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Will Wearing Makeup During a Pregnancy Make Your Baby Dumb?

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Photo via Wikimedia Commons

Pregnancy is no cakewalk, from what I hear.  Sometimes you feel inexplicably weepy. Sometimes you get adult acne. Sometimes your feet swell up so much that you go up a shoe size. Even Kate Middleton was ​hospitalized for severe morning sickness, and she's a ​shapeshifting lizard person. The worst part? While that little creature is growing inside you, punching you in the stomach from the inside and making you feel fat and moody and weird, you can't even relax with a ​vodka martini, or a meth pipe, or a handful of MDMA.

​There are a lot of other things you aren't allowed to do, in fact. And according to a ​study published today in the journal PLOS ONE, you can add wearing makeup to that list, since apparently the chemicals in certain cosmetics can make your unborn child stupid.

The chemicals in question are called d i-n-butyl phthalate (DnBP) and di-isobutyl phthalate (DiBP), and they're commonly found in lipstick, hairspray, and nail polish. In the study, researchers measured pregnant women's exposure to these phthalates during their third trimester, and then measured their kids' IQ levels at age seven. Their data showed that the kids' IQs were significantly lower if their mothers had greater exposure to the chemicals.

I'm sure a bunch of pregnant ladies are dropping their copies of What to Expect When You're Expecting right now so they can rush to their makeup bags and see if they've been exposed to this stuff. But if pregnant women avoided all of the things that allegedly cause problems in their kids, they'd also have to stay away from ​hot tubs​Brie cheese​all the fun rides at Disneyland​deli meat​microwave ovens​tap water​sleeping on your back​changing the cat litter, and on, and on, and on, and on.

By the way, phthalates are also sometimes found in dryer sheets and soap, so you should probably give up on your hygiene while pregnant, too.

Nobody wants to put their unborn child at risk for defects—but you would literally have to go live in a cave to avoid everything that's potentially risky while pregnant, and even then you'd have to worry about sharp rocks. Plus, most of the studies that detail these risks involve small sample sizes and a lot of ambiguity.  As far as the correlation between phthalate exposure and kids' IQ levels, we don't know a whole lot about the families who were studied, or what else these kids were exposed to in utero (except that their moms were nonsmokers). That's not say that these chemicals—or any of the other things pregnant women are advised to avoid—are safe, but it's also not to say you're fucked if you paint your toenails or take a dip in a hot tub while you're with child. And honestly no one should expect you to give up deli meat for nine months. That's just fucked.

Follow Arielle Pardes on ​Twitter.


Comics: An Illustrated A to Z of Torture

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​ [body_image width='1063' height='1413' path='images/content-images/2014/12/10/' crop='images/content-images-crops/2014/12/10/' filename='an-illustrated-a-z-of-torture-cia-284-body-image-1418245105.jpg' id='10539'][body_image width='1063' height='1413' path='images/content-images/2014/12/10/' crop='images/content-images-crops/2014/12/10/' filename='an-illustrated-a-z-of-torture-cia-284-body-image-1418245184.jpg' id='10540'][body_image width='1063' height='1413' path='images/content-images/2014/12/10/' crop='images/content-images-crops/2014/12/10/' filename='an-illustrated-a-z-of-torture-cia-284-body-image-1418245214.jpg' id='10541']

Follow ​Oscar Rickett and ​Krent Able on Twitter.

​Why Are Breast Pumps Disappearing from New Jersey Burlington Coat Factories?

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Photo via Flickr user ​aaron_anderer

Burlington Coat Factory is known for selling relatively acceptable outerwear at pretty OK prices. It's the kind of place your mom drags you to as a kid—much like Ross or the dreaded Stein Mart. It is also apparently a hotbed of breast-pump-related crime, or at least it is in New Jersey.

On December 1, an unknown man walked into a Burlington Coat Factory in Brick Township, loaded up his cart w​ith three Medela Freestyle breast pumps, and left without paying, the Smoking Gun  ​reported Tuesday. Although it might seem silly, the theft is being treated as a serious crime—combined, the hands-free devices are worth about $1,000. Oddly enough, though, the man dumped the pumps outside the store as he was fleeing. A manager from the Burlington Coat Factory store in question declined to comment to VICE about the theft.

Detective D aniel Waleski with the Brick Township Police Department has been assigned to the case, but he referred us to Sergeant Henry J. Drew, who did not return requests for comment. That may be because this latest incident is part of a bizarre mini crime spree: There was another case of breast-pump shoplifting earlier this month in nearby Freehold. So why would pilfering lactation aids be worthwhile? The answer might be that they're used for a variety of sexual purposes, which of course can be read about online.

"Guys this toy has been the most enjoyable sex toy I have ever owned," says big​bear4u on the forum Experience Project. "I will use the pump a couple of times a day and will even fall asleep with the pump set to a low setting feeling the gentle suckling of my moobs." (He then links to a YouTube video that has mercifully been taken down, but you can use your imagination.)

Other men are using breast pumps to induce lactation (yes, male lactation  ​is a thing). As it turns out, when stimulated by a sucking device, nipples can activate the pituitary gland, a fetish made possible by consuming the same kind of hormones that women naturally produce while pregnant. That, and having a machine suck away at your nipples for hours on end. "I just started taking herbs and using breast cream to grow my breasts," kfsteve, who's in h​is 60s and from Arizona, wrote on the forum. "My goal is to lactate. I can only imagine the fun that is waiting for me."

The other plausible explanation, of course, is that breast pumps are expensive as fuck. Maybe the guy just wants to unload them on the black market or flip them on eBay. Everybody loves money, and as another commenter on Experience Project  ​notes, "I have a breast pump fetish... but electric ones are expensive. Gotta save gotta save."

Follow Allie Conti on ​​Twitter.

Meet FEMM, the Sentient Mannequin J-Pop Supergroup

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​All images courtesy of Avex/FEMM

​In the early days of mass-market global pop, it was relatively easy to manufacture a profitable group: You just hired some songwriters, amplified and distorted the members' backstories, gave them suitable haircuts to identify this one as the bad boy or that one as the heartbreaker, and made sure they can dance. In retrospect, the images crafted around acts like the Backstreet Boys or ​Britney Spears come off as as undeniably quaint, relics of an age in which the stealthy glossing over of a performer's off-message traits was enough.

But in a world where produc​ers have become the frontmen and literal​ holograms go on tour, it takes more than a stylist and a few carefully managed media appearances to make a musician stand out in a crowded marketplace. At least, that's how I imagine we get acts like FEMM, the mesmerizing J-pop electro duo with a backstory more inventive than anything on the SyFy channel right now.

FEM​M, which stands for Far-East Mention Mannequin, is fronted by two performers, who are, in turn, backed by some of the last decade's most successful pop engineers; their songwriters, producers, and engineers have worked with Beyonce, Skrillex, and Mariah Carey, just to name a few. But according to FEMM's mythology, the project is also the name of an organized syndicate seeking to liberate mistreated mannequins—as in literal dolls—from the abuses they suffer at the hands of the human race (being crushed in crash dummy tests, for example). FEMM has dispatched agents all over the globe to find and identify mannequins that meet a "certain criteria" and animate them using a gadget of undisclosed origin.

They say the agency has revived two now-sentient mannequins: RiRi and LuLa, who are the unnerving, mechanical performers in FEMM's super-glossy, high-production-value vide​os. In space-age catsuits or leather French maid outfits, RiRi and LuLa sing (sometimes equipped with machine guns) about the basic insufficiency of men; they mouth lyrics that reference American baseball players and romantic quadraplegia in perfect, lyrical English. In the videos—choreographed by the Hidali group, which previously worked on precise robotic dances with World Order—they maintain the same creepy, impassive mannequin gaze as when they make their ra​re in-person appearances.

But if you try to interview RiRi and LuLa—which I did—you'll get Honey-B and W-Trouble, the "syndicate agents" ostensibly responsible for the mannequins' reanimation. ("We're not performers," they told me at one point.) The agents appear as "themselves," brief​ly, at the beginning of one of FEMM's videos, jumping around in front of the camera dressed for an LA club. It's all a brilliant and pretty deeply meta set-up—we're talking about two performers, backed by some of global pop music's most well-regarded names, pretending to be artists pretending to be mannequins. FEMM isn't a supergroup in the strictest sense of the word, but it probably would be regarded as one if we we more honest about how pop music really gets made.

Not that I knew any of this when a friend first showed me the videos; what caught me, in the videos for "Fxxck Boy​s Get Money" and "Wanna​be," was that FEMM had managed to stylize the uncanny valley to the point of its being totally glamorous—an impressive feat, given how boring pop music's sci-fi strains has been for the past, say, 20 years (if you're excluding dance label ​PC Music). Intrigued by that aspect and the group's weird lampooning of the super-cute kawaii culture sometimes associated with crossover J-pop acts, I got in touch with FEMM—you know, the "agents" that brought FEMM back to life—to see how we should be preparing for the mannequin revolution.
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VICE: Hi, Honey-B and W-Trouble. First off, can you tell me how you met RiRi and LuLa, and how you became their agents?
W-Trouble: Hi, we are agents at FEMM's agency syndicate (FAS). We represent RiRi and LuLa. They cannot speak for themselves, so we will be answering your questions today.

Honey-B: FAS is a agency where we work to save the rights of all mannequins and dolls in the world, which have been mistreated for long years. We created RiRi and LuLa as leaders for this movement.

What kind of mannequins were RiRi and LuLa before they became super-mannequins?
Honey-B: Just like any other mannequins. But we spotted their potential of becoming the best FEMM leader.

W-Trouble: RiRi and LuLa have been watching human activities through this past year or so, and learned a lot.

I've heard that RiRi is a combat mannequin and LuLa is more of a healer. How did they get those skills?
Honey-B: Just like humans, mannequins have feelings and personalities too. RiRi had the fighter's soul to begin with. It was in her skin. This is what we call potential.

W-Trouble: We decide which power would be suitable for which mannequins. LuLa had a sort of a motherly feel to her, so we thought healer was the best option for her.

The two of you show up in the beginning of the music video for "Astroboy," and you're good dancers, but RiRi and LuLa have a very unique style. How often do they practice the choreography for their videos?
W-Trouble: Oh, I'm a little embarrassed. Honey-B and I aren't performers to begin with. But, don't you love Hidali choreography team's unique dance of FEMM?

Honey-B: Thank you. Very kind of you. FEMM rehearsed for "Astroboy" for like a month. It was a first-time experience for all of us and it was very exciting.

[youtube src='//www.youtube.com/embed/8ZtbB4D1mDQ' width='640' height='360']

What is FEMM fighting against? What kind of mistreatment did RiRi and LuLa see that made them so mad?
W-Trouble: It's sad but true that dolls have been treated so badly for years. Like the dolls that are used to test cars' airbags. They show them in the commercials being crushed. Also in everyday life, mannequins always have to be dressed in clothing that they don't even like. But we're not trying to fight against humans; we just want people to be aware.

Honey-B: FEMM stands up for the rights of mannequins. They are just like us. Dolls are not just props, toys, tools for human. We are looking for a way to unite.

​A teaser video launche​d last year showed syndicate FEMM members busting mannequins out of shop windows. Is FEMM recruiting now? How are they choosing mannequins to join them?
Honey-B: We are always looking out for more mannequins to join FEMM. The agents can judge which mannequins have the potentials to become FEMM, and they're selecting the mannequins using such ability.

W-Trouble: I'm sure that a lot of mannequins who've put up with mistreatment are on the same page.

Do RiRi and LuLa listen to music when they aren't working? What do they like? What do they do when they aren't onstage or filming?
Honey-B: Of course they love to listen to all kinds of music. We try to introduce a range of style to them. It's one if their studies.

W-Trouble: FEMM try to watch and learn from humans. When FEMM goes out lots of human surround them. They especially adore kids.

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If RiRi and LuLa had a message for the world, what do you think it would be?Honey-B: RiRi says she is really happy and excited that lots of human agents have been so kind to her.

W-Trouble: LuLa is a healer. She think it's important to be calm, so that you can pay attention to others, like to mannequins too. There are a lot of false information out there about dolls, but if you can really understand the truth, it would be a better place for all of us. This is what she thinks.

Follow Molly Osberg on ​Twitt​er.

Photo School: Henry Horenstein: Shoot What You Love

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Technology has made it easier than ever for anyone to be a photographer, but that means it's even harder to make an iconic photograph. ​Photo School is a new monthly column that teaches you all the things you need to know about photography without the hassle of going to art school. 

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Doc Watson, Performance Center, Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1975. All photos by ​Hen​ry Horenstein

I've had some great photography teachers, but the best piece of advice I ever got came from ​Henry Ho​renstein on my first day in the photo department at the Rhode Island School of Design:

"Find out what you love, and photograph it."

Horenstein was given that advice by legendary photographer ​Harry Calla​han, who took pictures of his wife, Eleanor. But for Horenstein, this has meant shooting country musicians, horses at the racetrack, burlesque performers, and his family and friends in Boston. All of his pictures are concerned with documenting people and places in the process of disappearing. "They're histories," he says, "which is what photographs really are. As they get older they become a record of a time, whether you intend them that way or not." This statement makes sense coming from someone who studied history at the University of Chicago before returning to his native New England to apprentice under Callahan and seminal photographer ​Aaron Si​skind

Coincidentally I had been introduced to Horenstein years before I went to art school, in the seventh grade, when an uncle gave me a disused enlarger and film developing tanks. I switched on our family's Dell to research darkrooms and found Horenstein's Black and White Photography: A Basic Manual. I loosely followed its instructions and built the world's dustiest darkroom in the root cellar of my parents' house.

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​Dolly Parton, Symphony Hall, Boston, Massachusetts, 1972. 

Horenstein is a storyteller, both in his practice as a photographer and in his approach to teaching. One of the stories he told was about a gig he had photographing Dolly Parton at Symphony Hall in Boston. Backstage at the concert, he gathered his courage and decided to ask her why she felt the need to wear elaborate costumes, despite being such a talented musician. 

"Well, honey, they don't come out to see me looking like everybody else."

This is increasingly true of photography—it is no longer enough just to be able to make a good picture. You have to do something different to set your work apart from the massive onslaught of images people see every day. 

These kind of gems make Henry a good teacher. His past students have included legends like Nan Goldin ("she took three classes until she found a better teacher," he admits), ​Jim G​oldberg​Stanle​y Greene, and punk photographer ​Godl​is. Horenstein is currently ​c​rowdfunding a monograph of his work, called Histories: Tales From the 70s, that will collect these sage anecdotes alongside previously unseen photos from that decade. 

Below, Henry gives VICE a preview of some histories from the book.

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Dolly Parton and Porter Wagoner, Symphony Hall, Boston, 1972

"Before Dolly became a star, she was a singer for Porter's Wagon Masters (1967-1974). I took this picture backstage for the Boston Phoenix, the local alternative weekly. This shot was taken in the same session that produced a better known photo of Dolly alone."

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Merle and Doc Watson, Backstage at Paradise Club, Cambridge, MA 1974

" Born in Deep Gap, North Carolina, Doc Watson was highly influential in bringing mountain-style county music to the city—hillbilly music to citybilles. He was 'discovered' by musician and folklorist Ralph Rinzler in 1960, and spent the next 50 years playing in cities large and small, college campuses, and folk festivals. Doc was blind from a very early age and for many years he traveled and played with his son Merle, who died in a tractor accident in 1985. Doc died in 2012." 

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"My job as photographer at the Thompson Speedway was mostly taking pictures of the drivers, their cars, and the Winner's Circle. But I loved meeting and photographing the fans, everyday people who were related to the drivers or just came out for the action. My hero was, of course, the legendary ​Wee​gee. Working at night, I often copied his style (still do), which was to preset the focus, point the camera in the direction of the subjects, and let the flash make the picture. Then, hope for the best."

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Chammie in Wool, Newton, MA 1972

"My mom had eight dogs in her lifetime, all small poodles. She named them each one Chammie. Because she had such a bad memory, she figured this was a good way to remember the various dogs' names. She'd say to me, 'Peter, take Chammie for a walk, please.' I hated that. I'm Henry, Mom, not Peter. Anyway, not only was my mom in love with dogs (god bless her), she also loved knitting. Here, we see the two loves in her life. In my low moments, I sometimes wonder if Peter came in a distant third." 

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Mom, Chammie and Studley, Kitchen, Newton, MA, 1971

"Here, Mom is pictured with her dog, Chammie (left), and Chammie's cousin, Studley, my sister's dog. This photo was my first prize winner ever—second place in the portrait category for The Real Paper, a local alternative weekly. For my efforts, I scored a 105mm, f2.8 Nikon lens."

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The Holy Modal Rounders, Aengus Studios, Fayville, MA, 1972

"The Holy Modal Rounders were most successful in the 60s and 70s, but they actually had a lot in common with the beats in the 50s. At any rate, their music was the real thing, channeling Uncle Dave Macon, the first star of the Grand Ole Opry, and singing originals like 'Boobs a Lot'—well before the Political Correctness Days. This was when Greenwich Village was where the hippest things were happening. For a while, the Rounders (mainly Peter Stampfel and Steve Weber, pictured here) were part of the legendary Fugs. Later, a promising young playwright/actor named Sam Shepard was part of the band. They were featured on the soundtrack of Easy Rider. And one of the most influential indie record labels ever, Rounder Records, was named after them. I shot this picture and many others for Rounder when we were all just starting out."

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Bill Monroe, Take It Easy Ranch, Callaway, MD, 1973

"How many musicians can lay claim to starting a musical genre? And don't say Chubby Checker and the twist, please. Bill Monroe and his Bluegrass Boys began bluegrass music. Pretty much. His brother Charlie was a part of it, for sure, and a few others, no doubt. OK, second question: What musician started a musical genre and wrote one side of Elvis's first 45, "Blue Moon of Kentucky"?

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Christine, Boston, MA, 1972

"This photo shows a sweet, skeptical baby against a lot of fun patterns. But to me it's a coming-of-age picture—the first baby I knew who was not part of my family. I was 25 years old, building my own family of friends."

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Friend of Barbara's, Kitchen, New Bedford, MA, 1971

"So, this is a friend of my sister's. Can't recall her name. It was made for my first assignment and first publication, when I was just starting out. It was a brochure for an educational publisher warning kids against drug use called DRUGS AND YOU, TOO. Worked for me. I got $10 per photo. In other words, no budget for models, so I turned friends and family into drug addicts for the brochure."

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Harmonica Player, Merchant's Cafe, Nashville, TN, 1974

"Here's a guy with a harmonica in a Nashville honky tonk. There's really nothing special about him. Maybe he's hoping a producer will walk by and discover him. Or maybe he's just feeling the music and needs to let loose. I'm sure there are people and places like this in Nashville still, but very few who haven't just traded on their vintageness or simply turned into fern bars. People say that the music was better back then. I'm not sure if that's true, but I'm pretty sure it was more heartfelt."

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Fans Surrounding Ernest Tubb for Autographs, Lone Star Ranch, Reeds Ferry, NH, 1974

"It seems odd to some, but there is a long and strong tradition of country music in New England. One of the reasons for this is a string of country music parks that once were popular throughout the northeast, from Maryland to Maine to Ohio and into Canada. These getaways were affordable summer homes for working people, who would rent a space and put down an RV, trailer, or tent. They would come with their families to enjoy a weekend or vacation getaway, grill burgers and hot dogs, give the kids some space, and enjoy the country bands of the day. Many popular bands toured these parks annually, picking up fans and gas money to keep their buses on the road and themselves in business."

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Boxing at the Harvard Club, Boston, MA, 1977

"Male Harvard alumni used to gather annually in the ballroom of their mansion to eat roast beef, smoke cigars, and jeer at boxers pounding each other. Racial epitaphs were heard; business deals were sealed. I shot this picture for a book I was working on with writer Brendan Boyd, which was never published. Ten years later, Brendan and I did collaborate on the book Racing Days, which is about horse racing."

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Secretariat Takes a Bath, Claiborne Farms, Paris, KY, 1989

"Taken months before he passed, the greatest racehorse ever spent his last 15 years "covering" mares and being coddled. Alright, I know this picture was taken ten years after the 70s ended, but in 1973 Secretariat became one of only 11 horses to win the Triple Crown of Racing, so I thought he fit in here. Besides, a ​Kickstarter-savvy friend advised, 'For rewards, offer celebrities and animals.' In this picture you get both."

[body_image width='1000' height='1000' path='images/content-images/2014/12/10/' crop='images/content-images-crops/2014/12/10/' filename='henry-horenstein-shoot-what-you-love-body-image-1418237453.jpg' id='10504']Steve Cauthen, Saratoga Race Course, Saratoga Springs, NY, 1977

"The last winner of the Triple Crown was a horse named Affirmed in 1978. Steve Cauthen was the rider. He was 18-years old at the time. Not long after, he moved to England and rode champion horses for Arabian princes and cut country music records. This picture speaks to a jockey's strength—the hands that guide their mounts to the finish line."

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Urine Collector, Fair Grounds, New Orleans, LA, 1977

"Just when you think your job sucks, consider the urine collector. His task is to catch a horse's urine after a race to send to a lab for drug testing. I imagine the process is a little more sophisticated now than it was in 1977. Still, the reasons for drugging a horse remain the same. Maybe it's to improve its performance, so you can bet it to win. Or maybe it's to make a favored horse lose so you can back other horses in the race. The problem is you don't always know who's doing what. 

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Drunk Dancers, Merchant's Cafe, Nashville, TN, 1974

"Oddly, in the 70s there was very little live music in Nashville. It was an industry town with the Grand Ole Opry, a live radio show, as the primary performing venue. But there were a few old honky tonks around, like the Merchant Café, where a couple could get hammered and show their moves, with no inhibition."

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Koko Taylor, Blues Club, Cambridge, MA, 1972

"I photographed a lot of country musicians back in the day, but I also shot blues, jazz, and R&B on assignment and mostly for myself. I can't recall why I photographed Taylor, a hard-touring blues singer, but it was a simple shoot. I only made three or four frames, and this is the one I like best. Taylor represented the older sounding Chicago blues that was so popular with the college and folk music crowd in the 70s and 80s—songs like "Wang Dang Doodle," one of her few chart hits." 

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Loretta Lynn, Backstage, Annapolis, Md., 1975 

"The 'Coal Miner's Daughter' Loretta was one of the very first country music female stars, after Kitty Wells and Patsy Cline. She lived a hard life replete with poverty, four children before the age of 20, a difficult marriage, and psychological problems. I photographed her after she broke down on stage, and she put on a face for the photographers waiting for her to board her bus. Although a very traditional, old-school performer, Loretta could throw a curve now and again. For instance her pro-birth control song, 'The Pill,' and her ditty about male/female double standards, "Rated X." At 82, Loretta still tours, her career helped by a comeback album produced by Jack White in 2004.​"

Support ​Henry Horenstein's Kickstarter by pre-ordering your copy of Histories: Tales From The 70s ​here

​Matthew Leifheit is the photo editor of VICE, and also teaches photography at School of Visual Arts. Follow him on Twitter

VICE After Dark with John Lurie - Episode 3

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It's the third episode of VICE After Dark with John Lurie, a live internet radio show hosted by cult icon John Lurie. You know John. He's the guy from Fishing with John, all those Jim Jarmusch movies, the band the Lounge Lizards, and the creator of the fictional musician Marvin Pontiac. John's priority for the last 12 years has been his paintings.

Tonight's episode is all about getting in over your head. Biting off more than you can chew. Everyone does it, and it often leads to crippling embarrassment. 

Speaking of chewing, if you have any food that is really CRUNCHY in your refrigerator or cupboard, make sure to call in for an exciting musical experiment.

If you missed the last episode, featuring Steve Buscemi and Evan Lurie, you can listen to it here.

​Follow John on Twitter.

​Subscribe to VICE YouTube.


Your Retirement Fund Is Slowly Evaporating

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Las Vegas, Nevada, 1954. Courtesy Magnum Photos. Photo by Elliott Erwitt

There's at least one scene in Martin Scorsese's The Wolf of Wall Street that speaks to a higher truth about the financial industry—and, incidentally, to why almost no one you know will have enough money for retirement. Early in the movie, Matthew McConaughey's character takes Jordan Belfort, played by Leonardo DiCaprio, to lunch to teach the young broker how the game is played.

"I gotta say, I'm incredibly excited to be a part of your firm. I mean," DiCaprio stammers, "the clients you have are absolutely..."

"Fuck the clients," McConaughey interrupts, going on to explain that no one can predict the market. Brokers, he says, make money through a Ferris wheel of nonstop fees, not client interest. "We're taking home cold hard cash via commission, motherfucker," he barks as he orders another martini.

The modern American retirement system of 401(k)'s and IRAs is really no different. Defined benefit pensions are a thing of the past. Pretty much every American is now in control of his own retirement and must figure out his own path on the stock market through a confusing array of retirement-planning options. But there's a catch: Like the dupes who entrusted their money to the brokers in The Wolf of Wall Street, you're being fleeced on your retirement, and the opportunities are endless. And while a simple regulatory approach could help millions of investors, it has been fought for decades by the industry, and we may now be facing the last chance in years to address the situation.

As things stand, around 85 percent of financial advisers—including those helping you and your family plan for retirement—have no legal obligation to act in your best interest. That mutual fund you were advised to invest in? That annuity? That so-called growth fund? Chances are the fund is laden with hidden fees that eat up your savings. And there's an even better likelihood that the fund your adviser selected wasn't in your best financial interest. Instead, your adviser was probably paid a kickback to sell you that plan. Mutual funds benefit from planners who push clients in their direction, and often they reward planners with a piece of the action through a special commission or fee. The retirement-planning industry, which serves the $10.5 trillion American retirement system, has every incentive to place self-enrichment over retirement security.

Whether you know it or not, your 401(k) is likely being devoured by marketing fees, investment-management fees, administrative fees, and broker commissions—along with trading fees that pass on to you every time a mutual fund buys or sells a security. The fees—nearly impossible for the average person to uncover, buried as they are in page after page of small type—can represent between 1 and 3 percent of a total retirement portfolio.

Small as that may seem, the fees eventually reflect the tyranny of compound interest, with the result that they can add up to the difference between retiring in comfort or working until you're 80. The average two-person household in the United States, according to one analysis, pays $155,000 in fees over the lifetime of a 401(k).

And to make matters far, far worse—those actively managed funds with high fees statistically underperform passive index funds that broadly track the market. That's not to say there's no room to hedge your portfolio with an actively managed fund or two, but it's clear that most mutual funds are overhyped junk. But index funds carry very low fees, and financial advisers have little reason to encourage them.

How inappropriate are the funds that financial planners are recommending? The journalist John Wasik, working with the New York–based think tank Demos, has collected stories of American retirees who have been royally screwed over by the financial planning industry. One, a retired Houston cop, recalled being told by his broker that investing in preferred Lehman Brothers stock would be "similar to a CD" in terms of safety. He lost more than six figures when Lehman went bust. UBS Investments, a brokerage owned by the Swiss Bank, peddled more than $1 billion in Lehman funds as low-risk investments.

The hunger for retirement-fund profits is so great that some planners have turned to cannibalism. Ameriprise Financial, one of the nation's largest financial planners, has been sued by its own employees after pushing them into high-fee proprietary funds that ultimately cost employee accounts more than $20 million.

Which brings us to one of the less discussed aspects of financial reform—a simple regulatory fix known as the Fiduciary Rule, which the administration and the Department of Labor could push through without the support of Congress. Meaning that in the twilight years of the Obama administration there will be one last shot to clean up the financial planning industry.

This set of proposed rules would require virtually all financial planners to act as your fiduciary, meaning they would be paid a flat fee rather than by commission. Most important, it would mean they could only give you advice in your best financial interest. (At present, most financial planners must follow only a "suitability" standard, which means they may not invest your money in something extreme, like a potato-salad Kickstarter, though they may still plow your savings into mutual funds with sky-high fees.)

Why have regulators waited so long to attempt to ensure the most basic of rules for financial planners? In the past, the Department of Labor largely ignored the problem because of pressure from the financial services industry. And in 2010, when in the wake of the financial crisis the Obama administration finally moved to act on the issue, the industry knives were already sharp.

The Financial Services Institute, a coalition that represents financial planners including LPL Financial and Transamerica Financial Advisors more than doubled its spending on lobbyists that year. Records show brokers and mutual-fund interests hired 180 lobbyists to fight back on the rule, including several former members of Congress, like Republican Jim McCrery and Democrat Kenneth Bentsen Jr. Thomas Donohue, a lobbyist who runs the most powerful influence machine in Washington, the US Chamber of Commerce, was enlisted as well. Even Eugene Scalia, Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia's son, was retained to write a letter to the Department of Labor, criticizing the proposal.

A document posted online by the industry lobbyists—subsequently deleted—boasted that the effort had generated 5,000 letters to the White House against the rule, conducted 260 meetings with Congress, and mobilized congressional resistance. The metadata from one congressional letter, ostensibly from a group of House Democrats, revealed that it had been penned by a ghostwriter—a Financial Services Institute lobbyist.

Banks, mutual funds, and private investment advisers also flooded the department with highly technical complaints about the rules. In several letters, JPMorgan Chase and State Street griped that the proposed legislation was too vague and required greater exemptions. In one industry letter typical of Wall Street protests over the reforms, Northern Trust wrote that the rules "in our view create the very sorts of 'unnecessary burdens on businesses' that President Obama pledged to remedy in his recent State of the Union address." Besides, the letter noted, "individual retirement accounts are large and important parts of our business."

Opponents coalesced around a faux populist argument. By forcing a fiduciary standard, the cost of investment advice would rise, limiting choices for low-income and minority retirees. "We are especially concerned about the proposed rule's impact on small savers at a time when many Georgians are struggling to ensure themselves of secure retirement," wrote two Republican congressmen, claiming the rule would make financial advice too expensive for regular Americans.

The financial planning industry assembled an unusual coalition. Tea Party lawmakers joined leaders of the Congressional Black and Hispanic caucuses to denounce the rules. The seemingly unimaginable coalition was fused with the magic glue of Washington: money. Think tanks, economists, politicians, and even their families got in on the action. The Financial Services Institute, for instance, retained as a lobbyist William Clyburn Jr., a cousin to Congressman James Clyburn, the top-ranking African American Democrat in the House. The institute's PAC gave checks ranging from $1,000 to $5,000 to 38 lawmakers of both parties who signed anti–Fiduciary Rule letters.

In 2011, facing a wave of political opposition, the administration backed down. Even after the White House's retreat, an increasingly bank-friendly Congress has fired warning shots across the bow. In the last session, a bipartisan bill backed by Congresswoman Ann Wagner, a Republican from Missouri, would have created new hurdles for any Fiduciary Rule to pass and forced it into years of delays, running out the clock for the Obama administration. The bill passed with virtually all Republicans and a sizable bloc of Democrats voting for it. It lingered and died in the (then Democrat-controlled) Senate.

Regulators have since promised to re-propose but have punted on a time line. Now, insiders say, the rule will come out sometime in 2015.

"The thing is, you're paying for the advice in one way or another," Norman Stein, a professor at Drexel University's Thomas R. Kline School of Law, told me. "You're paying for it with no transparency because you're paying for it through fees, so even if it looks free, it's not free." 

To Stein, many of the opponents have been trolling the issue. The financial planning industry, he says, will certainly make less money because of the rule—that's why they're fighting it. And it will force unwanted reforms within the industry, changes Stein says will force brokers "to be smart enough, thoughtful enough, and prudent enough to actually give good advice."

It might seem brazen for the financial planning industry to argue that they don't have to serve their own clients' interest. But this logic isn't peculiar to Wall Street: Washington clearly shares that view.

The Shady World of People Who Offer to Illegally Sell Chimps Online

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This is what a chimpanzee looks like. Photo by Thomas Lersch ​via Wikicommons

This post originally appeared in VICE UK​

Humans are endlessly fascinated with animals. Have you been on the internet? Do you know of Vine? Are you aware that there are currently 225,000 videos of baby deer on YouTube? All this is proof that an animal's ​unknowable otherness will forever keep us interested—and keep us asking questions like, "Can we really communicate with dolphins?" or, "Why do rams always seem so uptight and negative?"

But there's a darker side to our interest in wildlife. Darker, still, than the time that woman put a cat in a wheelie bin. It's a side that mostly revolves a small amount of people longing to decorate their homes with bits of dead endangered animals. 

In fact, a recent study by the International Fund for Animal Welfare  ​found 33,000 protected animals or animal bits for sale on the internet, with the UK having the fourth highest number of adverts for endangered creatures.

Ivory was the most advertised item in the UK, which is obviously abhorrent, but also kind of boring. An elephant tusk isn't going to greet you with a hug when you come back from work; it's not going to give you any kind of real, tangible experience once you've bought it, bar people coming round and judging you for actively taking part in one of the many cruel, disgusting things that makes the human race the worst thing about Earth.

On other sites, however, you could supposedly buy live chimpanzees, tigers, orangutans, bears and "toilet-trained" gorillas, all of which are illegal to own as pets in the UK. Why you'd want a pet chimp in the first place, I have no idea. Those PG Tips adverts were terrifying, and literally every documentary I've ever seen about people keeping primates in their homes has ended exactly how they told the presenter it wouldn't end: with blood, tears and a call to animal services.

Mind you, I still wanted to find out how easy it is to get hold of one. The study specified that these animals were on sale on "openly accessible websites," so I discounted the deep net and set off into the world wide web.

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The first promising result I came across was babieschimpanzee.webs.com, a site that looks a bit like a PETA activist's Myspace page, except for the whole "monkeys for sale" thing (I'm not sure where PETA stands on that).  Here, I learned some handy tips about owning a chimp, such as: "Build a relationship with your pet monkey by talking to them softly. Speak its name often, like Sandra, Sandra, SANDRA haha."

I picture that exchange going something like this: "Good morning, Sandra. Why are you scowling at me like that, Sandra? Hey, let go of daddy's head—get your thumbs out of my eyes. Jesus, let go of my face, SANDRA haha."

Sadly, this would not be the site to help me test that theory. Although the owner lists their contact details no less than six times, none of my many emails elicited a response. It was also worrying that this apparently reputable source identified chimps—a member of the ape family—as a monkey multiple times. Onto the next one.

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Mercattel is a Spanish-language classified ads website that somehow manages to look even less legit than babieschimpanzee.webs.com. However, in the context of what I was trying to do, this was actually quite a promising sign.

The site displays adverts for all manner of things, including lots of "legal abortion" clinics, someone who can cast a spell that helps you win the "lottory" and whatever the fuck a "super power magic ring of wonders" is. So, I figured, if I was going to stumble across an illegal primate ready for import anywhere, it would be here.

The website's animal section lists critters ranging from African snails (the type that  ​eat houses and can give people meningitis) to golden eagles. But I was looking for something a little more hairy, so clicked on the monkey section and found this:

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This ad ticked all the boxes for me. Who wouldn't want an "almost human" pet that, judging by the sales pitch, requires very little care? If I were to go on holiday, say, my new flatmate would apparently be totally fine, surviving off foraged lollipops and all the other food I regularly eat. If that hadn't already cinched it, the vendor also promised a free cage, a free leather collar and instructions on how to use my new pet.

Unfortunately, despite the guaranteed "live delivery," when I contacted the seller I was told I'd have to travel to Kuwait to get my hands on the ape. This struck me as a bit of raw deal; not only would I have to fork out on both the flights and my "amusing companion," but also assume all the risk while trying to smuggle a very alive chimpanzee through airport security.  Somehow, I decided that hiding wraps in my socks was not adequate preparation for this task, so had to turn the offer down. 

By this point, I was getting desperate and angry. If a man in an ugly shirt can land a rocket on a flying space rock, how hard can it be for a man in an egg-stained dressing gown to get a primate sent to his flat?

I began to cast a wider net. Under the pseudonym Dr Zaius I started emailing every monkey advert on global-free-classified-ads.com, including whoever posted this quite distressing listing:

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Soon enough I was contacted by someone calling herself Rose, who claimed she could deliver two baby marmoset monkeys. This wasn't exactly what I was looking for—marmosets are legal to own in the UK, which sort of takes the fun out of it—but I was getting tired of trawling through endless GeoCities sites, so decided to settle on her offer.

The good news for me: it turned out Rose didn't even want any money for her monkeys. All she required was a promise that my family and I would provide a decent home for her "babies." Weirdly, she didn't seem to mind all that much when I told her I had no family and wanted the monkeys for "entertainment and home security purposes."

After telling me their names (Danny and Melly), Rose quickly got down to brass tacks. All she needed—aside from my already unfulfilled promise—was for me to pay a £415 ($650) relocation fee, via Western Union, to her priest son Leroy McGahee. Everything seemed perfectly above board, so I pressed on.

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All I required now was some proof that Danny and Melly were cute, safe and, most importantly, real. I may be stupid enough to seek out two marmosets on the internet, but I'm not going to hand over a month's rent to a stranger without some kind of visible assurance, even if they are a priest.

My request was for a photo of the two monkeys standing in front of a sign that read "Dr Zaius." However, Rose was strangely reluctant to do this for me and began to entangle herself in all sorts of excuses. First, she said Reverend Leroy had Danny and Melly, and that he wasn't able to take the picture. Then she said she was too busy at work at the intensive care unit to satisfy my one request.

Rose even went as far as to say she didn't have time to feed her baby monkeys. This had me worried: if she couldn't even feed her pets, what state would they be in when they arrived on my doorstep? As a last ditch attempt to spur Rose into action, I threatened to report her to animal services.

Pretty soon, I received this:

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I didn't know whether to be amused, insulted, or proud. Clearly this was an affront to my intelligence. But the thought of "Rose" sitting in an internet cafe, slaving over MS Paint with dollar signs rolling in her eyes, was reward enough. I thanked Rose for the picture, but told her I'd gone off the idea of owning marmosets. I haven't heard from her since.

So what did I learn during my foray into the online animal trade? 

Firstly, there's a huge gap in the market for unscrupulous web designers. 

Secondly, I suppose it's kind of a good sign that someone tried to con me, because if one advert out of those 33,000 was bullshit, I'd wager quite a few more were, too—meaning there are hopefully less people trying to flog off endangered animals than I'd originally believed. 

Lastly, keep your wits about you when you're shopping for monkeys; it's a jungle out there.

Follow Alex Horne on​ Twitter


Dogs Are a Girl's Best Friend

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Hollie Tarrier jumper and trousers, Natacha Marro shoes

PHOTOGRAPHY: OLIVIA RICHARDSON
STYLING: BRIDI FODEN

Assistants: Rachel Williamson and Ellie John
Make-up: Nicola Moores Brittin at United Artists (using Illamasqua)
Make-up assistant: Lauren Reynolds
Hair: Scarlett Burton (using Bumble and bumble)
Hair assistant: Louise Hall
Nails: Cherrie Snow
Set design: Marisha Green 
​Models: Lucy, Mak, Jan and Georgia at Models 1, Frankie at Mrs Robinson Agency

[body_image width='1200' height='1800' path='images/content-images/2014/12/11/' crop='images/content-images-crops/2014/12/11/' filename='dogs-are-a-girls-best-friend-223-body-image-1418298809.jpg' id='10719']

Dress from Beyond Retro, DKNY boots from Absolute Vintage

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Vintage earrings, Clio Peppitt dress, Alessia Prekop trousers

[body_image width='1200' height='800' path='images/content-images/2014/12/11/' crop='images/content-images-crops/2014/12/11/' filename='dogs-are-a-girls-best-friend-223-body-image-1418299014.jpg' id='10725']

[body_image width='1200' height='1800' path='images/content-images/2014/12/11/' crop='images/content-images-crops/2014/12/11/' filename='dogs-are-a-girls-best-friend-223-body-image-1418299049.jpg' id='10727']

Jumpsuit from Beyond Retro, Charlotte Simone bag, Topshop choker, vintage cuff

[body_image width='1200' height='1712' path='images/content-images/2014/12/11/' crop='images/content-images-crops/2014/12/11/' filename='dogs-are-a-girls-best-friend-223-body-image-1418299189.jpg' id='10728']

Shirt and cardigan from Beyond Retro, Orla Kiely trousers, Natacha Marro shoes

[body_image width='1200' height='800' path='images/content-images/2014/12/11/' crop='images/content-images-crops/2014/12/11/' filename='dogs-are-a-girls-best-friend-223-body-image-1418299275.jpg' id='10730']

Vintage earrings, Clio Peppitt dress, Orla Kiely bag, Alessia Prekop trousers, Natacha Marro shoes

[body_image width='1200' height='800' path='images/content-images/2014/12/11/' crop='images/content-images-crops/2014/12/11/' filename='dogs-are-a-girls-best-friend-223-body-image-1418299593.jpg' id='10732']

Shirt and cardigan from Beyond Retro, vintage ring

The Architect of the CIA's Enhanced Interrogation Program

What's Next for the Kickstarter That Got Shut Down for Peddling Blood?

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[body_image width='1500' height='844' path='images/content-images/2014/12/11/' crop='images/content-images-crops/2014/12/11/' filename='blood-sport-the-kickstarter-that-got-shut-down-for-too-much-blood-867-body-image-1418301405.jpg' id='10745']Xbox + blood machine = fun. Image via ​Blood Sport

Man, the internet really hates blood. You ever tried to sell blood on eBay? Tip: eBay gets really mad about that. Same goes for piss, jizz: all the bad juices. What's wrong with blood, internet? Bit too real for you? Not enough kilobytes?

Anyway, it's a lesson Kickstarter maniacs Taran Chadha and Jamie Umpherson recently learned, after they launched (and swiftly had closed) a Kickstarter for their gaming idea, ​Blood Sport. Here is how Blood Sport works: You take the Rumble Pak out the back of an Xbox controller and then link a wire between the rumble receptor and an actual blood machine. Then you jam a needle in the nearest blood-having human, challenge them to a game of Tekken and literally bring the pain. Blood gets sucked out of their body every time Eddy Gordo hits them with a Rodeo Spin. Blood banks get blood. Lightheaded joy is had. Everyone is a winner.

Maybe you're thinking: That is a dumb and appalling idea. And, in a way, you're right—but the plan was never for Blood Sport to be some sort of unsupervised, at-home blood-letting Oculus Rift for goths. Instead, Taran and Jamie were hoping to raise $220,000 in a sort of deliberately-doomed effort to spread awareness of the need for blood donations in their native Canada. And if they raised the final amount: double cool.

So it kind of sucks that Kickstarter closed the fundraiser down after just three days (and $3,000 in pledges) before Blood Sport could realize it's full potential. I spoke to Taran—and, it later turned out, Jamie—about their Kickstarter, why the Canadian Blood Services didn't want their blood, and what's next for Blood Sport.

VICE: So, you're the guys who wanted to take blood out of people's bodies for being bad at video games.
Taran Chadha: Yep, that's us. The two main creators are Jamie and I, but then we also have a couple of our friends who've helped out.

What are your backgrounds?
We've both actually come from advertising, though my background originally is in mechanical engineering. I'm a mechanical engineering dropout, which is the reason I know how to fiddle with a lot of the blood machine stuff. Jamie is a gamer, which is why he knows his way around the gaming stuff so well. I've been working in advertising for the past few years.

[body_image width='1500' height='844' path='images/content-images/2014/12/11/' crop='images/content-images-crops/2014/12/11/' filename='blood-sport-the-kickstarter-that-got-shut-down-for-too-much-blood-867-body-image-1418301453.jpg' id='10746']What a great time this guy is having with blood! Photo via ​Blood Sport

And that's sort of what Blood Sport was, right? Basically an awareness-raising commercial?
Yeah. To tell you the truth, a big part of this was more to raise awareness about the issue, then hopefully partner with a blood clinic and see more what they wanted to do. The tour thing was our big goal. We wanted to get it into the minds of everyone and then see what they thought and go from there. It was more about showing that this was feasible and that we're not just totally random guys off the street, walking in being like, "Hey, we've got a load of blood for you if you want it."

Did the machine you used in the video actually work?
Yeah, it was real. The funny thing is that it's so much easier to do than people realize. We didn't invent anything—we just connected things with wires. It's really easy to take blood.

And you took this working blood-cum-Xbox machine to the Canadian Blood Services, right? How did they like it?
They basically declined to participate in conversation. So they're not interested necessarily in partnering, but we've investigated a few other organizations globally. We've reached out to different organizations, but we haven't heard anything back yet, so at present we're kind of in limbo.

So, at the moment, the actual idea of Blood Sport isn't going to happen in the near future?
Yeah, it doesn't look like that. When ideas like this are brand new, they sometimes take a few years to get going. That's not that uncommon. We did an idea called Shoot the Banker [a sort of webcam game where you control a paintball gun to shoot a guy dressed as a banker] in 2008, and it took two years before people even believed that it was real and started helping us more on the technology side of that. So this blood thing faces the same struggles.

Hence the Kickstarter. What's it like being on the back end of an extremely popular, very visible crowdfunding campaign?
I don't think we really had long enough to experience it. I think it was only two or three days before it got shut down. It was pretty short.

How did they get in touch about shutting the campaign down?
It was just an automated email! We'd heard through other people before we even got the email. There were lots of people on our Facebook wall being like, "Why has this ended?" I was like, "What?" The email was from the Kickstarter integrity team and it said, "You have been suspended for a breach of our policies," and then it gives you a long list of the policies without actually explaining which one you've breached. Then we contacted them by email and they didn't give us the reason exactly. I mean, obviously we have a few guesses as to why.

Yeah, you don't have to delve too deep to figure that one out. Were either of you guys the actual participants in the video? Were you the ones giving blood?
No, that was someone else. You do see Jamie in the video helping set up.

So you guys never actually tried it out yourselves?
No, we both did. That was our thing—we had to test it on ourselves before we tested it on others, which is always a bit of a scary moment. It's the same as the needle you get when you're donating blood; it's from an actual medical supply place, so it's no different. But still, there is that idea of, like, Oh no, what if we broke the machine when we were modifying it and accidentally cranked it up to 100 percent suction?

Is it quite a strange sensation having blood taken out of your body when you get hit by a red shell on Mario Kart, or whatever?
I think the funny thing is that you kind of forget about it once you get so immersed in the game because you get so focused on beating the other person.You don't always forget about it, but you're so focused on, OK, I've got to win this. It sharpens your gaming skills up because you really don't want to lose.

The only thing is that all the blood from those tests can't be donated because you can't just rock up to a blood bank with a load of blood. Obviously we had a friend supervising who had training, but the blood still had to go to waste.

What did you do with it? Just pour it down the sink or something?
Yeah, basically.

Gross. What mad ideas do you have next?
We have a couple. There's one that's sort of a real life detective mystery—a friend of ours keeps losing things, so we're going to attach a GPS tracking device to them and see if we can catch the person stealing them and film it all. I've got a comic book on the go, too, which is totally random. Jamie's got a bunch of ads coming out soon too.

Jamie Umpherson [WHO IT TURNS OUT HAS BEEN ON THE LINE ALL ALONG]: Yeah, I've got some ad projects. I also help out with my girlfriend's clothing company and she does quite a lot of cool, forward-looking things, so stuff like that. But in the world of Blood Sport, I'd probably say that's going to be on the back burner for a while.

So no sperm donation equivalent?
Taran: ​
Yeah, maybe in 2018. We're going to keep the idea of Blood Sport going and see what would happen. We would never pursue this independently without a blood organisation, because we just know that people can't do this at home by themselves. That would be the worst.

FUN UPDATE:

Taran and Jamie are super keen to take your blood, so are now trying to attack Blood Sport from the opposite angle, exploring partnering with actual video games companies to see if gaming and blood loss can finally be married together. Stay tuned.

Follow Joel Golby on ​Twitt​er.

PES Deconstructs His New Stop-Motion Masterpiece, 'Submarine Sandwich'

I was a Racist, Misogynistic Mall Santa’s Bitch

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Illustration by Alex Sheriff.

I was 16 when I got my first job working as a cashier at a Christmas Santa photo set. The gig was at a Toronto shopping mall that had recently revamped its decor from a late-80s-inspired red and white candy cane hell to a vamped-up winter wonderland of fluffy frosted snow and moving reindeers.

My manager, Leah*, warned me about Santa Ricky* on my first day. A veteran Claus with the company, Ricky was known for his mood swings, his uncomfortable sense of humour, and having the rationale of a four-year-old boy. The set had a few rotating Santas, exhibiting a range of different temperaments but all looking the same. The other Santas were fairly nice, but Santa Ricky was a well-known terror.

"You have to make sure to walk Santa to his seat when opening, and walk him back to the staff room when closing so teenagers don't jump him," Leah said to me, eyes actively trying to brainwash my soul. "And don't sit in his chair. Never sit in his chair."

Leah, while constantly smiling, was more of a mid-twenties shit disturber than a manager. She soothed with the same hand that she slapped you with. She'd tell you that you'd done a great job, and then force another staffer to say something awful about you when you went on break. When you returned, she made the two of you confront each other for good fun.

Leah's five-foot-twelve friend Becky* was my co-manager of sorts. While she had no real authority over the young staff members, she inspired the fear of Christmas God in all of us with a demeanor that reminded me of Angelica from Rugrats. Basically, Becky was the overgrown bully on the playground, bossing people around for shits and giggles by hanging our jobs over our heads like an autonomic wedgie.

Together, they made me get their coffee, only for me to return to them saying I was late, or that the coffee was too cold. I sucked it up, sensing an initiation of sorts—and I was right, for the time being. Once I had jumped high enough through their mean-girl hoops, I quickly became a favorite, working all the positions and racking up more hours.

I was soon offered regular shifts as photographer.

Being photographer was a great experience at first. I got to coo and dangle jingling toys at cute cherub babies to make them smile, interact with customers and, with the other Santas' help, restored photographic faith in parents with chronically blinking children. I had yet to meet Santa Ricky, but he couldn't have been that bad, right? After all, he was Santa.

God, I was so wrong.

Santa Ricky and I were given more shifts together, and my Christmas cheer wore off by our first day together. He wasted no time tormenting me.

"Santa Ricky said that you've been leaning against the set," Leah said days later.

"I wasn't. I was leaning on the metal post outside. I've been working 12-hour shifts and my feet really hurt." I responded. Leah looked down at the cheap plastic shoes that were all my student wage could afford me. She let it go, but Santa Ricky didn't.

I got in trouble with Ricky for not keeping extra pens to go with the sign-up sheet; I got in trouble with Ricky for not giving out candy canes. Then I got in trouble with Ricky for giving out too many candy canes. I got in trouble for taking too many pictures if a child wouldn't smile: "You're holding up the line!"

I got in trouble if I took too few pictures: "Now these poor people have to redo their child's pictures—and you held up the line!" he'd yell in front of everyone, evil spittle resting like snowflakes on his homegrown Santa beard.

I said nothing for a while, but then, as it turns out, Santa Ricky was also a bigot.

"Get that brown kid out of here. I don't like brown children!" He grumbled constantly. If a little brown child was hanging around the outer part of the fence, playing with the fake snow (like all the children), I was made to tell them and their parents not to touch the set.

Most times I refused, and Ricky, in his Santa costume, sitting on his Santa seat with his indistinguishably pink Santa face, would lean over and, out of character, yell: "Excuse me, you can't touch that!" Then he'd switch back to holiday gear Santa face—reserved for all other children—arms wide open and ready for a six month-old white baby. "Oh golly, isn't she cute? Ho, ho, ho!"

When brown children took their picture with Santa, Ricky would get visibly uncomfortable and reluctantly lift the children up—but only for a moment. "My back hurts, I need you to stand," he'd say in an out-of-character voice after I took the photos. He wouldn't even smile.

I bet many brown children were scared of Santa that year. They also didn't get to find out if they were naughty or nice, but I guess Santa Ricky already had that part figured out. I sympathized—my own mother is brown. I put Ricky in his place constantly, but it didn't matter. He randomly went off about brown people like it was a holiday xenophobic free-for-all.

"I don't like brown people. They're all terrorists. Them and A-rabs," he once mumbled under his breath, a scowl on his face.

"I highly doubt that," I snapped. I had grown tired of his Santa bullshit.

"Well they smell bad. Like curry," he grumbled.

Santa Ricky also liked to generalize. One slow day, he was singing "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer." Then he turned to me.

"Rap!" he yelled suddenly.

"Um, excuse me?" I said, cautioning slowly in case he wanted to retract.

"Rap! Come on, you're black!" he said, beyond amused that he had made this realization by himself.

"I'm only half black, and I can't rap," I said, disgusted.

"Well that's still black. Come on, I know you can! Here—I'll start," he proceeded with a few "yo-yo-yos" before I decided to take a bathroom break, his white man rap ringing in my ears.

It was as I walked away, drained from being around this man-child, that I realized I was Santa Ricky's minion. I despised my part in enabling his behaviour by not speaking up earlier, but I didn't want to lose my first job by being fired. So instead, I swapped my Cheshire cat grin for a Grinch grimace.

I dreaded coming to work, began ignoring Ricky's racist comments, fart sounds, angry outbursts, and constant inappropriate comments towards women, such as: "Wow, look at that butt! She could sit on my lap any day."

Santa Ricky soon realized that his minion was rebelling, and we began to butt heads. As a sign of vengeance, of one-upping me, he started giving the children toys and candy to throw at me while I was taking their pictures. And since he was Santa, and I was nobody, plush toys, candy canes, and Laura Secord chocolates began hitting me in the gut, the legs, and once in the face. Even the parents seemed enjoyed it.

If that wasn't enough, he'd get children to call me names. "Say, you're a bum-bum, you're a poopy head!" he'd whisper loud enough for me to hear, then lean back and watch as his tiny protégé repeated, with the same malice, "Poopy head! Poopy head!" to the chocolate covered, peppermint-smelling photographer.

If he was feeling especially pissy, Ricky would make children avoid looking into the camera, pretending to have a Hallmark Christmas moment with people's kids, which parents seemed to actually buy. Really, he was trying to hold up the line so he could yell at me.

"Okay now, look into the camera," I'd say repeatedly, but Ricky, like the crook he was, would keep whispering in children's ears, tickle them, and tell them to continue calling me stupid or shit-related names.

One day, out of sheer exhaustion and resentment, I turned the flash to the max and took continuous pictures after being ignored by Ricky.

"What are you doing?!" Ricky shouted at me.

"Getting your attention Santa—there's a long line of children here to see you, and I know you don't want to keep them waiting," I said politely, feeling as if I had handed his ass back to him on a Christmas platter.

Ricky paused. "She's no fun, is she?" he said to the child. Ricky eyed me from behind the kid's mushroom cut as I took their picture. I eyed him back. This was an all-out Santa war.

I never won the war. For the remainder of my job, I continued to get hit with toys, candy canes, insults, and Ricky's outbursts. I listened to more comments about Ricky's hatred of brown people, how that woman's butt belonged on his lap, more ethnic renditions of "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer," and how I just sucked, in general.

I know that Santas are people too. I get that. What I should have known was that Santas can be some of the worst people out there—racists, creeps, basket cases, common idiots, purely malicious villains. 

While Ricky was a real-life Bad Santa, he had a team of elves enabling his behaviour. Attempting to complain got me bumped from working every day to only four hours a week. Leah justified this by switching my shift without notifying me, so it looked like I didn't show up to work. I was mysteriously unable to get any jobs at other locations. I had started writing a letter to the company years ago to complain about what had happened, but I knew it would be useless.

On the last day of the Christmas season, I had to walk Ricky to the back room after closing. He wouldn't stop talking, as if we were besties. I wasn't in the mood.

Ricky was still talking as he entered the room. I grabbed my things, turned, and left, leaving Ricky, still talking to me apparently, like live holiday bait in the backroom for any rowdy trespassing adolescents to find. On my way out I sat on his chair and rubbed my ass in it nice and hard, made a mental note of my victory, and took my Grinch-y self home.

Follow ​Eternity Martis on Twitter.

*Names have been changed

A Polish Painter Combined Rural Landscapes with Giant Robots

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[body_image width='1200' height='691' path='images/content-images/2014/12/11/' crop='images/content-images-crops/2014/12/11/' filename='jakub-ralski-project-1920-robots-poland-876-body-image-1418298769.jpg' id='10717']

This post first appeared on ​VICE Poland

Jakub Różalski is a Polish artist whose latest project, 1920+, has attracted positive attention around the world because of his combination of the Polish countryside in the early 20th century and colossal robots.

According to Różalski, 1920+ is a fictitious take on the Polish-Soviet War (1919-1921) that saw a clash between Polish forces and Soviet Russia and Soviet Ukraine. He sees the series not only as a creative outlet but also as a means to interest others in Polish history and Polish pride. If Juliusz Kossak​ painted massive robots, Różalski would be his protégé.

I called Jakub up for a chat.

VICE: How would you describe 1920+?
Jakub Różalski: Generally, the whole project is based on the Polish-Soviet War, the ​Battle of Warsaw, and the harsh realities of the period. The Battle of Warsaw is considered by many historians to be one of the most important in the history of the world because it changed the fate of Europe and stopped the Russian Revolution [from moving west].

[body_image width='1200' height='664' path='images/content-images/2014/12/11/' crop='images/content-images-crops/2014/12/11/' filename='jakub-ralski-project-1920-robots-poland-876-body-image-1418298785.jpg' id='10718']

Remind me, what was the mood that prevailed in Europe at that time?
After the First World War, sentiments in Europe were very revolutionary—the people were frustrated. The Bolsheviks decided to take advantage of that and began their march to the west. Poland was the first country that actually was able to resist and it was only two years later that we regained our independence. 

Very few people, outside of our country know about these events, and this is a very interesting period in the history of the world and Europe. Additionally, this was the last war that employed the cavalry to a large extent, which in my eyes adds to it a kind of romanticism.

Where did the idea for the project come from?
In my own way I would like to, as interestingly and originally as possible, share a bit of knowledge about Polish history and culture, and I thought I'd do that by combining my favorite themes with a passion of mine. In this project I wanted to combine the classic themes of cavalry, the Polish army, daily life in the countryside, and Polish painting of the late 19th and early 20th century with modernist design, giant combat robots, and sci-fi themes.

[body_image width='1200' height='641' path='images/content-images/2014/12/11/' crop='images/content-images-crops/2014/12/11/' filename='jakub-ralski-project-1920-robots-poland-876-body-image-1418298813.jpg' id='10720']

Why giant robots?
I've loved giant robots from an early age—I think ever since I first saw the Battle of Hoth in Empire Strikes BackMechs and giant robots are a very graceful theme, they create drama in the most interesting way—that is why I am so eager to use them in my works. 

Fantasy and science fiction interested me from an early age. Rental movies on VHS, books, RPG games, life without computers and the internet... these were beautiful times. I have a feeling that the work of ​Sienkiewicz, Tolkien, and ​Sapkowski, as well as my interest in infantry, World War II, and the Bushido code of the samurai accompanied me throughout life and certainly shaped me as a person and artist.

[body_image width='1200' height='721' path='images/content-images/2014/12/11/' crop='images/content-images-crops/2014/12/11/' filename='jakub-ralski-project-1920-robots-poland-876-body-image-1418298833.jpg' id='10721']

I've noticed that you seem to avoid illustrating cities in your work—going for rural landscapes instead. 
I grew up in a small village near Szczecin, surrounded by nature and forests. For professional reasons, I've lived in cities my entire adult life, however I miss quiet existence, away from the hustle and bustle of a metropolis. That might be why these themes appear in my work so often.

​As an artist I perfected my craft by studying the paintings of Kossak, Chełmoński, or Shishkin and if it shows in my work, that is the greatest compliment for me.

I also see a hint of patriotism in your work.
Of course, I love my country and I am glad that I was born in Poland. I paint what interests me and what makes me happy. Certainly in my work there is a nostalgia, a longing, for our history and landscapes.

[body_image width='1200' height='696' path='images/content-images/2014/12/11/' crop='images/content-images-crops/2014/12/11/' filename='jakub-ralski-project-1920-robots-poland-876-body-image-1418298886.jpg' id='10723']

You are based in Germany now—do you miss home?
I miss the scenery, the mountains, the sea. Mostly, I miss the little things—food, favorite cafes, movies, etc. But I'm moving to Krakow in January with my wife and my cat. I am kind of a lone wolf generally, I work at home a lot and rarely go out, so this emigration is not so noticeable and bothersome.

You painted your alternate version of the past. If you chose to illustrate the future of Poland, what would it look like? Would it be a utopia or dystopia?
Interesting question. Neither, I think—I do not like extremes. I am interested in shades of gray... so surely it would be something more in the middle but with an interesting bonus bit.

The Insane Hate Mail Collected by an Organization Fighting for Separation of Church and State in the Military

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Screenshot via The Military Religious Freedom Foundation on Y​ouTube

Filthy liberal kikes! Your abortion on demand queer rights and camel jockey agenda is now destroyed. The only Savior for the world has triumphed. Jesus is the commander of U.S. troops again! Burn in hell you Judases!

saw you in our texas paper today crapping on our savior His nation of America and those of us who follow Him, jewboy.

I hope all your kids turn out gay as hell, take it in the ass, and get aids and die!!!!! Die Fag

The above is a tiny smattering of the hate mail that pours into the inbox of the ​Military Religious Freedom Foundation (MRFF), an advocacy group dedicated to protecting the religious rights of non-Christians serving in the US military and making sure they aren't coerced into being involved in religious activities they don't want to be a part of. In practice, this means getting into a lot of arguments with a lot of conservative Christians.

Bonnie Weinstein, the MRFF's development director, has collected some of the greatest hits (so to speak) that have been directed at her and her husband Mikey, the group's founder and president. Her ​new book collates the grammatically-challenged abuse into several chapters, with some annotated commentary thrown in. It's a fairly short read, but you're likely to be squirming on the couch by the time you get through it, especially when you see that many of these failures to grasp the separation of church and state are dated 2014. 

Bonnie and I spoke about the MRFF's mission, the precautions her family has taken to ensure their safety, and why so many self-described Christians think love means telling people, "I pray to Jesus that you heart will explode and bleed out gushing through your pointy jew nose." This conversation has been condensed and lightly edited.

VICE: Could you tell me a little about what MRFF does?
Bonnie Weinstein: We're a military group that goes after unlawful Christian proselytizing in America's military. 

Just to clear up any ambiguity, your organization is explicitly pro-military. It's not an antiwar organization. You're not protesting against the military in any way.
Absolutely not. We're pro-military, we're pro-religion, and we're pro-no-religions. What's happening is that there's a proselytizing conflict going on in America's military today that is exceedingly dangerous.

Is there a particular branch of the armed forces that's the number-once source?
No, it's pretty evenly distributed, although we have come across lots of opposition at the Air Force Academy. So a lot of our stories come out from there, because we're not able to work with them internally and can't fix the problems.

That's in Colorado Springs, which is an evangelical hotbed that's home to Focus on the Family, and probably other groups.
Exactly.

The collection you published is just a tiny fragment—the greatest hits, so to speak, although that might be putting too much of a positive spin on it.
We get ten of those a week, basically. Ten of the really bad ones. I went through thousands of them and came across the best of the worst, but I'm not at all selective, aside from putting them into different chapters. I could have written the entire book on anti-Semitism.

I'm struck by how a lot of these people view the US military not merely as an agent of the Lord's work, for bombing Muslims, but that they're specifically seeking it as a dominion for evangelizing. They want to make sure it's Christianized.
They have completely hijacked the idea of patriotism and of standing behind the flag to mean that you're a Christian patriot standing behind the Christian flag of a Christian nation.

Why do you think that's so important to these people?
I think they have a lot of misinformation and they don't take the time to check, because the information they're hearing checks all their boxes. It's either white supremacy, or misogyny, anti-gay, anti-black. It fits perfectly into their way of thinking.

How much have you actually feared for your personal safety?
My dog is a security dog that is with me all the time. Each time I speak, I have security there. You're always looking over your shoulder these days. I usually travel under a pseudonym.

Do you notice if these letters tend to peak around the holidays? Or is it just a general torrent of hate all year long?
Oh yeah, this is all year long. If anything, it peaks when we've had more exposure than normal and we've done something positive for people in the military. Last year, there was something about proselytizing going on in gift boxes that were being sent out to children—the only way the children could get them was if they went to church and sat through a bunch of sermons. We stopped that, because they were being given out by an organization on a military base. So we got horrible letters about that one, how we're stealing Christmas from children.

Did you write this book to shake it off, or to draw attention to the fact that you're under siege?
The latter, absolutely. To expose these people. So many people go around and have a wonderful Christmas and a wonderful holiday, and they don't think about and/or they don't know about this subterranean culture, and it's important that they know. What's going on in the name of the Christianity, in the name of this benevolent Lord that has supposedly taught love and kindness. I know it's shocking, but it needs to be out there.

Is there one that stands out as the most intense? Do you have a least favorite?
The one that hoped Mikey would have a heart attack while driving a car near our house and kill as many live things as he could, that one was especially creative. 

Follow Peter Lawrence Kane on Tw​itter.


A Muslim's Guide to Anal Hygiene

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Image via Wikipedia user  ​Chris 73

My ass is as hygienic as an intensive care ward. Why? Because, just like millions of other Muslims, I wash my backside after every visit to the toilet using a magical chalice—a small pot filled with water called a lota. To me, using tissue paper alone to wipe clean my crack is like vacuuming an entire house with a Dustbuster—you're inevitably going to miss bits. And missing bits, as a Muslim, is not cool.

A lot of people are often—vocally—bewildered by the presence or very idea of a lota or any other anal ablution device. I've heard it all when new people come to my home for the first time, the incessant, "What, so you actually touch your poo?" line of questioning. They're frightened, perhaps, by the idea of making contact with your own bumhole after doing your business. Or, maybe, just wary of such "otherness." So I'm taking this opportunity to clear a few things up, so to speak.

ANAL CLEANLINESS ISN'T A CHOICE—IT'S OUR FAITH
Islam teaches that the condition of the body affects the condition of the spirit, so it's essential to be clean at all times—especially before offering prayers—which is why lots of Muslims use ​lotas. Unlike you may have been lead to believe, Muslims don't just throw their hands between their cheeks and have a good root around after we've been to the toilet. Any, "Ooh, watch out, you shouldn't shake the left hand of a Muslim" myths—implying, again, that our hands are permanently dusted with shit particles—are ridiculous and offensive. We are—I am—incredibly clean. Using a lota is like a mini douche and, to be honest, a quick swipe of scrunched-up toilet paper seems a lot seedier than a lovely, water-based ablution (which feels pretty good).

YOU DON'T HAVE THE RIGHT TO LAUGH AT SOMETHING YOU DON'T "GET"
Water-free wiping leaves me and other Muslims feeling genuinely unsettled and uncomfortable. It's not just an annoying preference we've learned—it's an inherent belief and part of our faith. I think my cousin Mahum put it best when she said, "If a bird shat on your hand you wouldn't just wipe it off with a tissue would you?"

WE'RE NOT ALL PRECIOUS ABOUT OUR VESSELS...
Anything is acceptable as long as it can hold liquid and provides a controlled stream of water. And you should try to use your left hand to wash with because your right hand is supposed be kept clean for eating with. My aunt used to use an orange watering can for some inexplicable reason. It was like trying to clean my bum with a swinging crane in a toilet the size of a cabinet. My husband used an old Irn Bru bottle in his dorm that he'd hide from his roommates. My brother-in-law used a plastic milk jug that had a lip to reduce the risk of spillage.

... BUT SOME OF US TAKE IT A "BIT FAR"
My parents went high-tech in our family home and installed a "Muslim shower"—a mini shower head and hose that attaches to the wall on the right side of the toilet. It was soon removed, though, because the water pressure was far, far too high. My dad looked like a fatigued tsunami survivor upon exiting.

CRAPPING AT WORK IS PROBLEMATIC
A lot of people ask me what I do when I need to "go" at work—it's something of an anathema for lota lovers. If you can't hold it in until home time or if that office canteen "korma" has left you in a state, you can fashion a makeshift lota with an empty bottle or disposable cup. Some people go for the "East meets West" option and soak some toilet tissue before entering the cubicle, crafting a primitive version of the moist towelette. This is fine—we've all been there—but it does mean you need to shit super fast before the toilet paper has time to disintegrate into creamy mulch in your palm.

The main problem with work-based defecation, though, arises when you stealthily trying to smuggle your lota (or soaked wad of tissue) into the cubicle and a colleague sees you. Option one is to stop for some stifled chit-chat and drink the water or fling the wet paper into the bin. Option two is that you defiantly ignore your coworker, silently creep on into the cubicle with your makeshift bidet, do your business, and then refrain from speaking to anyone for the remainder of the day. Option three is to carry your device defiantly into the toilet above your head with both arms, while staring every colleague you meet on the way right in the eye.

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A portable douche. Image via ​Inner Glow

SOME OF US CARRY PORTABLE DOUCHES AROUND
There are plenty of portable lotas on the market that fit in a handbag or pocket; they look like empty Capri-Suns with screw-top lids that you can roll up. For longer reach and an "enhanced water stream," there are plastic bottles with nozzles on the end that you can dismantle into two pieces. But some of these do have a tiny hole in the bottom to make them easier to squeeze, which means that, if you're not careful, you'll leave a water trail from sink to commode on refill, like a shitty Hansel and Gretel.

WE'RE THRIFTY AS SHIT WHEN IT COMES TO SHIT
If you're not willing to shell out the pennies for a portable anus-cleanser, I've heard of people using glass tumblers and even Travelodge kettles as lotas when they're away and have no alternative, and praise be to them. So bear it in mind next time you're on a budget weekend away and making the worst cup of tea of your life—that kettle may have had some "off label" usage.

Follow Javaria Akbar on ​Twitter

VICE INTL: Oh My Gods!

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The Greek gods are the best gods because they do a bunch of fun stuff like transform into animals and have sex with mortals. Sadly, they've fallen out of style over the millennia—but there are still some people out there who pray to Zeus and Poseidon and the sexy Demeter. Our Greek office went to talk to some of the people worshipping these awesome deities in the 21st century.

How Much Can You Drink Before It Will Kill You?

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There are times in life when you know you're about to go hard. All the advice in the world about ​moderation tends to go out the window if, say, your hard-partying uncle is getting married. In Cabo San Lucas. During Spring Break. And you've just been dumped. At that point "know your limits," can become less important than "know the absolute limit," because you're on your way there.

And since alcohol is a pretty hard drug, the limit is what's known as a "fatal overdose," and it's not actually that hard to get there. "Zero-point-three percent to 0.4 percent, and you're in the danger zone. People have actually died at those blood levels," said George Koob, director of the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism at the National Institutes of Health, when I asked him how much booze it would take to kill me. 

But the amount of alcohol in your blood can't be measured reliably with the equipment that gets sold to consumers. Last year Seamus Bellamy of the Wirecutter tested all the consumer-grade breathalyzers, and concluded that the  ​$180 BACtrack S80 was the most reliable, but it still wasn't worth an endorsement. So until a cheap, effective breathalyzer comes out, you have to keep yourself from dying the old-fashioned way: by stopping your binge drinking before it gets fatal.

It can be pretty complicated to figure out exactly where that line is. Everyone knows that some binges that heavy drinkers routinely engage in will leave others in a coma. But if you're planning on doing something stupid but seemingly possible, like downing an entire bottle of liquor, you should know that it's actually a suicide attempt for most people.

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Hopefully, ​the guy in the video above puked right after he pushed stop on his recording. "A whole bottle of Scotch contains about 17 drinks," Koob told me. But 101-proof Wild Turkey has more than twice the alcohol of some Scotch. That means even if this guy's tolerance is high, "that's basically Russian roulette," Koob said. 

But "Russian roulette" implies an amount of randomness, and there's actually a clear formula that can tell you how much is WAY too much, even for the large-bodied and booze-acclimated guy in the video above.

Figuring out the variables in that formula is tricky, however. You need to factor in your weight, your sex, what you've been drinking, and how long you've been at it. You can see a frame of a web app for it below—I used it to determine how many drinks it would take for me to get as shitfaced as the drunkest sorority girl of all time, Vodka S​amm. The answer is 14 in one hour.

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Samm became a folk hero of sorts last year when she blew a .341 while remaining not only alive, but still attempting to climb fences and interrupt sporting events. That is, it should be noted, four times the standard legal limit for driving.

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That approximate BAC, .34, is a magic number of sorts: A ccording to a lot of B​AC charts it's the upper limit, on the border line between stupor and death, and it would take me—an average-sized American male—14 shots to get there. 

The notorious ​16-vodka breakfast enjoyed by Led Zeppelin drummer John Bonham on the day he died is actually very educational: His breakfast may have been a punishing dosage, but it was just a pre-game for a guy with a serious tolerance, according to rock historian ​Mick Wall—he kept working and drinking that entire day in 1980, eventually consuming a total of 40(!) drinks, only to lie down that night and choke to death on his own vomit. 

"I can't give you a case history but there are individuals who put away that amount of alcohol per day," Koob told me. But assuming Bonham was hovering right around that .34 percent sweet spot all day, he was in constant danger.

Obviously, some drinkers can push so far past the limits of others. But assuming your "high tolerance" means you can break some kind of record is idiotic. 

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John Bonham. Photo via Flickr user  ​Dina Regine

According to Koob, size and a history of drinking are far from the only factors. "There's  about one drink difference for females and males who are at the same weight," he told me. Then there's environment: "The cues, the color of the bar, the smells, all of those things become linked to the development of tolerance. A lot of people don't realize that, but it's actually ​psych 101." 

While all this complexity adds up to a clearer picture of how alcohol affects you, it doesn't give you much of an answer to the question of how much you can drink before you die from it, and how to know when you're approaching that point without a law enforcement–quality breathalyzer. 

There is a useful answer to be found by putting your drinking in perspective, however.  Drinking starts out by causing the release of dopamine and other chemicals that make your brain feel nice. But that stops after a bit, and the experience starts to become grueling around the 0.08 blood-alcohol mark—at which point you're likely too drunk to drive.

"When you do so much of a drug, like alcohol, that releases all of those good things, they also trigger your stress axis," Koob said. "So then you end up with these chemicals in your brain that end up making you feel terrible." You know you're almost there when, like an addict, you've been drinking for a while and it's starting to suck, and you think drinking more will make it fun again. That's when you're liable to black out.

"That's not a place you wanna go because blackouts occur somewhere about 0.2," Dr. Koob told me. From there, he provided a roadmap to a useful personalized answer to the question of how many drinks would kill you: "I f you can remember a timeline to follow back and see how much you drank to get to the blackout, that's a good way to [know] you've reached the limit." 

So just count your drinks next time you get so hammered you black out, and make sure they're all standard-sized drinks (a.k.a. ​14 grams of pure alcohol). That will tell you what your limit is. 

If that method seems a bit risky, Koob also gave a simpler rule of thumb for what might kill an average-sized American: "Fifteen standard drinks in two hours." 

And that's not a challenge. Drinking more than the four drinks it takes most people to reach 0.08 percent BAC isn't fun anyway. So stop there, and definitely don't blame me if you kill yourself. 

Follow Mike Pearl on T​witter

Quebec Is At the Forefront of Canada’s Petro-Economy Expansion

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Protesters hold a sign calling Stephen Harper a climate criminal. Photo by Simon Van Vliet.

Last Saturday morning, a group of local activists ​set up camp to protest the drilling of an oil well near Gaspé in eastern Quebec. This is the latest development in a four-year battle against Quebec-based Pétrolia's Haldimand 4 project, one of the most advanced oil extraction projects in Quebec, which to this day has been subject to neither public consultation nor any independent environmental assessment.

On Saturday, Pétrolia—which owns interests in oil and gas licenses covering 16,000 square kilometers and represents about a quarter of all fossil fuel claims made in Que​bec—obtained an injunction to force activists to lift the blockade at its Gaspé site. The site of the blockade contains an estimated 7.7 million barrels of oil with a commercial potential of several hundred million dollars, according to prelimina​ry assessments.

Pétrolia's recent decision to use the court system to quell opposition echos Kinder Morgan's recent injunction against ​protesters blocking its Trans Mountain pipeline expansion project in British Columbia. VICE reached out to Pétrolia for a comment on the injunction but they declined.

But this is not the first time Pétrolia has used the courts to push the Haldimand 4 project forward: last year the company successfully sued the city of Gaspé over a municipal water prot​ection bylaw, which effectively outlaw​ed the project by imposing a minimal safety distance between a drilling site and freshwater sources.

Pétrolia's case inspired Quebec-based oil and gas exploration company Gastem to file a $1.5-million lawsuit ag​ainst the town Ristigouche-Partie-Sud-Est, a village of 168 inhabitants with an annual budget under $300,000. After dodging the issue for months, Quebe​c's Minister of Municipal Affairs announced a few weeks ago that the province would not help Ristigouche pay its legal fees, leaving it with no other choice than to crowd-fund ​its defence in what has all the characteristics of a strategic lawsuit against public participation (SLA​PP). 

The pushback against Pétrolia in Gaspé is just one small battle in the growing fight against fossil fuel exploration and extraction projects in Quebec, and against the expansion of the Canadian tar sands.

"Each and every day, worrying scientific reports warn us against the impending ecological disaster of global warming, due largely to the current petro-economy," reads a statement from the highly successful crowd-funded initiative "Let's d​ouble down". Launched by notorious student activist Gabriel Nadeau-Dubois in support of the grassroots civil society coalition Coule pas che​z nous, the project seeks to educate Quebeckers about the transit of tar sands oil through the province. 

Nadeau-Dubois's statement also points out that "Ottawa will not listen to scientists, preferring to muzzle them rather than give the desire for easy payoffs a reality check. Petro-federalism lives in denial and deliberately ignores the consequences of its actions: irresponsibility is its governing principle."

It's not like evidence of the consequences is lacking. A recent Pembina Institute study assessing the climate impact of TransCanada​'s proposed Energy East project—another Quebec-based oil transportation project—concluded that the $12-billion, 4,600-kilometre pipeline "would have major environmental ramifications." This project alone "would generate an additional 30 to 32 million tonnes of carbon emissions each year—the equivalent of adding more than seven million cars to Canada's roads," the report found.

Despite intensive lobbying in favour of TransCan​ada's pipeline, recent polls confirm that there is large-scale o​pposition to the project in Quebec, with less than 30 percent of Quebecers in supporting it. In fact, actions organized throughout last year—including a 34-day ​march, a three-week action​ camp, and several more demonstrations and direct actions—have helped "build a network of resistance against TransCanada's Energy East and Enbridge's Line 9," according to Quebec activist Alyssa Symons-Bélanger.

Currently, both the inversion of Enbridge's existing 639-kilometre section of Line 9B and TransCanada's Energy East pipeline are facing serious challenges. In mid-October, the National Energy Board dela​yed Enbridge's inversion project over major water safety concerns. A few weeks earlier, four environmental grou​ps had forced the suspension of work on TransCanada's project, prompting Quebec's Environment Minister David Heurtel to announce that Energy East would not be approved unless a series of conditions were satisfied.

The importance of Quebec within the larger picture of Canada's energy plan shouldn't be underestimated. If Quebec can stop the current slate of projected pipelines—just as BC and the US have with Northern Gateway and Keystone XL, respectively—the tar sands will remain landlocked and isolated from exportation markets. This puts the province at the forefront of the fight against the expansion of the Canadian petro-economy.

The importance of this struggle was underlined last weekend at international negotiations over the United N​ations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC) in Lima, Peru. As the fifth-largest oil producer in the world in 2013, Canada is increasingly isolated as a backbencher in climate action. UN secretary general Ban Ki-moon went out of his way to specifically ask Canada to take a "leadership role" in the fight against climate change and called for the​ country to move away from its current reliance on fossil fuels, stressing that it's possible "to make a transformative change from a fossil fuel-based economy to a climate-resilient economy."

"This is not a time for tinkering—it is a time for transformation," Ki-moon said. Indeed, the UN Environment Program's Adaptation Gap Report, release​d last Friday, stated: "In a business-as-usual scenario, global greenhouse gas emissions could rise [...] far beyond the safe limits, and bring an increased need for spending to adapt to the consequences of a rapidly warming world."

As he urged governments around the world to make the connection "between addressing manmade climate change and building more resilient, prosperous, and healthier societies," the UN Secretary General explained that "investments made in development must be aligned with our climate aims," which experts say should reach zero e​missions globally by the end of the century at the latest.

Back in Gaspé, anti-oil activists like Maude Prud'homme (spokesperson for grassroots movement Tache ​d'Huile)—and countless others across Quebec—share the UN's vision of a diversified future and are trying to take local action to achieve it. "All the energy we're putting into fighting these things," Prud'homme said, "we're not putting it into trying to figure out how to get rid of our dependence to oil." 

With the federal and provincial governments failing to step up to their climate responsibilities when it comes to regulating the fossil fuels industry, it will take a unified effort to take on the fight for climate justice.

Follow ​Simon Van Vliet on Twitter.

Is the Keystone Pipeline Irrelevant?

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For years, environmentalists have wailed about the Keystone XL pipeline—so much so that its potential destruction of fragile ecosystems and the global climate felt almost inevitable. But there are signs that the Keystone XL pipeline itself is as good as dead, no matter what Congress or President Obama decides. That's because rapidly shifting economics, as well as some sneaky moves by a rival pipeline company, have probably made the pipeline superfluous.

First, a quick review: In 2008, a Canadian oil-shipping company, TransCanada, proposed an extension to the existing Keystone pipeline system, known as the Keystone XL, which would expand the firm's capacity to transport crude oil from Alberta's tar-sands region to refineries on the US Gulf Coast. Supporters say the pipeline would create jobs and boost the economy, while opponents say the pipeline would damage ecosystems in its path, and lead an expansion of the oil industry at a time when the disastrous effects of climate change are becoming increasingly clear.

The incoming Republican majority in the Senate essen​tially guarantees that President Obama will be forced to choose one way or another on the Keystone XL pipeline, either by vetoing the proposal or making a deal—something he has been avoiding for years. But the extra crude-carrying capacity Keystone XL could provide may not even matter much anymore. The 830,000 barrels per day of crude from Alberta's tar sands the pipeline would have supplied has now been fully made-up-for by a patchwork of workarounds by a nimble North American oil industry sick of waiting for the government's go-ahead.

In the US and Canada, a lot of energy companies have been bypassing pipeline systems altogether, choosing instead to transport oil to port by t​rain—although that has come with its own set of pr​oblems. According to an a​nalysis by Patrick Kenny of National Bank Financial in Calgary, in just the past few years, the oil industry has created a system of oil-by-rail shipping with capacity of 700,000 barrels per day. Oil by rail is the chief way the industry has made up the slack left by an un-built Keystone XL pipeline.

The Canadian pipeline company Enbridge, a rival of TransCanada, seems to have outsmarted TransCanada in the race to expand the amount of tar sands crude crossing the border by pipeline, coming up with a clever way to circumvent the State Department permitting process that has stalled construction of the Keystone XL. Over the last few months, they've built interconnections on their own right-of-way that lets them swap crude between parallel pipelines they control—one carrying tar sands crude from Alberta, and a second carrying conventional crude.

To take advantage of extra capacity in a 17.4-mile section of existing parallel pipelines that cross the US-Canada border between Manitoba and North Dakota, Enbridge is switching crude between the two twice—once on the Canadian side, and again on the American side—in an effort to get additional tar sands oil to American refineries. But like the oil trains, Enbridge's actions are not without controversy.

According to a report fro​m Newsweek, after additional planned upgrades, Enbridge's improvised system could push half a Keystone XL–worth of additional oil from Alberta into the United States by the middle of next year. At the same time, Enbridge is waiting for the US State Department to approve its pending application to boost capacity on the very same pipeline. Correspondence between Enbridge's lawyers and the State Department reveals that US officials agreed the workaround didn't need a permit, even though it's resulted in an increase of crude oil transported across the border. "What Enbridge is doing is building an entirely new pipeline in the same right-of-way and calling it 'maintenance,'" Doug Hayes, an attorney for the Sierra Club, told Newsweek.

In a statement to VICE, Enbridge spokesperson Lorraine Little said the interconnections "take advantage of existing permitted cross-border capacity" and were constructed "to meet customer demands in the short term." Little declined to provide details on what the long-term plans were for the interconnect should the State Department reject the company's permit application, saying "we can't speculate on what may or may not happen." But she did note that Enbridge currently plans a "full replacement" of the pipeline that runs parallel to the Alberta Clipper, with a completion date targeted for "late 2017."

The project will eventually double the line's capacity, leaving it with about as much crude-carrying capability as the Keystone XL would have had. When combined with the 700,000 barrels a day being shipped across the border by rail, it's as if a Keystone XL were already in place. In other words, the very thing that opponents of the Keystone XL have been trying to stop—that is, the massive increase in Canadian crude oil reaching the open market—has already happened.

Critics have suggested that the planned replacement of this pipeline is a move designed to permanently enhance Enbridge's capability to transport tar-sands crude across the border. Now, the Sierra Club and other environmental groups are challenging the Enbridge border swit​ch in court. "Public pressure has forced the industry to resort to smuggling tar sands across the border," said Jamie Henn of 350​.org, a leading environmental advocacy organization. "Enbridge's dirty tricks won't likely hold up in the courts, and they certainly won't hold up under public scrutiny. You can't build a pipeline on this continent anymore without running into massive opposition. The State Department needs to apply the same climate test to Alberta Clipper that it is to Keystone XL: does this project significantly increase carbon emissions? In both cases, the answer is yes. They're both fuses to the same tar sands carbon bomb."

But Enbridge's workaround is another sign that a lot has changed in the six years that Keystone X​L has been pending. While the energy industry no doubt would have preferred a speedy approval of the pipeline, it's clear that oil companies haven't been sitting on their while debate over the pipeline extension raged. As billionaire oil executive Harold Hamm recently​ told Politico: "We're not waiting on Keystone. Nobody is."

Plunging oil prices have also helped to make the Keystone XL moot. Since tar-sands oil is more inefficient and expensive to produce than conventional oil, it's likely the first place oil companies will look to shutter capacity when prices crash. The complex extraction process means Alberta oil companies are already producing some of the most expensive oil in ​the world as it is. Anthony Swift, an attorney for the National Resources Defense Council, told US​A Today, "The reality is tar sands crude only makes sense in the world of expensive oil. That's not the world we're likely to be in in the near or immediate future."

The fact is, skyrocketing domestic oil production, coupled with declining demand for oil, has turned the debate to whether or not the US should become an oil exporting​ country. Last month's OPEC decision, marshaled by Saudi Arabia, essentially kicked off a survival of ​the fittest race to the bottom for oil producers worldwide, precipitating an ins​tant plunge in the number of new drilling permits. Oil prices are expected to remain low for many months, as Saudi Arabia, one of the lowest-cost oil producers in the world, essentially puts a chokehold on the booming North American oil industry.

For Keystone XL to have relevance, it needs to have something to transport. For the time being, the overwhelming evidence suggests it would be a pipeline to nowhere.

Follow Eric on ​Twitter.

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