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Scene from a recent anti-austerity protest. Photo by Justin Canning

Association pour une solidarité syndicale étudiante (ASSÉ), which represents over 80,000 students and 43 student associations in Quebec's universities and CEGEPs, voted to purge its executive committee over the weekend.

Tension began to emerge last week, when the group's executive committee wrote what they called a "reflection letter" suggesting that a general student strike could be more effective if it were delayed to coincide with the unlimited general strike of public sector and trade unions expected by many to take place this fall.

Not surprisingly, this drew the ire of many within the pugnacious student group. The controversial letter was taken not only as an attempt to delay the current "social strike," which appears to be gaining momentum, but it was done so without consulting local student associations, which in the eyes of ASSÉ is a far worse offense.

That tension came to a head during a congress held on Saturday in Valleyfield, Quebec where ASSÉ members voted to oust the executive committee who had penned the "strategic withdrawal" letter. But not before its six members preemptively handed in their resignation and apologized.

Camille Godbout, ASSÉ's most visible spokesperson over the last few weeks, also got the boot on Saturday. VICE contacted Godbout and she said she did not want to comment on the situation at this time.

ASSÉ's interim spokesperson, Hind Fazizi, told VICE that what went down in Valleyfield may sound dramatic or indicative of in-fighting but that couldn't be farther from the truth.

Instead, she says, it's about values and accountability.

"It's not that dramatic. The executive sent out a reflection letter that was badly received. They apologized to the congress and then resigned. But the congress felt that symbolically it was important to take the vote to dismiss them. We acknowledged the great work they have done and we are really happy with what they did but we wanted to show that direct democracy is the core value for us."

Structurally, one of ASSÉ's defining features is its lack of central leadership. Unlike other student unions, it has no president and is instead presided by various committees which vote on matters to be carried out by the executive committee.

"We wanted to say it loud that accountability is something very important for us. But there is no confusion in our association because we also voted for a detailed action plan for the rest of spring and summer."

More than 60,000 students have been on strike for the last two weeks and 110,000 were on strike last Thursday, coinciding with a huge demonstration in downtown Montreal.

The group will remain without an executive committee until their annual congress on April 25 and 26, at which point a new one will be elected. For the moment, an ad hoc committee, which is meeting tonight for the first time, will be taking over the executive's functions.

In the meantime, Fazizi says, ASSÉ will continue to work on fostering relationships with other labor and public sector unions while keeping its sights set on Liberals' austerity measures, the environment, and protecting First Nations sovereignty.

"It's not a student strike, it's a social strike. It's totally different than 2012. It was the greatest student strike. It's not comparable. Movements in Quebec have always been led by students, that's why media is focusing on us. But it's not about us it's about everyone."

Follow Nick Rose on Twitter.

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Protesters outside of the UVA chapter of Phi Kappa Psi. Photo via Flickr user Bob Mical

Just before 8 PM last night, the Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism released a long-awaited report on the Rolling Stone article that falsely reported a gang rape at a frat party in 2012. The article in question, Sabrina Rubin Erdely's "A Rape on Campus," opened with the scene of a brutal gang rape of a woman named "Jackie" that's now been declared impossible to prove by the Charlottesville Police Department and totally made-up by two deans and a researcher in an independent review.

And while the 13,000-word Columbia report was supposed to put to rest questions of veracity that were first raised by the Washington Post this past December, it's actually opened a whole slew of new ones. Jann Wenner, the magazine's longtime publisher, is saying that no one will lose their jobs over the debacle. And now, the fraternity at the center of the piece is saying they will pursue legal action, even though libel arguments can't typically be made if a group, rather than a named individual, is the subject of alleged defamation. So the question now that it's all said and done is: What will the consequences of one of the biggest journalistic fuck-ups in recent memory be?

After "A Rape on Campus" went viral, people began vandalizing the Phi Kappa Psi house, spraying graffiti that said things like "UVA Center of Rape Studies" and "Suspend Us" on its facade. "We applaud the bravery of those who have shared their stories, and we promise that their bravery will not be in vain," anonymous people claiming responsibility said in a letter sent to various news outlets. "This situation is just beginning. We will escalate and we will provoke until justice is achieved for the countless victims of rampant sexual violence at this University and around the nation."

The administration of the school acted swiftly, suspending all fraternities on campus. A blogger named Charles C. Johnson outed a woman he claimed was Jackie and circulated a picture of the incorrect woman with the intent of shaming her.

All of this happened as the result of an article that the deans from Columbia said failed on three basic grounds. First of all, Erdely failed to corroborate Jackie's story by contacting the alleged rapists. She also failed to check with three friends who Jackie said discouraged her from telling people about the supposed gang rape, even though she quoted them in the story and made it seem like she had. When seeking a response from Phi Kappa Psi, Erdely only asked for "comment" on the allegations without spelling them out. Had she, the frat may have told her that there wasn't even a party on the night the rape was supposed to have happened, and the frat didn't have a brother that fit Jackie's description of the person who she said orchestrated it—which would have likely put the brakes on the article. Columbia said the reporter and her editor, Sean Woods, failed to do their due diligence before making explosive claims.

But in an interview with the New York Times, Jenner said that the errors began with Jackie, who he described as a "really expert fabulist storyteller." He added that Erdely, who has written blockbuster articles for Rolling Stone in the past, like the one that inspired The Bling Ring, will continue to contribute to the magazine.

"Rolling Stone Magazine admits its staff engaged in reckless behavior while covering this story, yet the magazine refuses to take any action against those involved in reporting the story or address needed changes to its editorial process," Phi Kappa Psi said in a statement that announced their plan to sue the publication.

But it's not clear that the lawsuit has a chance of being successful. After all, the guy who Jackie said orchestrated the rape doesn't seem to exist. The allegations then, are against a group of nameless people, which makes it complicated to prove that they've been defamed.

So after months of stories, developments, and reviews, the outcome of Erdely's story and the dozens of stories about her story might be... absolutely nothing. The magazine did take down the article from its website, but it will still be available to anyone with a rudimentary knowledge of how pages are archived. As Sheila Coronel, one of the Columbia report's co-authors said, "Nothing ever disappears on the Internet."

Follow Allie Conti on Twitter.

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Nigel Farage during the leaders' debate.

This article originally appeared on VICE UK.

Yesterday, YouGov published the results of a poll in which half the respondents agreed that foreign-born HIV patients cost the National Health Service too much money. This followed UK Independence Party leader Nigel Farage's widely condemned comments during the seven way party debate last week. At the debate, Farage said that 60 percent of the 7,000 people diagnosed HIV positive every year in the UK are born abroad and costing the UK millions.

These statistics are false, obviously, but that's beside the point. The fact remains that people living with HIV can come to Britain from anywhere in the world, and get £25,000 [$37,000] in drugs per year (assuming they are allowed into the country), bleeding the country's resources dry. It's not the International Health Service, Nigel continues to proudly tell anyone who'll listen, as he's clearly worked out that otherwise it would be IHS, not NHS.

Does Nigel have a point? Wouldn't we be able to cut tax on beer and cigarettes if we stopped giving people life-saving drugs? Can a few thousand foreign-born HIV patients be held responsible for the NHS's "financial black hole"? I went to meet some of these HIV positive "health tourists" to find out how their holiday's are going and ask whether it would be cheaper for everyone if they just went somewhere and died.

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Angelina Namiba, born in Kenya

VICE: So did you decide to come to the UK when you were diagnosed as HIV positive?
Angelina: I didn't. I was diagnosed as being HIV positive after being in the UK for four years, having been a student at University in Manchester.

Nigel Farage has said you're a drain on society.
I don't accept that. I've worked my entire adult life here. I'm currently a project manager for a leading charity, Positively UK, and a trustee for a couple of others. I'm a tax-paying, civically contributing member of British society.

Maybe you're the exception then.
I don't think so. I'm very typical of migrants who come to the UK. Let's be clear, the NHS, and most of our society, runs on migrant labor. If we all downed tools for just one day this country would come to a stand still.

If somebody was ill, let's say in Kenya where I am from, there is no way the average person will be able to afford to buy a ticket to travel to the UK for healthcare. It would take decades to save. The ones who can afford to fly can afford private healthcare in Kenya.

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Luca Modesti, born in Italy

Why are you wearing white bunny ears?
Luca: The White Rabbits Project is a new campaign to fight HIV stigma. Myself and other artists want to use Farage's disgusting comments as a positive opportunity to call on all comic artists and illustrators out there to participate and fight HIV stigma through comics and illustrations.

Did you come to the UK once you were diagnosed as HIV positive for the free drugs?
No, I was already living here when I was diagnosed. There is free healthcare for HIV available in all European counties, including Italy. I just like London—it's a cool city to live in.

Were you pissed off that it was only Plaid Cymru's Leanne Wood who stood up to Farage during the debate?
Yes, I was sorry. I expected better from the others. Taking to Twitter afterwards really isn't good enough. We need politicians who can challenge this dangerous rhetoric as it is said, not who wait around until the end to see the public reaction.

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Christian Sandulescu, born in Romania

Are you a health tourist?
Christian: It's a pretty crap holiday, if so. I spend all my time working for the NHS. I came to the UK in 2008 to study at UCL, I was diagnosed as HIV positive in 2012, whilst I was living here, and this was already my home.

You just got back from France. Were you being a health tourist there?
Nope, I just went to Paris for a piss-up.

How was it?
It was really fun, actually. I do want to commend Nigel Farage though, for raising the issue of how expensive anti-retrovirals are. It's an issue we need to discuss. The companies that make these drugs are a burden on the health budget, making massive profits. That's where the issue is. But to blame HIV positive people is beyond ignorant, using us as a scapegoat. We're already vulnerable and subject to stigma.

Would it just be cheaper if you stopped taking your drugs?
Well, it wouldn't be. It would be much more expensive to have the 100,000 people living with HIV in the UK turning up to the ER and filling hospital wards with fuck knows what problems that the medication we take stops us from getting.

Also, I'd probably die, and I'm a human being, if that counts for anything.

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Jarek, born in Poland

Are you a health tourist?
Jarek: Not at all, in fact when Poland joined the EU there were a lot more British people being "health tourists" in Poland than the other way around. There's cheaper dental services, quicker access to operations, too.

I'm Polish, so this isn't the first time I've been bashed by Nigel Farage. I don't think he even believes these arguments he makes, he just wants to put people against each other and play off our fears. That's not what we need.

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Silvia Petretti, born in Italy

Did you leave Italy when you were diagnosed as HIV positive to get free drugs?
Silvia: No, I moved to London, and was diagnosed ten years later. Italy is part of the G8, we have hospitals there, too.

So you're not a health tourist?
No, I moved to London as a music tourist, I loved the scene when I arrived. I ended up staying here to study at university and have never got around to leaving.

I've lived here most of my adult life, working full time and paying taxes. I work for a charity, as a Deputy Chief Executive, that supports people with HIV.

Oh.
What annoys me most about Farage's comments is that he singles out HIV from other illnesses. I've been working for over 15 years with people who are HIV positive. It's a manageable condition—well, I'd be dead otherwise. But the stigma—that leads to mental health problems, isolation, and a poor quality of life, can cause people to not take their medication, or refuse to go for testing because they are scared of the results. It can lead to devastating consequences. Giving any message that increases this fear is terrible, and really worrying.

Whatever the illness, when people are supported, they can go on to lead a normal life and contribute to the community we live in.

Nigel Farage said that people with HIV are stopping 85-year-old women with breast cancer from getting treatment.
It's just not true. We shouldn't be having a competition between illnesses. The problem isn't people with HIV, it's the multinational corporations that don't pay their taxes. We can only judge our society by the way that we treat the most vulnerable, and we should do this to the best of our capacity. We can't blame those around us who get sick. We're only human.

Follow Mike on Twitter.

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Look at Steven Weissman's blog and buy his books from Fantagraphics.

Unless you've been living under a rock for the past two years, you know that Rand Paul is running for president. The Kentucky Republican made it official Tuesday morning, with a post on his campaign website in advance of a formal speech at noon.

"I am running for president to return our country to the principles of liberty and limited government," Paul says on the site.

The rally, at the Galt House Hotel in Louisville, Kentucky, is already in swing. Various members of the Paul family—including libertarian patriarch Ron Paul—are on stage, taking their place under an enormous banner with Senator Paul's new campaign slogan: "Defeat The Washington Machine, Unleash The American Dream." The crowd—expected to be around 1,500—are filing into the ballroom in their Stand With Rand T-shirts. Guys are selling pins about Benghazi and gun rights in the lobby. The hotel DJ just cranked up Bruno Mars. Shit is on.

Watch Paul's speech live below:

Follow Grace Wyler on Twitter.

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Mike Duffy makes his way into the courtroom on April 7. Photo courtesy Canadian Press/Justin Tang

Mike Duffy, at one point, had the keys to the proverbial castle. Now, it's looking like he might get locked up.

The part-time senator for PEI is facing 31 charges of fraud and breach of trust in connection with what police allege was a long-running practise that defrauded taxpayers for over $90,000.

Duffy was claiming housing expenses for his (cottage-like) place in PEI, while actually sitting around in his house in Kanata.

He's not the only senator to allegedly pocket some coin over shady expenses—many in the appointed upper chamber of Parliament say the rules were vague, and they didn't know better—but Duffy's case is the only one with a cover-up scandal.

The prime minister's ex-chief of staff, Nigel Wright, cut the cheque to cover the problematic expenses. That, police say, basically meant Duffy accepted a bribe. Wright, as the other party in that allegedly illegal deal, isn't facing charges.

It's still unclear what the prime minister knew, and when, but Duffy and his lawyer have always swore that once the senator gets his day in court, a lengthy email exchange will be unveiled.

"It will all come out in due course when all of the players are under oath and the e-mail chain can be seen in its entirety," Duffy told the Senate chamber before his suspension last October.

If that happens, it would be disastrous for the prime minister, who has always maintained ignorance in the affair.

For Duffy, the trial is a way to clear his name and prove that he was just a hapless rube, caught up in a witchhunt, then thrown under the bus when he became a liability.

For Stephen Harper, the trial is a grenade with the pin missing. At least two high-ranking fixers in his office are supposed to testify, as well as several of his lieutenants in the Senate. If, under oath, they reveal to the extent to which the Prime Minister's Office (PMO) worked to bury the scandal, Harper may be in trouble. Police already suspect that the PMO was instrumental in trying to bury the shady expenses in the first place.

The whole thing is especially toxic for Harper given the trial—which is expected to wrap in mid-June—comes just months before a federal election is scheduled to kick off.

The most damaging testimony may come from Duffy himself. The former (generally terrible) broadcaster quickly rose to prominence in the Conservative Party after Harper appointed him to the Senate in 2009. He became a critical talking head for the party, and an effective fundraiser.

Duffy even recorded an endless stream of personalized greetings as a truly eerie email fundraising pitch to members.

For Duffy to prove that he wasn't the mastermind—just a pawn—he needs to cough up the evidence he alluded to last year.

"There was an undertaking made by the PMO, with the agreement of the Senate leadership, that I would not be audited by [accounting firm] Deloitte, that I'd be given a pass; and further, that if this phoney scheme ever became public, Senator [Marjory] LeBreton, the leader of the government of the day, would whip the Conservative caucus to prevent my expulsion from the chamber," Duffy told the Red Chamber.

He says that he never even wanted to pay back the $90,000—"I was doing nothing improper," Duffy told Wright when the matter first came up. But, after, what Duffy calls, a campaign of intimidation and extortion from other senators, the media, Wright, current Chief of Staff Ray Novak, and even the prime minister himself, Duffy agreed to the payback scheme.

"We are confident that when the full story is told, as it will be, and shown to be supported by many forms of evidence, it will be clear that Sen. Duffy is innocent of any criminal wrong-doing," Duffy's lawyer, Donald Bayne, told media in an email statement last July when criminal charges were laid against the senator. "The evidence will show, that Sen. Duffy did not want to participate in Nigel Wright's and the PMO's repayment scenario, which they concocted for purely political purposes."

Yet, Duffy had a chance to lay out his whole case in October—anything said by an MP or senator in Parliament is protected by privilege and cannot be used in court—and he declined.

On top of that, police have already obtained and published reams of emails that flew between Duffy, Senate leadership, and the PMO in early 2013. While some prove strong suggestions that the Prime Minister knew and directed much of the skullduggery, there's no real silver bullet.

"I do want to speak to the PM before everything is considered final," Wright emailed to his office before cutting the $90,000 cheque. Not long after, another email: "we are good to go from the PM once Ben [Perrin, PMO lawyer] has his confirmation from [Duffy's lawyer.]"

That "good to go" has become the most solid evidence for the theory that the prime minister, despite his insistence to the contrary, knew of and signed-off on the plot.

The trial will run from today until May 12, then pick up again on June 1. It's scheduled to end on June 19, but may well be extended. VICE will be following the whole disastrous affair.

Follow Justin Ling on Twitter.

Swag Toof are two rapper dudes, one from Kansas and one from Las Vegas, who've come to NYC to get real weird. They also don't fuck around with releases. Their new EP, FOE (which stands for Family Over Everything), just dropped and it costs $100. The release features a snapback, a hoodie, some stickers, and a letter from the group signed in blood. This is great news for all the hardcore Swag Toof fans out there. But don't worry if you're frugal or worried about blood borne pathogens, you can still listen to the whole thing online for free.

To get your Swag Toof fix while you save up enough duckets to cop the bloody FOE treasure trove, watch the video above for the album opener "Mask On." It gives you a good idea of what Swag Toof is all about. They rock fresh embroidered pants, whip their dreadlocks, and go off about robbing banks over a beat that's indebted to Stitches' "Brick in Yo Face."

For more Swag Toof, check out their website.

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The author in her bed.

Recently, I wrote about why I don't give blowjobs. Apparently, that struck a nerve: I received more hate mail for that than I have for anything I've ever done, mostly from straight men telling me I'm a dumb cunt for having a preference on the matter. (By the way, if you want me back on #teamblowjob, this is definitely not the best approach.) I suppose I made things "worse" by describing my current situation with a man who, under no legal obligation, comes over to eat me out, and happily receives no oral sex from me in return.

Let's be clear about something: This situation is great, but it's not permanent. It's not like I'll never have a dick inside of me again. The reason why things are the way they are now is because I made a promise to myself at the beginning of this year to stop having penetrative sex until it's with someone I know I can trust.

Before that point, I had spent years engaging in casual sex that rarely benefitted me. My heyday of fucking started in San Francisco, the kind of place where asking someone if they'd like to have sex with you is about as serious as asking them if they have a moment to talk about the environment. (Both are likely to involve clipboards.) At the start of it all, sex really wasn't a big deal to me. I don't mean to say that I was giving any schmuck wearing a big grin and a condom admittance to my Cave of Forgotten Dreams, but I was more willing to accept sex with certain guys as a one- or two-time thing.

As time went by, though, my happy-go-lucky attitude about sex started to wear off. I found myself in a pattern of going out with men I was sincerely interested in, having sex with them, and then being tossed aside with the same dismissive line: Sorry, I'm not looking for a relationship.

The most memorable example of this is a guy I'll call Daniel, who messaged me multiple times over OkCupid. I ignored the first one, because I really was not interested. I responded to the second one, but was still hesitant about actually meeting. After three weeks of no communication, he messaged me again. I gave in and we went on our date.

Daniel was a lot more charming in real life, and we ended up getting along really well, despite not having much in common. We went on a second date that same week, and that's when I gave in to temptation and had sex with him. The next day, hungover (or maybe still drunk?) and stumbling into a 7-Eleven, I got a text from him saying that he planned on applying to grad school soon and since grad school would probably take him to a different state, it wouldn't be a good idea for him to get serious with anyone. You know, in case he goes to grad school a year from now.

What the hell is that all about? Casual sex was starting to make me feel less empowered, and more manipulated. It was getting harder for me to see men as trustworthy human beings; I became bitter, angry, and even traumatized. My anxiety triggered immense feelings of regret and fear. Worst of all, after all this rejection and manipulation, almost none of these men gave me orgasms.

As I mentioned in my previous article, most women do not orgasm from penetration alone. I am one of those women. Before I finally took matters into my own hands, I let men control how our sex was going to go. That usually meant that foreplay consisted of me being fingered—not long enough to make me climax, but long enough for them to deem me "wet enough" for the penetration to begin. Getting eaten out was especially rare. Rather than outright ask for it, I just hoped for it. But it would never come. And neither would I.

My initial reaction was a vow of no more sex at all. I didn't see the point. Why should I put myself through so much mental turmoil for little to no physical payoff?

Then, of course, after three whiskey drinks plus an attractive guy next to me, I remembered: Sex is great. Even if I'm not coming, sex with another person still feels better than going home alone, masturbating, and falling asleep to Netflix. If this wasn't the case, then I'm pretty sure the world's overpopulation problem would be solved by now.

So why was I having so much trouble asking for what I wanted? Outside of sex, I'm an outspoken woman. I always voice my opinion. I have no problem being seen as a "bitch" to get what I want, and could care less what people think of me. Why wasn't I like this when it came to sex?

Perhaps it's because the default setting for heterosexual sex ensures men get their fantasies fulfilled, while women are in charge of the fulfilling. This is especially true for casual sex: If a man goes out of his way to make sure his partner comes, he is considered an exceptional lover. For a woman to make sure her partner comes is considered standard. This is why I got death threats (really!) for publicly admitting I hate giving blowjobs. A man's pleasure is no longer my number-one concern. I now have no problem shattering the fantasy, and that terrified a whole lot of men.

I know that my experience is not universal, and I am sure there are many straight women out there who have never experienced this kind of consistent treatment from their casual sex partners. I'm also sure there are many men out there who would never think to act like this. I've even been with some of these men. However, I can only base things off of my experience, and my years of experience have told me that the culture of casual sex needs to change. I got sick of having sex with men who were not open to the idea of commitment, yet slept with me assuming that after one night of sex I was desperate to be their girlfriend. I'm not trying to get married—I'm just trying to go on a second date!

Perhaps that's the real issue casual sex has created for me. To these men, casual sex equated a one-night stand, which is not what I wanted it to be. I engaged in sex with men who I felt wanted more than one night out of me, but was repeatedly let down. Personally, I could never bring myself to have sex with someone I'm not attracted to, but I guess these men were. That's why I'm no longer willing to partake in penetrative sex until I'm with someone I feel comfortable with—until then, I'm only having the kind of sexual encounters that prioritize my experience.

That's where my one-way arrangement comes in. Keeping things strictly oral evens the playing field: It ensures that I get off, and even if I don't suck dick, I can still provide other means of making sure my partner comes. In denying penetrative sex, I feel more at ease. I find myself more able to forgo emotional investment in that person, and less aggravated when getting the dreaded text message reading, "you're cool, but..."

Basically, I finally found my voice. I finally figured out exactly what it is I want from sex, and if I'm going to engage in casual sex, I'm going to make sure it's on my terms.

Follow Alison Stevenson on Twitter.

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Some books beat you over the head with their premise. Others rely on their language alone to do the work. Both of these styles can grow tiresome when heavy-handed, but somewhere between these two extremes there is a balance of the two: between logic and sound, where logic functions right alongside a similar illogic, knowing and not-knowing, kind of like how life feels day to day.

With many of my favorite novels, I'd be hard pressed to tell you what they are about; they aren't about anything particularly, they are what happens to themselves. Or you could go ahead and say what they are supposedly about, in theory—like, "It's about a movie so entertaining that once someone watches it, they become obsessed with watching it over and over until they die"—but, really, the story only has so much to do with that idea when you stand back and look from overhead. The actual mechanics of how and what is told on any given page could be anywhere, anything, leaving the reader in the midst of insane sprawl. Reading, then, is an experience, rather than a simulation; our thoughts as readers are allowed to overlap, become rewired into the book's dream-like system, more like a puzzle rather than a rat trap.

The rumor about Mary Robison's third novel, Why Did I Ever, released in 2001, is that the essential parts that make it up could have really been in any order. The book consists of 536 miniature fragments, ranging from six words long up to just over three pages, many of them titled with only chapter numbers, while others are subtitled with similarly terse headers such as "The Few Things I Care About" or "Letter to Sean Penn." Like certain other novels predating it—Renata Adler's Speedboat (1976), Joan Didion's Play It as It Lays (1970), for instance, as well as the respective works of Clarice Lispector and Hilda Hilst— Why Did I Ever seems like an early precursor to writing now, somewhere between schizophrenic confession and input-saturated exhaustion, laying the foundation for a more piecemeal, collage-like style of dictation, not quite reality, not quite surreal.

Apparently it was during an extended bout of writer's block that Robison took to the practice of writing small sections of text on thousands of notecards, attempting to establish not a plot or string of scenes, but little mechanical pieces that each held up solely on their own. Later, then, the bits were assembled, and placed in an order, though that order could have also taken an exponential number of other forms. And yet, the mysterious sense derived under the novel's assumed sequence is on display in the somehow pitch-perfect opening section:

"I have a dream of working a combination lock that is engraved on its back with the combination. Left 85, right 12, left 66. 'Well shit, man,' I say in the dream."

And that's it; that's the scene. Such a bizarrely cryptic image, followed immediately by a self-deprecating utterance from the narrator could not convey the tone of the organism any more appropriately; one gets the sense that, however multi-channeled and spasmodic the narrator's attention to us remains, the effect of the prose is to hypnotize us into a wholly unique way of thinking, rather than to simply entertain through a fictional facade. And then, as if to completely write over that feeling, immediately after, the second section of the book abruptly changes flow, offering a 34-word pair of paragraphs about watching PBS for 14 hours. There is absolutely no clear connection beyond the presentation, leaving the body of the book no choice but to take hold only as it happens, with you inside.

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Mary Robison. Photo courtesy Counterpoint Press

When I was in grad school for creative writing, people whispered about this book as if something secret and forbidden, like performance drugs or something. After workshops in which we'd discussed the use of setting in some bad short story, I remember one friend pulling this book out of her bag, and showing it to me away from the others, like, "I don't know what the hell this book is doing or why I like it but I can't stop reading it, trying to figure it out." Even more funny than that is how Mary Robison was a major contributor to the New Yorker in the late 70s and early to mid 80s, regularly launching her bizarrely singular stories into a forum that in years since has somehow morphed into a safer, more mainstream zone, the transition between which might have something to do with why it took her ten years to figure out how to write Why Did I Ever—it is as if she's trying to figure out how to speak aloud after crossing a bridge from a culture where Donald Barthelme was something like a standard, to one where linear narrative seems to reign.

What the reader experiences as the book continues building block by block is one of innumerable permutations on the life of the narrator, a middle-aged screenwriter and mother of two by the undeniable name of Money Breton. She might mention the content of a voicemail from an ex-husband, or the description of a found photograph, or conversation overhead in public, or the weird things she says to herself in the mirror putting on lipstick. The lines quip wry and alarmingly sparse in their approach, a set of casually intense jokes that describe things the narrator sees, feels, experiences, held together in a tone somehow both dreamlike and super-realistic at the same time, as if Kafka had grown up with Mitch Hedburg and Steven Wright. "[It was] like a repulsive videotape was on automatic replay in my head," Robison said in an interview with Bomb, describing the brain state in which the mood of the book came out of. "So I was scrapping around for any tiny thing I could do and had the thought, 'Make the story really funny; all else will be forgiven.'"

And it's true; the book is really funny, if delivered in the sort of tone a doctor might use to tell you, in the most enjoyable way possible, that you have four months to live. Often one gets the sense here that the narrator is trying to talk herself into continuing living, not because something awful is happening, but because life itself, in any form, is hard. Among so much modern writing these days trying to find a way to explain our situation as plush but dire, free but under surveillance, exhausted but ADD, Robison's fiercely offhand banter cuts through any possible cavity of bullshit, kills its own bloat before it even has time to turn into a scene. One sections just reads: "Huh." Then that is followed with two paragraphs of Money's boss—who is overseeing her edits on a Hollywood production of Bigfoot, of all things—telling her not to get creative with her work. Where plot lines emerge through various relationships, responsibilities, ongoing involvements with specific worldly concerns, they just as quickly escape again, maybe to reappear dozens of pages later, maybe not. You are never more lost than when you are found again, trying to remember how you got here. And within the veering, the total set of shifts in recurring subject or concern form a sort of labyrinth, one without exit, and where the deeper we go in seems to grow even more irate, its central voice that much less willing to cooperate with whatever flow you might have tried to form around it.

Any yet, despite the disconnectedness, the variation within the pattern, the cliffhanger leading into another cliffhanger, all of the values of what a reality might be defined by are vital here, perhaps even more realistically than a story told with a beginning, middle, and end. The chaos of the narrator's brain and the world surrounding provides as much shape to her reality as any tiny revelation or sudden plot point a book might hinge an entire chapter around. There's a big sense of shitheadedness about the whole thing—glorious shitheadedness, like the very question of why we have to make art out of life at all, with the answer being, Because without it we'd be fucked, or at least left to wander around with our heads all up our asses. "I just regret everything and using my turn signal is too much trouble," one section reads, in one of its many totally direct moments of instruction, as if telling you how to read. "Fuck you. Why should you get to know where I'm going, I don't."

No one does, of course. But some people are more fun than others, and here the intentional sprawl is a relief. Each passage assumes the feel of veracity of idea over unnecessary execution, as if we are being shown the tools that build a universe rather than the universe itself. There are people, places, time periods; these things each have their personalities, moods; each of the resonances stick out like the sharp part of a long passage that you waited to be paid off by for your effort. Everything is treasure. And by the sheer mass of its weight in such small space, the reader is forced to slow down, to hear the lines again inside her head instead of only on the page, and to parse what those lines might be trying to communicate, if anything.

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Shane Smith at the 18th annual Webby Awards. Photo by Bryan Bedder via Getty

The phrase "excellence on the internet" can seem like an oxymoron to anyone who's ever been in the comments section of a YouTube video or a bodybuilding forum thread that's tried to figure out how many days are in a week, but that's exactly what the Webbys seek to honor every year. Think of them as the Oscars, but instead of awarding golden statues to the beautiful, chiseled celebrities you think about as you drift off to sleep, the Webbys honor the faceless keyboard jockeys who produce the content you read online every day.

This year we're up for 17 awards, including ones for our documentaries on the fight against Ebola and the invasion of Ukraine. The writing here on VICE.com is up against the New Yorker and Vanity Fair websites, among others. And in case you forgot about that time we got 20 strangers to kiss each other on camera, you should re-watch that, and then vote for it as best viral video.

In short, we want all of the metal springs, but we can't do it without your help. Voting is open until April 23, but why not go ahead and get to clicking? The process of navigating the Webby site can be a little tricky, but if you just go here to sign up with your e-mail address, and then individually click on the links below to vote for us, you should be all set.

We love you.

- Websites: Best Writing: VICE.com

- Websites: Magazine: VICE.com

- Websites: News: VICE News

- Websites: Sports: VICE Sports

- Websites: Fashion & Beauty: i-D

- Websites: Music: Noisey

- Online Video: Best Web Personality/Host: Eddie Huang

- Online Video: How-to & DIY: How-To

-Online Video: Documentary: Individual Episode: Profiles by VICE: An Inside Look at the Exotic Animal Trade

- Online Video: News & Politics: Series: Russian Roulette

- Online Video: News & Politics: Individual Episode: Russian Roulette: The Invasion of Ukraine (Dispatch Two)

-Online Video: News & Politics: Series: VICE Reports

- Online Video: Documentary: Series: The Fight Against Ebola

- Online Video: Documentary: Series: The Real

- Online Video: Technology: Transmissions From The Drone Orchestra

- Online Video: Viral: We Got 20 Strangers Who Aren't Models to Kiss Each Other

- Online Film & Video: Scripted: Before the Dawn: Short Films

Honorees:

- Online Film & Video: News & Politics: Series: Last Chance High

- Online Film & Video: Best Web Personality/Host: Action Bronson

- Websites: Technology: Motherboard

- Online Film & Video: The A-Z of Dance

- Websites: Food & Drink: MUNCHIES

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Image via Kai Clancy

I was given with the name Kaitlyn when I was a baby, but I guess that isn't my name anymore. My name is Kai now, I'm 19 years old, and I'm from the Wakka Wakka and Wulli Wulli nations. My story is that is I've always felt unhappy about being identified as a girl, I felt like I was in the wrong body. When I was 17 I set out on a journey to feel comfortable and have my appearance reflect how I felt on the inside, so I transitioned from female to male.

It was a really difficult decision to start the process. It was my first year out of high school and those first six months were horrendous. I didn't know what was wrong with me. When you're in an institution that's so gendered, there are pressures to conform, but when you leave that, there's nothing. There are no pressures and you can be yourself. But for me, being myself was really hard. That in-between period was really difficult. I kept asking myself, "How am I really going to do this?" It started to make sense, and I realized that I needed to do it for my own welfare. That's when I came out as transgender.

The reaction from my Indigenous community was OK. They've seen people who are male-to-female transgender people, but they'd never seen female-to-male transgender people, so it was a bit foreign to them, but they've learned to understand it and accept it later one. Even though I still get called "sis" here (in Melbourne) and back at home.

I grew up in North Queensland and Townsville, and there were always a lot of blackfellas and family around me. Being a kid was fine, I fit in with the boys, but when I got to puberty, I got really depressed. My mates were changing and I was changing in a different way. I remember thinking that if I'm different from these guys, and I'm not one of those girls, then what the hell am I?

The other time I remember being segregated from my mates for being different physically was Corroboree. For as long as I can remember, being separated by gender during ceremony and Corroboree would upset me because I was being taken away and put into a group where I didn't belong. But I did it because that's what my elders told me to do.

When I decided to transition, I asked for their permission about ceremony and they gave me guidelines about what I could and couldn't do. Being older now I do gender-neutral dances where girls and guys dance at the same time, that's what I limit myself to these days. I'm still learning, it's still a journey, but it feels right.

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Kai (second from the left) with family.

I was four years old when my mum first thought I could be transgender. It was my first instance of coming across someone that seemed to be transgender but they weren't, they were an intersex person. Their story on a 60 Minutes episode in 2000 about how surgical intervention is taken out on young intersex children. This was leaving them confused if they don't identify with the gender assigned to them post-op. As a result they transitioned from their assigned gender to another—in this instance it was female to male. When I saw that, I asked mum if they did that (surgical intervention) to me when I was a baby. That was my understanding of transition, it didn't sit right with me. I was told they had a medical reason to feel that way.

Before I transitioned I looked naturally pretty feminine with long blonde hair, I was really petite. I told my friends about it first and they didn't get it straight away, but the more they started to understand and take note of my behavior it started to make sense that I was just different from them.

My own community in Queensland has been really supportive, and in Melbourne they're great. The Melbourne mob here didn't really know that I was transgender, they've always known me as Kai. For the Brisbane mob it's a bit different, they knew me as Kaitlyn and I think it's a bit hard for them to get their heads around sometimes. But they're good, they're really supportive generally. All the Sistergirls and Brotherboys [names given to transgender Indigenous Australians and support groups] are really lovely, and some of them are like big sisters or cousins to me. They're role models, and they look out for me.

The transgender community knows discrimination when they see it, and it's very rare for them to discriminate against other people. They're pretty open about my Aboriginal identity and they accept it, no questions asked. But there are still some instances where there's a little bit of racism.

I've been making YouTube videos since I began my hormone replacement therapy, I love being able to show how much I've changed. It's good for myself and it's good for other people too I guess. I use it to document my progress and see all the differences in myself over time, but for other people it's a really good resource for motivation, and a referral tool for other people who might be going through the same thing. Lots of transgender guys do those videos, the transition is so physical, and you can see the differences in hormone treatment over time. It's an amazing transition.

I've always been somewhat confident, my friends will tell you that. But I guess this confidence is more enhanced now because I'm more confident in myself. I was pushing myself beforehand, I used to force myself to be confident, now I feel like it comes naturally because I'm being who I am. There's less discomfort in myself, I feel like I'm more at one with myself, and I know who I really am now.

I'm living in Melbourne now and working at the Victorian Aids Council on an Aboriginal project. I've almost finished a political science degree, majoring in international relations and public policy, and I do a lot of Aboriginal politics stuff around the town, especially back in Brisbane, like the G20 and Invasion Day.

I really can't predict the future for myself. I just hope that I'm still happy. I am happy now.

As told to Denham Sadler. Follow him on Twitter.

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An Arctic sunset. Photo via Flickr user NASA Goddard Photo and Video

In the face of challenges to its sovereignty in the Far North, Canada is ramping up its claim to the Arctic with four active military exercises aimed at Russia, and, it appears, an upgraded satellite observation program.

Under the the auspices of the Ministry of Natural Resources, the Harper government is requesting bids for $17 million worth of development on the Inuvik satellite station in the Northwest Territories. The current station is used for "mapping, weather, surveillance, and other purposes."

Established in 2010 in partnership with the German Aerospace Centre and the Swedish Space Corporation (SSC), the northern station was chosen based on its "strategic geographic location" above the Arctic Circle, which is "uniquely positioned to track and receive data in real-time."

As of late, the SSC has increased its stake in the Inuvik satellite station. The Swedes, also an Arctic player, have had their own dealings and standoffs with Russia in recent months. The SCC upgrade will give the corporation greater access to polar orbiting satellites providing valuable earth observation intelligence to its clients.

The development and support plan is designed to make the station a leading science and technology centre developing "its full potential as an international, multi-use, science and technology facility, with an emphasis on Earth Observation."

Above all else, the government states the project is "Exercising our Arctic sovereignty," "Protecting our environmental heritage," and "Promoting social and economic development"—all pillars of Canada's greater Northern Strategy, a policy initiative Stephen Harper himself has championed for years.

Besides the need to maintain Arctic sovereignty to protect traditional Canadian borders, receding permafrost promises the advent of new lands for natural resource extraction, a key policy platform for the Alberta-strong Tories since they became the government in 2006.

In the Arctic Ocean corridor alone, there's potentially 90 million barrels of oil sitting untapped in the North Pole, and close to 1,700 trillion cubic feet of natural gas.

Of course, that kind of potential petro-loot piques Russian interest, another country with massive Arctic borders and a stake in the latest rounds of UN talks establishing the northern borders of the world.

With the resurgent Russians invading Ukraine and flying bombers close to Canadian and American airspace in a return to Cold War games, the North Pole is suddenly a major geopolitical point of interest for Harper and President Vladimir Putin alike. Satellite stations and military might are just an extension of that diplomatic climate.

Follow Ben Makuch on Twitter.

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A Celtic cross in Knock, Ireland. Photo via Wikimedia Commons

This post originally appeared on VICE UK.

Last Thursday, people all over Ireland engaged in what's become an annual tradition: stockpiling alcohol in preparation for Good Friday, one of two days (the other being Christmas) that we can't purchase drink here. With pubs closed, the alternatives include buying a cheap flight and drinking in departures—qualifying under the " bona fide traveler" clause—going to house parties, or, unthinkably, not drinking at all.

Irish people get on with this with a great degree of humor, aware that we're scavenging aisles with the enthusiasm of a town about to be ravaged by a hurricane, all for what's literally one solitary day. But it's become more than that at this stage: an occasion to mark the beginning of summer, an opportunity to dust off the barbecue and huddle around the backyard pretending not to be cold.

Obviously the amount of alcohol consumed in Ireland on Good Friday exceeds the holiday's religious aim. According to the Bible, Jesus died on Good Friday, so it's Catholicism's belief that—because He died for our sins—we should sin less on that day. This can take the form of alcoholic abstinence, something put into law here in 1927.

It's common for Irish people to delight in how far we've come from our Catholicism. Phrases like "I haven't been to Mass since my Confirmation" and "Holy water would burn me" are said regularly. But that we continue talking about ourselves—even jokingly—in relation to it proves it's hardly a redundant force.

Though the idea of going to Mass appalls us, we still rush to the church on occasions like weddings, where, last year, 60 percent of them took place. Furthermore, though the percentage of Catholics in Ireland is at an all-time low—a not insignificant 84 percent—the number who identify as Catholic is at an all-time high: 3.8 million.

This paradox between churchgoing Catholics—estimated by the Archbishop of Dublin at 18 percent—and those who identify as Catholic reverberates out into Irish life. The average person, for example, would regard the church's view of homosexuality as wrong, while, at the same time, not minding that 90 percent of primary schools are Catholic, meaning children who've been christened have priority on places.

The reason most don't mind, of course, is because almost every kid is christened anyway, parents doing it because they believe their child will otherwise face difficulty. Not everyone operates according to this logic—some genuinely Believe—but every Irish parent certainly knows the weight of Catholicism in our schools: morning and afternoon prayers, choir practice, First Communion, and Confirmation.

Catholic advocacy groups like the Iona Institute are also a staple of our media. A " self-appointed" institute—unlike in the UK, the term isn't protected here—its patrons consist of prominent journalists, columnists, and college lecturers, who appear on our state-owned network RTÉ to ask such questions as: "Do you think we should change the Constitution to allow grandmothers and their daughters to marry?" on the issue of same-sex marriage.

Last year, RTÉ even paid the Institute €85,000 ($93,300) out of court when the drag artist Rory O'Neill accused it of homophobia on air, something many felt RTÉ didn't have to do.

That we protest the church by drinking is also ironic—as is the fact that our other "drinking days" are co-opted religious holidays: St. Patrick's Day and St. Stephen's Day—when, though we drink for myriad reasons, the most profound may stem from growing up Catholic, taught in school that everyday emotions are linked with shame and worthy of repression. Thus we drink to process them in a socially acceptable way.

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A pro-life rally in Dublin. Photo by Flickr user William Murphy

Today, Ireland is less a country ruled by Catholicism than one tainted by its remnants, one still capable—despite its best intentions—of calling women sluts and men weak. Our views on abortion typify this; although in 2013 a law was passed guaranteeing women the right to have one if their lives were at risk, in reality it was an insignificant step towards ensuring the right to choose.

Most Irish people's views reflect this. The majority believe women should be allowed to have abortions, but only when sick, raped or suicidal. On whether they should be allowed to choose based on their own best interests—as in most other Western countries—the majority think not: 46 percent say no, 39 percent say yes, and 15 percent have no opinion. In another poll, 38 percent say no, 36 percent say yes, and 20 percent say "it depends."

It seems we only recognize a woman's right to choose if she's been martyred somehow: a horrible side effect of an ill-defined philosophy sprung from Catholic shame, one that creates an environment rife with atrocities, where fanatics—and fanatical governments—can engage in practices you wouldn't will on a wild animal.

Even on the issue of Good Friday we're strong in our belief that the drinking ban shouldn't be lifted, half of us wanting it to remain, 36 percent wanting it to be removed and 14 percent wanting it to be relaxed for special events only. This is mind-boggling: Something far more than half of us engage in, we don't want legalized. Are we a country of masochists, keeping laws, governments, and religions around just so we can subvert them and then feel guilty? Or do we just not give a shit, doing all this guilt-free?

Probably closer to the former. We want the glory of defiance but the gift of absolution.

There are signs that the country is changing: On May 22, we'll vote in a referendum to give gay and lesbian people marriage equality, something that should pass fairly easily. Along with the work of tireless campaigners, this can be attributed to the influx of foreign culture into Ireland over the past two decades—the chance to learn what is and isn't civilized behavior via TV and the internet. Though this process isn't finished, May 22 will nevertheless be a cause for celebration.

However, because of our deep-rooted Catholicism and our unwillingness to banish its most-toxic aspects, our journey into the enlightened First World will always be more stilted than it has to be. Rest assured we'll get there eventually, but over the next two decades, when some countries are bounding forwards into an exciting new age, Ireland will be limping and stumbling behind, and this—ultimately—is the biggest shame of all.

Follow James Nolan on Twitter.