of 11 times per day (and even more frequently at night), the size thing really gets to people. As a woman, I get that. I know what it is to consciously or unconsciously size up my body or parts of my body, noting the sizes of others, comparing, keeping track. It’s an enormous amount of unnecessary pressure, and it seems to me that if you tell a man he has a “small dick,” the message is more or less the same thing as saying “you’re fat” to a woman: you are sexually undesirable and not good at being your gender.

While conversations about the everyday humiliations of embodiment in present day North America are common among my female friends, the only men I’ve ever really talked to at length (heh) about their junk have been boyfriends or lovers. I was reminded of something dick pic critic Madeleine Holden said in an interview with VICE in May: “I've come to the conclusion that men face similar (although less intense) pressures to look a certain way, but are afforded fewer outlets to discuss how it affects them. Traditional masculinity requires men to be stoic about their emotional issues and men risk being called pussies and fags if they are openly self-conscious. Basically, men are a simmering heap of raw nerves and unexplored emotions.”

I put out a call on Twitter: Did anyone want to talk about their dicks? It turns out people really, really did. Over 55 men (all cis-gender) responded to my casual survey, including Jonah Falcon, who currently holds the title for largest recorded dick in the world, and Nick Gilronan, the winner of last year’s “Smallest Penis in Brooklyn” contest. Aside from Jonah and Nick, everyone else’s names have been changed. I let them pick their own pseudonyms.

The men came from a conveniently varied range of geographic, racial, religious, and socioeconomic backgrounds. Their average age was 32. The average dick size was 6.2 inches erect, at the high end of the North American average, which is between five and six inches. (I expect Jonah’s 13.5-inch penis skewed the stats somewhat.) The smallest reported penis was 3.6 inches erect. There was a 50:50 foreskin-to-circumcised ratio. The sheer range of items men compared their dick and balls to was incredible—eggs, berries, iPhones, Magic Markers, the classic bottle of Coke, and “about two lighters, end to end.”

With a few exceptions, almost all the guys knew the exact dimensions of their penises—length and circumference. A few claimed to “never have measured,” but even they acknowledged that was hard to believe.

This sample group was simultaneously very OK with having average-sized penises, and not totally aware what the average is. Almost everyone considered their dicks to be average size, even when this was clearly not the case. “I know the average in Canada is between five and six inches,” said Steve, a 25-year-old from Toronto. “So I’m in the ballpark.” Steve’s penis is seven inches long and five inches around. Neil, 37, felt his was “likely below average,” despite it being over six inches (the top of the statistical average) while erect, and “occasionally having problems with lady friends not being able to accommodate it.” Overall, most men reported being happy with their penises, regardless of size.

Photos courtesy of Nick Gilronan and Jonah Falcon

The most concern seemed to be amongst the grower-not-a-shower demographic. Deggy, a 32-year-old bisexual man from Leeds, said he consciously avoids Speedos because of his 3.5-inch flaccid, 6.5-inch erect penis. “I often think, 'If only they could see it erect, then they wouldn’t think less of me,'” he said.

Ahmed, 29, from Toronto, said his erect penis is “slightly smaller than the length of an iPhone 5C.” He started shaving his pubes in his teens to make his 4.7-inch penis look longer, and has kept up the practice despite not really noticing a difference. “I often feel ashamed of the size of my penis,” he said. “We're so inundated in our society that bigger is better, and people are always talking about if size really matters or not; so it's hard sometimes to not feel inferior.” He added, “I've often heard the average penis is five to six inches, so technically I'm almost average, but I still feel inferior, and often wish I had a bigger dick. I worry about my size constantly. It’s definitely something that sticks in the back of the mind and affects confidence.”

The lone supporter of this demo was Nick, winner of the aforementioned Brooklyn’s Smallest Penis contest, who said, “I do enjoy when I'm with a significant other and she looks at my penis in amazement when it triples in size from flaccid to erect. That always seems to wow them.” Flaccid, Nick’s penis is about one inch long. “I’m happy with my penis. Absolutely no complaints. We’ve had many fun times together and with others.”

Most men with small dicks reported finding their penis size unremarkable. “No one’s rushing home to text their girlfriends about it, but I’ve made peace with the size,” said Jim, 30. Men under four inches also reported occasionally being turned down for sex based on their dick size, but most were resilient enough to consider that bad manners on behalf of the proposed sex partner. John, a 67-year-old from Mississauga, Ontario, Canada, said, “Of the eight women I’ve been with, each of them eventually told me they’d been uncertain about the level of satisfaction I’d be able to deliver… only one woman has ever decided it wouldn’t be OK for intercourse.”

There were a few ardent small-peen supporters, too. Kenny, 46, has a penis that is “just under four inches” and “about the size of a magic marker (med size).” He was very positive about all aspects of his genitalia, including balls (“left one hangs lower than the right, but feel great!”), foreskin (“I am great with it”), and overall aesthetics and functionality (“it may not be long but it does have a nice head and shoots big loads :) ”).

While less hung men were either neutral or negative about their small penises, men with large dicks seemed positively affected by the knowledge that they’re packing heat. “If I was as happy with everything else in my life as I am with my penis, it would be pretty magical!” said Stefano, a 26-year-old from Toronto with a girthy seven-inch penis. “I honestly love the size of my dick,” Luke, a Brooklyn-based 27-year-old with eight inches of cock in his pants. He explained, “I suffer from depression, and at low points its been a source of (extremely gendered comfort) for me. I think it’s bigger than the statistical average and that feels great.” As a child, Luke spent his spare time stretching his scrotal skin to completely engulf his penis. “Watching it slowly unfold would provide hours of entertainment.”

Todd, a 37-year-old from Toronto with an 8.5-inch dick, said he was “quite pleased” with his penis. “It never fails to impress. It’s visibly bigger than most other penises I’ve seen. I play a lot of sports so am in a lot of naked man showers.” He said there wasn’t anything particularly remarkable about well-endowed life, “other than how into big dicks girls are… they talk about it throughout the entire experience.” Todd also took the time to posit a theory: “I actually find that girls that are attracted to me are predominantly a C-cup and over. Is there a genetic thing that attracts well-endowed men to well-endowed ladies and vice verse?” Food for thought.

The men I spoke to mostly referred to their penises in the context of others—what sexual partners said about it, how it compared to others’ they’d seen. Average men responded with “no complaints from sexual partners,” while large dicks remarked on women’s positive comments. Overall, if a man’s penis was under five inches erect, he made repeated and emphatic reference to his ability to please orally. “It’s nothing to brag about,” said a man with a four-inch penis. “I wouldn't go showing it off.”

This experiment, like the abortion interviews I conducted a few months ago, reminded me once again how hard the patriarchy is truly screwing both genders. Many of the men said their everyday lives didn’t really afford them space to talk about their bodies and the pride and/or insecurity those bodies can elicit. They usually spoke about their penises with sexual partners or sometimes with guy friends, but the former conversations tended to involve (as one interviewee put it) “a biased party, trying to be kind or preserve feelings or get things going,” and locker room-style conversation amongst lads was largely sexual grandstanding. More than a few of the interviews closed with an expression of relief. “This has been interesting… and to be honest, very unburdening,” one interviewee said.

Unburdening! We need to talk about how we need to talk. And hopefully we will, over the next few weeks.

That’s all for this week! Next week: Tell me about your vagina.

Follow Monica Heisey on Twitter

Your typical Saturday-night, beer-'n'-pretzles-type game of D&D. Photo by Flickr user Spablab

When I was 15 a bully walked up to my friends and me with a shit-eating grin on his face I’ll never forget. We knew we were busted. We were playing Dungeons & Dragons in the library, and we thought we were doing it on the down-low. We were wrong, we were found out, and we were publicly embarrassed. I’ve since forgotten the specific teases and mockery, but the red-faced shame that flushed our group sticks in my memory. So where is the game now? Who plays it? And why does it seem, against all odds, that Dungeons & Dragons is getting cool?

It turns out that D&D, the role-playing game produced by Wizards of the Coast, didn’t die with our childhood. The basics are still the same (all you need is a pencil, paper, and a shit ton of dice), but like a copy of Adobe Photoshop that needs upgrades and re-installation, Dungeons & Dragons has come out with five editions over its 40-year history. And within those editions there were variables, basic and advanced versions, and tweaks to the rules.

The fifth edition saw wide-release across the US just yesterday, but Wizards of the Coast has been teasing it for months. In July, a "Starter Set" was released, which includes 32 pages of new rules, a single 64-page adventure, dice, and sample players. Yesterday they debuted the Player's Handbook. Next month will see the wide release of the Monster Manual, and the Dungeon Master's Guide will be out in a few months.

With the release, all types of people (some neckbeards might refer to them as "noobs") are checking out the game. This past week I noticed more curious hipsters skulking into my local game shop, picking up the "learn-to-play rules" of the fifth edition.

I asked Lauren Bilanko, co-owner of Twenty Sided Store in fashionable Williamsburg, Brooklyn, her thoughts on whether D&D is becoming cool. “D&D has always been cool. Maybe there has been a stigma about the people who play D&D as being not being cool, especially when you are 12 years old and anyone who does something different than you is lame. But in reality, anytime we ever played make believe or acted in a play, we were role-playing, and D&D is a shared role-playing experience. It is just too bad that most of us only realized so late that it was cool! Better late than never.”

So what’s changed since high school? It feels like the tide of public opinion is turning on the game. Sure, the old standbys—snerkling naysayers obsessed with rules, heaving adolescents hoping to role-play a sex scene—are probably all still playing. But when I asked Nathan Stewart, brand director of Dungeons & Dragons, about the game’s target audience, he explained, “Our fans have shifted, but mainly they’ve evolved with us—and with entertainment—through the years.”

That’s an important point. As entertainment and tastes change (we’ve gone from one so-so superhero movie a decade to two OK movies a summer), the fanbase changes and grows in stride.

Photo by Ben Loomis

I like Stewart's use of the word evolve. It speaks to the feeling I get that there’s a growing trend in gaming communities to be less bombastic, less homophobic, less chauvinistic, and more socially aware. Coming from a game that used to give statistical penalties for playing as a female character, the game is now asking the players to think critically about things like gender. Are you playing as a male or female dwarf? Do you even have to make that distinction? This line of thought is far and away from the musky basements of our youth, and steps like this will only broaden the appeal of the game.

Classically speaking, D&D targeted its marketing toward a young audience already mired in the genre tropes; dungeons, dragons, etc. But by the time my friends and I got to sneaking in sessions between the stacks there were no commercials, no subway ads, nothing. It was all word of mouth, and it created within us a sort of cult-like fandom. “Did you hear Pat’s running a game of D&D?” “I heard they get drunk and use real swords!” The mystique, fueled by years of anti-D&D sentiment, was too enticing to pass up. We were nerds, but we were middle-of-the-road nerds. We read The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy because we weren’t smart enough for Dune. We were straight-B students, too smart for jocks to like us and too dumb for the real smart kids. We were nerdy as hell, and we were soaking in a form of viral marketing ages ahead of its time. Get kids playing the game, and get them talking in secret to other like-minded nerds.

Now, according to Stewart, Wizards of the Coast and he are “focusing on great storytelling and making sure we find the best ways to bring that story and those adventures to the fans.” It’s not about the product anymore, it’s about the vibe the game creates. Is it easy to learn? Will you be able to persuade your friends to play? On Wizard’s Organized Play page (devoted to helping people find games at local shops), the only players we see depicted are cool, young professionals—a multi-gendered, multi-ethnic blend of gamers who look more at home on Comedy Bang! Bang! than The Big Bang Theory. D&D may not have any new awesomely corny commercials coming anytime soon, but the game seems now to be pitched to sympathetic (and much cooler) ears.

Another huge barrier to entry in past iterations of the game has been the level of complexity. “We listened to player feedback on how to streamline the game,” Stewart said,  “and have given the players the freedom to add complexity when desired.” The desire, in some camps, is certainly still there. Old, die-hard fans who enjoy digging through hundreds of pages of rules text will find plenty to love with the new Player’s Handbook launching this week. But, for the first time in the history of the game, that complexity is (almost completely) optional.

So to answer the question posed at the top: Is Dungeons & Dragons cool now? I think the answer is, “Sure, as long as you’re cool with Dungeongs & Dragons.” In a world where ironic trashy T-shirts and Warby Parker are the status quo, why wouldn’t a game based around orcs, gray wizards, flaming swords, and leafy druids excel? We’re no longer afraid of bullies, we’re more socially aware than we’ve ever been, and no one’s going to tease us anymore.

Photographer Jonathan Leder clearly has a thing for grainy VHS footage of nude women shoving objects down their throats. The trailer for his debut film Promiscuities shows actress Amy Hood in a series of suggestive scenarios including getting gagged with a curling iron. 

Inspired by Jonathan’s art magazine A Study in Fetishisms: Manifesto—the new film explores the nexus of pain and pleasure. The plot follows a drug-addicted woman named Diane, played by Hood, as she seeks help escaping from her traumatic past. Ultimately, she ends up in the presence of a twisted psychotherapist, who, as you can tell from the trailer, makes her do a bunch of fucked up stuff. You can buy a digital copy of Promiscuties right now on the film's website—make sure to enter in the exclusive "VICODIN" promo code to get 60 percent off.

To find out more about Promiscuities I called up the leading lady and asked her about preparing for the role, getting electroshock therapy, and 50 Shades of Grey. I also asked her what was up with the much-hyped American Ecstasy, Jonathan Leder's sexually provocative thriller that has been years in the works and has yet to see the light of day. 

VICE: What’s the premise of the movie?  Is it based on a true story?
Amy Hood: Promiscuities is an original story written by myself and Jonathan Leder. Back in January of this year, after we published Fetishisms, we began to think about how we could bring the psychological concepts we had been exploring to a narrative film. The film is based on true stories, fiction, and some personal influences.

How did you find inspiration for the story?
The original concept started when we were doing research for the magazine. I began reading different books and was influenced by Sybil, personal experiences, and people we know.

What was it like filming?
We came up with the majority of the story. For certain scenes, we did collaborate with our screenwriters. A lot of it was improvised. I would say the VHS tapes are the primary example of improvisation. Most of my acting background is in improvisation. So you do research and take these ideas, develop them, and film it.

50 Shade of Grey is listed as an anti-inspiration for the film. What is that about?
It is kind of ironic that the trailer came out and it was so popular. I think that is a watered down Hollywood version of what our film is. It is not really the same film but the idea of an open sexuality is a theme you can compare between both of them. I think ours is much more realistic.

Can you tell me more about your character in the film?
My character is Diane. She had terrible experiences throughout her life, especially her childhood. She had problems, which primarily express themselves through her sexual psychosis. She has a problem with prescription pills and alcohol, delusions, anger, and she is extremely self-conscious. She has self-destructive tendencies, all of which are propelled and encouraged by her sadistic doctor.

You have worked with Jonathan before, what do you like about his roles? Some of them are pretty twisted.
They are quite bold, that is what I like about it. Go all the way or go home. Jonathan and I are very frequent collaborators. The roles are a composition of different influences. I like how you described him as twisted. We do characters that are quite demented but in a plausible and real way.

How do you prepare for those intense scenarios?
It took a lot of effort and mental strength to put myself in a darker place like Diane’s head. I really enjoyed being able to work with such a wide range of emotions, having all of the time we had to film really allowed me to explore the many facets of my characters persona.

What was the weirdest thing you had to do?
One of the weirdest things was having a curling iron in my mouth. We also shot some electroshock therapy, which was fun. I went to the hardware store and made a headset, I was lying on the table and would shake and they would shake the camera above me.

Are you still filming for American Ecstasy?
Absolutely. I am so excited for American Ecstasy, especially after going through the process of this movie. Stay tuned.

Follow Erica on Twitter

Photo via the Department of Education

This fall, 500,000 American high school students enrolled in Advanced Placement (AP) US History will be taught from an entirely redesigned curriculum. Instead of quizzing students on presidential trivia and the heroic exploits of our founding fathers, the new test will ask students to think more critically about America’s past. Students will learn, for instance, how racism was a foundational ideology of the early colonists and that immigrants have long been exploited for their labor.

This all seems entirely appropriate for an AP history class, which is after all intended to offer challenging coursework to gifted high school students on their way to college. Colonists in America killed off indigenous peoples and enslaved men, women and children from Africa; it’s not an anti-American stretch to call them racists, even if it’s a blow to the national ego. But to hear some conservatives describe it, our best and brightest are being taught to hate their homeland.

Peter Wood of the right-wing National Association of Scholars calls the new test “a briefing document on progressive and leftist views of the American past,” which is to say: bad. Glenn Beck’s been nursing public outrage all summer, while Concerned Women for America, a Christian group, is encouraging its members to complain to the College Board, the nonprofit that drafts the AP exam.

The Republican National Committee (RNC), meanwhile, is accusing the College Board of presenting a “radical” and “inaccurate” version of US history. It’s demanding that the new curriculum be changed to “accurately reflect US history without political bias.”

Ken Mercer, a Republican member of the Texas School Board, is especially worked up by the new AP guidelines. He told me that he’s trying to delay their implementation in Texas until the College Board balances out all the “negative stuff” about America. He can’t recall much about his own high school history class, but he told me that learning about all the “great American battles” helped him develop his own sense of patriotism.

“Those great generals in the Civil War, crushing Germany in World War II, that’s all that really stands out to me,” said Mercer. The problem with the new curriculum, in his view, is that “there’s nothing in there about our military and all those victories.”

When the RNC accuses the AP test of “political bias,” what they really mean is that the test has the wrong kind of bias. Republicans like Mercer want history to be a celebration of America and a confirmation of American exceptionalism—the notion that America is unique among nation-states in its commitment to liberty, which it has a right to spread around the globe. This version of history teaches that America is flawed but lovable and capable of correcting its minor errors. In this fairytale version of history, there are no winners or losers; we all are blessed to be born in America.

A Republican history book. Photo via Flickr user tom1231

There are of, course, other ways to understand US history. Prominent historians like Charles Beard, and later Howard Zinn and Michael Parenti, have argued that American history is, at its core, the story of a bunch of rich white guys and how they pillaged their way to the top. The best-known example is Zinn’s A People’s History of the United States, a disturbing book that tells the American experience from the perspective of those left out left out of traditional history books: the poor and disenfranchised. For Zinn, the only thing exceptional about America is the exceptional amount volume suffering endured by Native Americans, blacks, workers, and immigrants on whose back this country was built.

Despite what some conservatives suggest, the new AP curriculum is no People’s History. But it’s also not just feel-good patriotism given a historical gloss, which is enough to make some people angry.

One critique is that the new curriculum does not specifically mention certain Americans that we all are supposed to love, such as Thomas Jefferson and Ben Franklin. It “sidesteps any discussion of the personalities and achievements of American giants whose courage and conviction helped build the United States,” complained Jane Robinson and Larry Krieger in a widely-shared article for the conservative Heartland Institute.

This critique doesn’t stand up to scrutiny. David Kennedy teaches history at Stanford University and is the author of American Pageant, the most-used AP US History textbook. He’s also an advisor to the College Board and served on the committee that oversaw the curriculum overhaul.  He told me that for years he’d been hearing complaints from AP teachers across the country that the old curriculum required students to memorize too many names, dates, and laws, while not allowing time for historical context. Students just didn’t have room in their brains for all that information so, this time around, teachers can choose which topics and historical figures to emphasize in class.

At the same time, AP classes are required to assign reading from a college-level textbook, all of which include detailed accounts of the founding fathers and their exploits. So students who do the reading will not miss out on Franklin, the kite, the printing press, or the sexual adventures in Paris.

What seems to bother conservatives is that some high schoolers will be exposed to an unvarnished version of America’s founding and expansion. The curriculum notes, for instance, that Manifest Destiny—which colonizers believed entitled them to indigenous people’s land, from sea to shining sea—was premised on a belief in “white racial superiority.” Stanley Kurtz, an influential columnist for the conservative National Review, calls the new standards an attack on the “traditional way” of teaching history, which he takes to mean memorizing names, dates and touching stories about the founding fathers.  By contextualizing Manifest Destiny within the rampant racism of 19th century America, the new test “forces teachers to train their students in a leftist, blame-America-first reading of history,” he complained.

The test, of course, doesn't force teachers to do anything of the sort. It was designed by a group of mainstream American historians and educators, not the Black Panther Party. What is true is that the curriculum asks students to view American history more thematically and, in so doing, encourages them to pick up on patterns of oppression, exploitation, and exclusion that run throughout our nation’s past. The test emphasizes historical themes like identity, ideas, work, and power, that can be leveraged to either celebrate or critique America’s past. An attentive student may realize, with the help of these handy themes, that historically xenophobia is an idea that people in power exploit to get immigrants to work for way less money than they deserve.

The AP exam might, for example, ask students to explain the historical factors that contributed to an iconic photo, such as this one of children sleeping on the streets of New York in 1890. Photo by Jacob Riis, via Wikimedia

Some students may even begin to spot parallels between their coursework and contemporary events. The section on World War II, for example, suggests that teachers balance discussions of American military and geopolitical expansion with the restriction of rights at home and the internment of Japanese Americans. Does war and the maintenance of an empire abroad lead to a loss of civil rights at home?

According to AP teachers, the new test is designed to encourage students to develop their own perspectives grounded in historical evidence. The new sample essay questions released by the College Board, for instance, emphasize what teachers call “historical thinking skills.” Students could be asked to assess whether the establishment of the USA was a legitimate “revolution,” or weigh in on the merits of America’s expansion in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

It’s not surprising that the RNC wants students to become patriots who buy into American exceptionalism. But for teachers, exploring the unsavory side of US history is a pedagogical necessity. The notion that history curriculum should be ‘rebalanced” at the request of politicians strikes many AP teachers as an inappropriate and dangerous violation of educational autonomy.

Richard Stewart, an AP US History teacher at Choate Rosemary Hall, a prestigious boarding school in Wallingford, Connecticut, thinks that the critics of the new curriculum are political opportunists who don’t understand how the test works. He’s been teaching the exam for over 25 years, trains other AP teachers for the College Board, and says he has studied the new guidelines closely. He laughs off the suggestion that the test is “anti-American,” saying that “some people may want this to be a course in patriotism, but that’s not what I’m here to do.”

The College Board has been incredibly accommodating to its critics. College Board President David Coleman labeled the controversy a matter of  “principled confusion.” Though the College Board did not respond to request for comment, Coleman has chatted on the phone several times with Ken Mercer of the Texas School Board, and tried to reassure im that the test isn’t “anti-American.” The College Board also released a sample test and a “fact-sheet” to dispel some of the misinformation about the curriculum.

Undeterred, conservatives are dialing up the rhetoric. Last week, the RNC requested that the federal government withdraw financial support from the College Board, and the Concerned Women for America is circulating an action alert asking that its members threaten to take their kids out of AP classes if the curriculum isn’t revised. But despite the criticism, the curriculum is scheduled to take effect on time at the beginning of this school year. Come September, around half-a-million college-bound youngsters will start drilling for a standardized test that many Republicans think will encourage them to hate America.

Follow Avi Asher-Shapiro on Twitter.

Welcome to Big Valley Jamboree, one of the biggest country music festivals on the continent. Tucked away in the small central Albertan town of Camrose, this festival featured the big shots of country music like Miranda Lambert and Zac Brown. A paradise for country music and country music lovers.

“Fuck the music, I’m here to party.”

That line was repeated over and over—like some weird hick mantra. I wandered the grounds with my camera and found it difficult to find a sober cowboy.

Midway through the night I stumbled upon a strange paradox. Men—lots of them in full-blown cowboy attire: hat, boots, belt buckle, the whole shebang—losing their shit to crunchy EDM. The beats were coming from group of people who must have reserved multiple campsites. They brought in lights and a massive amount of sound equipment and once the main stage had finished, they started churning out facemelting drops, and people flocked to the makeshift club.

What was touted as the event for a true blue country music fan, by nightfall had somehow morphed into a bizarre cowboy rave. A gaucho dance party. A bunch of white dudes dressed head to toe in denim flailing to the sounds of Steve Aoki. All the while trying to get into the cut off jean shorts of the nearest pretty blonde.

Just north of the raves, and a quick right from proudly hung confederate flags, I found a bus converted into a half-assed RV, an old truck box ingeniously reworked into a working hot tub, and a plethora of old beaten up trailers with “Panty Dropper” or “The Low Standards Motel” spray painted on the sides.

The whole experience was a mind-boggling mixture of an underground club scene served with a heaping helping of country twang. It all seemed very off, but in the end it kind of worked. 

Rave on Cowboys…. Rave on.


@macklamoureux

The film Jaws was released in the summer of 1975. It slowly made its way to beach towns around the world, inspiring nightmares and cementing sunbathers to the sand. When Jaws arrived in Mogadishu, Somalia, people might have thought New England was a nearby place, and even that the film was about their own town.

Between 1978 and 1987, 30 shark attacks were documented off of Mogadishu’s famous Lido Beach. All but two were fatal. The construction of a new port had broken through coral reefs, allowing bull and tiger sharks to come closer to shore. Most of the fatalities occurred in the summer months of the monsoon, when the salinity of the water attracted even more sharks. During these years, the rains coincided with Ramadan, just as the abattoir up the coast went into high gear, throwing entrails of goats, camels, and cattle into the water.

Mogadishu in the 80s was a capital of wide, tree-lined streets, coral-stone homes, and a famous Indian Ocean breeze. Since it was settled around a thousand years ago, it has occupied a space at the crossroads of the Mediterranean, African, Asian, and Arab worlds. The openness of its people, a seaside virtue, is on display at the beaches, especially along popular Lido, in the center of town. Back then, a running club met once a week there. Somalis and expatriates jogged together in shorts, the women unveiled. Stalls lined the street behind Lido where kids would sell sea exotica and ivory. Beach clubs dotted the stretch of sand, where you could have lunch on the deck and watch people wade into the water.

The slaughterhouse along the coast that brought the sharks was always busy. Somali society centered on livestock, especially camels; despite having the longest coastline on the continent, Somalis never ate much fish. President Siad Barre, who had come to power in a 1969 military coup, set about establishing fishing cooperatives and declared two days of the week as fish-eating days to stave off food shortages.

Eventually, Somalis tired of Barre’s brand of scientific socialism. In practice it came to focus more on elaborate displays of statehood—constructing dozens of monuments and organizing regular parades—than on the actual workings of a state. His style of management stood at odds with the population he sought to control, for which self-reliance and private enterprise has always reigned. Finally, mired in corruption and weakened by several clan-based armed opposition groups, the government fell in 1991. Barre fled the country, and the national army dissolved.

So began a war whose end we have not yet seen.

Divisive clan politics laid waste to Somali society, and a catastrophic famine accompanied state collapse. More than 300,000 people died of hunger the following year, prompting the first of many botched international interventions.

One morning before dawn in December 1992, more than 100 foreign journalists waited on a beach just south of Lido. They watched the dark ocean, looking for signs of a supposedly secret US Marines operation intended to pave the way for food distribution. A CBS news crew caught the arrival of the advance reconnaissance team with night-vision scopes, and they broadcast it live. “This is literally a three-ring circus here on this beach right now,” a captain shouted over to the press corps.

For the next 20 years Mogadishu’s beaches were quieter. People stayed indoors, fearful of spontaneous firefights that pockmarked the city’s white coral walls and left rubble in most streets. Breaks in the violence never lasted long.

When I visited in January, the peace on Lido did not feel like a mirage. Facing the sea, my back to the ruins, I could almost touch it. The throngs of people were thick, and walking through them made me think it would be impossible to feel lonely in this city, if only because of the beach. It was Friday, a holiday, and everyone was here.

Ever since fundamentalist al Shabaab militants were chased from the city by an African Union peacekeeping force three years ago, Lido Beach has become a trope for peace, the stage for Mogadishu’s renaissance. Journalists get their color from Lido, describing the azure water and the reopened cafés. Last year, a seaside restaurant was bombed—a symptom of al Shabaab’s changing strategy in Mogadishu, where they now pursue guerrilla-style IED and suicide attacks.

These days, private security guards surround the perimeters of the cafés. Kalashnikovs hang loosely around the arms of men who have worn them for one militia or another their entire adult lives—and in some cases even since childhood. Behind them, young members of the Somali diaspora from Canada, Sweden, and Britain sit at tables sipping lattes. Many of them now work for the new government. Before coming back, their memories of the city were filled in by parents who knew Lido before the war.

We had come to take portraits on the beach and were setting up our lights on the balcony of a restaurant. The security team we’d hired blended in easily. To hold the table, we ordered a pitcher of mango juice—which no one really drank and instead just got in the way of all the batteries and lenses. Everyone watched us. Our gear and frantic preparations prompted many English speakers to come over and ask what we were up to. Protected by the restaurant’s own security detail and high barbed-wire fences, they loved the idea, they said. They wanted to show the world Somalia’s positive side. But they did not want to be photographed themselves.

People on the beach were more willing. Groups of young boys volunteered one another to be subjects. Some put piles of sand on their heads to get our attention. Soon we had to start turning people away.

The photos have no agenda, aside from trying to show normalcy, to introduce images of daily life from a country where the ordinary, to an outsider, is remarkable. If they were to contain a political statement about the direction of Somalia, they would serve to ignore the turbulence of the country’s past. The images are records of who was on Lido Beach on a day in late January—what they wore and whether they were smiling.

After a string of deadly attacks in Mogadishu and neighboring Kenya earlier this year, al Shabaab threatened to scale up bombings during Ramadan. The Somali police closed the beach in response. The crowds have gone once again.

Roopa Gogineni

I’ve always admired Timothy Willis Sanders’s ability to walk the line between the commonplace and the fantastic, within the frame of the everyday. So many authors either overwrite or dumb down their characters’ speech until you might as well be watching reality television. Timothy Willis Sanders bucks that trend, as you might have noticed when we published “You Have A Crush On Kells,” a story that somehow parses the bizarre persona of R. Kelly with that of a young man obsessing over a girl he meets while working the ticket window of a movie theater into something somehow unlike any story I’ve read before. How did he make the words: “You remind me of my jeep / I want to ride it” carry actual emotional weight?

Much of Sanders’s power comes from the way he wields unvarnished thought. His narration often meanders between non-sequitur observations that most writers would keep to themselves and clear, declarative impressions of people and places that don’t necessarily contribute to any concrete plot goal, but at the same time provide a unique ambient tone. By way of example, here’s a patently Sanders trio of sentences: ‘Matt parked the Isuzu Trooper. He thought, “My SUV,” and pictured George W. Bush saying, “Terrorism.” He stared at the Isuzu logo on the steering wheel and thought, “One term president. Or everything is over for humanity.”’ For once, I understand. There is something made apparent about existence simply through pairing cultural detritus with emotional tone, the redundancy of having to go on being a person every day surrounded by whatever you are surrounded by, looking for meaning.

Matt Meets Vik, coming out this month from Civil Coping Mechanisms, is Sanders’s first novel, and his fullest realization thus far of the modes of parsing such realities. Essentially the story of a blossoming relationship and the complications between humans inherent therein, again it works in a way no other realistic novel could, mashing up considerations of communication, food, existence, pornography, fast food, drugs, the internet, art, money, and countless other themes all in a voice by turns as even, honest, earnest, and hilarious as a reader could ask for. As always, it’s less about what happens as it is about how it’s told, and to me there’s no one else speaking quite like Tim Sanders.

An Excerpt from Matt Meets Vik

Matt stared at Lady and Lady blinked her eyes. He ran his finger over her nose. He watched Lady guide his finger over her mouth.

Lady said, “Murr,” and Matt smiled.

Matt watched Vik walk into the bedroom. He looked at her red skin.

Vik said, “Fuck that bitch.”

Matt said, “What did she say?”

Vik said, “She said some shit about being everyone’s maid.”

Matt said, “I told you.”

Vik said, “I don’t care. I help that bitch. We should move out. Fuck this place.”

Matt said, “I help too,” and thought, “On her period.”

Vik said, “All her fat man does is sit around and smoke weed. And make those dumb songs.”

Matt said, “He gives us lots of weed. Are we going to this movie?” and scratched behind Lady’s ears.

Vik said, “Yes, yes. What time does it start?”

Matt read 1:19 p.m. on his Nokia 5160. He looked at Vik and said, “3:30.”

Vik said, “Okay, I’m going to run to the post office. I’ll be back.”

Matt pointed to the Isuzu Trooper keys on the dresser. He thought, “Passion of the Christ. Hurry up so we don’t get shitty seats.” He turned on the TV. He imagined Chantelle throwing a plate at Vik. He thought, “Chantelle is right. No one does shit around here. I don’t do shit. Vik pretends like she does shit but she doesn’t do shit.” He remembered looking at Vik and saying, “You have to promise never to touch it. You have to promise. Never again.” He remembered her saying, “I almost died. Of course. I’m not stupid.” He thought, “I don’t think you’re stupid. Does your father think you’re stupid?” He remembered her saying her father had disappeared when she was young. He pictured a Czech man with a large mustache drinking vodka. He smiled and poked at Lady’s belly. He watched Lady turn over and put her paws in the air.

Matt listened to a woman on TV say, “She’s smart. She doesn’t have to dress all...with all her stuff all hanging out everywhere...” He watched the audience point at the woman’s friend and say, “OOOOO.”

He watched the woman’s friend stand up and make poses in the camera. He thought, “She’s just jealous her friend gets more dudes. No, maybe her friend is attracting the wrong kind of dude.” He listened to the woman’s friend say, “Girl, don’t hate what I got. You know you just want all this,” and watched her move her hands over her body. He sensed pain and saw Lady kneading her claws into him.

Matt said, “Ow. Ow. Ow.”

Lady said, “Mew,” and blinked her eyes.

Matt read 1:42 p.m. on his Nokia 5160. He thought, “She promised she wouldn’t. She said she knew how dangerous it was.”

Matt pictured George Bush and switched to MSNBC. He saw Chris Matthews and thought, “No way we can elect this guy again?” He heard Chris Matthews say, “Swift Boat,” and thought, “Man, just telling lies.” He looked at Lady and thought, “But how do we know those old guys are lying? Why would they just bullshit the whole country like that?” He thought, “Passion” and pictured Mel Gibson pointing to a cross.  He remembered sitting in church and drawing X-Men on the church program. He remembered the usher frowned and snatched the program from his hand. He sensed Lady nudging his hand. He looked at Lady and thought, “God, it was so much bullshit. Bullshit everywhere, in church, in government, on TV and in my life. Everywhere. The only thing real is you, Lady.” He ran his finger over Lady’s mouth. He watched her blink at him and fall on the pillow. He cupped his hand and rubbed her stomach. He listened to her purr. He looked at John Kerry on TV and thought, “What is wrong with this guy? What is his deal?” He pictured Droopy’s face and laughed. He thought, “Dean was the one with balls. I don’t know though. He’s too damn mad, I guess,” and pictured Hitler screaming and pumping his fist. He thought, “Folksy Hitler,” and heard the door open.

Vik looked around the room and said, “Okay, let’s go.”

Matt looked at Vik’s frown. He saw sweat on her forehead. He looked around the room and said, “Okay,” and kissed Lady’s head.

*

Matt walked across the parking lot. He looked at the Isuzu Trooper and thought, “Just watched a dude get beaten and murdered for two hours.” He looked at Vik and saw her walking and staring at the ground.

Matt said, “Did you like it?”

Vik said, “No.”

Matt said, “It was just a dude getting beat for two hours. And then he’s murdered.” He pictured Mel Gibson slamming his shoulder against a file cabinet in the movie Lethal Weapon. He remembered his mom laughing when Danny Glover said, “I’m too old for this shit.” He thought, “I’m too old to believe in God. He’s a myth…like us,” and looked at Vik. He walked closer to Vik and tripped on a rock.

Matt said, “Whoops,” and smiled at Vik. He saw her look away. He looked at the Isuzu Trooper and took out his keys. He unlocked her door and watched her get into the Isuzu Trooper. He walked to his door and thought, “She’s not saying anything.”

Matt said, “Should we eat?” and put the key in the ignition.

Vik said, “Not hungry.”

Matt thought, “Distant, okay” and looked at her jaw line. He turned the key and said, “You sure.”

Vik said, “Yes. I said I’m not. I’m not.”

Matt thought, “Damn, okay?” and saw rain on the windshield. He thought, “Jesus gets beat and murdered. Now she’s pissed off. The weather sucks. I didn’t do anything.”

Matt said, “Are you okay?” and remembered her saying, “Stop asking me if I’m ok.”

Vik said, “Yeah.”

Matt pictured the ocean and palm trees waving in Cozumel. He remembered the man with the yellow bucket and thought, “Okay. Well, I’m hungry.” He looked at Vik and saw sweat on her forehead.

*

Matt licked ice cream off his spoon and sensed pain in his tooth. He looked at three mannequins wearing shirts that read Dave’s Ice Cream.

Vik said, “I’m excited. I really like those apartments.”

Matt said, “Me too.” He looked at tiny holes on a vein running along Vik’s wrist. He thought, “Motherfucker. Motherfucker.”

Vik said, “I think Lady will like it. It’s not too small,” and put ice cream in her mouth.

Matt said, “Yeah,” and thought, “Motherfucker. What am I doing?” He looked at the tiny holes.

Matt looked out to the street. He saw a girl in running shorts walking a Corgi puppy. He watched the Corgi’s legs and tail. He looked at the Corgi’s face and saw the Corgi look back at the girl. He looked at the girl’s running shorts and thought, “She’s never had to deal with heroin ever.”

Matt pointed at Vik’s wrist and said, “What is that?” He saw Vik look at her wrist and sensed heat in his body.

Vik said, “From that night.”

Matt said, “Really?”

Vik said, “Yes, I swear. They’re from that night.”

Matt said, “I don’t want to get a place with you if you’re going to keep doing that shit. I don’t. I won’t,” and thought, “No.”

Vik said, “It’s not,” and smiled.

Matt said, “Okay,” and looked away. He thought, “I don’t know how long ago it was really. Maybe it takes long to heal. I don’t know.”

Matt whipped his ice cream with his spoon. He stared at the Oreo chunks in the ice cream. He sensed pain in his teeth and heard his stomach grumble. He put ice cream on his spoon and his spoon in his mouth.

Vik said, “You think Lady will like the place?”

Matt said, “I think so. I can build her a little post with carpet for scratching.” He looked at Vik’s eyes and thought, “I can’t build things.”

Matt said, “I can’t build things. But I’m going to try.”

Matt pictured Lucas and Eric coming over and helping him build. He pictured a cardboard tube and carpet. He pictured an orange Home Depot shopping cart.

Matt said, “I’m going to miss the weed.”

Vik said, “Me too,” and licked her spoon.

Matt said, “We need to think about bills.”

Vik said, “Already called. You have to set up the electricity. I can’t.”

Matt said, “Okay.”

Vik said, “My ex-husband fucked up my credit.”

Matt said, “Internet? I probably won’t have the money to buy a computer.”

Vik said, “You should email Steve. His friend sells laptops for cheap.”

Matt said, “Yeah? I can look at porn,” and laughed. He watched Vik look away and spoon ice cream into her mouth.

Matt said, “Just kidding.”

Vik said, “No you’re not,” and looked at the street.

Matt said, “No. We just need the internet.”

Matt heard a horn and saw the girl with the Corgi wave at a Honda Civic. He watched the Corgi sniff the air. He looked at his ice cream.

Follow Blake on Twitter.

Obama campaign manager-turned-corporate-salesman David Plouffe at the Chicago headquarters in 2011. Photo by Christopher Dilts via Flickr user Barack Obama

Uber has been making waves for a while now. The car-sharing service, founded by some tech bros who wanted to look “baller in San Francisco,” can’t seem to stay out of the headlines—and not all of them are kind. As VICE recently reported, the startup tends to arrive in a new city, flout local regulations, and then force officials to the bargaining table by achieving massive market share in a matter of days or weeks. This presents plenty of problems, with drivers being accused of sexual assault, kidnapping, harassment and other forms of shady behavior. But it’s probably better for local governments to cut a deal with the upstarts than let their drivers (whose background check process remains questionable) go buckwild, right?

On Tuesday, the company’s flamboyant CEO Travis Kalanick responded to the cascade of criticism. Kalanick—who makes no bones about taking on the “asshole named Taxi”—raised the stakes, hiring David Plouffe, the data geek and strategy wunderkind who steered both of Barack Obama’s winning presidential campaigns, to be Uber’s “campaign manager.”

“We’re on an inexorable path of progress here,” Plouffe told the New York Times. “Uber is making transportation safer. It’s providing jobs; it’s cutting down on drunk and distracted driving. I think the mission is really important.”

Plouffe is the king of dishing out liberal kool-aid, so his rhetoric is no surprise. Like plenty of other movers and shakers in modern Democratic politics, the man has no qualms about cashing in on his relationship to the president, giving speeches abroad and taking on corporate clients since parting ways with the White House. But Plouffe’s relationship with Uber also speaks to another troubling trend on the left: buddying up with the scions of industry, whether Wall Street or Silicon Valley, under the auspices of doing the right thing and making the country a better place. It’s one thing for a professional campaigner like Plouffe to continue making money—Obama's other top strategy guru, David Axelrod, is working for Britain's Labour Party. But do we really need to be told that Uber is some kind of panacea for the country’s transportation woes—an inevitable good that we should just shut up and embrace already?

Of course, it’s not implausible that Uber will continue to expand its speedy provision of motor vehicles with random men behind the wheel and make a lot of people happy in the process. The company recently began testing out a new product, “Corner Store,” that offers delivery of basic human necessities like tampons and condoms. Good stuff, right?

Maybe. That Silicon Valley and the tech world have begun to do the whole politics thing is not news. Corporations like Google and Facebook have been ramping up their lobbying presence in Washington, advocating for their own interests (like all private businesses do). That means, for instance, supporting immigration reform that will ease the way for more talented programmers from abroad to join the party. And Plouffe isn't the only Obama campaign veteran who's cashing in on Silicon Valley's love of all things Barack: recently-departed press secretary Jay Carney is rumored to be a top-tier candidate to take over PR at Apple, and a handful of other former campaign hands are trying to kill teacher tenure in California (per the wishes of tech millionaire David Welch).  

Uber fans will have to hope that Plouffe coming aboard doesn’t mean they’re in for another Obama-style bait and switch, getting everybody’s hopes up with lots of sensational rhetoric leading to catastrophic disappointment. Kalanick told the Washington Post that Plouffe is his “brilliant general,” an implicit admission that he hadn’t fully anticipated the hell being raised by taxi drivers concerned about how to go on making a living. Part of Plouffe’s job will be to help out abroad, where organized labor is still a potent force and protests have already gotten ugly. And as Noam Scheiber points out, Plouffe was always among the more ruthless members of Team Obama, at least as focused on torpedoing the other guy as doing good stuff for the public.

Maybe Plouffe will succeed in marshalling online armies of teenagers and 20-somethings who are pumped about being able to summon a car from their smartphone. Most of my own friends, for example, love Uber and don't really want to hear about the various problems with it. And in cities like Los Angeles, where public transit is essentially a myth, maybe it's a good thing. All we know for certain right now is that Uber, recently valued at $17 billion, is about to start flexing its muscle in the halls of power. What that means for cab drivers, other forms of transportation (like this country's basically nonexistent high-speed rail system), and your personal safety in the backseat of an unmarked car remains unclear.

Follow Matt Taylor on Twitter.

Thumbnail via flickr user AVLXYZ

In the US, the term “legal high” calls to mind products that by now, even high schoolers know not to smoke. They come in sketchy-looking packets, labeled as “Not For Human Consumption.” They're marketed as incense or, famously, bath salts. In the UK, the term more often calls to mind pills meant to mimic ecstasy. With tabloid coverage across the pond saying just this week that legal highs "will kill more people than heroin within two years," the UK version of legal high hysteria is a little more intense.

Still, they're essentially the same concept: You shake them out of the package you bought at a head shop, not knowing what the substance is even going to look like. You pop it into a bong, if applicable, or pop it directly into your mouth, if applicable, and you see where it takes you: maybe pleasure town, or maybe seizure town! Who knows? It’s the journey, not the destination.

sorry everyone, no kickass wars tomorrow. obama stayed up all night smoking k2 spice and reading postsecret and he'll be in no condition

— Hot Take Man (@swarthyvillain) May 10, 2014

But there are a million legal ways to get high, from airplane glue to just holding your breath for a while. And just because something is legal, and just because the TV news is airing lame reports telling your parents to be scared of it, that doesn't automatically mean it's something that's actually worth doing. In fact, most legal highs suck. But for many people, especially very young people, legal highs are the easiest way to pleasantly scramble your brain the weekend after midterms. 

It’s not that the DEA approves of these chemicals. They’re just tough to police when they’re new. I talked to Vijay Rathi, public information officer of the DEA in Los Angeles about legal highs. He told me that indictments for "violating bans on controlled substance analogs,” are new, but they’re happening. Violations of the 1986 Federal Analog Act are a little hard to prosecute, since those incense labels give them legal standing. It's only easy to prosecute someone for selling an untested drug that's being sold as a drug. Still, Operation Log Jam is the very real name of an ongoing federal crackdown on synthetic drugs.

But it's tough to put someone away for selling a chemical that the FDA has never even heard of before, if it's not being advertised as a drug. After all, companies like Dow, which made $57 billion last year, invents chemicals and sells them to the public all the time. You can't suddenly tell Dow that every new household cleaner or bug poison has to go through the same clinical trials as a new antidepressant.

So until Operation Log Jam is successful, and every shitty way to get high is swept safely into the dustbin of history, here's a guide to not having fun with legal chemicals.

Actual Medicine

If you have a prescription for oxycodone, and you need it, say because you have chronic pain, you get a bonus legal opiate buzz out of the deal. Purple drank, before it stopped being manufactured, was an actual prescription drug for sick people. Still, if you can't get a prescription for something halfway decent, there are a few drugs you can get over the counter that work to get you kinda sorta high. 

The kid in the video above was on dextromethorphan cough syrup, which is the over-the-counter cough syrup your pharmacist keeps locked up. Kids who have done some Googling, or perused the indispensable Erowid, love digging around in their parents' medicine cabinets and going, "Dude, you can actually get high off this!" The highs aren't very enjoyable though—mostly just drowsiness. And your cackling, shithead friends who are filming you on their smartphones will make the experiences even worse.

Synthetic Weed

Companies make synthetic cannabis products by grinding up plant matter, and then soaking it in a few synthetic cannabinoids, letting it dry, and packaging it. If these substances aren't banned wherever you're reading this, and marijuana is, synthetic cannabis might be the only weed, or weed-like experience you can get your hands on. 

On the other hand, the risks are obvious. Formulations like K2 and Spice, have their fans, but there are also people who got too high on K2 and Spice and it went badly. According to the kinds of TV news reports America's moms and dads watch before bed, people who take synthetic weed sometimes blow their brains out, or go into cardiac arrest and die.

Putting aside the potential lethality, watching people use fake weed can be a fun way to kill time on YouTube. Unlike with illegal highs, people are comfortable getting filmed while smoking K2 or Spice. People’s experiences are documented in their entirety, and you can enjoy the rides alongside them from start to finish. At their best, most of the experiences look less fun than the high you get from, say, spinning around for a while. At their worst, they're scary. Here's a kid who couldn't be older than 14 having a hard time on K2:

That may have been hard to watch because the kid was so young, but his reaction didn't seem outside the realm of possibility for an inexperienced marijuana user. We've all seen someone at a party get too high, and then take a long, dark inward journey.

This next poor guy on the other hand (If you choose to believe the video, and I do), has just smoked something that is not even from the same planet as weed:

There are tons of these videos—maybe as many videos of bad trips as there are manufacturers producing synthetic cannabis. As far as I know, though, those manufacturers aren't comparing notes with one another. Since these ostensibly aren't drugs or foods according to their packaging, they don't have to follow any guidelines about what the concentration is, how evenly it was applied to the plants, which plant is used, or how thoroughly it's soaked or dried.

Remember: if you smoke synthetic cannabis and your blood turns into sulfuric acid and your organs melt, the company isn't responsible. It said right on the package that it wasn't for human consumption! Review sites exist for spreading consumer information, but they're sketchy as hell. Making an informed decision is hard. 

Party Pills

The term "legal ecstasy" used to just refer to a drug called benzylpiperazine, or BZP. It worked like a less intense version of ecstasy, and in the 1990s, when news reports started talking about scary new things called "designer drugs" that were supposed to be high-class pills for night club people to take before an evening's debauchery, they were often talking about BZP. Being high on BZP seems like it's fine and not that big of a deal:

It's worth noting, however, that BZP was first marketed as a recreational drug by the New Zealander Matt Bowden, who is widely credited with creating the party pill scene, and lobbying to this day for its legitimacy. In interviews he's very enthusiastic, and makes trenchant arguments about the benefits of his products.

I bring up Mr. Bowden because he's also the front man of a band called Starboy, and perhaps no video in this article is more unsettling than his music video for the song "Higher." 

I didn't think it was possible that Creed's song "Higher" was only the second worst song with that title. So what I'm saying is, be careful with BZP, folks.

Unfortunately, after bans in the early 2000s, you can't really get BZP in stores in the English-speaking world anyway. Today, if you like party pills, you'll have to settle for derivatives that haven't been explicitly banned yet.

Party pills show up in the US, but mysterious convenience store energy pills are more abundant. In the UK and Australia, there seem to be many more retailers using the term "party pill," like Legalpartypills.co.uk, a janky-looking website with testimonials from people like Chris, a 23-year-old in Chicago. 

I'm pretty worried about the premature aging effect these things are having on Chris. He looks fun for a 46-year-old though. I definitely want to pop some Cok-N with Chris and party until dawn.

The precise contents of the pills aren't listed, but when they're analyzed, other than caffeine and other wild-card ingredients, BZP derivatives, known as piperazines, seem to be the meat and potatoes of the formulae. But not all BZP derivatives do the same thing. Dibenzylpiperazine for instance is a really good example of a chemical that is very similar to BZP when you look at a diagram of the molecule, but it's worlds apart in terms of effect. The author of its Wikipedia article considers it a mere "impurity," not a drug in its own right, but it's a chemical that does show up in cut-rate party pills.

One particularly unloved party pill that most likely contains dibenzylpiperazine is Doves. A Redditor named Kearvelli reviewed a night out with her friends on Doves. Here's an excerpt:

One user reported feeling a "sense of impending doom" following him everywhere he went, and felt like he always had to move away from it. There was also a lot of general confusion and uncertainty [around] their feelings and emotions. The general consensus, however, was that these were terrible pills and everyone felt pretty awful. Many said it was like getting a shot of the flu, that it was not enjoyable on any level, felt like they were dying, wanted it to end, etc.

Psychonauts and devotees of the late ecstasy god, Alexander Shulgin, who consider themselves spiritual explorers on adventures across the vast galaxies inside their own minds, often aren't content with prepackaged drugs that are approved by The Man, even when The Man, in this case, is just a mainstream drug dealer. Some of these folks are into buying research chemicals and figuring out what they do to their brains. Arguing, often very justifiably, that what they're doing is for science, no matter how bad the trip ends up being.

However, Rathi at the DEA pointed out to me that “there is a legal process to temporarily schedule these chemicals as controlled substances when the DEA believes there’s a high potential for abuse and no accepted medical use.” He referred me to three synthetic phenethylamines that were temporarily scheduled last year. For reference, in his book Phenethylamines I Have Known and Loved, Alexander Shulgin provides 179 phenethylamine recipes, all of which are delightful in their own ways (to a trained expert).

Plants

"It's just a plant. It grows out of the ground, man," is one famous defense of marijuana. It's a lousy defense though. Even marijuana can be tough on people if they're New York Times columnists. Still, for the most part, it makes sense that marijuana is the Beatles of drugs. It's that popular because it's just that good. 

Other naturally occurring plants that are legal, like yopo, jimson weed and salvia divinorum have seen unexpected, and frankly unwanted surges in popularity over the past decade. Plants that can just be picked in their natural form, and then smoked or eaten, to produce psychotropic effects may seem like a gift from the gods. But in many cases, these drugs are only fun for very advanced users. Otherwise they're exclusively for vision quests and sweat lodges.

Yopo, a batch of which can be cooked up from raw ingredients in any kitchen, is a hallucinogen that's snorted, and like many drugs that have held onto their status as "ceremonial herbs," yopo doesn't exactly make you want to listen to Dark Side of the Moon. Instead, it makes you feel weird and headachy. As an added bonus, to make your trip even weirder, sometimes you can have yopo blown up your nostrils with a straw by a shaman: 

But that's nothing compared to the insanely bad trips you can get from other natural herbs. When we all saw the notorious Miley Cyrus bong video, we heard Cyrus say she was having a bad trip on some salvia divinorum. She's definitely very high, and getting really intense about how much some guy looks like Liam Hemsworth:

Still, the contents of that bong are a matter of considerable internet debate. The video came at a time before Miley Cyrus had cleansed the "child star" taint from the first sentence of her biography, so when she later said "that bong was just full of salvia! Salvia is legal," I for one assumed it was just meant to demonstrate that she was smoking a wholesome, legal chemical, and not a nasty illegal one.

But why would people assume that's weed, and not really Salvia? Because she doesn't really get that high. Salvia is a crazy rocketship ride through Oz, and into the scariest parts of Eraserhead, and then momentarily into total oblivion, and back again after five minutes. In short, it takes you beyond "tripping balls" status.

Behold:

But then again, really bad salvia trips always seem to happen when the other people in the video goad the users into taking an excessively huge hit, and holding it in as long as possible. Miley Cyrus' hit didn't look quite so intense (or maybe I'm underestimating her threshold for drugs).

If Salvia looked fun, jimson weed is even better. It's toxic and unpredictable, sometimes causing blindness and death when used recreationally. Even when it works as advertised, the effect is that it plunges you into Hell. Jimson weed really has nothing good going for it, other than the fact that I know a patch of grass next to a freeway overpass where I could go pick some for free.

Right now, there's a crackdown in New Hampshire on a synthetic cannabis product called "Smacked" that's causing people to "overdose," in high numbers according to CBS News. The governor of New Hampshire has issued a state-wide emergency health alert, and there's an open investigation into where Smacked is coming from. Exactly what the police are planning to do once they find out is unclear, since they'll be hunting for the maker of an incense product, according to the package. 

I hate that I agree with this crackdown. This fig leaf legality that comes from calling Smacked "incense" needs to be stripped away so that this shitty drug can be taken off the shelves. Without creative legislation, the long-term trend in this area is discouraging for law enforcement. Even if we're headed toward an equally undesirable scenario where the currently available chemicals that cause freakouts and overdoses are all individually scheduled as controlled substances, and simple possession becomes a criminal offense, there's still a vast periodic table of elements for chemists to monkey around with. They'll never stop creating newer and often shittier things for people to smoke and swallow. 

Maybe I'm crazy, but economically speaking, it seems like the human desire to get high, and a lack of available products that fulfill that desire, leave a conspicuously large gap in the market, and that gap is sometimes being filled by this toxic waste. If only there were a drug that people enjoy and have extensive knowledge about, that could fill that gap. It would have to be something with extremely mild side effects, and something that had been made legal in certain areas in order to prove that legalization wouldn't have some kind of disastrous effect.

What miracle product would that be, though?

Follow Mike Pearl on Twitter

Image by Sam Taylor

Unless you’re a fucking loser, you probably haven’t been following the ongoing “war” between a few transgender activists and some so-called radical feminists. They’ve done their best to suck me into their collective madness recently, but I’m not playing ball. Let me fill you in. First up we have TERFs, short for “trans-exclusionary radical feminists." Basically, they’re full-on internet weirdos hell-bent on telling trans women that we’re not "real" women. They want to stop us from using female bathrooms, going to shitty music festivals and, uh, accessing healthcare. I know, right? Throw a few obsessive trans folk into the mix, and a handful of privileged white feminists with nothing better to talk about and, well, you’ve got yourself the perfect pointless shitstorm.

You’re all insane, and you’re all behaving like assholes. I’m sick of you all. It’s gone past the point where it matters who I agree with—though of course that’s trans people and their right to get on with their lives without hassle—but this isn’t about rational debate any more, it’s about an over-educated and time-rich bunch of narcissists on both sides who are completely and utterly addicted to a never-ending mudslinging match about absolutely nothing. That’s right. You are talking about nothing. Absolutely. Nothing. I can’t even tell you how disgusted I am to have waded into this "debate" just to tell you that you are talking about nothing, because it means that I am also talking about nothing. I am talking about you talking about nothing.

Take the debate around the word "cis." It’s Latin for "not trans." So far, so neutral. Well, a group of bloggers known as "Mean Girl feminists" (although they’re nowhere near as cool as that name would suggest) hate the word "cis." The Meanies desperately wanted to be the popular girls at school but everyone else thought they were the sullen weirdos, so now they’re taking it out on any trans peeps that want to join their woman gang. They objected to the term cis from the start because they basically refuse to see themselves as anything other than transparently "normal"—as I’m sure some people hated being told they were "heterosexual" when the gay rights movement made clear that being "straight" was just another sexual orientation.

But well done to you, too, angry trans people. Well done for the “die cis scum” hashtag and all the rest of it that has given Meanies ample excuse to now claim that "cis" is a slur. Good work.

"The TERF war is just over-educated and time-rich narcissists having a never-ending mudslinging match about nothing"

Meanies—if you don’t like the word cis, can you just fucking pick another one, please? Literally just make one up. Like "kokadillo." Or "flumbledumpling." I don’t know, maybe they can do a call-in for suggestions on The View or something. Because it really would be useful to have a word to describe people, like you, who don’t experience extreme dysphoria in relation to their body sex. Of course, maybe it’s not the word "cis" that you object to at all, but the idea. Maybe you don’t believe in the word because you don’t really buy into all this trans business either? Who knows.

The TERFs and the Meanies call themselves "gender critical," but they’re not, not really. They aren’t obsessed with Derek Jeter, or Katy Perry, or the billions of other people who aren’t trans who perpetuate gender every day. Just trans people, who they can pick on. "Gender critical feminism" is a special form of bigotry paraded as legitimate concern. It's a modern twist on "Love the sinner, hate the sin." All they want to do is talk, but they have nothing new to say. And I don’t buy into their “all discussion is important” crap either. Most people are full of shit. It’s like the "discussions" about immigration that are used by bigots as an excuse to express their hatred of foreigners. It’s just ugly prejudice dressed up as fancy debate.

Behind this facade of valid discussion hides a bunch of overgrown school bullies pointing at people who are different and demanding they explain that difference. Asking someone why they are trans is no better than asking them, “Why are you so fat?” Gia Milinovich is the girl in the playground shouting, “You’re not pretty like us!” but who never gets into trouble because she’s banging the head of science, Mr Cox. She’ll tell you what being trans is all about. Me, teacher! Call on me! I know the answer! I’ve read the next chapter!

Then there’s Sarah Ditum, your best friend's mom who won’t sign the consent forms for the school trip. She hates FUN. I don’t. I’m the girl with the short skirt and too much makeup on hiding behind the bike cage with a bong, a pack of Parliaments and Derek from 12th grade. And don’t forget Julie Burchill, the chatty girl who everyone’s heard of even though she was expelled years ago. No one knows that we’re secretly best friends. She buys me the cigarettes.

The Trans Activists are the kids with thrift store shoes sitting in the library crying about Meanies and TERFs, quoting Judith Butler and prattling on about some impenetrable gender theory they believe is gonna change the whole fucking world. At least trans people have a reason for being interested in trans issues, though. You know, because we’re trans. Still, it’s reciprocal insanity—and I should know. I used to be a bit obsessed with Julie Bindel before I realized that she’s actually a professional concern troll. So I "get it" when I say what I’m about to say next.

Trans people, ignore the bullies. I’m not here to bash trans folk who, by and large, don’t have the platforms these radical feminists enjoy—but a large number of you are driving me nuts. If people upset you, block them. Report them to the police if necessary. If they’re trying to influence policy makers who hold real power over your life, talk to those policy makers yourself. TERFs wrote a shitty blog about me a few years ago, calling me "Mr Lees." I left them a comment along the lines of "Yeah, good one. Love, Mr. Lees." They haven’t bothered me since. Don’t let them bother you. Buy some flowers. Run a bath. Masturbate. Look on Facebook to see how the real people who were horrible to you at school are all ageing badly as their rotten souls shine through. Basically, just do absolutely anything other than engage with their bullshit. You’ll be happier. They have no power over you. Stop giving them power.

And stop pushing people away that might otherwise be our allies—all those well-meaning but woefully uninformed people on the edge of the scuffle. Some people are prejudiced, but the best way for us to change that is by helping them get to know us, not backing them into a corner. Of course you are right to be angry, but your anger isn’t making anything better. It’s just upsetting you and goading them. Trust me. I’m a selfish bitch and I know how to get what I want—this isn’t how you go about it.

Also, a tiny, unidentified, minority of people, presumed to be trans, have even been making death threats—and the TERFs and Meanies are, disgustingly, using shit like this to tar all of the trans community with the same brush. And there’s no excuse for misogyny, or transphobia, from anyone. Who benefits from that? No one. It doesn’t help women, trans or otherwise. It’s a shame so many "natural born" women are unhappy with their lives, and it’s a shame so many trans women are too, but no one is forcing you to get together and multiply that misery by being shitty to each other. It’s called nativism and it serves no one.

They tried to talk to me about identity politics and I was like…

Of course, there are good points being made on either side—but good luck picking them out. Juliet Jacques penned a very thorough and very well written 9,000-word essay for the New Statesman recently, providing some background to the bickering. It doesn’t surprise me that Mrs Ditum praised it, for it was more "discussion" and endless discussion is what these people and this war depend on. As with any heated conflict, though, understanding the history doesn’t really help. The only way any dispute is resolved is by both sides agreeing to stop shouting and hurling missiles at each other, forgetting the past and starting to respect each other's human rights. Sorry, but we’re not going to "think" our way out of this one.

As for you, Meanies, you need to get over yourselves. If you asked 1,000 women in the street what issues matter to them most, I doubt anyone who isn’t trans or named "Glosswitch" would say "trans people." If you’re that concerned with us, you really do need to ask yourself why. Seriously. Get a fucking life. If Caroline Criado-Perez has a few spare hours to write about the oh-so important issue of how she feels about the word cis, good for her. I’m no more interested in that than I would be in her innermost thoughts on the term “white people.” Let her get on with it. It has absolutely nothing to do with me or the struggle for equal rights.

And there is no such thing as "feminism that opposes transgenderism." Opposing equal rights for trans people is called bigotry. Women have always existed and trans people have always existed, the only thing that truly changes is the way that other people agree to treat us. "Transgenderism," if that’s what some people want to call it, is nothing more than a push for the equal rights of trans people—just as feminism is nothing more than a push for the equal rights of women. It’s not complicated. It’s not a fucking competition. Everyone deserves respect. If there are any instances where people’s rights appear to compete—such as the important conversation about how we make sure every woman has access to safe spaces in rape crisis centres—let’s talk about it sensibly, practically and with genuine compassion.

"Discussing other people's identities is 'Peak Chattering Classes'"

Discussing other people’s identities though is, to borrow a turn of phrase these people will all recognize, “Peak Chattering Classes." A bunch of boring, middle-class, middle-aged people arguing about who is "right," and prattling on about shit like, “If Imogen identifies as X, how does that affect me?” I’ve seen sad fuckers from both sides of the fence jabbering about this on social media and it’s like, Hello, have you guys never heard about sex? Where I come from people don’t sit around on the veranda dissecting the minutiae of identity politics—we’re too busy looking for jobs or, in the absence of those, that ever shrinking social security blanket that you pampered pricks will never have to worry about wrapping yourselves in.

The thing that annoys me most is, while we don't need Gia Milinovich wondering out loud if trans babies would be better off aborted, we do need proper fucking feminism. Sarah Ditum writes about important issues like rape and abortion sometimes... imagine what we could do if we all focused on stuff like that with her. If we put real people before ideology. If we all pulled together to fight the good fight instead of fighting each other!

So finally, trans crew, if you want to fight, fine, but fight about something real. Like healthcare. Julie Bindel describes hormone blockers for trans teenagers as “child abuse” and genital surgery as “the operation that can ruin your life.” We don’t tolerate twats who say you can “pray away the gay” and we shouldn’t suffer fools like Bindel who advocate “reparative therapies” to “cure” us of being trans. Sheila Jeffreys repeats the same evil lies in her most recent book without a shred of evidence. Trans woman Geena Rocero WHO’S ACTUALLY HAD THE ACTUAL EFFING SURGERY says it was like a rebirth: “I never enjoyed having sex before, and all of a sudden it felt good. I was much more in touch with my sensuality, and I went crazy exploring it.” I don’t know about you, but I’m more interested in listening to any nuggets of wisdom Geena’s vagina has to offer than Julie Bindel talking out of her asshole.

Just to be clear: Any operation can ruin your life if it’s botched. That doesn’t change the fact that every reputable medical body in the USA, UK, Western Europe and elsewhere agree that medical therapy (science Gia, science!) is THE effective treatment for trans people if we seek it. It’s just not up for discussion. The real issue is simple. You either support trans people’s rights or you don’t. Everything else is just noise.

Maybe you think my contribution to the "debate" isn’t that helpful either, but hey, it can’t be much worse than anyone else’s. Most outsiders are appalled or just fucking bored by all this—if they’re even aware there’s a fallout in the first place. So listen, TERFS, Meanies, Trans peeps—I reckon most people peering in on your obsessive online squabbling about identity and terminology will see it for what it is: ugly, childish, inward-looking nonsense. Y’all need to start talking about some real fucking shit.

Follow Paris Lees on Twitter.

Still from 'Video Games: The Movie'

There are over 180 million active gamers in the US. The gender divide has become next to non-existent, with the male/female split sitting at about 52 percent to 48 percent, based on stateside figures. Total global revenue in the video game industry is predicted to break the $100 billion mark by the end of 2014. The release of one game alone, 2013’s Grand Theft Auto V, generated $800 million in worldwide sales in just 24 hours—more than any other piece of entertainment, ever.

42 years after Pong popularized the form, gaming is, evidently, more mainstream than it’s ever been. And yet here I am, in 2014, regularly checking myself during conversations in bars, and at evening exchanges with family and friends, so as to not get too in depth about gaming.

Perhaps it’s the company I keep, but I genuinely have friends, close ones, who see gaming as something to steer clear of. Music and movies, sure, we’re on safe ground. Sports? Of course, particularly in the immediate aftermath of the World Cup. What a goal that was, huh? That Suárez, what a champ. And so forth.

Games? Well, if we can discuss FIFA Ultimate Team. Or go retro, and get nostalgic over a few beers, waxing lyrical about what it was like back in the day: Mario versus Sonic, versus whatever Atari’s mascot was. Paperboy, perhaps? 

It’s weird that anyone should "not game"—as that’s effectively like saying they won’t watch movies, or read books. No way, no chance. Not going there. That’s for you guys over there. The geeks with the cosplay, the ironic tattoos and the man-child tendencies. Stay away from us regular folk. We’ve read about your addiction, about how it’s as dangerous as heroin (no, really, The Sun actually said as much, just the other week), how it turns perfectly balanced children into gun-toting maniacs who embark on their murderous sprees to chase high scores.

Bullshit, obviously. Evidence: only ever circumstantial. Sandy Hook killer Adam Lanza drank Coke, ate pizza, watched the evening news, sometimes rode in cars, saw violent movies, hung out with pals and probably did some dumb shit in front of girls. We’ve all been there. I have. I play videogames regularly, too. As yet, though, I’ve a big fat zero on my kill count—outside of Gears Of War, anyway.

Gaming virgins afraid to take the plunge for whatever reason, or those who’ve not picked up a pad since the SNES days, might have just had a gateway opened to them through the movies. Video Games: The Movie chronicles the history of the industry, its highs and lows, in a very approachable fashion. On board is Zach Braff (Scrubs, Garden State) as executive producer and Sean Astin (The Lord Of The Rings) as narrator, while further contributions come from a range of recognizable (to US audiences) faces: Wil Wheaton, Alison Haislip, Chris Hardwick. It’s a pretty perfunctory account of a story that could never satisfyingly fit into a 100-minute running time, but stylishly presented and always accessible. It’s like Sesame Street Does World War II, only with Call Of Duty rather than any actual tragedies.

It’s okay to come to gaming late—I never bought a Talking Heads album until my 30s, and still haven’t seen half of the supposedly unmissable box sets that have overrun what used to be record stores. And if you do, please, trust me: you’re not about to be brainwashed. Games are good for you. Being something of an industry veteran, you’d expect the fantasy writer Ian Livingstone to say as much—but his points about kids learning valuable life skills through gaming, expressed in an article for The Telegraph, serve as the perfect counter to trashier tabloids’ summation that All Games Are Like Bad And Stuff.

Again, games are good for you. Here are some more reasons why.

THE HEALTH BENEFITS

Photo via Flickr user Andrew*

A lot of gaming takes place sitting down, there’s no denying that. But when Nintendo released the Wii in 2006, suddenly people were off of their asses and swinging controllers, smashing invisible tennis balls past equally flailing opponents. The Wii was a major force in breaking down the persistent gamer stereotype of some pimply white dude with no friends sitting in the dark with nothing but a bucket of beef jerky for company. It got families together in front of their TVs, and it got them moving. The bundled Wii Sports was a revelation, and the system’s unique motion controller can still be used to play original Wii games on the console’s successor, the Wii U.

So that’s the physical side of one’s health taken care of. Want to get a sweat on somewhere other than your palms? Buy a Wii. (No, seriously, do. They’re cheap everywhere, and there are some fantastic games available for it. Or, spend a little more, get a Wii U and enjoy both the Wii’s expansive catalogue and the current-generation games, too.) But mentally, games can be tremendously beneficial, too.

In January 2014, the BBC asked: Could playing videogames help to beat depression? The American Psychological Association says that gaming is an area “largely untapped” and holds “great potential” for the treatment of depression, while a 2013 game called SPARX (standing for Smart, Positive, Active, Realistic, X-factor thoughts) has been proven to reduce anxiety amongst teenage test subjects, and noticeably helped some overcome their depression.

Games have helped those in the military, too—to find a little escape when their surrounding circumstances are far from idyllic. Just recently, a soldier serving in Afghanistan took to Minecraft to create his own fantasy environment: “So finally I have something pretty to look at.” For those haunted by indelible memories of frontline combat, games can provide something of a blocker, temporarily putting dark thoughts aside. A survey conducted by Grant MacEwan University, in Edmonton, Canada, in 2011 showed that regularly playing war-themed games helped military personnel diminish their emotional connection to what they’d seen for real. It helped them sleep better, allowing them to battle against very real nightmares.

Disabled players find great refuge from the circumstances of the everyday within the virtual environments of their favourite games. AbleGamers, which has been going for 10 years, is a charity committed to improving the quality of life for those with disabilities through the power of games. It provides not only access to a range of software, adapting controls to suit the needs of the player in question, but also provides a community, allowing disabled gamers to discuss their hobby with each other and communicate with developers as to how their products can best be tailored to meet their requirements.  

Oh, and games can cheer up your miserable grandma, too.

YOU CAN BE A TOURIST FROM THE COMFORT OF YOUR COUCH

Grand Theft Auto V is very much an adults-only affair, full of brutish behavior, graphic violence, sexual content, crude humor and the very coarsest language. But when its bloody story is wrapped up, the player is free to just enjoy the wonderful landscape that Rockstar has set its most recent, splendidly multifaceted crime caper in. Its fictional county of San Andreas is an analogue for Southern California, and its city hub, Los Santos, a parallel of Los Angeles, with a number of districts renamed for the game: Hollywood becomes Vinewood, for example, and Beverly Hills is translated as Rockford Hills.

There’s great pleasure to be had in drinking in the scenery, once the guns have cooled. Having not played GTAV for some months, I fired it up just to take a drive, for the purposes of this article. The game began with me as Michael, one of three protagonists, standing in my spacious hallway, the sun streaming in through stained glass doors. Out I stepped. Out he stepped. The car was in the driveway, in we both got. Where were we going? Who even cared? We selected Space 103.2 on the radio. Stevie Wonder played. Let’s chase the sun a while, we thought.

Having most recently played Watch Dogs in terms of open-world driving games, Ubisoft’s GTA-clone-with-fancier-phones, I found the handling a little sensitive at first. But soon enough we were on the highway, heading north into Blaine County, towards the dominating peak of Mount Chiliad. Halfway there, a station switch: Non-Stop Pop and "Music Sounds Better With You." I drove right around the map, stopping in Paleto Bay to repair my headlights (inevitably shattered within a minute of pulling out of the driveway), until the lights of Los Santos’ Del Perro Pier were sparkling, reflected in the lightly lapping Pacific. I’ve never been to California for real, but as far as I was concerned, at that moment: this was it.

I took my eyes off the road, distracted by the beautiful view and by trying to change the station, because Rihanna’s had come on and I don’t care for "Only Girl (In The World)" (I’m holding out for "With Every Heartbeat"). I hit the brakes too late at an intersection, and collided with stopped traffic. Los Santos Customs was about to get a whole heap of my hard earned cash. Damn. I made it out in time for sunrise. Perfect day. I headed back to the safe house—our mansion. But then Robyn finally came on, right before my gates swing open, so I drove around the block a little bit. It’s not like we had any killing to do. Press right to drink green juice, and to bed.

The GTA series—IV is set in Liberty City, aka New York, and Vice City is Miami for all intents and purposes—isn’t alone in bringing city breaks into your living room. Watch Dogs is set in a condensed but compellingly lifelike Chicago, and Sega’s Yakuza games in various shady districts of Tokyo; Assassin’s Creed II brings Renaissance-era Italy to vivid life, while Infamous 2’s New Marais is developer Sucker Punch’s take on New Orleans. And then there’s Skyrim. Yeah, dragons and trolls and stuff—but exploring its vast landscape is as close as some will ever come to a trekking holiday in Scandinavia.

So power up, settle down and expand your horizons—all for substantially less than a cramped flight with nowhere near enough luggage allowance.

YOU'LL MEET PEOPLE AND EVEN MAKE FRIENDS—SOME OF THEM IN REAL LIFE TOO

Online gaming is a Big Deal—94 percent of gamers in China choose to spend their time competing against peers over an Internet connection. While this can be a very faceless, nameless experience, there are numerous accounts of people meeting virtually first, across a World Of Warcraft battlefield, and going on to forge real-life relationships. Here’s one such account—and in the comments: “I met my wife on Xbox Live, playing Gears Of War.”

The shouting, swearing jerk-in-a-headset side of online gaming exists, naturally, but it’s easy enough to avoid—just play the right games, and ideally with the voice chat muted if you don’t want the slightest ear-bashing. Mario Kart 8 is a fantastic online game—connect to its servers and you’ll join a lobby of up to 16 players, all of whose usernames are on screen alongside their location. You can share a few text messages via the Wii U’s GamePad: “Good luck,” “That was funm,” or “Go easy on me,” that sort of thing. But like many of Nintendo’s multiplayer games, the forthcoming Super Smash Bros. included, it’s a much better game played with your fellow racers beside you.

Equally excellent for local co-op play is Valve’s tremendous puzzler Portal 2. A separate story to the single-player campaign, the game pits a pair of robots, Atlas and P-Body, against an array of Aperture Science’s challenging test chambers. It’s a game that will likely strain relationships as the two of you argue over the best strategy, but to come out victorious on the other side is a most splendidly satisfying thrill. And keeping things strictly in pairs, Journey is a captivating crusade for two, avatars whose online identities are only revealed post credits. It’s a simple, sweet connection—while playing, all you know of the other figure is that they’re being controlled by someone, somewhere, just as enraptured by the game’s shimmering sands.

Get familiar with competitive play, and you can take it public: organized gaming meet-ups are becoming more common in the UK. I recently spent some time at a Brighton night, where friends and strangers alike come together to compete at Street Fighter IV—but there are many more events like it happening regularly around the UK.

EVEN IF YOUR PARTNER, ROOMMATE, OR WHOEVER WON'T PLAY ALONG, YOU CAN STILL INVOLVE THEM

I’m quite prepared to be drowned out by a cacophony of know-betters for this, but I really enjoyed the last three games made by Quantic Dream—or, as the French studio’s founder David Cage would categorize them, “interactive dramas.” Fahrenheit (2005), Heavy Rain (2010) and Beyond: Two Souls (2013): I’ve played them all right the way through to their what-precedes-the-credits-matters endings, which are dependent on the decisions you’ve made throughout.

There isn’t a whole lot of what anyone could legitimately call gameplay in the last of this trilogy—starring Ellen Page and Willem Dafoe, Beyond: Two Souls is Cage’s most cloying plea to please be given a screenwriting gig—but it’s held together by a cracking lead performance from Page, and features just enough sci-fi-flavored, family-ties hokum to hook in the sofa-dwelling watch-along significant (or not) other. It’s kinda shitty, but the kinda shit that you can kinda get into, when there’s nothing on TV.

Beyond: Two Souls features no game-over scenario, its threats only ever there to drive the narrative, rather than suspend it. Instruct Page’s character, Jodie Holmes, to commit suicide and she won’t—but the game will remember that you tried, you fantastic bastard. But Telltale Games’ The Walking Dead is rather different. Again, it’s an experience that can be shared without the other party even holding a controller—but the tension is great and each wrong move can take the player closer to a grizzly end.

Essentially a point-and-click game—Monkey Island gone flesh-munchingly modern-day, with all the use-item-A-in-receptacle-B sort of puzzles that developer LucasArts built an unforgettable series on—The Walking Dead takes Robert Kirkman’s comic series as its inspiration, and is presented in five episodes, each lasting between two and three hours. Do not accidentally buy a game called The Walking Dead: Survival Instinct, for that is a festering fumble of a third-person shooter with only one thing to its credit: It’s not as bad as Aliens: Colonial Marines.

I played through The Walking Dead—the first season of it, as a second is now unfolding across a variety of platforms—with my wife, and she stuck in there for the whole story, moving as it did through salvation to tragedy, impossible decisions and instances of amazingly moving sacrifice. It might look cartoony, but The Walking Dead offers conclusive evidence that games can tell stories every bit as engrossing, as affecting, as those in other mediums.

YOU MIGHT ACTUALLY LEARN SOMETHING

There’s a lot of literature out there on World War I, documentaries and first-hand accounts, recordings and various works of art inspired by the four-year conflict. And it all finds its way into Valiant Hearts: The Great War, which I recently profiled. Don’t let the game’s cutesy aesthetic fool you—it’s very much a blood-and-guts depiction of several significant moments in WWI, and developers Ubisoft Montpellier combine their puzzle-centric gameplay with reams of information regarding the reality of what you’re pointing your character at. Expect to cry, just a little.

Valiant Hearts is a rather more accurate telling of one of the more terrifying chapter’s in mankind’s on-going history than many other games supposedly set in the real worlds of the past. The Capcom-developed PS2 title Shadow Of Rome (2005) claims to present a plot centred on the assassination of Julius Caesar, yet is dogged by needless inaccuracies.

The most significant swerve it takes with a pretty well known slice of political history is that the murder of Caesar was actually something of a whodunit—this, despite accounts from the time telling us that some 60 people were, very publicly, involved in the attack, during which the Roman leader suffered over 20 stab wounds. Those who rained down the blows weren’t afraid of admitting as much—they were proud to have played their part in Caesar’s downfall. Oh dear, Capcom. That’s a straight fail at even O Level history.

And a brief moment, please, for The Saboteur’s watery representation of Nazi-occupied Paris during the Second World War. Said writer Keza MacDonald, for Eurogamer: “The Saboteur is aggressively, wilfully stupid, taking a historically charged place in time and turning it into the backdrop for a dumb action romp. This story is the worst, most disgusting load of dribble I’ve ever seen in a videogame, and I’ve played a lot of them.” Burn. There are loads of rather more faithful-to-the-period games available, of course, Gearbox’s Brothers In Arms series amongst the sticklers for accuracy.

Games can inspire their players to check out great literature, as several have taken their own cues from celebrated tomes. Yager’s memorable war game of 2012 Spec Ops: The Line draws no little narrative design from Joseph Conrad’s Heart Of Darkness—it’s as close as you’ll ever come to playing Apocalypse Now on your Xbox, with every discomfort that implies. Irrational Games’ intellectual shooter BioShock (2007) revolves around themes of Objectivism, most obviously borrowing story beats from Ayn Rand’s 1957 novel, Atlas Shrugged. Not that you’ll be thinking about philosophy when pumping bullets into sinister splicers.

GAMES ARE FUN, MAKE YOU SMILE AND HELP YOU FORGET ABOUT BILLS AND DEADLINES

Just play Super Mario Galaxy for half an hour. See? Much better. Sweet dreams.

And if you’re now convinced to get back into button-mashing, mouse-clicking and stick-twiddling, heed the words of games journalist Matt Lees, who offers his picks for those returning to the habit after a spell away doing, y’know, "Real" Grown Up Stuff.

“My recommendations are Portal 2—because it’s tight, brilliantly paced, and very fucking funny. Red Dead Redemption, because it's GTA on horses, and ended up being vastly better than any GTA game I’ve ever played. Finally, Dark Souls—just because I think what puts so many people off getting back into games is the intense set of rules and ‘videogame lore’ we’ve gradually built up over the years. Dark Souls ignores all the rules and builds something from scratch. It’s an odd suggestion, as it’s also bloody tough—but it has so much in common with older videogames that I figure it’s always worth a punt. For every two people who turn their nose up at Dark Souls, a third person finds their new favorite game. Only the original is worth a look, mind you. The sequel is garbage.”

In the wee hours of the morning on March 2, 22-year-old Victor White III was shot while in the custody of Louisiana's New Iberia Sheriff's department and was pronounced dead later that day at a local hospital. The case has been of particular interest to me for the past few months because of who the law enforcement officials fingered as the triggerman. They alleged that White III shot himself—in the backseat of a police car, while his hands were cuffed behind his back, with a gun that mysteriously appeared after they had searched and arrested him. 

According to initial information offered by Trooper Stephen Hammons to the press back in March, Victor III was stopped under the suspicion that he was involved in a fight at a convenience store near his home. Hammons claimed the unnamed deputy involved searched White III, found unidentified narcotics on his person, and arrested him. When they arrived at Iberia Parish Sherrif's Office, they said Victor III refused to exit the cruiser and became "uncooperative." That's when he allegedly "produced" a handgun and fired off one round into his back, killing himself.

Other than those basic details, it's been radio silence for months in terms of official information from the local authorities, who've cited an ongoing investigation into the shooting by the state police as their reason for not sharing any more details or answering any questions about Victor White III. I know—I've reached out to everyone from the local to state police, not to mention political officials like New Iberia's Mayor Hilda Curry, only to fall on deaf ears or get the line about an on-going investigation.

However, late last week some new information eked out via the Iberia Parish Coroner's Office. Victor III's autopsy was performed the day he died by local forensic pathologist Christopher Tape, who has yet to return my calls for comment. The report itself offers fresh insight into what happened that night, while fueling the only natural suspicion that we still don't know the full story of this incredible backseat shooting.

First off, the cause of death according to the report was a suicide, which is drastically different from the seemingly accidental shooting initially described by police officials. According to Victor III's family, he had no history of mental illness or depression. And even if he did, the back seat of a cop car at one in the morning is a strange place to decide to snuff it. 

Despite initial statements made by authorities that said Victor III was shot in the back, the report describes no back wounds at all. Instead, his cause of death is described as a gunshot to his right chest that perforated his left lung and heart, exited through his left armpit, and lacerated his upper arm. It was reported in initial local accounts of the shooting that Victor III was handcuffed behind his back. So in order for him to have shot himself in the chest, he would have had to pull himself through his cuffed arms in the backseat of that cop car—and of course, have a gun in the first place.

The report also lists two abrasions on Victor III's upper left face and around his eye, which seems to be in line with what White's father, Victor White Sr., told me a couple weeks after his son's death: "I know they beat him before he arrived at the station," he said, "because those who were with him before he was arrested said he didn’t have a mark on him.”

I spoke again with Victor Sr. after he'd spent some time looking at the report. The man was in a state of bewilderment and exhaustion, because after more than six months, he still has no idea what happened to his son and the explanations just don't add up.

Authorities have kept Victor Sr. in the dark since the very beginning. He was never alerted by officials that his son had been arrested and died in police custody in the first place. Instead, he found out from his son Leonard, who had been questioned in connection with Victor III's death. When Victor Sr. went to New Iberia, at first the police refused to even let him see his son's body. Then, when they allowed him see his son, it was only from the neck up. The police wouldn't even reveal to him how they thought that his son died. He ended up finding out that the police were claiming his son shot himself in the back by way of a public Facebook post published by the department.

Now, he's got the skeleton of an autopsy report that begs more questions than it provides answers. Did Victor III actually have gun residue on his hands? What kind of gun fired the shot and what kind of bullet was used? Based upon what new information did this shooting suddenly become a confirmed suicide? And how do the police reconcile this report with their initial account? All of these aringing in his head with all the old, unanswered questions, like who were the officers involved? Is there a weapon or a bullet? And, maybe most important, was this incident caught on videotape? 

So much has happened across this country since I first reported on Victor White III's shooting in March: An unarmed, asthmatic father named Eric Garner was strangled to death by the NYPD in Staten Island. An unarmed teenager named Michael Brown was shot six times—once in the head—and killed by his local police in Ferguson, Missouri. And an unarmed, mentally ill 25-year-old named Ezell Ford was shot three times in the back and killed by two LAPD officers.

Righteous anger and frustration at these all too familiar occurrences have lead to protests and demonstrations across the country. However, little national attention has been paid to the curious case of Victor White III. The lack of credible information as to what actually went down surely has something to do with it. And as time goes on, there is the very real possibility that his death will drop out of the news cycle. However, headlines and protest wouldn't provide much solace to Victor White Sr., who's had to live the last few months in purgatory wondering what in the world happened to his boy. 

Follow Wilbert Cooper on Twitter.

Photos by Michael Winters unless otherwise noted

It was just after dark when Michael Martin, 56, was walking back to his home in New Orleans’ Marigny neighborhood, after helping a friend move. At the time, Martin was caring for his dementia-ridden mother, and was anxious to get home, as his long-time partner, Eric Webb, was the only person there with her. 

“I really was walking through a neighborhood that I don’t think the people who live there walk through at night,” Martin said. 

As he approached an interstate overpass, the division between St. Roch and his Marigny neighborhood, Martin heard laughter from a group of children, no older than 13 he believed. It was summer after all, and while dark, he didn’t think much of the roving group of middle schoolers, until he was struck from behind. 

He was then thrown to the ground as the children kicked and slammed fists into Martin’s head and chest. Eventually, he was straddled by one of the kids and choked out until he fell unconscious. 

While Martin is wary of calling the assault a hate crime, he does feel the rapid gentrification happening, in both the St. Roch and Marigny neighborhoods, could have something to do with his beating. 

Photo by the author

“That neighborhood is under a ferocious amount of gentrification pressure,” Martin said. “I mean gay is a bonus... if you don’t like gentrification, you probably don’t like old white faggots either.” 

Martin is a prominent actor and director in NOLA’s theater scene, and he and his boyfriend, Webb, have deep-seated histories of violence in their Marigny neighborhood, where they’ve lived since the early 2000’s. 

“Eric and I were held up at gunpoint by a young man on a bicycle,” Martin began. “That was on our way to a Harry Potter movie. I had my arm broken with an iron pipe in a French Quarter assault, back in 2002. We also had someone break into our house looking for drug money,” Martin said. “Motherfucker came in through the bathroom window.” 

“Were there any others, honey?” Martin asked Webb. 

“Oh, right,” Martin said, glancing over, “Eric found a dead body in the front yard once.” 

Despite the extreme levels of gentrification happening in these two neighborhoods, both south of the French Quarter and along the Mississippi River, they are still two of the most criminally violent places in the United States.  

Just last weekend, two teenaged girls were gunned down and killed in a drive-by shooting that wounded five others, blocks from where Martin was attacked. Two toddlers, ages two and four, were among the critically wounded in that shooting. As of this writing, there have been 24 murders this year in and around the St. Roch and Marigny neighborhoods. Fourteen of them have occurred since June. Perhaps the most depressing of the bunch was the death of 59-year-old Brenda Hal, who was hit in the neck by a stray bullet while playing cards inside a friend's house.

And in a community riddled with blight, drug addiction, and shootings, residents are now more concerned than ever. After a violent and bloody summer, the children of these neighborhoods, some as young as 11 years old, seem to be taking out their frustrations on an unfortunate and unlikely group: artists and gays. 

Bill Murphy, a local installation artist, was the second victim assaulted. He, too, was walking home when he was struck from behind, and knocked down. Murphy was then kicked and stomped on, similar to what happened to Martin, by a group of eight children. 

“I don’t remember much,” Murphy said. “But when I woke up the next day I had a bunch of sneaker prints on my forehead.”

Sneaker prints are still visible after Murphy's beating. Photo by Bill Murphy

Murphy is friends with Tysean Riles, a 21-year-old New Orleans native and fellow artist, who at one time was also a troubled adolescent. 

Riles believes these children aren’t necessarily targeting any group or type of person in particular, though Riles says older white men are “less likely to be packing heat,” especially if they have an effeminate walk about them. 

“Kids be bored. And then they see an old white person walking funny or something and they want to fight them,” Riles said. “If they think you look weak, they’re going to mess with you.” 

The kids perpetrating these assaults, many of whom, Riles says, attend an elementary school across the street from Murphy’s house, need to find guidance and mentorship through whatever means possible. 

“The community needs to reach out to these children. We need computer labs or basketball games,” Riles said. “Have white girls helping black kids with homework, something.”

“I think it’ll work. I’ve been around these neighborhoods long enough to see it work. It worked for me. It worked for my friends,” Riles said. “But then once it stops, people gonna get killed because they don’t have anything to do.”

At 14, Riles found salvation when he was exposed to installation projects and began sculpting with artists in his community. He quit attempting burglaries and focused exclusively on his art and caring for animals. People around the neighborhood now call him “Safari Man.” 

He’s raised a fleet of goats, an iguana, snakes, a pot-bellied pig, and currently cares for two Shetland ponies, which he keeps at Murphy’s house. 

Recent neighborhood association meeting to promote non-violence in The St. Roch Neighborhood/i>

Christopher Brumfield was the most recent, and also the most severely beaten victim, in this string of adolescent attacks. 

Coincidentally, he was on his way to support a Roots of Music Fundraiser, a local charity that helps at risk youth through mentorship programs and music education. And for years Brumfield himself had worked with elementary and high school students around that area as an art and ceramics instructor with, the now defunct Recovery School District.

Similar to the other two cases, it was completely dark when Brumfield heard a group of kids laughing, though he didn’t realize how much trouble he was in until he saw the dozen or so middle schoolers were armed with bats and large wooden sticks. 

“Luckily I was paying attention and could run,” Brumfield said. “Once they caught me though, I had to crawl into the street to get away. They were hitting me the whole time.” 

Brumfield’s pants were ripped down, in an attempt to emasculate him, and his feet and head were stomped on by the dozen or so teenagers, while others hit him with clubs. Before being knocked out, Brumfield even recognized some of his former students, from an elementary school he had taught at, perpetrating the beating. He was forced to crawl into oncoming traffic to get away, and the children only fled once they were confronted by the headlights of a passing car. 

Weeks after the assault, Brumfield was still experiencing severe headaches and trauma and had moved to Baton Rouge to stay with family. He isn’t willing to write these children off as lost causes though and feels that poverty and systematic neglect have led to this escalation in violence. 

“The real problem is that we’re failing the kids all over New Orleans. We’re failing them socially, educationally, in every way.” Brumfield said. “I’m watching kids in this city not get what they need again. It’s about poverty and it’s about kids and families that don’t have resources.” 

Police have made no arrests in regards to the assaults. 

Follow Mason Miller on Twitter.