As a part of their " State of the States" series of reports, Gallup just released a new poll on mood-altering drugs. In it, high rates of reliance on drugs are linked to low rankings in Gallup's 2014 Well-Being Index, an attempt to measure happiness in each state. West Virginia is apparently the most drugged and most miserable, while Alaska is the happiest and most relatively drug-free.

Other states with high rates of mood-altering drug use include Rhode Island, Kentucky, Alabama, Louisiana, South Carolina, and Mississippi. States at the bottom of the list are Wyoming, California, Illinois, North Dakota, New Jersey and Colorado.

Alaska, California, and Colorado seem to stand out as oddballs on that list because, well, those states stereotypically love smoking weed. But the poll isn't concerned with demonstrating where drug use as a whole is the highest. Instead, it looks at where people self-reported using "mood-altering drugs"—a catchall term defined however the respondent chooses. So it could mean "chill out after finals" drugs, but it could also mean "get my mind off my cancer diagnosis" drugs or "make the voices stop yelling at me" drugs.

The correlation between mood-altering drug use and happiness isn't a perfect one. Rhode Island is the second highest in terms of drug reliance, but at 38th in "Well Being." That state has very little in common with West Virginia, but there are a few similarities, including relatively old populations and low population growth.

But contrasting West Virginia with Alaska is more compelling than comparing it to Rhode Island. One obvious contrast between West Virginia and Alaska is that Alaska's economy is bolstered by oil, while West Virginia's signature natural resource, coal, has become increasingly unpopular. (Thanks Obama). And even though the Alaskan economy has been lackluster lately Alaskans have some of the highest household incomes in the nation, while West Virginians have some of the lowest.

Gallup's findings fit with the stereotype that people use a ton of drugs in West Virginia. Documentarian Sean Dunne's 2013Oxyana offered a snapshot of life in a town overrun with opiate addiction. One of the film's interviewees went so far as to say that residents of Oceana, West Virginia, either work in the coal mines or are involved in the drug trade.

The film alienated some residents however, with one representative telling Metro News that "Mr. Dunne selected his subjects for the film very carefully, and his agenda has been to portray Oceana in the worst possible light." She went on to admit that "There is a drug problem in Central Appalachia with prescription drugs," but claimed that Dunne had "thrown the baby out with the bathwater."

The Gallup report can be seen as yet one more sign that West Virginia's drug problem needs attention. According to Dunne's documentary, the state boasts the highest rate of deaths from drug overdoses. To make matters worse, there are no good samaritan laws in place to protect other drug users from prosecution if they try to rescue their overdosing friends.

One bit of good news: The state just approved the use of naloxone, the opiate "antidote," in an attempt to curb fatal overdoses. Still, since the Gallup poll is about mood-altering drugs in general, not just opiates, maybe West Virginia could benefit from the legalization of a drug that's less apt to kill people.

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This post originally appeared on VICE UK.

When John Lennon sang the words, "I read the news today, oh boy," he really captured the universal misery of paying attention to current affairs. As a semi-decent human, it's a requirement of me to care about what's going on in the world. And I do. Most of us do. But fucking hell, on the scale of things that make you want to curl up into a ball and shiver yourself to sleep, the news regularly ranks alongside Keanu Reeves's tragic life story.

The faintest trace of optimism I had for 2015 disappeared almost immediately. Three days into January, the news hit that Boko Haram had slaughtered more than 2,000 people in Northeast Nigeria, a tragedy followed by many more tragedies, because this Earth and that's the way things go. While I know there are also lots of good things going on in the world right now—like that couple who just won the lottery for a second time, certain dogs, that picture of George Osborne where his finger looks like a very thin penis—it can be difficult to keep things in perspective.

Determined to transform myself into one of those people who are so cheerful you can't even bring yourself to hate them, I got in touch with Alex Nunn, who leads campaigns at Action for Happiness, a charity aiming to "help take practical action to improve mental wellbeing and to create a happier and more caring society." What I wanted to know—and what we mostly talked about—was whether it's possible to be both socially conscious and happy.

"I love Viktor Frankl's idea that the last of human dignities is the right and ability to choose your attitude in any given situation, and that, actually, no matter how dire the circumstances that surround you, you can always choose how to interpret things," Alex said, smiling.

He smiled a lot, which was reassuring.

"That plays a big factor, because, for me, even if you look at something like the Charlie Hebdo shooting, what sticks in my mind is not the violence or the way that it stoked up racism around the Muslim religion. What sticks in my mind is the global solidarity movement that's come out of that, that has promoted so much human connection."

He certainly had a point. Two million people turned out for the "Je Suis Charlie" rally in Paris alone. Mind you, it does feel like that was a bit of an anomaly. In the West, remarkably little was made of the Boko Haram massacre. Meaning, ostensibly, most of us couldn't give a shit about the murder of thousands of innocent people—a situation it's surely impossible to spin a cheery take on.

"I'm not sure I'd want to claim that there is some kind of inherent positive that you can read into a situation, particularly one as graphic and violent as that, but the thing that I would want to make a claim for would be that if there's something that provokes an emotional reaction in you, something that makes you feel passionate—something that makes you feel revolted, even—you should find some means to act," said Alex.

It occurs to me as we speak that what I'm really trying to find out here is whether I—a comfortable, middle-class white man—can cheer myself up after the sadness of just being made aware of the suffering others endure. I mean, I am literally trying to avoid the inconvenience of knowing something that in no way directly changes my life. Doesn't that make me the worst person ever?

"Absolutely not. No," said Alex. "If you were to say that was in some way wrong, some way selfish, some kind of advanced hedonism that you're purging your needs and guilts, what you'd then be doing is negating the fact that that was a compassionate emotional experience in the first place. This is vitally important for us to have any kind of progress, for us to be able to recognize the suffering of others, feel emotion about it, and find ways to deal with that. You have become a witness to that situation, you have had a humane emotional reaction. You then need to continue that chain of events, and if you could continue that in a way that has a positive effect back for those people in the beginning, you're going to complete that circle in the best way possible."

Even if it's something as simple as writing a letter, an expression of solidarity, or sending a food parcel, Nunn said, it's possible to "connect the issue to something positive you can do within your own means and power." This sort of proactive, individual approach is Action for Happiness's modus operandi—and something for which it's been criticized, most notably by David Harper at the Guardian, who wrote that it's "based on two flawed assumptions: that the source of unhappiness lies inside people's heads—in how they see the world—and that the solution lies in change at the level of the individual."

It does sound a little like they're drawing from the book of Ayn Rand (any Ayn Rand book, they're all horrible), which is surprising considering Alex has an "anti-capitalist campaigning background" and he used to live in Brighton. Brighton, for christ's sake.

"To me, it's using individualism to solve the problems of individualism," he explained, adding that when you ask people to think more deeply about their own happiness they start to become free of the stresses filling their mind, which frees up space for other thoughts. Crucially, they also begin to recognize their reliance on connections with others, increasing their awareness of the importance and wellbeing of family, friends, colleagues, and everyone else around them.

"If you've got a movement that's waking people up to the fact that they're connected to others—and is also freeing up space in their mind—you've got the very foundation of a social conscience, upon which all kinds of conversations around poverty, climate change—whatever else it might be—can happen so much more effectively," said Alex.

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A major part of Action for Happiness's manifesto is its "ten keys to happier living," which, aside from sounding a lot like a holy text based on a Buzzfeed listicle, suggests that the organization touts depression as a state of mind, rather than an illness—an idea that's both patronizing and dangerous. Thinking away mental illness has a similar success rate to thinking away diarrhea (Have you even tried not expelling disturbing quantities of liquid from your anus several times an hour when you had the shits?).

The fact is, Action for Happiness isn't a mental health charity, and it's this which makes it such an intriguing organization. Its aim is not so much to make the sick healthy, but to make the healthy happy.

"Around 50 percent of our overall wellbeing is decided by our genetics, 10 percent is decided by our circumstances, and 40 percent is decided by our attitudes," Alex claimed, adding that it's that latter 40 percent Action for Happiness is focused on. The problem, as far as I can see it, is that our attitudes are shaped in part by the news, and we're exposed to this constantly. The news makes me sad, but not clinically depressed—do you see where I'm going with this?

Twenty years ago, if you wanted to find out what was happening in the world, you'd buy a newspaper, listen to radio news, or watch it on TV once or twice a day. For my generation, there's no stepping away. We have words like "digital" and "online" in our job titles, which essentially translates to at least eight hours a day spent tweeting at every other person with a new media job.

Contrary to what a number of middle-aged broadsheet columnists might say about the ignorance and apathy of millennials, we are the most informed generation yet, if only because we have no way of avoiding this information. News—more often than not, bad news—is a constant presence, and while I'd love to see myself trying to change the world every time something bad happens, I just don't have the time. You know, because of all the tweeting. So is there some simple thing we can remind ourselves of to not fall into a total pit of despair with every mass murder or environmental disaster?

"Recognize first of all that the most important human factor is the fact that you care," said Alex. "The fact you have seen that and the fact you care means there's one more human being in the world who cares about those people. If you can take time to pause and accept that, that in itself is a good thing. You might find the space opening up in your mind to think of creative ways in which you might be able to do more than just care. You might be able to act on that care as well."

Follow Jack on Twitter.

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A meeting room at CSE's new office. Is this where they read our emails? Who can say? Photo via Government of Canada

The Honourable Jean-Pierre Plouffe is worried he won't have the resources to keep tabs on Canada's rapidly growing spy behemoth.

Plouffe is the overseer for the Communications Security Establishment (CSE), a secretive agency that runs Canada's signal intelligence work. As an integral part of the Five Eyes—the shadowy intelligence-sharing consortium involving Canada, America, New Zealand, Australia and the United Kingdom—CSE is basically sidekick to the American NSA.

Financial reports released on Tuesday show the commissioner is going to have to cut back his review processes due to lack of funds. Meanwhile, CSE's budget is larger than ever.

Motherboard has reported thoroughly on CSE's extensive powers, with help from leaks released by Edward Snowden.

Plouffe, as the CSE Commissioner, is responsible for making sure that the agency does not go outside its mandate. Currently, the agency is forbidden from intentionally collecting Canadians' data, unless it is doing so under the authority of another Canadian agency. However, Snowden's documents as well as Plouffe's own investigations show that CSE does end up with files on Canadians. When that happens, CSE is supposed to delete them. They don't always do so in a timely manner.

Yet, documents also show that CSE was scooping up Canadians' data as they logged onto a WIFI hotspot in some airport in Canada. Plouffe ultimately cleared the spy agency of wrongdoing in that operation.

Concerns remain, however, that CSE is going well outside its mandate. But, as VICE reported in February, the Harper government isn't worried.

"The CSE Commissioner's report indicates that they have been operating inside the law," Justice Minister Peter MacKay told VICE.

The commissioner, however, doesn't have the power to compel information from CSE.

"The office has no authority to enforce specific actions by CSE," reads the commissioner's financial reports from this year. "Cooperation, collaboration and professional respect between the office and CSE is essential to my office for the conduct of rigorous review and for the formulation of meaningful recommendations for change, where needed, and essential to CSE for the timely and appropriate implementation of corrective action."

But even the commissioner's power—which is largely based on the honour system—might be further at risk.

In a financial report tabled on Tuesday, Plouffe warned that "Without this positive relationship being in place, the review process will flounder and opportunities for positive change will be lost."

He said the review process was already at risk, thanks to a lack of funds in his office.

"Cost sharing related to central agency initiatives and fiscal restraint measures are reducing the flexibility of the office's available funding. CSE, however, is growing and its activities are changing in response to its changing environment," Plouffe's office wrote.

The commissioner begged the federal government for more money. He's not the only one. As VICE reported on Tuesday, Canada's Access to Information Commissioner is also cash-starved, and she says it will hobble her ability to pry documents from resistant government departments. And as Toronto Star reporter Alex Boutillier reported in Wednesday's paper, the review body for Canada's other spy agency, CSIS, is already seeing its operations impacted by a lack of resources.

The commissioner's office has a budget of just over $2 million, which has been pretty much flat for years. CSE's budget, meanwhile, tops out around $829 million. The commissioner's office has a full-time staff of 11, in addition to Plouffe, who works part-time.

The lack of money means that CSE needs to cut back on its review process and "focus review resources on CSE activities that pose the greatest risks to non-compliance and/or privacy."

As Plouffe may be considering bake sales and silent auctions to keep the lights on, the Conservatives have spent months boasting of Canada's world-renowned intelligence oversight agencies as they defend their controversial anti-terror bill, C-51.

That legislation would vastly expand CSE's ability to receive information on Canadians, and to share it among allies.

Speaking before a committee on Monday, Public Safety Minister Steven Blaney said Canada's intelligence review bodies were "the envy of the world."

VICE got a chance to ask Associate Defence Minister Julian Fantino about the recent revelations about CSE—he is, after all, now responsible for the organization—and he was unconcerned.

"First and foremost, we don't talk about operational matters and certainly I'm not going to do that," Fantino began. "Having said that, I can say that CSE operates within the parameters of the law, well established and well supervised. Accountability is there."

VICE asked about documents showing that CSE is using its capabilities to attack foreign networks. Fantino wouldn't comment.

"If you won't comment, how can Canadians have faith in what CSE is doing?" VICE asked.

"You weren't listening. I just did," Fantino said before he walked away.

Follow Justin Ling on Twitter.

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Russian Victory Day celebration. Photo via Flickr user Pavel Kazachkov

At a time when the spectre of the Russian military is high on the minds of European countries fearful of the next Ukraine, Canada's Department of National Defence is playing tough with President Vladimir Putin.

Four different military exercises appear to be aimed at the Russian military as Canadian Armed Forces (CAF) members deploy in contentious regions in both the Arctic and Eastern Europe—areas of particular geopolitical importance to Mr. Putin.

In a release from the Department of National Defence (DND), Jason Kenney applauded the latest CAF exercise in Eastern Europe with NATO allies bordering Russia.

"Canada's participation in multinational training opportunities such as Ex MOUNTAIN WARRIOR demonstrates our commitment to collective defence and our condemnation of the Putin regime's aggression and its attempts to undermine the security and sovereignty of Ukraine," said Kenney, pointing out that the joint exercise highlights NATO efforts to project the strength of "Allied solidarity" for nations in East and Central Europe.

Ex MOUNTAIN WARRIOR and another exercise, SUMMER SHIELD, sees soldiers from the Royal Canadian Regiment showcasing their live-fire "military muscle" in a NATO training exercise alongside the Latvian, Lithuanian, and Polish militaries.

The Baltic countries, along with Poland, have felt the impingement of Russian influence since the invasion of Ukraine sent chills through former Soviet republics. Estonia—much like Ukraine, a country with a sizable ethnic Russian population—had an intelligence agent allegedly abducted by Russia, raising fears of a potential invasion.

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Canadian military ships. Photo via Canadian Armed Forces

For geopolitics, military exercises are passive-aggressive peacocking drills involving troop movements along hostile borders in the name of armed readiness—designed with your enemy-in-mind looking on.

The South Koreans do it to the North Koreans, and vice versa, while Russia is even known for staging exercises simulating the nuclear annihilation of Warsaw, the capital of rival nation Poland.

Canada, which is in a quasi-standoff with Russia over conflicting Arctic land claims, is beginning to do the same, coupled with outbursts from key political figures in Stephen Harper's retinue against Russia.

Lately, Kenney is leading that charge.

Several weeks ago, he claimed Russian bombers buzzed a Canadian warship in the Black Sea during a NATO maritime exercise designed at poking the Russian Bear. Kenney's claims were eventually debunked as hyperbole by NATO itself.

At the same time as a sudden Arctic military deployment for the Russian military, CAF soldiers are in the High Arctic for operation NOREX and NUNALIVUT using "live-fire exercises and patrols in isolated areas" to "highlight the Canadian Army's ability to assert Canada's sovereignty in the Arctic," according to a DND statement.

Protecting our "sovereignty" in the Far North is a direct nod to Russia, given Canada's own battle for its Arctic borders with the former world superpower—a serious development amid actual fears about what Russia will do next.

Meanwhile, Kenney's bold words, largely imitating the stance his boss took a year earlier, might have more to do with voters than geopolitical gamesmanship. Either way, the tensions are real and the Cold War Part Two seems nigh.

Follow Ben Makuch on Twitter.

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Follow Leslie on Twitter, Tumblr, and buy her books from Fantagraphics.

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The author as a child

This article originally appeared at VICE Spain.

There was a time, just before the Spanish economy went to hell, that the people of the Balearic Islands thought they were kings. Back when Gabriel Cañellas was the President of the islands, our stock values had rocketed, and with that came all the usual prosperity, luxury, and, of course, utter chaos.

In those days, neither bricks nor land were particularly expensive, which meant that more or less everybody was capable of buying or renting a flat along the coastline. Most of my friends and their families went on holiday to places like Alcudia and Ca'n Picafort, but for some reason, which to this very day is still a complete mystery, my parents chose Magaluf as our vacation destination instead.

We spent our time in this quaint little village where people would bike to the shop if they needed bread. It was a place where it wasn't even necessary to lock your front door or close your windows. I always thought there was something so wonderfully rural about that.

The first summers in Magaluf, at the beginning of the 1990s, were actually pretty peaceful. I'd finish my homework so I could rush down to the beach with my mom and cousin. We spent every second we could in the sun till it started to retreat in September.

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Photo by Paul Geddis.

Magaluf was certainly renowned for decadence in the 1980s, but, as far I'm concerned, it was 1993 when things kicked off. It was a little different to the Dominican nun school where I spent the other nine months of the year studying.

I remember the bonnet of my dad's R-18 being completely covered in this stinking crust of dried ketchup, mustard, and mayonnaise. Things like that were pretty common. You know, British lads thinking it'd be a bit of a laugh to douse cars in all manner of sauces.

It wasn't until much later in life that I found out that 1993 was actually the year that British tour operators dropped their prices so much that it instantly created this all-inclusive holiday paradise for herds of uncontrollable hooligans. All hellbent on sun, sea, sex, and generally acting like dicks.

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Photo by Paul Geddis.

It's been years since I've been there, and I don't even know if any of the places I remember still exist or not. Places like Spiders, Prince William, Alexandra, and the Underground. It's probably for the better that the walls of those establishments can't talk. But there wasn't really a need to go to bars to get hammered.

I remember being able to buy alcohol absolutely everywhere. Even in the dingiest of souvenir shops, there'd be this huge selection of booze packed in between beach towels, hot pink dresses, and those classy little aprons with the boobs on them. You could get completely plastered for next to nothing. The stores didn't even bother to ask kids for fake IDs when buying their Rushkinoff—the putrid discount vodka that basically fueled the Majorcan summer.

Magaluf had a bit of a Spanish Bermuda triangle thing going on at the time—I guess that Hotel Sahara, BCM nightclub, and Punta Ballena were the corners of this phenomenon. Somewhere between those three points, people could get lost and disappear forever. The fortor, island slang for over-the-top sexual impulse, was so noticeable that you could almost taste it in the air.

I'm not only talking about the typical strip bars that were scattered under each and every building (let's not forget the legendary Top-Less Eva), but more of this sort of overt sexual revelry that was so obvious that even the kids picked up on it. In an era where there weren't any mobile phones or internet, a microclimate developed where free love was taking place whenever, wherever, and in front of whoever.

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Photo by Jamie Taete.

This one morning on the beach, we witnessed a couple staggering down to the shore. They just laid right down on the beach and got to making out aggressively—sort of like Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr at the peak of their career, but a tad less sober. I don't remember if the police showed up to cool them down, but what I do remember is that the poor lifeguard hopped down from his post and came sprinting and shouting like a man possessed.

Things like that were common. There was this one summer when we were eating dinner on the terrace, while all along peeking from the corner of our eyes at a couple that forgot to close the curtains before getting their kit off. Trying clumsily to cover it up, my dad suggested that we go inside to eat with the curtains drawn. Well, at least he tried.

All this sex certainly wasn't just confined to the hotel, though. The constant flow of cheap alcohol had people going at it absolutely everywhere: on the stairs of our building, on beach hammocks, on car bonnets—provided they weren't smothered in condiments, of course. It was absurd, equal parts comical and kinky.

When you were tired of staring at all that intercourse, there was a great amount of entertainment to be found in the general mayhem around. Guests, who were obviously completely smashed, would throw all manner of furniture and fittings from the balcony of a third-floor flat. One time, someone threw a sofa out of a window, which for some reason inspired an obviously excited group of hooligans to launch into the worst version of Lionel Richie's "Say You, Say Me" that I've ever been punished with. To this day, I can't help but wonder if it was all just part of some weird performance art piece.

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Photo by Paul Geddis.

Sure, there was plenty of fun on that island, but there was plenty of deeply disturbing, dark, sleazy, and dangerous things happening in Magaluf, too. Things like the sex assaults and violence that'd make newspaper headlines for months on end. Not to mention the deaths. In the 90s, tons of tourists fell from their balconies and died, along with hordes of unfortunate young men who were found floating face down in the ocean. I remember this one particular wooden pier being infamous for producing a broken neck almost weekly, because of all the young tourists that'd throw themselves headfirst into its super shallow waters.

In a way, I can still see myself there, in that small village, "Kill 'em All" blaring from my Walkman, spending my days trying to navigate unnoticed through the swarms of tubby, short-necked tourists in Aston Villa shirts. I'll never forget their discolored forearm tattoos and unique ability to throw back pints and empty entire bottles of HP sauce in one sitting. That was also the same set of guys you'd see, in the middle of the day, getting infuriated and throwing punches at the Telefónica phoneboxes. The same sunburnt chaps you'd see relieving themselves from each and every orifice on a street corner.

It was only three months out of each year, but the fact that I grew up in Magaluf and was forced to bear witness to the brutality and wildness of its summer, has served me pretty well. Not only do I have a bunch of anecdotes, I've also become much more conscious of the problems and contradictions of the modern-day tourist model. I guess that sometimes and in some places, the differences between humanity and the animal kingdom are pretty few.

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Elizabeth Huey's photographs are energetic and so involved you could be forgiven for assuming they were choreographed. Predominantly a painter, her first experience of photography was casually snapping reference images in the Brooklyn neighborhood around her studio. Soon her occasional hunt for source material evolved into a compulsion, and a survival tool for managing isolated studio life.

VICE: Your work has a pretty consistent holiday/family theme—was that a deliberate decision?
Elizabeth Huey: Previously I was working on these pieces that had to do with the history of psychiatry and I just needed a break—I don't know if I decided—I think the work decided for me and I took a dive into recreation. Now I'm actually contemplating where those two intersect and ways depression is alleviated, or maybe even forms of psychosis are treated with recreation.

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Some of your photos are of candid moments that aren't yours. Have you ever been confronted by the subjects in your photographs?
If they catch me, the photo is not that interesting. Usually I'll delete it. For me, when they appear naturally in their environment, are relaxed, and at their least guarded, I find them most interesting.

There's one particular photo I wanted to ask about. The large man carrying the inflatable whale. What's the story there?
I was on a residency in Cape Cod, driving down Snail Road. He was crossing in front of me and I just photographed him.

But you've photographed him numerous times with different inflatables.
Yeah, I have a number of them where he doesn't know I'm there and then I thought, you know what he's so interesting I'm just gonna go talk to him.

He actually took me into his house—it's kind of a weird picture of him where he's on his computer showing me his inflatable collection. I don't think people really liked them so much.

So what's his story?
He lives in Canada and he brought eight of them with him to Cape Cod. He has hundreds. I said, "Can you blow a few more of them up for me to see?" So I went back and photographed him with a rocket one. I mean it takes hours to blow those things up.

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Are interactions like that why you moved away from painting and toward photography?
He was an anomaly. The interactions I have when I photograph are primarily non-verbal.

Painting can be really isolating and in a way. I can be in my studio for 12 hours and only see the delivery person. It feels like being a hermit in a cave. So to be in a situation and connect with these random people who I wouldn't normally connect with, I really appreciate photography for that. It's a way to be in the world but out of it at the same time.

Interviewed by Tom Fitzgerald.

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Photos by Jake Lewis

This article originally appeared on VICE UK.

One of the many problems for migrants stuck in Calais trying to get the UK is boredom. The people struggling to survive there are stuck in an incredibly boring purgatory.

But on Saturday when I visited the Calais "Jungle"—the former squat-home of many of those migrants—that wasn't the case. The soon to be pulled down camp was a hive of activity. Music blared out of rigged up speakers and a cricket match spread across a football pitch. Cricket whites were pulled over grubby clothes as migrants shacks formed the backdrop of a game that was somehow both heartening and bleak.

"I can't imagine how I've managed to play cricket for the best part of 40 years without Afghan folk songs coming out of the sound system," remarked Christopher Douglas, a "Sunday cricketer," and a comedy writer and actor the rest of the time. "It's just brilliant—adds to the atmosphere so much."

Christopher and his friends had come to recreate the England-Afghanistan Cricket World Cup, between English activists and Afghan migrants, as part of—UKHIP—the "UK Humanitarian Intervention Party." Other than the cricketers were three cars and a van full of tents, sleeping bags, and boots, brought over to Calais to distribute donations to the thousands of migrants who live there. Scattered around the city, some sleep rough in doorways, most live in camps like the Jungle, and a few—mostly women and children—are put up in charity-run hostels.

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The Afghan team

UKHIP is the brainchild of a group of activists including Beth Granville, David Charles and Strike! magazine. Back in January and again in February, they used a Daily Mail $1.50-ferry ticket-deal to get to Calais, taking over backpacks and a car full of supplies. When they got back, Granville and Charles wrote a piss-taking letter to the immigrant-hating Mail, saying, "Some freeloading scroungers might have cynically used your festive promotional offer with P&O Ferries to go over and stock up on cheap continental booze and fags. But we know you meant to launch a D-Day-style flotilla of solidarity with Fellow Human Beings who have fled the blood and torture and killing and more blood and bombs."

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This time, with the Daily Mail offer over, they were crowdfunding their way there. With the election in sight, UKHIP has targeted the scapegoating of migrants carried out by their almost namesakes, that they think is preventing the UK from tackling a massive humanitarian crisis on its doorstep. With the election on its way, politicians seem to be using immigrants to get votes, rather than offering them help.

"Nobody will touch Calais because of the prevailing attitude towards immigration—none of the mainstream political parties," said Vyvian (not his real name), part of the Strike! magazine contingent. He said that because resources are pumped into securing the border rather than improving the camps, many migrants in Calais would be materially better off in a UN or NGO run refugee camp in a war-zone.

"I think the main aim is to raise awareness of the real situation here," explained Granville. "People have no running water, people live with the constant threat of police violence, they have very little food—the situation here's just really hard. People are fleeing from countries where there's oppressive regimes... and just want to make a better life for themselves."

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I soon saw what UKHIP were getting at. While the cricket provided some light relief, the Jungle was simultaneously in upheaval, ahead of an eviction order which came into effect this week.

A new, official camp, "Jules Ferry," has been set up by two French charities at the behest of the French government, it will be finished at the beginning of April and can accommodate women and children overnight, and men during the day. Nobody is happy about the new camp, which the activist group Calais Migrant Solidarity (CMS) describe as part of, "a new security agenda agreed with the UK to strengthen the border and prevent people from crossing." The center, which CMS believe is more about policing than protection, is isolated from the town, and will take away much of the occupants' freedom. Despite not having asked any of the migrants what they want, the French authorities are using the new camp as grounds to justify destroying the Jungle.

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Some people want to resist the eviction and are planning to stay in the Jungle for the time being, but many fear repercussions. They have decided to move, taking pallets, plastic sheets, chunks of metal, and wood with them and trying to hastily assemble a new, independent camp further up the road. This meant that much of UKHIP's flotilla was deployed to drive people backwards and forwards, many hanging off the back of the laden van.

They helped ferry Danny, a small, thin Eritrean refugee, to the new camp, lugging a pile of blankets that probably weighed more than him. A strong wind seemed to be blowing down tents, quicker than the migrants could put them up. Later, another migrant told me that Danny was only 13 years old.

Back at the Jungle, I spoke to Yarid who had been living at the camp for three weeks and wanted to go to the UK to get an education, although at 21 he was worried it was too late. Yarid had fled compulsory military service in Eritrea. He feared it would be impossible to get to the UK, but "I never give up, I always try."

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Outside, England technically won the cricket, but the English team acknowledged that their victory was largely down to the Afghans who had helped make up the numbers in their team. The Afghans didn't seem to care too much anyway, seeming briefly content.

"It's quite affecting, really, seeing what it's like here," remarked Douglas, who said he had known very little about the situation beforehand.

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Norwoz

After the match, I got chatting to Norwoz, who told me that he had travelled to Calais from Kandahar, nine or ten months ago. He said he had enjoyed the cricket, but that otherwise life in the camp was difficult. "Conditions are very bad," he said.

"I left Afghanistan because I translated for American and UK soldiers," he explained. "Afterwards I get problem with the Taliban."

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As we gathered to leave, people were still dragging their belongings out on to the road, hoping someone would help them move. UKHIP had brightened the place a little, but now they were leaving and it was hard to imagine a much bleaker scene. In the car on the way back I asked Clare Shortall, a doctor who recently spent two weeks in Calais working with Doctors of the World, what she thought of the situation. "A humanitarian crisis trumps whatever you think about immigration," said Shortall, adding that Doctors of the World want the UK government divert money from securing the borders to humanitarian aid.

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A hangar in the middle of the Jungle where tents have been set up

Back in the UK the election campaign kicked off, and it became increasingly clear that very few political parties think it's in their interests to stick up for migrants. UKIP picture Farage literally sweeping away Calais in their most recent letterbox campaign, and instead of challenging this, Labour have responded by releasing an anti-immigrant mug. The Green Party, meanwhile, have described what everyone else is doing as a "race to the bottom" on immigration rhetoric."

While grassroots groups like CMS, a handful of NGOs like Médecins du Monde, and activist groups like UKHIP try their best to help, there's really very little they can do beyond handing out tents, boots, and blankets. The British government, on the other hand, could solve the problem, but unfortunately they treat immigrants as a problem to be dealt with, rather than people experiencing a humanitarian crisis.

Follow Charlotte and Jake on Twitter.

Scroll down for more photos:

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The Jungle's Church

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Inside the Jungle's Church

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This article originally appeared on VICE UK.

At the beginning of the week, an unsettling headline swept across Britain's news sites. A tenth of the UK's 12 to 13-year-olds are, apparently, ADDICTED to porn. The BBC led the charge, rehashing a press release sent out by the NSPCC, which is launching a campaign with Childline—Fight Against Porn Zombies (FAPZ)—to highlight the effects of too much exposure to porn.

Other news outlets followed suit and each story stuck to the same format: scary headline about children unable to stop watching porn, a couple more stats and a quote from Esther Rantzen. No one was questioning the findings themselves.

The aims of the NSPCC campaign are admirable: children are undoubtedly seeing more porn than ever before, and considering the dire state of sex-ed in British schools it's clearly a good thing that the charity is doing what it can to address the issue. But the idea of porn "addiction" is highly contested among academics and medics, so why did so many children put their guilty hands up?

Such inflammatory findings, when published by a respected national charity, would usually be accompanied by a full report of the study. Not in this case. All the NSPCC would offer was an extended press release with some more quotes from concerned parties.

It turns out the study was conducted by a "creative market research" group called OnePoll. "Generate content and news angles with a OnePoll PR survey, and secure exposure for your brand," reads the company's blurb. "Our PR survey team can help draft questions, find news angles, design infographics, write, and distribute your story."

The company is super popular on MoneySavingExpert.com, where users are encouraged to sign up and make a few bucks. Here's what that website says: "Mega-popular for its speedy surveys, OnePoll runs polls for the press, meaning fun questions about celebs and your love life."

So the company behind these stats about porn addiction is known for its quick and easy surveys and promises to generate headline-grabbing stats. An unusual choice, perhaps, for such a sensitive subject.

When the London School of Economics carried out research into children's internet usage a long list of safeguards were put in place, knowing that children would be asked about sensitive topics such as porn. These included pilot tests to gauge children's state of mind, face-to-face interviews, a self-completion section for sensitive questions to avoid being heard by parents, family members, or the interviewer, detailed surveys about the children themselves, and measures of mediating factors such as psychological vulnerability. You can read the full 60-page report here.

In contrast, the OnePoll survey included just 11 multiple-choice questions, which could be filled in online. Children were recruited via their parents, who were already signed up to OnePoll. This alone should raise red flags. Perhaps the parents who chose to put their children forward for the survey were already concerned. It also seems likely that parents would have hovered nearby as children filled in the survey (which couldn't have taken more than ten minutes), surely skewing the results. And finally, does anyone really think that without that grown-up-pleasing tick-box option—"I am addicted to pornography"—children would have diagnosed themselves as such?

Professor Clarissa Smith is Professor of Sexual Cultures at the University of Sunderland and a veteran researcher in the field of young people and sexuality.

"Why aren't they being entirely transparent with the research?" she asked me. "If this was really robust, they would be sending the report to everybody, they wouldn't be hiding it.

"There's absolutely no way an organization like [OnePoll] could conduct the kind of in depth interviews you need to really engage with young people on pornography. I cannot conceive of a child answering honestly in front of a parent. The dimensions of parent-pleasing there are horrific. I wouldn't want to sit and answer a questionnaire about porn in front of my dad."

Another problem is that "pornography addiction" isn't actually a recognized medical category. Research has not shown any difference in the brains of hypersexual people in response to stimuli, as is the case with drug and alcohol addiction.

None of this, of course, is to suggest that children aren't viewing porn, or that, for some of them, it's a problem.

"In addition to the survey, ChildLine receives contacts from young people who are worried that they are addicted to porn," NSPCC spokesperson Grania Hyde-Smith told me. "They feel that they can't stop watching it and they may feel dependent on it. Threads on our message boards that mention porn in the title receive around 18,000 hits per month. Many young people tell us that porn has affected their self-esteem and caused them to have body image issues. They tell us that it has made them feel they have to behave in a certain way to be attractive and, in some cases, it's made them do things they didn't feel ready to do because they felt that's what's expected of them."

There's no question that some children are upset by viewing porn. But does suggesting that they have an addiction really help anyone? The term is a loaded one.

"I have no objection with the NSPCC's conclusions that we have to talk to young people about sex, love, respect, and consent," says Smith. "I agree entirely. But why on earth are they using the term 'porn addiction' to [apply to] young people?

"We don't talk about addiction as a neutral thing. We talk about it in terms of treatments and interventions. That language is giving a particular kind of knowledge to kids; that sex and representations of sex are dangerous and addicting and that they need to be seeking treatment or that they should be ashamed."

Like Smith, youth worker and sex educator Justin Hancock, the founder of sexual education website BishUK, is doubtful that school playgrounds are full of porn-addicted 12-year-olds.

"My own experience of working directly with young people backs up the research—that is to say, many, or even most, young people don't watch porn," Hancock told me. "Of course a small minority of young people worry about how much time they spend watching porn, but this is a very subjective measure as, for some people, five minutes a week may be too much. It's very unhelpful to talk about porn addiction with the lack of nuance reported in this study."

Follow Frankie on Twitter.

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A photo of the meth "Gillian" found in her bag

This article originally appeared on VICE UK.

What's the most surprising thing you've ever found at the bottom of your bag? Is the answer "rotten fruit"? The answer is definitely "rotten fruit" and not "several grams of crystal meth," unless you're my friend Gillian*, for whom, as of last week, the answer is "several grams of crystal meth."

Having never done crystal meth, she was quite perplexed by the whole thing. Why did she suddenly have several grams of it in her possession? Whose was it? Did they put it there on purpose? And just what the fuck are you supposed to do with hundreds of dollars worth of crystal meth if you're not the sort of person who enjoys taking crystal meth?

These aren't the sort of questions you tend to consider until, out of the blue, you have a lot of crystal meth thrust upon your person without your consent. I decided to sit down with Gillian and ask her a few of these questions in order to better understand the situation.

(*Not actually her name; just playing it safe.)

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Some of the meth out of the bag.

VICE: Hey Gillian. Congratulations, I guess? Or maybe not. How and when did you realize you were now the owner of several grams of crystal meth?
Gillian: I was getting ready for uni [a.k.a. "college"] on Thursday morning and had gone out the night before, so I was moving stuff over from my purse backpack into my uni backpack and I noticed there was a baggie of something at the bottom. I pulled it out and saw it was a huge amount of either meth or very pure MDMA—I wasn't sure at the time. I immediately started thinking when and where this might have shown up in my bag, but had no idea. I'd gone to a party on Saturday, but knew everyone there, and no one did meth—certainly not that much. I had to run to uni so I shoved the bag in my bedside drawer and figured I'd deal with it later.

You weren't sure initially if it was MDMA or meth—how did you conclude it was the latter?
I analyzed it and it was odorless, which MDMA usually isn't. It was also white and translucent, and usually MDMA has a yellowish tinge to it. It stayed pretty solid and there were relatively large chunks, so I figured it was probably meth. I know more people who do MDMA, but no one I know would buy that much or carry it with them so I figured it couldn't have been anyone's I knew, which also ruled out Saturday night. I went to my friend's after uni—she happens to be a criminal lawyer—and we looked up crystal meth, and that is exactly what it looks like.

It's hard to judge from the pictures, but it does look like there's more than a personal amount there. Do you know how much it weighed?
I'm not entirely sure. I wish I had a scale so I could measure it, but a kitchen scale wouldn't quite give the numbers I'd need. Based on pictures of amounts it looks like I had more than an eighth, possibly even a quarter... so around six or seven grams.

That's quite a lot of meth. I take it you weren't tempted to try some?
No! I mean, I had no idea what it was and no idea where I'd got it from, so no. I do have some friends who are a bit more adventurous, and I was considering getting them to try some and tell me what it was, but then I realized if I killed them I'd have a lot more problems on my hands.

Killing your friends can be quite problematic.
I was even scared of touching it in case, in some weird infomercial-type way, I forgot how to control my hands and arms and ended up taking a bunch.

It sounds like a pretty troubling situation to be in.
At first, I was a bit more relaxed about it, actually. I thought it was crazy, but pretty funny. I texted some people to see if they had accidentally lost a large amount of drugs, but no one had. Eventually, as I started to realize it was meth—and it was a large amount of it—I was getting more worried. What if I had entered a court accidentally with it? I sometimes go with my friend to court, and had recently been to one to fight a parking ticket, so it's not a completely crazy thought. What if I'd been stopped and searched? All the what ifs just kept going through my mind. There would be no way to justify it and no one would believe me that it wasn't mine.

I was also considering selling it to those adventurous friends to make some cash, but because it was such a large amount I would have got months in prison if anyone found out, which is not in my five year plan. Eventually I needed a couple of beers to calm down and then it became funny again. Like, how does this even happen?

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That's a very good question. How did this happen?
I'd been in an area that's sort of known for meeting up with them, but it also has police trawling through, especially at night. This isn't certain, but I'm 99 percent sure this is what happened: a dealer was meeting up with someone, or someone had just purchased it, but then saw the police and had to get rid of it fast and found my backpack as the perfect place. Police can look through bins and can tie you to drugs if you just throw them out, so putting them on someone else is a better option. I do remember, at one point, my friend told me my backpack was open and she helped me snap it shut. It has two snaps so it's not easy to reach into and pull something out, but there are certainly openings where someone could stuff something in. I feel bad for the person who lost all that product. The day I found it, all day I just kept thinking, "Why couldn't this have just been weed?"That would have been awesome.

Yeah. Also, weed wouldn't have been as big a deal if you were caught with it. Walking around with several grams of meth, I wouldn't fancy your chances if you'd been caught with it. "It's not mine, honest!" is the oldest excuse in the book.
Oh for sure. I hate to say it, but I'm a young, white female student; my chances of being stopped are far lower than almost anyone else. Imagine someone had dropped it into the bag of someone exactly like me, a young student, but it was a man and he was black. When I think about that, I'm almost happier that it was me. My friend's dad is a judge and she was telling him about this, and he just said he would never believe it, and nor would a jury. There is literally no way to get out of that.

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Did it change your mind about how the justice system treats drugs at all?
I mean, I already have pretty rigid views on police, the justice system, and certainly drug laws. I think, for the most part, drug laws are pretty stupid. I'd rather have a regulated market and tax it so the government can then also take care of those who have addiction issues. There are also class issues with drugs that I don't even want to get into now. Because of my lawyer friend, I'll hear a lot of awful stories of police brutality or arrests without suspicion or warrant. I hate the police, to be honest. Like I said, I'm pretty sure that was the reason for the drop—someone else was about to encounter the police.

The whole thing seems like it was a bit of a burden, to be honest.
Yes, in two ways. First, it was a burden to figure out what to do with it. Should I sell it and take advantage of this "opportunity," or flush it and get it out of my life and not risk anything else? But I also had the burden of thinking of whoever had to get rid of it. Were they a dealer who would get beaten up or worse because they lost this? Was it someone who had prostituted themselves for this and then had to ditch it? Clearly someone was missing a large amount of meth and I wished I could have just given it back to them. Held it safe for a bit and then given it back.

What did you end up doing with it in the end and why?
I decided to flush it, unfortunately. I mostly just wanted it out of my life, and selling it—even to close friends—was highly risky. Plus, I wouldn't have had someone to sell it all to, which would mean breaking it up into smaller amounts, and I have no idea how long I would have had to hold onto it for. Most of all, I find dealing just super inconvenient. The fact that it was crystal meth played a big factor. I probably would have done something different with cocaine or weed. There are enough people I know who would have bought those.

Any regrets?
It was sad hearing it fall into the toilet and watching it all swirl away. Oh, the money.

Follow Jack on Twitter.

International negotiators reached an agreement on Iran's nuclear program Thursday, setting the framework for a final agreement to curb the country's nuclear development in exchange for the lifting of economic sanctions.

Diplomats from the European Union, and Iran announced the deal Thursday, outlining key parameters that include an agreement that Iran restrict its enrichment capacity, level, and stockpile, as well as allow greater oversight of its nuclear program. In exchange for that, as well as reassurances that the program is peaceful, foreign powers have agreed to life economic and financial sanctions on Tehran, opening up economic opportunities for the Islamic Republic.

Obama will give a statement on the deal from the White House this afternoon. Watch his remarks below:

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Kandaal Pheach, head monk at the Wat Jotanaram temple in the Bronx, grew up amid Cambodia's chaotic genocide of the 1970s. Photos by the author

Kandaal Pheach, sitting cross-legged, is quietly basking in the gentle glow of flickering candles on the main floor of a New York City Buddhist temple.

The Cambodian-American monk closes his eyes, murmurs some Khmer, and lights a stick of incense. Golden sculptures of Buddha tower over him as he cups his hands to pray. This is Wat Jotanarm, a monastery in the Bronx, a borough that's home to a sizable population of Cambodian immigrants.

Pheach's zen demeanor, however, conceals a childhood past scarred by genocide. And he's not alone. Pheach and the majority of his temple's few hundred followers are survivors who fled to America after the murderous Khmer Rouge regime swept through Cambodia in the 1970s.

Decades later, a United Nations–affiliated tribunal in Phnom Penh is charging former high-ranking officials of the Khmer Rouge. On March 27, Ao An, also known as Ta An, was charged with crimes against humanity including murder, extermination, political persecution, and other inhumane acts that took place at prison camps in Cambodia during the genocide. Meas Muth and Im Chaem, also key figures in the brutal regime, were issued similar charges on March 3.

Despite many Cambodian New Yorkers' connection to the tragedy, the diaspora here doesn't seem to be too invested in the charges—or other recent Khmer Rouge tribunal cases.

"Cambodian people suffer a lot and a long time," said Pheach, who explained that his community doesn't often speak openly about the genocide.

The Khmer Rouge, headed by leader Pol Pot, took control of Cambodia from 1975 to 1979. In four years, nearly 2 million people were exterminated. Police, teachers, doctors—the intellectual population was targeted aggressively, and cities were evacuated, paving the way for the regime's deranged vision of an agrarian utopia.

Pheach's family was relocated into the countryside for a life of peasantry and field work under the scorching sun. For years, he was separated from his parents as he cared for his younger brother in an abandoned home outside the capital of Phnom Penh. Pheach often held his brother in his arms while his younger sibling cried himself to sleep at night.

Pheach said traumatizing memories like these resurface when the Khmer Rouge is discussed—one reason for his community's silence.

"They stop listening to, they stop thinking about it, and they hate someone who are talking about it because they suffer so, so much."

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The peaceful atmosphere of Wat Jotanaram makes for a stark contrast to the grim memories of most of the temple's congregation.

Muth's trial, dubbed Case 003 and Chaem and An's, known as Case 004, come following a wave of other prosecutions over the years.

Nuon Chea and Khieu Samphan, suspects in Case 002, were sentenced to life in prison in 2014. Kang Kek Iew—known as "Comrade Duch"—was also sentenced to life in prison for his role in the deaths of 15,000 Cambodians.

Officially referred to as the Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia, the tribunal was established in 1997 as a joint effort between the United Nations and the Cambodian government. This hybrid tribunal adheres to aspects of both international and domestic law. At the time, it was the first of its kind. To ensure a high level of transparency, most international tribunals are overseen only by the United Nations, and proceed in a separate country from the one in question.

Jennifer Trahan, a New York University professor and former Human Rights Watch advocate who worked closely with the Cambodian tribunal from 2002 to 2005, said its hybrid structure was an early issue.

"There was that concern when the international community is working with a domestic system that's not meant for it's independence, how would that influence the tribunal?" said Trahan. "I don't know if that concern has really ever evaporated."

Tribunals overseen by solely by United Nations Security Council have indicted 161 war criminals in Yugoslavia and 95 in Rwanda since the early 90s. In Cambodia, however, there were only five indictees over the first 14 years of the tribunal's existence.

Some believe the process has been politicized and corrupted by the Cambodian government, an institution rife with exonerated Khmer Rouge officials, including Cambodia's current prime minister, Hun Sen.

A recent report by the Open Justice Initiative suggests that "the integrity and reputation of the entire court" has been diminished. The authors suggest the tribunal has caved to political intrusion, that the United Nations' judicial methods are incompetent, and that there is a "deepening cynicism" amongst Cambodians watching the trials.

In 2011, German judge Siegfried Blunk resigned from his position on the tribunal, citing political interference by the Cambodian government.

There are other problems, too.

The lengthy tribunal has cost hundreds of millions of dollars for limited results—just three sentencings. Court workers even went on strike last March for unpaid wages.

"The Cambodian judicial system is totally inept," said Pete Pin, a Cambodian photographer who often works in the Bronx.

Pin is so frustrated with the Cambodian courts' interference in the tribunal that he's stopped following, talking, and thinking about it.

"It's structural issues," he added. "A non-hybrid tribunal would have had more leverage, power, more justice—absolutely. But that tribunal would've never happened because the Cambodian government would've never allowed that."

Another reason for the Bronx community's indifference or limited response to the tribunal stems from the advanced age of the accused.

Case 002 originally included two indictees besides Chea and Samphan. Khmer Rouge co-founder and minister of foreign affairs Ieng Sary died before he could be tried, and his wife Ieng Thirith was ruled unfit to stand trial due to Alzheimers disease.

Cases 003 and 004 are not much different; Chaem and An are in their 70s, and Muth is believed to be in his 80s. And since the ECCC charges were issued, Meas Muth, who suffers from heart disease and diabetes, has reportedly experienced a severe decline in health.

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Thoul Tong is a Cambodian nonprofit worker in New York City who is indifferent to the ongoing Khmer Rouge court proceedings in his home country.

"We're talking about these men being in their 30s or 40s, it's a different story," said Thoul Tong, an outreach worker with non-profit Cambodian organization Mekong NYC in the Bronx.

Tong questioned the practicality of the tribunal, explaining that the age of the accused obscures the sense of justice within his community.

"They're so old. They will be found guilty," he explained. "That's the end result. But what is the punishment? How do you put punishment on men that are in their 80s? Maybe send them to prison, and hopefully they live another five or ten years."

Trahan, the NYU professor, still thinks that some level of justice is incredibly important.

"Prior to this tribunal's work, there was a large level of non-acceptance that these crimes had ever occurred," she added. "I think the tribunal is raising awareness in Cambodia and therefore are very important."

Muth, Chaem, and Ao will likely be sentenced to life in prison in the coming months and years—if they can outlive the court's tedious and flawed proceedings.

A trial date has yet to be announced.

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Image by the author

There's an endless list of Things You Can Do On A Friday Night. On it, the simultaneous viewing of every Fast and Furious movie remains unexplored. This is for a very good reason: It's a very stupid idea and a physically repulsive practice. But because what I love most is doing things I hate, I sat down last Friday with three computers, two monitors, one projector, and no god to watch the entire The Fast and the Furious franchise at the same time.

I haven't watched very many movies since 2004, when I saw Hidalgo in theaters. It was such a wretched and rubbery trash-fire of a film I decided to categorically write off all movies forever (except for Rocky, which I watch once a year, always sobbing by the end of it). So I had never seen a single movie in the Fast and Furious franchise, but I have been cramming "2 Faust 2 Furious" puns into every germane conversational crevice since 2003 with focused and excruciating glee. This seemed like a good way to atone for those sins (and catch up in time for Furious 7, the latest installment, which had a trailer promising a car parachuting from an airplane, which makes me want to believe in film again).

To talk of The Fast and the Furious is to whisper a little prayer for Vin Diesel, the centerpiece around whom the series is built. The corpus of Vin Diesel news is extensive—he is a tremendous Dungeons & Dragons geek, he named his child Pauline in honor of the late Paul Walker, he has predicted an Oscar win for Furious 7. (About the D&D: Vin, you are formally invited to my standing Thursday night 5th Edition game.) But headlines do not make a man, and Wikipedia neglects questions of the soul. Thus, in preparation for the task ahead, I had to sit in a small dark room and ruminate upon the question: What the fuck is up with Vin Diesel?

Vin Diesel is a gift. Vin Diesel is the light no bushel basket can hide. We all must bellow his name into the sky until the clouds are full and heavy and descend upon us to wrap the earth with blood and sweat and mist. The body of Vin Diesel looks like the giant slab of frozen meat Rocky used as a punching bag; the soul of Vin Diesel rings like the celebratory yawp of a training montage. I could watch him wear some dorkenheimer-ass cyber-stilts and very solemnly repeat the phrase "I am Groot" hundreds of times until I, myself, began grunting the word Groot, the most evocative sound, in different voices over and over again in a windowless room in the dark.

Vin Diesel in the recording studio for 'Guardians of the Galaxy'

I am flattened and amazed and otherwise inspired by the absolute and unwavering seriousness with which Diesel approaches his bizarre residency in American pop culture. His Facebook page is a font of unflinching earnestness, a mix of the sincere sentimental detritus, tributes to Paul Walker, workout photos, a semimonthly wishing of "Happy Creative" to his followers, and the occasional hint of the full-bore egomania required of all Great Actors from time to time, even when those Great Actors are best known for frowning while pretending to drive.

And then there's the fan art. Out there among us are people who make absolutely insane Vin Diesel fan art.

Vin Diesel fan art, like Christological iconography, constructs a physical metaphor for the divine by which its viewers are able to better understand the spiritual and noncorporeal. These tributes share a broad visual language: soft focus, high contrast, heavy application of Photoshop, the luster and sinew of Vin Diesel, and a raw emotional sincerity which staples the whole tapestry together. There is a lot of these things. To wit:

Image via Facebook.com/VinDiesel

From what well do these artists draw the emotional need to perform this art? There's a spiritual eroticization murmuring through all the fanart of Dieseldom. Certainly Vin Diesel's onscreen presentation—his muscles are almost always on display, each movie usually finds a way to work in a shirtless scene—implies he is being sold as a sort of hot piece of ass.

But do a lot of people actually want to fuck Vin Diesel? I can't figure this out. Do you want to fuck Vin Diesel? Do you want to go buckwild on his fat hog? Or would you perhaps just be down to fondle his incredible and golden muscles? What does it mean for a powerful man to be designated as a scrap of sex-meat in a manner that is usually reserved, vehemently, for women? Is Vin Diesel actually a sex symbol?

This question demands an answer and I need to put my pale, father-disappointing shoulder to the wheel. I have constructed a survey, which, with your assistance, will create the dataset I can use to derive a comprehensive and statistically sound conclusion. No child will need to grow up in a world in which the amount that people want to fuck Vin Diesel is unquantified.

I clung to visions of Vin Diesel's muscular and extremely nude body the Friday I watched all six Fast and Furious movies simultaneously. I found a couple tall boys of Colt 45 and an orphaned Lime-a-Rita and set some basic rules: I could only watch the same screen for a six-count at a stretch. I could not use the restroom. I could not look at my phone. I needed to be wholly consumed by the big angry men and their powerful guns and cars, and I needed to apologize to my roommate the next morning. I took about six minutes of preparatory breaths and hit play:

A tale told by an idiot, full of speed and fury. pic.twitter.com/T5DokfKdeS
— Kill Tim Faust (@crulge) March 28, 2015

I became a chalice into which the mouthwater of our fast and furious Creator dribbled down as I explored an extremely specific frontier of stimulus overload. I wasn't able to process the nuances of any of the plotlines presented to me, but the narrative arcs were clear: big and intricate smashings-together of flesh and steel, widely variable in production value, and punctuated with painfully temporal soundtracks—this marked the first time I heard Limp Bizkit and Propellerheads in years. Hoping to resolve the titular question of the series, I kept a tally of every time something "fast" or "furious" happened—the "fast" sheet was filled within half an hour.

The movies feature luminaries such as the late Paul Walker and beautiful giant-man the Rock, but when viewed at such rapid speed all faces converge into an amorphous blob of flesh upon which Vin Diesel was laid. I grew instead to care about the cars, the franchise's true heroes and subjects. Lance Armstrong claimed it's not about the bike, but Lance Armstrong is a human Chernobyl—once a monument to man's potential, now a hideous poison-dome by whose mere proximity one risks severe emotional and spiritual damage. Riding a bike is about the bike. The Fast and the Furious is about cars.

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The author. Photo by James Yeh

The cars of franchise serve as symbols of human aspiration. In fact, the idea of the Car is the spirit that courses through every Fast and Furious movie—the suburban American dream where independent ownership of a Car is the only true path to agency and liberty. Somewhere along the way from The Fast and the Furious to Fast and Furious 6, this idea is dissected and eventually inverted. The Car goes from being something rebellious and wild with vice (not to mention a way to literally win women, which happens at least three times) to, in Furious 6, a vehicle for the middle-aged yearning for home life. The series opens with a drag race; it closes with a backyard barbecue. The Fast and the Furious is designed to perfectly fit the function of American pop megaspectacular—it reinforces the suburban American value set while pretending to flout it.

About 40 minutes into the movies, I realized that there hadn't been a second where someone wasn't driving. The sounds of Car Action had become the only constant sensory experience and in them I had become rooted. My brain had slipped the surly bonds of earth; I was kissing the swollen, skidmarked face of God.

About an hour and 20 minutes into the movies, someone on every screen reached for a phone and I leapt out of my chair. I went to take a note, but found I had chewed my pen in half on accident and my Post-Its were covered in ink.

About an hour and 47 minutes into the movies, someone on every screen turned to the camera and said, very clearly, "Tim, you are going to die." I consider this synchronization a remarkable technical achievement.

When the movies ended—four of them at once, then two more slowly over the next 30 minutes—I stood up and found my knees were shaking. I wanted to do nothing more than go outside and get into my mistreated but sincerely beloved pre–Iraq War Honda CR-V and drive around the block at 95 MPH, but instead I stood around in my kitchen for a while and wondered if I were dead.

When I slept, I was yanked into that terrifying out-of-body freak dimension shared by K-holes and nightmares and Rob Zombie music videos. I looked toward the sun but did not know what it was. I had forgotten the name of my father. I had forgotten my own name. It occurred to me that I had never existed, and that I was a car, and this knowledge shattered me. I was ecstatic and I remain ecstatic still. There is a tire that never stops screeching. There is a "check engine" light that never goes out.

I am definitely going to see Furious 7.

Please consider taking Timothy's survey about Vin Diesel so he can perform some important research. Please consider sending this survey to everyone you have ever met, and to people you hope to meet in the future. Please send this survey to Vin Diesel. Please click here and help him figure out if Vin Diesel is a sex symbol.

A warning: This survey is canon.

Follow Timothy Faust on Twitter.

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This article originally appeared on VICE UK.

Last week, researchers at Swansea University released the findings of The Student Sex Work Project, the first comprehensive attempt to analyze UK students who are also sex workers. The report found that 5 percent of students have undertaken sex work at some point—which can mean either that they supplied "direct" sexual services, or did "indirect" work, such as modeling, cam shows, or chat lines. While 5 percent represents a small but significant minority, a much greater number—one in five—reported that they had considered doing sex work to pay their way through higher education.

Some of the report's findings were unsurprising. With the increase in student debt, as well as the slashing of university funding for grants and bursaries, sex work is an increasingly attractive prospect for cash-strapped students. A number of sex workers told researchers that minimum wage or zero-hours jobs just weren't an option, while the most common reason given for undertaking sex work was "good money."

A surprising finding from the study however, was that a greater number of male than female students are sex workers—5 percent of men, compared to 3.4 percent of women reported that they'd undertaken sex work at university, despite the fact that male and trans sex workers are often written out of popular narratives and media reportage when it comes to the subject.

A lot of students clearly enjoy sex work on its own terms. Flexible hours, good working conditions, and sexual pleasure were among the most regularly cited positive aspects of sex work. But in almost every case, this enjoyment was balanced with stigma and enforced secrecy. "I think that's my problem with it," says one student, "it's turned into a giant secret... I have to be careful what I say, I have be careful where I am."

To find out more, we asked three students what it's been like to pay their way through university with sex work. (All names have been changed.)

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CLAIRE

I'm a second-year studying History and Philosophy at a university in London. I started working after my first year, trying various part-time jobs, working in a coffee shop, in a pub, and as a waitress. None paid enough. The student loan didn't even cover my housing, let alone living expenses, food, books, and travel costs. I had trouble keeping up with coursework, especially if I worked evenings. For example, at the pub, I'd earn $10 an hour for a eight-hour shift, two nights a week, so I'd bring home about $150 weekly.

I'd just moved to London from the North. My family is not well off, and can't afford to help me much; I didn't know anyone in London so when I moved here I was starting from scratch. At first I lived in an overcrowded, noisy flat with other students. After I started sex work I could afford a place of my own. I advertise through a website and have regular clients; I visit them at home, in hotels, and occasionally at their workplace. It's flexible and fits around my course, plus I can work the hours I want to—which lets me scale back around exam time or if I have extra coursework.

In my first year at university, I started hearing about students turning to sex work, and after a while I met someone on another course who'd been working as a stripper. Through her, I met another student doing escorting and she clued me up, said where to advertise, how to avoid bad clients, and work safely. She gave me the English Collective of Prostitutes' Rights Sheet, which explains laws about sex work: for example, I'd had no idea it was illegal for two women to work together.

I don't particularly like the work I do; my biggest worry is about being arrested because if I get a criminal record it would stay with me for life and be a massive obstacle when it comes to getting other jobs. But sex work is far better, higher paid, and suits my time better than any other work I know of. Friends at university are working ten-hour shifts for under the minimum wage, others are working on zero-hour contracts and never know how many hours they will get—some weeks, they get none at all, so it is very hard to budget and pay bills. I know a lot of students who've dropped out and left courses due to financial pressures.

Mostly students doing sex work don't talk about it, because if it comes out, it could affect your future and job prospects. Since I started escorting, I've heard that a former roommate exchanged sex with her landlord to cover the rent, and another woman I know was a part-time sex worker to earn enough to travel home to visit her family. Sex work among students is much more common than people think, and is likely to increase as long as fees, rent, and the cost of living is so high.

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Photo by Bruce Tuten.

HARRY

The sex work I partake in is escorting. Men hire me by the hour, either for sex, company, or dates. I got into the sex industry because I had no money left to pay my bills or do anything socially. I signed up to a website, thinking I wouldn't get much of a response, but I did. And it felt good! It feels good to have the ability to make men pay for you; it gives you a certain power over them.

My friends know what I do but I don't blab about it to anyone and everyone, as there's definitely a great deal of stigma attached [to sex work]. One of my friends actually tried to get me down about it and tried to say I was "a dirty hooker on the street," but it isn't like that at all.

The type of payment I receive is reasonably good. It lets me pay off my bills and I have money left over to spend on my social life. The income isn't steady, though: the thing about escorting is that when the money runs out you aren't guaranteed to get another customer straight away, so you're often back to having no money.

I haven't had what I'd describe as a truly positive experience of sex work yet, although my idea of a positive experience in this industry would be finding a rich man to pay me thousands every month to be his boyfriend. One particularly negative experience I had was the time a married man asked me to go to his office to have sex with him there. My excuse for being there was that I was having an interview with him, and, as he instructed, that was what I told reception. Eventually, someone took me up to his office—but then they sat me in a large room and began to interview me for a job thinking I was there to be interviewed, which was pretty humiliating. I messaged him later, but he played the "I don't know you" card and even got the police involved since someone gave me his personal details.

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Photo by Anslem Burnette of a stripper from the East London Strippers' Collective. The model in it isn't any of the people who were interviewed for this article.

ABIGAIL – Graduated 2014

As a student I've done various forms of independent sex work. Primarily, I worked as a prostitute and dominatrix. However, I sporadically also did phone sex work as well as webcamming.

Student loans plus a bursary from my university only covered the cost of student accommodation and the most basic of living expenses. It wasn't enough to meet the real cost of living—course materials, text books, university networking events, travel, etc. In my first year as an undergraduate, before I had considered sex work, I had to take on two jobs to afford the basics. The minimum wage these jobs paid meant that the long hours I was working weren't yielding a decent income and were affecting my studies. I was exhausted and didn't have ample time to commit to academic life.

I think sex work was a ruthlessly pragmatic decision for me. My motivation for work has always been the same—to earn money. Sex work was no different in this regard. It afforded me the time to concentrate on my studies while I was earning. I could work just a couple of hours a week and not be too exhausted to study effectively, which is what I'd found when working part time in minimum-wage retail and bar jobs. I enjoyed sex work as it allowed me to pay my bills and my rent without difficulty, and I always knew that I'd be able to afford food and to engage in leisure activities without having the stress of completely depleting my bank account.

As a graduate who has continued to work in the sex industry, this avenue of work has been useful to me as many internships are unpaid; I don't have a family who could support me, so I'm not privileged enough to work for free. It has allowed me to not get into debt while applying for jobs related to my degree. Sex work has allowed me to pay off some of my debts, just as any other job would. I don't think a 9-to-5 job would have allowed me to pay off any more.

There are some difficult aspects of sex work. I've found the worst thing about the job is the stigma sex workers face, and it's the reason I'm not "out." The misinformation and moralizing that goes on is probably the worst aspect; it denies sex workers a fully decriminalized environment that would be the safest for them to work in. I've found any negativity I've encountered as a sex worker has been the feeling of betrayal from feminists and policy makers who base their party lines and policy on pure ideology.

Claire, Harry, and Abigail's stories, along with the findings of the report, make it clear that there's a need for more dialogue about sex work in UK universities: ignorance, a lack of procedure, and a culture of silence is never going to improve safety for these students.

As Dr. Sagar of The Student Sex Work Project puts it, "Most of the students who took part in the survey and who were working in the industry did so for economic reasons, some because they just wanted to and others because they were curious or for sexual pleasure. Most students do not need support or assistance but some do—even if that is just the opportunity to offload about their work, and the importance of this shouldn't be underestimated. The biggest challenge for the project has been tackling the stigma associated with sex work."

The Student Sex Work Project is now working on implementing the provision of non-discriminatory/nonjudgemental services at UK universities for students who engage in sex work.

Follow Niamh on Twitter.

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Here's a fact I don't often divulge about myself: I keep a spreadsheet of all my sexual encounters. Yes, it's definitely the kind of thing a serial killer would do, and no, I'm not proud of it. What started as an in-joke with my best friend has now spiralled into a detailed and exhaustive account of all the sex I've ever had. There are categories ("oral", "dirty talk", "sex") that get marked out of ten, and then of course there are "additional notes".

The notes are generally never that complimentary – they encompass the actual sexual encounter, as well as the dates and situations that led up to it, meaning that there's quite a lot of scope. One reads, "Invited me round for dinner but just handed me plate with plain pork chop and one raw, unpeeled carrot" and another, "Tried to get me to drink my own wee out of a plastic cup." It's reductive and it's ridiculous but it's brutally honest.

While I was updating it the other day I started wondering whether anybody else has a spreadsheet like mine. More specifically: what the fuck if I'm on 30 percent in someone else's Google Doc? I started to wish I could give people one of those feedback forms delivered with the check at chain restaurants asking you how the service was. Or maybe a survey like the ones people endlessly spammed Facebook with when they were doing their dissertations. That way I could be totally sure that I was good at sex.

Narcissism giving way to masochism, I decided to actually do it. I wrote emails and Facebook messages to everyone I've ever slept with (well, the ones I have contact details for), framing my request for a review in an "I'm doing really well and am writing a really cool article" way rather than an "I'm a raging egomaniac and this actually has nothing to do with writing an article and everything to do with a desperate, gnawing need to be validated" way.

A couple of people ignored (and then unfriended) me, a few more politely declined, and I discovered that one guy had given me a fake number when I went to start a conversation with him in WhatsApp and was faced with a glamour shot profile picture of a girl I had definitely not slept with. Ouch.

Thankfully, though, a bunch of people did agree, so I sent them a survey covering all the important bases; kissing, how hot I am, foreplay, oral, sex, fetishes, and whether or not they would fuck me again. Boxes were left for comments. Results were, let's say, mixed.

I also left an option to rank me out of 10 for each category. Then I added together all of the scores out of 10 for each category, divided it by the number of people who answered and then multiplied that by 100 to get a percentage. Here were the results:

SEDUCTION

I never really thought I was that smooth, partly because everything I say comes out in a Tina Belcher monotone and partly because I have the sexual subtlety of a teenage boy attempting to initiate sexting with an "and then wot?" This was confirmed.

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My favourite of these was, "You harassed me on social media for a month prior to the encounter." The worst thing about it isn't that I harassed them on social media, which is still very much my style, but that the word "encounter" gives this comment the cool air of something that should probably have a police incident number.

Rating: 52 percent. Slow start. It isn't looking great for me.

KISSING

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My kissing technique got compared to an Arnold Schwarzenegger film! This is everything I've ever dreamed of! But the second answer makes me sound like a Rottweiler on heat.

Rating: 76 percent.

LOOKS

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In his defense, I did have a fucking terrible fringe. The septum piercing stays though.

Starting to think the last guy wants to fuck me again.

Rating: 72 percent.

FOREPLAY

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This was fairly boring, to be honest. My only real complaint is that I'm fairly sure the guy who said "not memorable, sorry" and rated me a 2 OUT OF 10 is someone who couldn't cum unless my feet were touching his penis. I'm not a contortionist, pal.

Rating: 65 percent.

ORAL

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At this point I really started to realize how much of a narcissist I am. "Top 3" is great. "Second best" is totally great. Yet somehow they fill me with murderous rage. I want to be the best. HOW CAN I BE THE BEST?

Rating: 78 percent. I just want to say, I feel like these results were skewed by the dude with the weird foot fetish. Story. Of. My. Life.

THE ACTUAL SEX

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Some real zingers in here. The first one: terrible. Second one: even worse, although it does miss the point almost entirely. Third: oh, there's the Rottweiler again. Last one: you lost your hard on anyway. But it's the fourth one that really gets me. "You played your part well." What is this, a West End review? I have no idea who wrote it, but I guarantee that whoever they are they now live with two expensive sex dolls they had imported, and I'm starting to regret ever sleeping with them.

Rating: 80 percent. Strong.

OTHER STUFF

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Brb, changing my Twitter bio to "Potentially life-ruining experience."

WOULD YOU GO THERE AGAIN?

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So much to unpack here. So much."If you're more mentally stable," seems quite poignant. Secondly: "I secretly think this isn't anonymous and this is the only question you wanted to ask me." This whole response, I suspect from an old university boyfriend, speaks volumes about who I am as a person. Do I really seem like the kind of woman who would set up a detailed fake survey in order to fuck someone again? Because that is what an actual psychopath would do.

Rating: 71 percent would go there again.

So, what did I learn from this experience? I learned that I am apparently great at going down on people but absolutely horrible at trying to seduce them. I learned that I can be deeply and profoundly horrible to people to stop them from getting too close in a futile attempt to prevent myself from feeling anything real or authentic. It's made me realize that I have sex with a lot of people who have bad grammar. Will I stop updating my own spreadsheets with remarks and scores for every boy I sleep with? Definitely not.

OVERALL RATING: 71 percent.

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