Yeah, baby. Photo courtesy AP Photo/Susan Walsh

Yesterday, we hinted at a blossoming bromance between Barack Obama and Justin Trudeau.

To be clear: we were taking the piss. So when we made a joke about a potential sequel to a recently released erotic e-book about a sexy new Canadian prime minister, we didn't think much of it. (It was, after all, an easy joke.)

But shit got real when the "best-selling" author of that erotic e-book, Sam Shiver, sent us an email that said "Thanks for the inspiration: ;)" along with a link to Amazon.

Behold, here's Foreign Affairs: A Diplomatic Romance, the super hot sequel to Serving the Prime Minister we never knew could be written in a half day's time.

In a bold stylistic change, Foreign Affairs is written from the point-of-view of one Prime Minister Dustin Waterhole, who is on his way to Manila to meet American President Barrett O'Brian and bang out a new pipeline agreement.

Here's a scintillating early passage where Prime Minister Waterhole reads Twitter:

I swiped through. O'Brian's face filled my screen. Admittedly, the American President had a certain elegance and charm, his now-greying hair setting off his dark skin and kind eyes. Maybe he would be reasonable tomorrow, maybe we could come to an agreement on where to lay pipes.

Like, holy fuck, you've just got to read on now. What could possibly happen when they meet?

He leaned towards me, giving me a conspiratorial look, and stage whispered for the media to hear that I should enjoy my hair before the job turned it as grey as his.This elicited a chuckle from the media.

Later, after a grilling from the media, our hero and the American president meet—over whiskey— to discuss the vetoed Keyhole Pipeline.

I took another sip of the whiskey. I felt hot, my face flushed, from the drink, from the anger, from something else I couldn't place. He rose, standing with his face close to mine, his hand on my shoulder. His eyes searched mine, his handsome face so close to mine. My heart skipped a beat as he placed a hand on my cheek. My face flushed but I didn't push him away. He was so close to me, I felt giddy, almost lightheaded. I put my hand over his. "Barry, I..."

To tell you any more, dear reader, would be giving away the good stuff. You gotta pay $3.98 for that shit.

Now, we can't wholeheartedly endorse Foreign Affairs, as there are a few signs of a sophomore slump in the 11-page novella, such as the unfortunate food puns. The President of Mexico is named Pieta and the "skulking" Russian president goes by Viktor Poutine. The German chancellor just gets called "dour" and the Australian prime minister "bland" but that's just literary license.

We spoke to Shiver over email about our concerns (we did greenlight this thing, apparently) and why she's writing political erotica.

VICE: So Dustin Waterhole is in fact based on Justin Trudeau, right?
Sam Shiver: A little more smouldering and a bit less goofy Disney Prince, but essentially yeah. I felt like I was taking a bit of a stretch with the name, but I grew up in Alberta and those residual NEP-era jokes about "Peter Waterhole" gave me the inspiration. I'm a bit let down that a lot of people didn't catch the 'trou d'eau' pun.

What inspired you to write homoerotic fiction based on the PM?
It started as a not-wholly-a-joke. As an erotic fiction author, I'm always on the lookout for new ideas. I'm also a big politics junkie, especially political satire—I was raised on a steady diet of 22 Minutes and Air Farce. So there was a moment after the election where there was this great upswell of not just optimism, but digital-era Trudeaumania, and it seemed like a perfect opportunity to bring it all together. I mean, the Guardian put up an article on Trudeau's eyebrows before the polls had even closed, this didn't seem like much of a stretch.

But while Serving the Prime Minister was largely a lighthearted thing, I'll happily admit that I think Trudeau is extremely attractive. He looked like a pre-Raphaelite angel before he cut his hair so short.

Did VICE inspire this sequel?
You guys certainly pushed me into action. I had mused about a sequel, especially after the #APEChottie tag went viral, but when I saw that picture of Trudeau and Obama looking like they were about to kiss at the top of the CBC's site yesterday, the gears started turning in my head. When I read your article with the comment about a sequel, I knew what I had to do.

What can readers expect from it? Did you try anything new? Did the PM "try anything new"?
Unlike Serving the Prime Minister, this one is from Dustin's perspective, trying to balance his new celebrity status with the massive responsibilities that have been dropped in his lap now that he's prime minister. I won't spoil it, but let's just say that he definitely finds a way to help rebuild Canada-US relations.

How has the feedback been from the first book?
I got a lot of positive feedback, though there seemed to be a fair number of people who missed the inherent humour of it. One comment on Facebook just read "vukgar"—I've screenshotted it and I look at it every time I need a laugh. The highest point for this was the article in the Globe and Mail—it was even in the print edition. Unfortunately (fortunately?) that probably means that Trudeau is aware that this exists. I hope he thought it was funny.

Are you going to continue writing books about the Dustin's romantic adventures?
We'll see what comes up in the future. There's a certain spontaneity that comes with these, so I'll be keeping my eye peeled to the news for any new material.

Follow Josh and Manisha on Twitter for more porn parody coverage.

Philip Chism, a 16-year-old on trial for allegedly raping and murdering his teacher, sits in court on Thursday. Paul Bilodeau/The Eagle Tribune via AP, Pool

Sixteen-year old Philip Chism sat perfectly still in a Salem, Massachusetts courtroom Monday, his hands on his knees, staring blankly ahead as Assistant District Attorney Kate MacDougall described in horrific detail how he raped and murdered his math teacher two years ago.

"The defendant strangled Colleen. The defendant used the box cutter. He cut Colleen Ritzers's throat," said MacDougall, recalling the brutal scene in the Danvers High School women's bathroom. He stabbed her at least 16 times, she said, with enough force to chip a vertebrae.

Chism continued to sit, frozen except for his quickly blinking eyes.

He raped her twice, said MacDougall, once in the bathroom with his penis, and once in the woods with a stick after carting her off in a recycle bin. He went back to school with blood running down his pants, and changed into his soccer uniform before ditching practice to go shopping with her credit card and catch a movie. Police found him later that night, walking by the side of the highway.

When it was Chism's attorney's time to speak, she didn't deny any of his actions. Chism is a killer who did "unspeakable things," admitted Denise Regan.

"This is about why did this happen," the lawyer argued. "The answer is he was severely mentally ill."

Chism, who was 14 at the time, had been suffering from a psychotic disorder since the age of ten, said Regan. Because of his mental state she wants the jury to find Chism not guilty by reason of insanity.

In Massachusetts this means that throughout the trial—which is expected to take weeks—the onus will be on the prosecution to prove that at the time of the murder, Chism was sane. If he is found not guilty, he will spend the rest of his days in a mental health facility where the possibility of his release will rest on mental evaluations and dangerousness hearings.

Previously: Will the Teen Charged with Raping and Murdering His Teacher Mount a Successful Insanity Defense?

To learn more about the insanity defense and how it applies to juveniles I spoke to forensic psychiatrist Judith Edersheim the cofounder and co-director of the Massachusetts General Hospital Center For Law, Brain and Behavior. Edersheim has no direct relationship to the case, but agreed to speak with me on general terms.

VICE: Chism's attorneys say he has been diagnosed with a psychotic disorder and is currently on medication. Could someone be seriously mentally ill from the point of view of a psychiatrist but still lose a not guilty by reason of insanity plea?
Judith Edersheim: Insanity isn't a concept at all in psychiatry or psychology. Psychiatry and psychology have diagnostic categories like mood disorders or thought disorders. But the concept of insanity is something that grew out of the law and it has moral and political dimensions as well as psychiatric.

There could be someone who is profoundly mentally ill but whose mental illness has no nexus to the crime. It varies by state, but the standard generally requires that the defendant be either unable to conform their behavior to the requirement of the law—that's the volitional prong of the insanity test—or, depending on the state, be unable to appreciate the criminality or the wrongfulness of what they're doing.

Someone can be mentally ill and still form intent to commit a crime. Someone can be mentally ill and still appreciate that what he or she is doing is wrong. So the insanity standards focus a great deal on volition and reasonableness and those two things can still be maintained in the face of even a serious mental illness.

There is a classic example that you can have schizophrenia but still rob a bank because you need money.

Watch: How Mental Illness Derailed the Career of a Promising Young Skateboarder

Which came first, the legal definition of insanity or our modern understanding of psychology?
Oh my goodness, it's almost a chasm, it's almost a never the twain shall meet situation. The legal standards for insanity have been around since the at least the 17th century. In terms of the evolution of insanity defenses it started with concepts like the "wild beast" test, the M'Naughten Rule—all of these old English tests that attempted to capture what kind of mental state should excuse someone from doing a very serious thing.

Just the question embeds moral concepts. Who is the most blameworthy in society? People who can't help themselves? People who have lost their ability to behave as reasonable citizens? All of those questions were imbued with religion and morality and had political expediencies attached.

From a legal standpoint is it more difficult to determine if the defendant is insane at the time of the crime if they are a juvenile?
This is the chasm of diagnostic categories versus legal categories. If you were going to diagnose a 14-year-old, there would be some requirements that you actually not fix a permanent diagnosis because children and adolescents change so quickly.

Does the psychological complications regarding diagnosing juveniles play a role in the insanity defense?
The most superficial cut is, not really. The law has an insanity standard that is premised on an examination of behavior. Is this person at the moment of this offense behaving in a folk-psychology way that indicates that he or she has a defect of reason or volition, an inability to control themselves, or an inability to think reasonably? You could ask those same questions of juveniles or adults.

The more complicated answer is philosophical moral and neuroscientific. Adolescents are so different that we ought to have different standards for them in light of the emerging adolescent neuroscience and how that intersects the moral underpinnings of law.

Beginning in 2005, there was trilogy of United States Supreme Court cases; Roper v. Simmons In those three cases the Supreme Court took up the idea, from an enormous body of beautiful neuroscience, that adolescents' brains are different from fully-developed brains in ways that the law is going to have to take account of.

In the Chism trial, the prosecution is trying to argue that the murder was premeditated: He brought the murder weapon with him, he allegedly knew Ritzer's bathroom routine, and he knew to hide the body. Meanwhile the defense appears to be arguing that running back and forth into his high school covered in blood is a sign of his disconnected mental state. What role does planning and forethought typically play in an insanity defense?
If you ask Stephen Morse, a great professor of philosophy law and neuroscience, what he would say is behavior trumps everything. But I should say that I have seen many cases in which planning can occur, but everyone would agree that this person should be held not criminally responsible.

I'll give you an example of a case: If you attempt to harm someone because you believe that they are the incarnation of Satan, that they have kidnaped your younger sister and that they are holding her and are about to end her life if you don't save her, then it's a complete psychotic motive. The explanation for that crime is that you have lost your ability to reason through even the most basic reality around you. The fact that you were able to plan to carry out such a psychotically motivated exercise doesn't really negate your ability to mount an insanity defense.

Jury selection was delayed after Chism was found banging his head in a prison cell and reported hearing a voice. He was evaluated and found competent to stand trial. What is the difference between competency and insanity?
Competency is the notion that it would be unethical and unconstitutional to put someone on trial if they are not able to participate in the process and understand what they are doing. That's not at the moment of the crime, that's the moment of the judicial process. For example a delusion that really you are being persecuted for being the son of God, that would knock you out of the box for competency.

The defense has been careful to depict Chism as someone with a family history of mental illness who just moved to a new state and school. Is that a situation that could lead to a break for someone who might already be prone to mental illness?
How do you know in a 12-, 13-, 14-year-old whether a major mental illness is emerging? I'm afraid clinically it is a billion-dollar question because schizophrenia is such a terrible disorder.

Psychosis in general is a break with reality that is usually characterized by hallucinations, delusions, abnormal thought structure. It can have many causes. Psychosis is a symptom, schizophrenia is a disease. The symptom of psychosis can be caused by anything from a primary thought disorder like schizophrenia to substance-induced psychosis.

Chism is accused of attempting a similar attack on a clinician at a state juvenile facility after he was arrested. Could you argue that anyone who could commit such horrible acts would have to be mentally ill? Is being a serial killer, or serial rapist, a mental illness in itself?
I think it's a mistake to work backwards and say anyone who did such a thing must be insane, because "insane" is a legal category. The act of doing something heinous can have all kinds of context and society is making a decision with the insanity law that some people should not be held responsible.

There is a diagnostic category called psychopathy. These are the Dexters of the world, they're the methodical, emotionless, unempathetic people who break the rules for their own purposes and feel fine—sometimes that means homicide.

Serials killers have been typically cast as psychopaths. There is some controversial literature about whether psychopathic personalities or psychopaths really have a particular kind of illness that is genetic and neuro-imagable and should be exculpatory in criminal cases. For now in the US legal system, we exclude antisocial disorder as a defense to almost everything.

But could psychopathy be defined as a mental illness even though it doesn't fit into the criminal system?
Yes, that's a place where legal and medical or psychological characterizations don't map onto each other. It's a moral and ethical conundrum. CLBB had a symposium called "Psychosis vs Psychopathy" where we discussed what would happen if you hospitalized people for pure psychopathy what would happen in the hospital what would happen in the legal system.

Is it possible to rehabilitate someone who is a psychopath? What about a adolescent psychopath?
The literature on psychopathy is not robust; it's a new and emerging area. The old wisdom on this issue was that psychopathy was exceedingly treatment-resistant. There are all kinds of reasons why psychopathy is difficult to treat. But the only good evidence for the treatment of psychopathy in terms of being able to make a dent and change the course of that syndrome is for young people.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Follow Susan Zalkind on Twitter.

After the collapse of Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia in 1992, the Kosovan assembly wasted no time in setting about the creation of the Kosovan Olympic Committee. Following a violent history under the former Socialist Republic, this was the ultimate act of defiance.

Sadly, tensions between the Serbs and Kosovans meant it would be 16 more years until the country began to have its independence recognized. Even then, in 2008, it would take another six years for the Olympic committee to recognize the body, and it will be yet another year before Kosovan athletes will be allowed to compete under their own national flag.

That long-awaited event will be the Olympic games held in Rio 2016, and Jane Stockdale has taken on the project of documenting the athletes as they prepare for Kosovo's first ever games. As she emphasizes, the project is a work-in-progress, but the fruits of her labor so far give a colorful look behind the scenes of an event of national significance.

I caught up with Jane to ask about her first impressions of the country and what she intends to do next.

All photos by Jane Stockdale

VICE: Hey Jane, hanging out with the Kosovan Olympic team is a pretty special privilege. How did that come about?
Jane Stockdale: A few years ago I went back to school to study International Relations part-time at Cambridge University, I found it a really eye-opening experience. Back in 2012, we were invited on a field trip to Kosovo to learn about the country. At the time, the Olympics were coming up but Kosovo wasn't allowed to compete in London 2012—many of their top athletes were forced to compete for Albania instead. Ever since then, I've been following Kosovo's journey to the Olympic Games. I wanted to document this story because I know it's such a big deal for the country.

How has this project differed from previous ones? Is sports photography something you've done much of before or was this new to you?
I shoot a lot of documentary projects and love to shoot sports projects. I did a shoot before with a Team GB sprinter and was really inspired by his philosophy and work ethic. Obviously at Olympic level you have to be technically good, but a lot of it is psychological. We often see athletes in their big moments, but I'm always interested in what goes on behind the scenes.

How do you feel the athletes are dealing with the prospect of their country's first Olympic games? What's the atmosphere like at training?
All the athletes I met are super hard-working, humble, have their heads down, and are just getting on with their jobs. Everyone's excited for Rio. This whole project has been a big collaboration and I love collaborating with those guys. I feel totally inspired hanging out with them.

How would you sum up the Kosovan national character? What has the impact of the country's tumultuous history been on the people you met, if any?
In terms of national character, Kosovan people are super kind, friendly, and will go out of their way to help you. A lot of people think of Kosovo as a war-torn country, but the war ended in 1999. I think there's a real impression they want to move on from the past and focus on the future.

That said, I think sport and the Olympics hold a special place in the Kosovan imagination. Before and during the war, sport in Kosovo was totally suppressed. Because of that, and because Kosovan athletes have never been allowed to compete for their own country before in an Olympic Games, I think Rio 2016 is a really important event and will see the whole country get behind the national team.

What are your plans for the project looking forward?
Just as the athletes are in training for the Olympics, this project is very much a work-in-progress. Our aim is to document the Kosovan Olympic Team all the way to Rio 2016, so we've still got plenty of time yet. It's best to think of this show as Part I of a two-part project. There's much more to see yet.

Thanks Jane

Picture from a previous project about Merseyside gangs by Stuart Griffiths.

This article originally appeared on VICE UK.

A new generation of young gang members are making their mark on Merseyside, England: self-styled "soldiers" wearing tracksuits, North Face coats and Nike Air "trabs." Their long hair is a "ket wig," a term that emerged from the notion that they buy drugs, rather than haircuts.

There are an estimated 50,000 violent young gangs in the UK, according to the Centre for Social Justice. In Liverpool, gang members ride around neighborhoods on "scrambler" motorbikes or quads, protecting their own with dogs and knives, fooling police with high-powered stun-guns disguised as mobile phones, or lighters secretly laced with CS gas. Stashed firearms are just a phone call away.

There are kids of 14 carrying guns. It's madness.

Eight years after 11-year-old Rhys Jones was killed by a stray bullet from a revolver held by 16-year-old Croxteth Crew member Sean Mercer, police pledged a massive crackdown, but gang-banging among the youth of Merseyside has continued. These gangs aren't sophisticated organized crime syndicates, but loose networks of low-level criminals who graduate from anti-social behavior to fatal violence simply because they can access firearms so easily.

Gang members start as pint-sized "grafters," some as young as 13, earning cash by growing cannabis crops in rented houses, protecting their "grows" against armed raids from rival gangs, or selling "lemo"—Scouse slang for cocaine—along with ketamine and ecstasy pills.

"It's like a war is going off on the streets," says one 17-year-old gang member, describing an ongoing feud between two factions from an estate dubbed "Dodge City" in Netherton and nearby Fernhill.

"Lads have been shot, stabbed, chopped up, had their houses petrol-bombed, got snatched or got a hiding. There's been a longstanding rivalry between Dodge and Fernhill, but this war is something else. It's mainly over crops in Bootle... who controls what. You've got grows getting robbed and growers getting turned over. At the minute lads are being kidnapped most days. Ransom demands are being made—anything from £500 to £10,000 . It's all about control. Sometimes you'll see lads from rival firms get kidnapped for nothing—just to wind them up.

"The other day one of the Fernhill lot was snatched and taken to a flat. He got slapped about a bit then he was tied up and hooked onto the ceiling. The lads who did it took a selfie standing either side of him and posted it on Instagram so Fernhill could see it. It's fucked up but this is what's happening. And everyone's got guns—or access to them...shotties , Glocks, .38s, 9mm handguns. You've got kids of 14 carrying guns. It's madness."

Stephen 'the Devil' French. Photo by Stuart Griffiths

Former Liverpool gangster Stephen "the Devil" French calls these kids "the lost generation."

"These young children—some eight or nine years old—they have fathers that are murderers, uncles that have been killed, cousins that are doing life," he says.

In Anfield last year, a savage assault saw one gang stab a teenager to death with a two-foot sword. The five boys—two of them aged just 13—were part of a mob who chased victim Sean McHugh, 19, into a launderette where he was murdered. Three 14-year-olds and a 15-year-old were jailed for life.

In May, 17-year-old William Cowley stuck a knife into the kidney of a 17-year-old rival after his house was sprayed with bullets. They had met for a one-on-one scrape in an alleyway. The victim survived. Unlike Kevin Wilson, 17, who was shot in the back and killed as he walked down student hotspot Smithdown Road in February. Or Vinny Waddington, 18, who was riding a scrambler bike in Garston in July when he was ambushed and shot dead by a gunman in an Audi.

John Sandwell set up Merseyside-based charity Support After Murder and Manslaughter with his wife Marie, after Marie's daughter Helen McCourt, a 22-year-old insurance clerk, was abducted and killed by pub landlord Ian Simms in her home village of Billinge, near St. Helens, in February 1988.

"It is the ultimate crime," says John, who is currently dealing with the victims of a recent shooting. "It destroys lives. Not just the lives of victims and their families but the offenders too. The ripple effect is devastating, which is why we need to educate young offenders tearing around housing estates causing chaos.

"The problem is that schools and youth clubs just aren't getting the level of funding needed to get the message across. The other issue is that there seems to be an easy availability of guns of all kinds. Pistols, shotguns, automatic weapons. And that is worrying."

Related: Watch our documentary 'Young Reoffenders'

Weeks ago Merseyside police officers found a semiautomatic sten gun, a semiautomatic shot gun, a shot gun, and rounds of ammunition hidden on a plot of land in Walton along with packages of controlled drugs, branding the haul a "significant victory" in the war on gun crime. By April this year, they had seized 34 scrambler bikes and followed it up with a string of drugs busts, smashing cannabis farms in raids on "live" gang members. In 2013 they took more than 60 guns off the streets.

Detective Chief Superintendent Paul Richardson, Head of the Matrix Serious and Organised Crime (MSOC) team, says police commitment to putting gun crime offenders in jail is "as strong as ever" but concedes that "we have to be realistic in how difficult this is to sustain as austerity begins to bite."

He adds: "We are having a positive impact on gun crime in Merseyside but cannot and will not be complacent. And just this week, the murder of Lewis Dunne shows that there are still people willing to use guns on Merseyside. One victim of gun crime is one too many. Firearms discharges have decreased by 31 percent from last year, and the Matrix team has undertaken a number of successful initiatives and operations in a bid to disrupt those involved in gun crime.

"Young people need to understand they are masters of their own destiny. The choices they make can change lives and the younger generation must accept responsibility for their actions."

What's the alternative for these young people? "There isn't one," says one 15-year-old drug dealer, part of a gang known as TB—Town Boyz—knocking out "lemo" to punters near Liverpool Crown Court. "This is the only way to make money for us. We can't get a job because we've got no National Insurance number and no one wants to give us one anyway."

"If you grow up in the north end you'll struggle to get a job and there's fuck all for kids to do."

Illustrations by Alex Jenkins

There's a certain pride that comes with fixing things yourself. A few years ago, the battery fell out of my computer. It turned out a screw had gone missing, and naturally, I didn't have any spare screws lying around. I did have a BandAid, however, and giving my best DIY effort, I used it to tape the battery back in place. This held my laptop together for the next three years.

But there are limits to every good DIY, and if I had to draw the line, it would definitely be at the waist. It takes a fierce commitment to the spirit of amateurism—or a very low bank balance—to submit your prize parts to the kind of untested medical experiments one finds on the internet. A BandAid might have kept my computer intact, but it's not going to cure genital warts.

Of course, that hasn't stopped people from trying. Below are first-hand stories of creative sexual health DIY remedies, most of which went horribly wrong. Obviously, kids, don't try these at home.

Kevin

It happened when I was in college. I met this girl, another student, on a night out and we had unprotected sex. Not long after, I started getting these little yellowish nodes that looked like skin tags on the shaft of my dick. I'd heard of genital warts, but I expected they'd look more like normal warts. I got drunk one night and showed them to a friend and he was like, "You've got genital warts!" I researched online and found all these forums saying you could treat them yourself with apple cider vinegar.

They said you had to clean the area first with hydrogen peroxide, but I skipped that bit because I remember I'd seen a kid on YouTube using that stuff in a homemade bomb. I doused cotton balls in the vinegar and taped those over the warts. It burnt like fuck but the forums said to expect that. I put on fresh cotton balls every day.

After a week, some of the warts had turned white, but my dick was red and raw—just putting my underpants on was agony. I went to the doctor, who said I'd given myself chemical burns. When I told him what I'd done he was said it was like using a flame thrower to kill a fly.

Related: Even If You've "Cured" Your Chlamydia, It Might Reemerge from Your Gut and Reinfect You

Vanessa

About a year ago I had sex with this guy. I was about to get my period so I had taken part of a Vicodin and had some red wine because I thought, Fuck it! I'm just going to chill out and be romantic and depressive. There was nothing remarkable about the sex, but the next day my vagina was sore. I thought we must have had a lot of sex and I just hadn't realized because I was a bit out of it.

Then I started getting these elongated blisters coming from the inside to the outside of my vagina. It was literally the most horrible thing in the world. It was like medieval torture, or like having paper cuts in your vag. That night, I started feeling feverish and sweaty. I thought I had the flu. A day and a half later, I found blisters on my asshole and I was like, "Oh my God, I have hemorrhoids too!" I just wasn't putting any of it together.

When the blisters burst, I finally went to a clinic and they told me I had herpes and I was prescribed an anti-viral. Afterwards I spoke to a friend who was really into holistic medicines and she said you can take the anti-viral or you can let your body fight it. If you do it naturally, she said, you're less likely to have a recurrence in future. So I took her word for it. I used Epsom salt baths, took vitamin C, tea tree oil, manuka honey—which, by the way, is like $75 a jar.

She also told me about this lamp treatment. Apparently, herpes can't live in light; it lives in dark, wet places. So I had this full-spectrum light bulb shining on my cunt, like, 24 hours a day. I had a goose neck lamp and I shined it under the sheets. If I had enough privacy I would do it in the sunlight in the same way. I'd go to the end of the room and spread my legs in front of the window. And it actually worked: After a few hours, the outbreak would lessen.

Read: I Slept with My Boss and All I Got Were These Lousy STDs

ANTON

When I was a teen, I had a girlfriend who I was really into. I was desperate to lose my virginity with her, but she didn't want to do it. But she did let me finger her a lot. I used to pump my finger in and out like a piston engine. I can't imagine she got much out of it.

There was this one night, my folks were out and I'd been feverishly fingering her on the couch. I had this really crappy ring—it was a thin, silver band that I wore on my middle finger—and, after fingering her that night, we realized it was missing. We took turns to poke inside her to try and retrieve it but with no success. My girlfriend was freaking out and wanted to go to the ER. Then I remembered my dad had this wooden paper clip holder that was shaped like a fish. The holder was magnetic so that the paper clips would stick to it. I thought I could use it to pull out the ring. So I smeared the fish in petroleum jelly and put it up my girlfriend's pussy. I poked it around for a while but couldn't find the ring.

The next day, I found it on my bedroom floor. I had to tell my girlfriend, of course, because I didn't want her worrying that it was still inside her. She dumped me not long after that. The person I felt worst for in this story was my dad, who had that paper clip holder on his desk for years after with no idea of where it had been.

More from VICE:Fracking Gave Me Gonorrhea

DR. IAN

I'm a sex therapist. A few years ago I had a guy come to me with this persistent issue with premature ejaculation (PE). He was in his late 20s and engaged to someone at the time. I took a case history and he told me that during college he had a lot of ups and down with women centering around this problem. The PE had gotten so bad he had given up on dating altogether when, one day, a girl who had a crush on him said she wanted to come by his dorm. He wanted to do something to improve his performance and he had heard that cocaine dabbed on the head of the penis was a numbing agent. He decided to try and buy some ahead of the date.

I'd heard stories about Hollywood stars likeJack Nicholson using cocaine for this, but I'd never met anyone who had actually done it. He went out one night and tried to score some coke and ended up getting busted by the campus police. The poor guy must've been jittery because he confessed everything—told these cops all about his plan to put coke on the end of his dick to help him last longer. Maybe it was because he was honest, but the college authorities let him off and he was allowed to stay in school.

Follow Paul Willis on Twitter.

The Eiffel Tower was lit up with the colours of the French flag after last Friday's attacks. Photo via Flickr user Olivier Ortelpa

What is the psychological impact of watching thousands of tweets, Facebook statuses and videos showing the horror of a terrorist attack?

The question might seem insensitive—or shallow—to the victims' grieving families and friends. But given our constant exposure to the violence and ensuing loss in the past week since the Paris attacks, I wondered how it's affecting our collective mental health.

At its peak, the #PrayForParis hashtag was generating 17 thousand tweets per minute. According to the Jerusalem Post, by last Sunday "78 million people have had 183 million Facebook interactions related to the attacks." CNN reports that "360 million users received notifications that their Facebook friends were safe after Friday night's attacks." (And zero people got notifications after the Beirut attack, but that's another story.)

In Québec (where I'm writing this from), during the three days that followed the terrorist attack, the event took up 38 percent of media space. According to Jean-François Dumas, head of Influence Communications, a media broker analyzing electronic media, the only event that came close this year was the Charlie Hebdo shooting. But this isn't only a francophone thing: this made the rounds in 160 countries, in 22 languages at least. "Everyone talked about it," Dumas said in a radio interview.

Obviously, this was the plan for ISIS. Before the Paris attacks, they'd been busy broadcasting their message of fear, bypassing traditional media much of the time. Kyle Matthews, from the Montreal Institute for Genocide and Human Rights Studies, told VICE: "Usually groups hide the terrible things they do. ISIS shows it for multiple reasons. It sends a message to other communities they could conquer, to demoralize them."

And this demoralization is meant for a wide audience, larger than the immediate local victims. "Every time ISIS releases a video, they do it in multiple languages. Some videos have subtitles in English, French and Turkish. There are even some videos in sign language. They're really sophisticated," Matthews said. He cites the 46,000 Twitter accounts associated with ISIS as proof that Daesh has made an online presence a priority. And they've never been as viral as they've been this week.

Symptoms

When I spoke to Pascale Brillon, a PTSD expert psychologist from the Alpha Institute, she never outright said that we actually go through PTSD online. As she talked about the symptoms, it reminded me of what we've seen over the last few days on social media. And one of the first symptoms she mentioned was the flashbacks and reminders of the traumatic event.

Considering this was the most talked-about subject online, with videos and pictures leaking from everywhere, it's sort of like we went through the traumatic events in a continual loop. You could see the Bataclan Eagles of Death Metal show just before the shots started. You can see the Bataclan raid from outside. You could hear the explosion at the stadium. The lying corpses in front of the cafes. Again and again and again.

Secondly, there's the notion that things have changed. "You don't consider reality the same way. You see people differently." Brillon told me of patients with PTSD. "Your perception, thoughts and emotions change radically." Shortly after the attack, people were practically asking if World War Three was under way. France, at least, was at war. The situation had changed. Nothing would ever be the same. This is familiar media rhetoric, but it was also general gospel online.

"Then comes a stage of hyper-activation, a state of alertness, where you are always hyper-vigilant of everyone who makes you think of the aggressor," Brillon added. When it became known that some of the attackers were Muslims who had spent time in Syria, the collective conversation on Syrian refugees shifted. Newly-elected Prime Minister Justin Trudeau reaffirmed his desire to welcome 25,000 Syrian refugees in the country, but this was met with hostility at the federal, provincial and municipal levels. In America, some Republican candidates suggested we screen the Muslim refugees, and the House passed a bill (awaiting the President's veto) suggesting they submit refugees to screenings that are almost impossible to actually undergo, forcing exclusion. The divisive issue of welcoming Syrian refugees was dealt a serious blow after the Paris attacks.

There was also avoidance, which is sometimes manifested by the incapacity for a patient suffering from PTSD to go where the traumatic event took place. This seems to be less evident; in fact, it actually looks like people, both online and in real life, were doing the opposite, which is actually a sign of recovery. The French held up their cups of wine and told the terrorists to fuck off. Charlie Hebdo did it. Le Petit Journal did it as well.

"Beyond the necessary exposure," Brillon told me, "there's a certain notion of resistance in going to drink wine with friends. I won't give in to fear, I will not change my way of life."

Pre-existing conditions needed

According to Christophe Fortin, a trauma expert from the University Institute on Mental Health in Montral, you would need to be directly affected by the trauma to go through signs of post-traumatic stress disorder.

"Unless you had a predisposition for anxieties or phobias—that would be exacerbated from the event," he said. "But unless you or your close ones went through it, you couldn't get an official diagnosis of PTSD."

There's definitely a sense of community built around social networks, and it could feel like the Touching Grandmother, the cute little boy and the two killed editors from satiric news program Le Petit Journal were part of an extended virtual family; grandma, son, sisters. Their families and friends grieved for them, but can we?

As hard as it is, Brillon says if you feel like you are being affected, it's recommended to actually disconnect.

"You have to stop being exposed to the trauma," she said. "We often recommend that you close the TV or computer, take a walk, and stop constantly ruminating on what happened."

Follow Joseph Elfassi on Twitter.

It's time, once again, to marvel at some idiots who don't know how to handle the world:

Cry-Baby #1: Natasha West

Screencap via Google Maps

The incident: A woman was told she was violating the terms and conditions of Denny's all-you-can-eat pancakes offer.

The appropriate response: Nothing. You got caught.

The actual response: She allegedly tried to attack a waitress.

On November 6th, 27-year-old Natasha West was eating a $4 order of all-you-can-eat pancakes at a Denny's in Oak Lawn, Illinois.

A waitress allegedly noticed Natasha sharing her pancakes with the other people seated at her table, and told her that this was not permitted. This is why these type of promotions are called "all-you-can-eat" rather than "all-you-and-a-bunch-of-other-people-can-eat".

According to police, Natasha responded to this by swearing at the waitress and attempting to punch her. She and her friends then fled the restaurant without paying. Natasha reportedly kicked the door several times as she exited the building.

Natasha was caught and arrested shortly after. She was charged with assault and damage to property. One of her friends paid the Denny's bill.

Cry-Baby #2: A mystery person in Denver

Photo via Isis Books and Gifts on Facebook

The incident: A store, that has existed for longer than ISIS, has the word "Isis" in its name.

The appropriate response: Taking a photo for Instagram.

The actual response: Someone vandalized the store's sign.

Isis Books and Gifts is a New Age store in Denver, Colorado. Named after the Egyptian goddess Isis, the store has been in business for 35 years.

Last weekend, someone threw a brick through a portion of the store's sign. The owner of the store, Karen Charboneau-Harrison, thinks the act was motivated by the recent terrorist attacks in Paris.

"We're all very heartbroken so I don't know if somebody walking down the street just saw our name on the sign and kind of lost it for a moment and threw a rock through it," Karen said in an interview with Fox 31 Denver. "Or if it was an ignorant person who actually thought this was a bookstore for terrorists, I don't know."

This is not the first time the store has been vandalized since the rise of the Islamic State. In addition to having her sign smashed once before, Karen says people have also thrown paint across the front of the store, and smashed the door.

"It does get a bit tiresome," said Karen. "Plus expensive."

Who here is the bigger cry-baby? Let us know in this little poll down here:

Previously: A writer who attacked someone with a bottle because they gave his work a bad review vs. a judge who took a baby away from some women because they are gay

Winner: The writer!

Follow Jamie Lee Curtis Taete on Twitter.

Not an actual photo of the Swiss treasure but, you know, something close to this. Photo via Flickr user leigh49137

Read: A Famous Florida Treasure Hunter Was Busted After a Two-Year Manhunt

A farmer in the Swiss town of Ueken saw something glinting out of a molehill on his cherry orchard and wound up unearthing "more than 4,000 bronze and silver coins dating back to ancient Rome," the Guardian reports.

The coins, which were minted between the reigns of Roman Emperors Aurelian and Maximian, were buried around the year 294 and never exhumed until the farmer stumbled across them in 2015. "The orchard where the coins were found was never built on. It is land that has always been farmed," archaeologist Georg Matter told the Guardian.

After unearthing a few of the coins inside the molehill, the Swiss farmer called in an archeological service, who then spent months systematically combing the cherry orchard's soil for treasure. In total, 4,166 coins were discovered, making it "one of the biggest treasures of this kind" in Switzerland's history.

The coins, which are estimated to have been worth a year or two's salary when they were buried, were most likely chosen because they were partially silver.

"Their silver content would have guaranteed a certain value conservation in a time of economic uncertainty," a currency expert told Swiss Info.

The now-priceless artifacts will be put on display at Switzerland's Vindonissa Museum, since the discovery belongs to the state, according to Swiss law. Hopefully the farmer gets a kickback for finding all the coins, though, since his cherry orchard is probably wrecked after those archaeologists had their way with it.

Photo by Jess Lehrman for Noisey

Last night I went to a party in mid-city Los Angeles, on a street dotted with streetwear stores and little else, and watched Rick Ross sit on a couch and listen to his own album. It was perfect.

The paradigm of anti-credibility, Ross was once exposed by the Smoking Gun as a former corrections officer and (presumably) not the coke kingpin he claimed to be. That was in 2008, right as Ross was beefing with 50 Cent over nothing and won, and right before he became arguably the biggest rapper in the universe—and not just in a weight sense. The iceberg-like "B.M.F.," featuring Styles P, redefined the meaning of heaviness in hip-hop, and the subsequent album Teflon Don found a perfect balance between the all-caps street mysticism of lyrics like "ROZAY / THAT'S MY NICKNAME / COCAINE / RUNNIN THROUGH MY DICK VEIN" and luxe, reality-puncturing cuts like "Live Fast, Die Young," featuring Kanye West.

Ross has released some truly excellent projects—take Rich Forever, which is for my money still the best mixtape of 2012—as well as some total dogshit ones (mainly his albums, Mastermind and God Forgives, I Don't, which trend toward anemia). Still, just when you think Rick Ross is over, he bounces right back, lodging yet another hit or a damn near-perfect guest verse, entering rap's upper echelon seemingly through survival and sheer force of will. With his Maybach Music imprint, he's managed to diversify his reach throughout rap. His two biggest moves have been signing Philly's Meek Mill—undeniably one of the most important street rappers of the past five years—and Washington DC's Wale, who despite his tepid reputation on the more fashionable parts of the rap internet quietly managed to hit number one on the charts when he released The Album About Nothing this April. Wait, scratch that, I should have referred to Maybach Music Group as the Untouchable Maybach Music Empire, which is what Ross likes to call MMG sometimes and makes it him sound like a Hun.

Still, in the past few years (in my mind at least), Ross has come to represent hip-hop's bloated hair metal era, in which top-tier producers and guest vocalists are called in to ensure that an album is too big, too star-studded, appealing to too many demographics to fail. Ross's Mastermind featured 17 different producers and 11 guests, while God Forgives had 15 producers and 11 guests. His straight-ahead basso profundo rarely wavers, seldom deviating from its stated mission of telling the listener about his outlandish wealth, how hard he hustled to get it, and the degrees to which he will lavish women and eviscerate the men who stand in his way. But this is 2015, hip-hop's grunge era, in which idle talk and flash are passé. We want the hermetically sealed worlds of Kendrick Lamar and J. Cole, the rawness of Future, the slipperiness and unpredictability of Young Thug.

Ross's newest album Black Market is due out on December 4. The record follows this summer's street album Black Dollar, as well as last year's excellent Hood Billionaire and aforementioned less-than-excellent Mastermind. If you attend a hip-hop listening party in the hopes of actually understanding what an album sounds like, you will inevitably be disappointed. But if you go simply to take in the vibe, the absurdity inherent to the music industry, the jubilance that one must feel every day being Rick Ross, it is amazing.

Ross took the stage around 8:30 PM by letting out a "RRRRUMPH!," his signature ad-lib that announces his presence on a track like a war drum, or the revving of a Bugatti engine. "I just wanna relax," he told the audience, before sitting down on a baroque black couch. Prior to playing the first track—"Free Enterprise," featuring John Legend—Ross announced that his album would be out "December 4... 12 AM tonight." I looked around the crowd, trying to figure out if everyone else had also just heard Rick Ross imply that he thought it was two weeks into the future. If everyone else was as perplexed as I was, they took care not to show it.

The best I could tell, Black Market follows the same template as his albums Mastermind and God Forgives, I Don't—which is to say it's the lush and unimaginative yacht-rap that Ross tends to gravitate toward when it comes time to release a proper album. It's not that Ross is bad in this mode—his verse on Kanye West's "Devil in a Red Dress" is perhaps the greatest example of luxury-rap excellence to date—it's just that Rick Ross is at his best when he's unpredictable, like when he's teaming up with Memphis legend Project Pat to release an ode to Miami's Elvis Presley Boulevard or remixing Adele's "Hello" for no discernible reason. The world does not necessarily need another hour of songs about fucking on helicopters and diamonds so shiny they might blind Ross's concubines, and yet, here we are.

Still, it's not like Ross is ever going to go anywhere. His voice, as rich and textured as velvet or a $75,000 bottle of cognac, is one of the best instruments in all of music, on par with Isaac Hayes's vocals in the pure pleasure it conveys. Every Rick Ross album is guaranteed to offer two or three tracks that sound as good as anything else in rap, and Black Market is no different: These tracks roll over you, bathing you in vibes, if not necessarily holding your attention the entire time. Ross was clearly feeling them, too—he spent the entirety of the tracks I stuck around for simply sitting on the couch, head bowed, swaying along with the music, as if in a trance. It is this, Ross's unshakeable belief in his own supremacy in the face of all that opposes him, that keeps him around.

Follow Drew on Twitter.

All photos courtesy of Rob Shirkey

Soon, at every gas station in North Vancouver, Canada, there will be a warning labels on the pumps. The labels will feature photos of animals in danger of extinction, shots of the ocean floor damaged over time, and other grisly images of the real effects of climate change on the natural world.

The labels are the work of Our Horizon, a Canadian non-profit organization campaigning to put climate change warnings on gas pump nozzles throughout North America, and potentially overseas as well. The organization was founded by Rob Shirkey, a Toronto-based attorney-turned-environmental activist, who wants to make it harder for people to ignore the realities of climate change.

The idea may be catching on: Earlier this month, North Vancouver passed a law mandating pump nozzle warning labels at every gas station in the city, and other Canadian cities are now considering similar legislation. In the United States, city councils in Seattle, San Francisco, and Santa Monica have also discussed implementing the idea.

Of course, it's not going to happen without a fight.

"Retailers would be extremely concerned about any program that assesses penalties related to usage, especially for something that is essentially an advocacy message," said Jeff Lenard, a vice president at the National Association of Convenience Stores, when I asked him about the warning labels. "Fuel dispensers are already covered with important labels concerning safety, payment instructions, and appropriate product selection. Adding an additional label would further clutter dispensers and diminish the visibility of these other critical messages that the consumer needs to see."

In the US, at least, Our Horizon's campaign will almost certainly face legal pushback. When the Food and Drug Administration tried to place graphic images on cigarette packs in 2011, federal courts ruled that the action violated the First Amendment. While the FDA can regulate tobacco, per the Tobacco Control Act of 2009, the courts decided the more graphic warning labels went beyond that purview, and aimed to incite an emotional response from consumers, rather than simply give factual information about smoking. Warnings about something as controversial as climate change have less of a chance at passing muster for compelled speech in the US, especially given the continued skepticism of many on the political right.

Still, Shirkey plans to continue his lobbying efforts—especially in Canada, where changes are already underway. In an interview, he told me about Our Horizon's plan, and why he thinks it will work.

VICE: How did you come up with the idea for the warning labels?
Rob Shirkey: I was sitting on there's a market for the product. Here we all are using it. We're so disconnected to it. We don't even see it. If could have put on special X-ray goggles and could have looked under every person that was sitting there, I would have seen fuel that came from inside the earth.

I realized if we want to drive things upstream, I think it's first important to help establish some of these downstream connections to make us feel connected to the problem. The idea—call them disclosure labels, climate change warning labels, what have you—it stems from that understanding of here we all are, connected to this.

What do you mean by "upstream"?
It's a problem with pipelines. It's a problem with oilfields. Offshore shipping. Offshore drilling. That's where a lot of advocacy and media attention is focused. I think in upstreaming the problem, we further distance ourselves and perpetuate the status quo. If all of us on the demand-side of the equation are just engaging in this habitual automatic behavior that's completely normalized. We're not saying "give me oil, give me oil, give me oil," but in effect, that's what's happening. And so if you have this situation of complete market complacency, it's very hard to drive change upstream.

On your website, you list a lot of support from academics and members of the scientific community. But what's the negative feedback been like?
We have gotten negative feedback, but for the most part it validates the concept. People sometimes write to me or post on social media that we don't need these labels. They say what we need is better public transit, what we need is high-speed rail infrastructure, more bike lanes, a carbon tax, we need the car industry to deliver more affordable electric vehicles. The thinking is that this idea disrupts this habitual automatic demand-side behavior in a way that challenges the status quo, makes us a little less comfortable, and stimulates broader demand for reform that will then create more action politically and incentivize businesses to meet that shift in demand.

The very fact that people already—just in response to the idea, never mind the fact that they're not on gas pumps yet—are taking the time to voice support for these things is evidence of the concept's effectiveness. So a lot of the arguments against it end up validating it.

And we do hear from climate deniers saying that this is just pushing propaganda and so on. That's fine. The objective here isn't to convince someone who is in denial. The objective is to nudge people who are already concerned about the idea, nudge them to this place where there is more social emphasis that then creates more space for reform. The deniers will then get dragged into the future, not by argument but more by a set of new norms. I think it will be effective even among the naysayers.

What about the people who just zone out at the pump? I work at a gas station in Pittsburgh, and people are either in a rush or too wrapped up in their own world to even read the "no cell phone" signs.
There will be a segment of the population that won't respond to it, but I tend to think the very attention around implementation will end up shining a light to that demand-side behavior. What I've noticed in communities that end up talking about it, it's already starting this downstream discussion. Even if there are some users who are zombies at the pump, I think a lot of the conversation around the issue will ensure that the idea has value.

On Motherboard: Climate Change Is Already Costing Us Billions of Dollars Every Year

Do you expect fights over what the warning labels look like?
The designs that we've developed are more mock-ups. We're not married to the picture of the caribou. We're not saying it must be this before and after picture of ocean acidification. The thinking is: What does climate change look like in your community or in your state? And let that guide you for your decision making in what the label is. The designs will look different from community to community. It's an ongoing conversation. It might very well be that it isn't an image. Maybe a graphic, almost like a cartoon-like graphic.

Are you concentrating on North America, or are you reaching out to other continents now?
The tobacco labels exist in countries all over the world. The pictorial ones are in 77 countries; there are text-only ones in other countries. The thinking is there is a global audience that has been cognitively primed for this idea. They're not perfectly analogous, but if you think about it, if I smoke a cigarette today, I'm mostly fine. Down the road, there are some serious consequences, so governments have taken that consequence and mandated its disclosure on the product's package. Similarly, we burn fossil fuels today and we're mostly OK, but we're feeling some impacts. The really big impacts are down the road. Wouldn't it be interesting if we could take some of those far away consequences and put them on the thing that dispenses fossil fuel?

So there are some analogies, and people all over the world get it. We've heard from citizens in Brazil, New Zealand; we did an interview on German radio. I think there are people who are ready for this, and we're asking for volunteers to go to government websites around the world, copy and paste email addresses of elected officials into this massive database, and we are going to send them emails and say here's this idea, here's why we think it's compelling. By creating more examples globally, I think it helps our efforts here.

Follow Gavin Jenkins on Twitter.

All photos by the author

In what was surely the cultural event of the season—or at least of the five minutes during which it left the parking lot last night—the original Taco Bell shack was moved from a now-vacant lot on Firestone Boulevard in Downey, CA to Taco Bell headquarters in nearby Irvine. When I arrived on the scene, California Highway Patrol SUVs and local news trucks clogged the no-parking zone in front of what has affectionately become known as Taco Bell "Numero Uno."

In the parking lot, reporters milled around drinking coffee and looking bored while curiosity seekers and Taco Bell diehards wolfed down the free burritos and crispy tacos Taco Bell dispensed from a food truck. For some reason, a drone buzzed overhead.

By the time I got there, "Numero Uno" was already mounted on a truck and ready to make the 45-mile journey to headquarters. It was partially covered by a banner emblazoned with the slogan #SaveTacoBell, a hashtag that emerged online as part of a social media campaign and/or corporate marketing ploy when the Downey Conservancy announced that the building was slated for demolition.

Opened by Taco Bell founder Glen Bell in 1962, the 20' x 20' shack was shuttered for business in '86 when an independent taqueria took over the building. Unsurprisingly, there's another, more modern Taco Bell—with a Pizza Hut inside—almost directly across the street.

Heavy metal fans should note that Numero Uno sat on a parched concrete slab on the Downey side of the Downey/South Gate town line, which is undoubtedly the most significant town line in American metal history: Downey is the birthplace of Metallica; South Gate is the birthplace of Slayer. One can imagine Metallica's James Hetfield or Slayer's Kerry King cramming their pieholes full of bean-and-cheese burritos in the early '80s before cruising home to write the memorable opening riffs of "Seek & Destroy" or "Die By The Sword" as their respective bedrooms filled up with noxious ass gas.

Around 9:45pm, 45 minutes before Numero Uno was scheduled to roll to Irvine, I spoke with Deb Bailey and Sue Kesler, two former Downey residents who stood across the street with a homemade sign reading, "Adios, Taco Bell. Thanks For The Memories."

VICE: Why are you here tonight?
Sue: We're bidding goodbye to the number one Taco Bell here in Downey. Deb and I were raised here in Downey. We now live in Burbank, and we came all the way down here to say adios. Hopefully it'll come back to Downey when the time is right.

Did you think there would be more people? There seem to be more police officers than civilians.
I thought there would be more people. I thought more Downey-ites would come out. It's the first one that Glen Bell founded. For many years it was Taco Bell and then it turned into another taco place. Then I guess they wanted the land, so they were gonna tear it down. But there was a huge outcry to save it because it's a landmark.
Deb: We used to ride our bicycles down here to get the Bell Beefer. That was the thing. And this was the only one for the longest time—the only place you could get a Bell Beefer at.

Do you think it's weird that they opened another Taco Bell across the street while this building is still here?
Sue: No, I think we're just going to watch as it leaves Downey and take some photos showing our support.

Read on Munchies: I Ate Lunch at the Original Taco Bell

At this point, I jaywalked across Firestone and started pounding free bean burritos. Taco Bell representatives said the trip from Downey to Irvine—usually about a 40 minute drive this time of night—will take four to five hours, so I needed all the energy I could get. I started chatting with a young Downey resident in a Taco Bell shirt named Jaime Cordova.

VICE: Why are you here tonight?
Jaime: I'm a Taco Bell enthusiast, as you can see by my sweater. So I had to come here to see Numero Uno leave.

Did you ever eat at Numero Uno as a kid, or was that before your time?
No, that was before my time. But I'll go to the one across the street every once in a while. There's another one about a mile and a half from here that I also go to sometimes.

Have you ever tried to explore the inside of Numero Uno?
No, I didn't. Because I don't partake in illegal activities. But my girlfriend actually works across the street, so every once in a while I'd ask her if she's heard anything about it. I follow Taco Bell on Twitter, so I heard they were gonna try and save it. A couple days ago, they announced they were gonna move it, so I had to be here.

Wait, does your girlfriend work at the Taco Bell across the street?
No, she doesn't.

So, listen: I snagged this piece of Numero Uno from that pile of rubble over there. I'm not sure if it's from the interior or what. Do you think I'll be able to get anything for it on eBay?
I don't know. But you can definitely say it's from the original location.

Are you gonna take a souvenir tonight?
I probably will. Why not?

Noisey wrote an open letter to Taco Bell.

By now, Numero Uno was ready to roll. As the truck driver fired up the engine, people started cheering and a dude with a microphone barked, "Hasta luego, Taco Bell!" over a hidden PA. He asked if he could get a "woop-woop." Many bystanders, their jowls encrusted with cheese and refried beans, obliged.

The SUVs guarding Numero Uno swooped across Firestone to block traffic as the truck carrying the historic monument to all things tacos and bells moved slowly out of the parking lot. A news helicopter hovered overhead. Reporters rushed back to their vans, causing a traffic jam. It took me a full ten minutes to eventually cross Firestone on foot and get back to my car.

The entourage guiding Numero Uno to its new home was way bigger than I'd anticipated. There were at least two cop cars in the lead, yellow lights flashing, guiding Numero Uno back to her corporate womb as she blocked both lanes of traffic. In the rear: more cop cars and a black SUV swerved endlessly across lanes to prevent the dozen or so vehicles' worth of fans and journalists (including me) from getting too close. There was also a pickup truck with a webcam mounted on a large pole so people could follow the trip from the comfort of their homes.

At many major intersections along the route from Downey to Irvine, people gathered on corners to take pictures of Numero Uno on their phones: Teenagers, retirees, mostly, plus a few guys with iPads who looked like they work at the bank. In Cerritos, a woman wearing a sweatsuit sprinted down the sidewalk while desperately snapping photos. In Buena Park, some backwards-cap bros had a video camera mounted in the bed of their pickup. In the city of Orange, a police cruiser came out of a side street to join us for a mile or two, only to peel off down another side street without warning. Somewhere in Tustin, a woman in a white Taurus cut me off while taking pictures with her phone.

When we arrived at Taco Bell HQ in Irvine, the fuzz were out in force again. Between the CHP and the Irvine cops, I counted at least eight police vehicles. The same drone from Downey (I think) buzzed incessantly overhead. In a testament to the speed with which Taco Bell somehow manages to produce their menu items, the trek took a half an hour less than announced. The drivers and passengers of the 15 or so civilian vehicles that made the trip swarmed the grassy knoll on Glen Bell Way to snap more photos. The general feeling was one of anticipation. Perhaps the Taco Bell overlords would ply us with free burritos again, or a Glen Bell hologram would appear to tell us the force is with us. Maybe the drone would start dropping little packets of hot sauce on us and one lucky winner will find a golden ticket for a lifetime supply of chalupas.

But then nothing happened.

The experience felt like the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade but with one 50-year old float that happened to be a former taco stand. Given the logistics of the trip and the somewhat fragile nature of the cargo, you could say it was like Klaus Kinski trying to haul the ship over the mountain in Werner Herzog's Fitzcarraldo if you really wanted to get emo about it. But you'd be wrong, because it was mainly a corporate self-celebration disguised as a spiritual journey based on Volcano Nachos and Gordita Supremes. Welcome home, Numero Uno.

Follow J. Bennett on Instagram.

In the age of Vimeo and Apple TV, film festivals can feel like a quaint throwback to a bygone era. Why haul ass to a sterile screening room somewhere to catch the same indie short you can see on your iPhone in bed? Sure, going to a cinema is an immersive experience, but most of us are lazy sods who will take convenience over quality any day of the week. If we can't see it in our pajamas, why see it at all?

To compete, a festival needs to be something more than just a schedule of screenings. It needs to be a happening, a be-in, a temporary autonomous zone—something where the context adds to the content.

Enter MIX Festival, New York City's annual queer experimental film festival extravaganza. Now in its 28th incarnation, MIX transformed a raw warehouse space into a 24/7 art and film hub from November 10 to 15, comprising thousands of square feet of installations (including a massive yarn-and-fabric work by Diego Montoya), screening spaces, artists, and activists. Every year, the event is spearheaded by the people it represents, meaning "queer" is standard and "experimental" is always to be expected.

This year's festival featured filmmakers from around the world like Lasse Långström (Sweden), Stephanie Winter (Germany), Nataly Lebouleux (UK), Tzuan Wu (Taiwan), Sonya Reynolds and Lauren Hortie (Canada), Soyoon Kim (South Korea), and Kemar Jewel and Andrew Paszkiewicz (US) on the opening night alone. Photographer Zak Krevitt documented the week-long event, highlighting the individuals that make MIX not just another festival, but a community-cum-spectacle.

All photographs by Zak Krevitt. Follow Hugh on Twitter.

Photo via Wikimedia Commons user Oregon Department of Transportation

More than 650,000 people are released from prison each year and many of those people will end up with a parole or probation office. Based on the state and jurisdiction, these are the court agents who investigate a convicted offender's personal and criminal history prior to sentencing. They also serve as the watchdogs of convicts who've been released from prison and are finishing the remainder of their sentence out in the public.

In 2013, it was estimated that almost 4 million people were on probation or parole. That means that approximately one out of every 51 adults in America is under some type of community supervision, including a staggering number of ex-offenders with a probation or parole officer who they must report to regularly via office visits, drug tests, home and work visits, as well as monthly reports.

To many ex-cons, it feels like every aspect of their life is supervised and controlled by their PO, and in a way, it is. If an offender violates any of the conditions of his or her early release from prison, a parole officer can send them back to jail at a moment's notice. Miss a meeting with your PO because your kid's violently sick? Too bad. This person is like the arbiter of your freedom. They can say, "Do not pass go. Do not collect $200."

Dealing with a PO can be a harrowing and unnerving process that can leave many ex-prisoners frazzled. And with recidivism rates at 67.8 percent within three years of release, parole officers are working overtime (though there's a case to be made that they're part of the problem). Some ex-cons view probation or parole officers as a necessary evil of getting back their freedom, while others claim they'd rather finish their full sentence than deal with a PO for an extended period of time. The latter sentiment is understandable in light of the horror stories that sometimes circulate in the media of POs abusing their power by doing awful things like rape their probationers. And now, with the rise of privatization within the probation services provided by more than 1,000 courts across the country, more and more criminal justice experts are describing the fees that these private probation companies collect from citizens as straight up extortion.

To learn about the power struggles an offender experiences with his or her PO, VICE got in touch with four former convicts: Jessyca, a 33-year-old white Pennsylvanian who did nine years on a ten-year federal sentence for use of a firearm in a crime of violence and was on probation for three years; Julio, a 28-year-old Mexican American from Kansas who did six years on a meth case and is currently on three years of supervised release; Mikhail, a 35-year-old African American from Philadelphia who was incarcerated for five years for distributing oxycontin and has been on probation for a year and half; and Alma, a 33-year-old Mexican American from Texas who previously worked as a correctional officer before serving 10 months in prison for lying to a federal agent. They told us about what it's like to have a complete stranger hold their ticket to freedom.

VICE: For someone unfamiliar, what's it like to have a PO who's checking in on you? How would you describe their job in relation to you?
Mikhail: It's like having a cop watching over you, or another prison guard to the second power. He wants to intimidate, so he wears his vest, his undercover attire, his gun, etc. It's nerve-wracking. He can drop in at any time and he does drop in at any time. He expects you to be where he wants you to be at all times. Trying to get your life back together with one of these POs on your back is stressful.

Jessyca: To be honest, I had a good relationship with the two main females probation officers that I had. They would come over my house and obviously look through it, but I didn't feel intimidated or like they were out to get me. One was very talkative and personable. She wanted me to come and speak at one of her classes . They weren't what I was expecting and they didn't make me feel like they were corrupt. They didn't look at me as if it were only a matter of time before I was back in prison.

What was it like when you first met your PO? How would describe your first impression of him or her?
Julio: I had already heard about her because she called the prison before I got out to inform me that my brother committed suicide. I thought that was pretty cool of her. I knew a couple of people in prison who said she was a bitch, that she was the worst one to have, that she would fuck me over, that the first time I fucked up she would send me back to prison. I already had that imprinted in my mind, but I'm my own person. I make up my own mind about people. At the same time, I knew that this probation officer, this person, would be hard on me and could dictate every aspect of my life if she wanted to.

Alma: I think for me its a little bit different just because of where I come from. My probation officer is a female and from the get go she told me she didn't like me because I represented what would give her or, more importantly, give women in law enforcement a bad name. She's been extremely strict with me from the beginning, She warned me that she'd make sure my first screw up was going to send me back to prison to finish my time. She's been really tough even though my sentence wasn't that long and my charge wasn't that sever. I think she has taken advantage above and beyond just because of who I was.

For more on ex-cons, watch our doc on young re-offenders in the UK:

What's the relationship like with a PO? Does it stay strictly professional, or do you get close?
Alma: My PO told me at the start, "I don't like you and you don't like me. You don't like coming to probation. I don't like seeing you. I don't like dealing with you." She still tells me I'm very cocky with her and she always tries to ask me more questions for more information. She just tries to pick at it and pick at it until I talk. Often, I walk out of there crying. Sometimes I think maybe I should have just done the time because dealing with her is so aggravating.

Julio: I was very aware that probation officers have a way of being fucked up and sneaky. They will show you what you want to see and tell you what you want to hear so you begin to trust them or think of them as a friend. Then they use what you share with them against you. I've actually had that happen to myself because I was on pretrial probation and my pretrial probation officer interviewed me. She asked me everything about my drug use and told me that it was strictly confidential. The next thing I know she shows up the last day of court and puts everything I told her on blast. They work for the government. They're government agents. They're goddamn cops. I have to remember that. I can't be her friend.

Often, I walk out of my PO's office crying. Sometimes I think maybe I should have just done the time because dealing with her is so aggravating.

What are the most frustrating aspects of having a PO?
Mikhail: You can't go certain places. You can't do certain things. And it has nothing to do with anything being against the law. There's a lot of red tape and a lot of handcuffs, so to speak. I got the impression that the more I try to do with my family the less permission I got. My family reunion is coming up—my first one since I've been out of jail. My PO told me he would give me permission to go "when we crossed that bridge." I let him know that I had to get an answer because it's out of state and my family is waiting to see if I can go. He didn't answer the question for months and months. When I asked why he wouldn't give me an answer, he made excuses: "Your monthly reports aren't up to par. I missed you on a house visit." This and that and that and this. I still don't have an answer. I'm doing everything that I can do right and he still restricts me.

If there were one thing you would change about being on probation and having to deal with a PO what would it be?
Jessyca: I think they should allow you to get time off from your PO or more opportunities if you're doing good, just like they offer in federal prison. Also, your PO has to check in with your job, and this can be frustrating to some people. I didn't tell everybody at work about my background and the POs were really persistent that I share that info. When they finally forced me to call my employers, it ended up costing me my job. I know technically we are supposed to share we have a criminal past, but I didn't. I wish they helped me talk about it in a way where it didn't become this stigma.

Alma: She is able to scare me because of the power she holds. My lawyer tells me to just deal with it and do everything that she tells me to do and I have. I don't know anybody in the world who likes to come to probation to report because it messes with your schedule and your daily life. If I date somebody, I have to check to see if they have a criminal background. If they have do, I'm not allowed to date him. Having a PO conflicts with everything that I do on a daily basis.

Mikhail: I'd like to not deal with them at all. I already did jail time. What is the probation for? You're either getting sentenced to jail or probation time, but to get one stacked on top of the other? That makes no sense to me. It's like getting another jail sentence.

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All photos by Ryan Shorosky

On a cold and sunny morning in October, 2013, I found myself sitting in the back of an empty Greyhound bus, alone, waving through the window to my parents. A look of nervousness appeared on my mother's face while my father had a confident nonchalance.

As their faces disappeared in the distance, I looked at my backpack sitting next to me and up at the bus driver's expressionless face through the rear-view mirror. I felt like I was a 12-year-old kid on his way to summer camp for the first time, even though I never had that experience. Instead, I was a 25-year-old with a degree in photography who decided that pursuing a life as a long-haul truck driver in the Midwest was the answer to my existential crisis. My interest in learning how to drive an 18-wheeler and living an anonymous and temporal life came from a father who had been driving trucks for nearly 25 years. I wanted to escape what I had known and uncover something new.

Over the next 12 months, I ended up visiting every state in the country at least twice, driving 500-600 miles a day, nearly seven days a week, getting to know almost every interstate from I-10 to I-90 and I-5 to I-95. I saw the country through all the freedoms and limitations that only a long-haul truck driver can: From eating an orange atop my truck in an empty rest area parking lot in some remote part of western Montana on a clear winter's night, underneath what felt like every single star in the universe, to being reminded of the existence of the driver ahead of me by stepping onto a damp shower floor at a truck stop. The life lived on the road is defined by the feeling of the unknown—something that is always out of reach.

I began photographing my life on the road after finishing four months of training and transitioning into the lifestyle of a long-haul truck driver, a mental and physical process aimed towards building enough experience to drive an 80,000-pound vehicle independently. During those first few months, I lived in a truck with another man, who became, in a way, my second father. He taught me how to look at things through the eyes of a truck driver. A mild-mannered, 55-year-old Kansas native who wore his overgrown mustache and faded trucker hat as emblems of what seemed like a conscious decision to be sitting behind the wheel of a big rig for 360 days a year.

During that time, the culture that I had not experienced before, nor ever expected to experience, began to fascinate me. I started focusing my attention on the expectations of masculinity and strength within truck driving, a field largely comprised of men. Most interactions with other male drivers are typified by the pronouncing of power through things like how many thousands of miles a driver had under his belt, or the number of months it'd been since they've last seen home.

In September 2015, I attended the US Diesel Truckin' Nationals, an event defined by big rig drag racing and over-the-top displays of chrome truck parts. It's a one-day truck-driving spectacle that reverberates the dynamics experienced on the road. The event attracts some 1,500 big rigs, mostly from around the East Coast, including classic cabovers from the 1980s and stocked up work trucks that have come straight from hauling their last job.

There was a conglomerate of both spectator and participant with booths and tables ranging from the sales of jackets and mugs to the latest and most efficient bottle spray for no-streak windows. Recruiters from nation-wide truck companies handed out flyers promoting better job opportunities. Everyone was positioned around grandstands that possessed an aroma of $8 cheesesteaks and a racetrack perfumed with the smell of burnt oil. And, maybe unsurprisingly, I was right back to having conversations about how many thousands of miles I've driven, back to watching a sunset through the mask of truck exhaust, and back to the all-too-familiar sense that something this elusive and misunderstood might not be meant to be defined.

See more of Ryan's work on his website here.

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While reporting on last week's horrific terror attacks in Paris, we realized with shock that the band playing at the Bataclan, the venue where 89 rock fans had their lives taken, was Eagles of Death Metal.

You never expect the people you know to be caught up in such things, but Eagles are a band we've interviewed many times before and Jesse Hughes, the lead singer, hosted a video series on VICE's music channel, Noisey.

While Jesse and the band thankfully survived, some of the people closest to them did not. They include the band's merchandise manager, Nick Alexander, as well as three colleagues from their record label, Thomas Ayad, Marie Mosser, and Manu Perez.

This week VICE founder Shane Smith sat down with Jesse and bandmate Joshua Homme to talk about those they lost, what happened that night, and to try to figure out what it is that they—and we—can do next.

The interview will premiere next week on VICE.com.

Our love goes out to all those affected by the recent terrorism and violence in Paris, Beirut, Nigeria, Mali, Syria, Iraq, and far too many other places to mention.

Find Matias on his website and blog.

Photo via Daniel Berehulak / Getty

Stoner moms are vibrant members of the cannabis community, and the legal weed industry is making sure to capitalize on women and the power of the pussy. But there's also an under-the-radar population of female cannabis consumers that isn't as openly talked about: pregnant women*.

Medical marijuana is becoming increasingly accepted in the US, with 23 states plus Washington, DC legalizing the drug for those in need of its remedial benefits. During pregnancy, women endure many of the health issues medical marijuana is often prescribed for, be it nausea via morning sickness, loss of appetite, anxiety, and more. But to many, smoking weed while expecting is akin to pre-natal child abuse, and some doctors (and lawmakers) may even consider pregnant marijuana use worthy of a call to child protection services.

But the facts about pot's effects on fetuses remain unclear. A report issued by the Colorado Department of Public Health & Environment earlier this year found that THC is indeed passed to children through the placenta and breast milk. Among the report's findings was "mixed" evidence of weed's association with low birth weight, and "moderate" evidence that pot during pregnancy is associated with infants suffering from attention problems, cognitive impairment, or low IQ.

This week, however, the American Medical Association agreed to push for regulations that require medical and recreational cannabis products to include the message "Warning: Marijuana use during pregnancy and breastfeeding poses potential harms." This is less severe than the warnings on tobacco or alcohol products, but the move is still disconcerting to some who think the message is premature.

Cannabis supporters, on the other hand, like to point out a 1994 study focused on newborns in Jamaica as proof that bud and babies aren't really a bad combination. Due to limited research and a lack of long-term studies on cannabis's effects on fetuses, though, we still don't know a whole lot on the subject.

Smoking weed while pregnant may be less damaging than alcohol, but it's arguably more of a taboo. Yet even with the stigma attached, certain soon-to-be mothers are still down to hit the vape. We spoke to four women (whose names have been changed) about why weed benefitted them during pregnancy, how their husbands encouraged smoking (while their doctors didn't), and if they ever worry if weed has affected their children's development.

MOTHER #1

VICE: What was the timeline of your pregnancy like?
Shauna: I got pregnant in April 2014 after losing a baby at about ten weeks in March 2014. I gave birth to a healthy baby girl in December of 2014. I used a midwife because I wanted a natural childbirth and I had been very unhappy with the OB's office I used for my first pregnancy.

Will you tell me about your experience using weed while expecting?
We lived in a state with no legalized medical or recreational cannabis use for the first four months of my pregnancy. During that time, I was vomiting so much that I had to go to the emergency room at least once every week (though sometimes as often as three times a week) for IV rehydration. My doctor prescribed me Zofran, but for most of my pregnancy my insurance company wouldn't cover it, and it cost about $11 a pill. Cannabis was about $20 a gram and it let me actually eat something. The only time I ate during those months was the few times I was able to find someone to buy cannabis for me. Four months into my pregnancy, we moved to Colorado and it became a much easier process—we were literally a five-minute drive away from a dispensary.

So you used cannabis for morning sickness? Did it help?
The medical term for what I suffered is "hyperemesis gravidarum," which is a fancy way to say I was throwing up so much that it was a danger to my health and the health of my baby. Marijuana did help. Immensely. I don't think I would have made it through without cannabis.

Did you seek advice from your OB or midwife about this? What did they say?
After we moved to Colorado, I did ask my midwife about it. She recommended using it, but as a midwife she couldn't actually give me a Red Card, so I just bought it from a recreational dispensary.

How did you consume the cannabis? Any strains work better than others for the morning sickness?
I used a vaporizer because the coughing from smoking made me throw up more and edibles would just get thrown up before they had time to work. I don't remember any of the strains that I used, but none were any more effective than the others, really.

For more on weed culture, watch our doc 'Stoned Moms':

MOTHER #2

VICE: What do you do for work, and do you live in a state where cannabis is legal?
Nora: I live in North Carolina. It's definitely illegal here, with most offenses being felonies, though possession of up to an ounce and a half is a misdemeanor. I'm married with a one-year-old daughter and we actually have another baby on the way that's due in May, 2016. I work in the office for the owner of a fast food franchise. I do paperwork and operational tasks.

What was your relationship with cannabis like before you got pregnant?
Before I ever really smoked pot I kind of looked down on people who did, and especially expecting mothers. I just thought, How could you do drugs while you're pregnant? Then I went to college and learned on my own that marijuana is not a "drug" in the conventional sense. I started smoking regularly and I actually became good friends with quite a few women who smoked while pregnant. It changed my opinion completely as I knew these women cared for their children and there seemed to be no lasting effects on the kids.

What was your usage like during your first pregnancy? Did you use it recreationally, or was it to help with pregnancy symptoms?
During most of my first pregnancy, my usage didn't change at all. I smoked every morning before work and a few times more throughout the day. I had morning sickness and I know that it's normal for women to lose weight from it, but I just really didn't like the idea of my baby going without nutrients, so I did smoke to help with my appetite and to make sure I wasn't throwing up everything I ate. My worst symptom was how emotional I was, though. At the start of my first pregnancy, I was managing a restaurant and most interactions with customers would reduce me to tears. It was awful, but smoking helped me just chill out and roll with the punches. I could actually work my job without being a sobbing mess.

Did you face any judgment from friends or your partner for using cannabis, or were they into it?
My husband encouraged me to continue smoking because we both personally believe that it's not harmful. Some of my friends would have had a negative opinion about it, so I just didn't tell them. My best friend and I were pregnant at the same time. She was a military wife and smoked the whole way up until the day she delivered. I did get a lot of judgment from my doctor's office, though. They told me flat out that if I tested positive while I was in the hospital, child protective services would get involved and I wouldn't be taking my baby home. I stopped smoking at around seven months. It was mostly OK, but my appetite definitely took a hit for a few weeks.

I understand the doctors' concern, but it's not alcohol. They don't test me for alcohol at every visit and that would actually do damage, so I think it's pretty hypocritical.

Were you drug tested at the hospital when you delivered your baby?
Yes, they did drug test me and, to my knowledge, only the eight and nine month tests came out negative. But they were so hellbent on it while I was in the hospital. They tried to make me pee when I first got there, but they didn't bother to check me first. I was eight centimeters dilated so it just wasn't happening. I had no complications whatsoever, but after my daughter was born and before they would let me get up out of bed to walk around, they gave me a catheter purely to do my urine screen. While they were doing the catheter my doctor asked: "Is this urine screen going to be negative?" I said "yes," and my doctor said "Are you sure?" It was pretty insulting.

Are you using cannabis during your current pregnancy?
This time around I've already quit because I just don't want to deal with the hassle. I do think it's ridiculous. My daughter was perfectly healthy and though doctors don't want to hear my anecdotal evidence of "well my kid turned out OK," I also think that when it comes to marijuana, I should have the power to make the decision on my own. I understand their concern, but it's not alcohol. They don't test me for alcohol at every visit and that would actually do damage, so I think it's also pretty hypocritical.

MOM #3

VICE: Walk me through the timeline of your pregnancy.
Danielle: We conceived around Christmas, 2014, though I found out five weeks later—yay puking! The baby was born in September, 2014.

Will you tell me about your experience using cannabis during pregnancy?
I was initially against the idea of it, mainly because of the stigma surrounding smoking while pregnant. However, after three weeks of keeping almost nothing down and craving a sandwich... I smoked for the first time. Just a couple hits. I sat back, ate half a sandwich, and it didn't come back up! I think I napped after. I smoked a few more times after that because I was still puking almost every 20 to 40 minutes during weeks four through 15 and had lost about 20 pounds. When I smoked, I could eat and nap. It helped keep food down and was better than Zofran. Honestly a life saver. By the third I was doing well enough to not need it.

Did you seek advice from your OB about this? What did they say?
I didn't, mainly because I didn't have that magical connection with her as many people do. She was just there to make sure the baby was good and prescribe me meds! She wasn't even there during the birth.

Did you face any stigma from friends or your partner for using cannabis, or were they supportive?
Most were very supportive. My husband is actually the one who encouraged me to smoke. A friend actually smoked with me once before we went and got pancakes. They all knew I wasn't doing it to get high. I was taking a few hits purely for the fact that I wanted to keep food down.

Do you think it affected your child at all?
I don't think it had any effect. My child is much like any other one-year-old. He loves to climb and bounce. He runs around chasing the animals. He sings and dances.

MOM #4

VICE: Tell me about yourself and your pregnancies.
Nicole: I'm in my early 30s and I have a nine-year-old boy and a seven-year-old girl with my ex and a three-year-old girl with my current husband. He and I have been together for six years and I'm a stay-at-home mom.

What was your relationship like with marijuana before you got pregnant?
Before I got pregnant with my first child, I was a daily smoker—multiple times per day.

How did your smoking change during your first pregnancy?
I actually quit as soon as I tested positive. But about a week later I got hit with morning sickness. Everything made me nauseous. I ate mostly crackers for those first few weeks. After I while, I started taking a few hits in the evening so I'd be hungry enough to eat dinner. I don't think I smoked after I began the second trimester. At one of my initial prenatal appointments, I told my doctors about occasionally smoking. They said a little weed wasn't great, but it was better than not eating.

Your child was born healthy, correct?
He was quite healthy. Still is. He is tall, and brilliant. I breastfed him for about 11 months before he weaned himself.

But you decided not to use marijuana during your second pregnancy, correct? Why was that?
Access. Plain and simple. My ex had the weed connections, not me. I left him three days after I found out I was pregnant with my second child. I went into a domestic violence shelter which was a high security place, and I didn't want to risk getting caught with weed and losing the roof over my and my son's head. Morning sickness was particularly bad with my second pregnancy. If I had had the opportunity to smoke a bowl I would have.

*VICE does not support any type of substance use while pregnant, and would not suggest smoking weed while expecting until there's more research on the potential harm available.

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I got word of last week's atrocities in the city where I live by way of a text from a friend. "Are you good?" a buddy wrote from California. "Hearing about bombing and shoot out in Paris."

I'd just put my two-year-old to bed, heated up a bowl of Thai soup, and was settling in to Y tu Mama Tambien on my computer. How could death be so close to such a scene? But the texts kept streaming in—"You OK?"—and the news kept rolling in on my browser: coordinated, ongoing attacks, spreading across the right bank— our bank—of Paris; hostages at the Bataclan; explosions just beyond the péripherique at the Stade de France; gunmen shooting up restaurants in the 10th arrondissement— my wife was having dinner at a restaurant in the 10th. I called her, got her voicemail. I still couldn't believe it.

As I kept trying her, bits of the previous night's conversation returned. Two friends in town from New York had come over to share what will always be for me one of the great and simple pleasures of life in Paris: a perfect roasted chicken from one of the neighborhood rotisseries, paired with a modest red wine. They had said we were lucky to live here and asked if we were scared in light of the Charlie Hebdo attacks in January. Yes, my wife and I admitted, it was scary to imagine such butchery, impossible to square it with the sheer beauty of the city. Just a block away, there are still armed guards posted around the clock at the entrance of the apartment of one of the Charlie Hebdo contributors—a constant reminder that this really is a matter of life and death. We talked abstractly, the four of us, about the hypothetical pain of losing a child or a spouse to such random barbarity. Would it be possible to recover? I said I didn't think it would be.

On VICE News: Meet One of the French Volunteers Fighting the Islamic State

Now here I was looking at all kinds of reports—some true, some false—of a moveable massacre on a scale not seen here since the Nazi invasion. I began to panic. Finally, my wife called me. She and her friend were fine; the restaurant had lowered the steal curtain, sealing them inside as they waited for calm. With the Métro closed and no chance of hailing a taxi, they would be stranded for several more hours.

In the morning, I went to get groceries. The word was to stay indoors, but the streets were already full. I was amazed that people were able to open their shops and serve their communities, that we could remember to buy our bread, and that while doing this, many of us could still manage to make eye contact and smile. On the way back, I stopped to see if the Turkish tailor where I'd dropped some clothes would be open. He was, and I needed an ATM to pay him. A young man, another customer, told me where I could find one and then offered to walk me out of the shop and all the way to it. I knew where it was, but didn't correct him—he seemed to want to do this. As we walked, he asked if I was all right and listened as I answered.

It is impossible not to be struck by the heart that people can muster.

Coming soon: The Eagles of Death Metal Speak Out About the Paris Attacks

Central Paris is an astonishingly small town. If you are Parisian, the chances are very high that you know someone directly or know someone who knows someone who knows just about anyone you can imagine, from President Hollande to DSK to Marion Cotillard. In our demographic—twenty-, thirty- and fortysomethings on the more socially diverse and less touristy right bank, young adults who lean left and tend to work in creative disciplines, it's a smaller town still. Facebook's Safety Check—originally designed for natural disasters, but impressively suited for something like this—appeared out of nowhere like a small miracle to help us quickly establish that we had not lost family or close friends.

But as people began to contact one another over the weekend, it also became clear that everyone knew people who were witnesses to, injured in, or casualties of, this madness. A girl I had seen only recently was at the Petit Cambodge, seated directly next to a man who was sprayed with gunfire (she is in counseling). A colleague at my wife's office lost four close friends at the Bataclan. A friend of a friend took a bullet in the leg; another knows a girl who was struck in the back. My brother-in-law knows a guy who managed to crawl out of the concert hall after concealing himself under a body. These strands of individual horrors have woven themselves into a blanket of sadness that covers the city.

The evening after the attack, an American friend invited people over to his apartment in the Marais, the fashionable, formerly Jewish quarter in the third arrondissement where, many now forget, Palestinian terrorists killed six at a restaurant called Chez Jo Goldenberg in 1982. In debating whether to go, I remembered Camus: "The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion."

The streets at dusk felt different—jumpier—than in the morning sun. Now, in the dark, people averted their gaze from one another, or watched each other's approach a little too solicitously. Those Parisians who out of deep thirst or stubborn instinct took their usual places at the café tables seemed visibly tense, and I couldn't blame them—how many killers were still on the loose? I walked with a brisk pace. The last time I'd felt this kind of acute, statistically irrational but irrefutable fear was in the wake of those sniper attacks that wracked DC for three weeks in 2002—days when to venture in the street was to feel your very back tingle with the anticipation of a bullet.

I have not heard one person, this time or the last, say anything resembling "woe is me."

At my friend's place there was bread, cheese, meat, wine, whiskey, and conversation among both French and American guests, all of whom felt the need to be together, talking and drinking. I was once again struck by what I can only describe as the French proclivity for a stylish stoicism. The men and women around evinced none of the fury or lust for war I remember so well from those days in the US after 9/11. The Europeans gathered seemed, above all, exhausted—even the ones who are younger than me—in a most un-American manner.

A recurring theme I have picked up on since Charlie Hebdo is that this is not a culture given to self-pity. I have not heard one person, this time or the last, say anything resembling "woe is me." One 25-year old graduate student told me that no fewer than ten of his friends had been held hostage in the Bataclan and that, miraculously, all had made it out. He'd stayed up waiting to hear from each of them and hardly got any sleep. I asked another Frenchman sitting beside me if he had hesitated, as I had, before venturing out tonight. He told me he is not in the least afraid—this is not Beirut or Baghdad. He believes in his society, and the way to demonstrate it is to get on with his life.

Not everyone felt that way. On my way home I turned onto the Rue Blondel, a street notorious for solicitation, where there would normally be faces peeking out of every other doorway. Tonight, there was only a heavyset, fiftyish woman with enormous breasts and an unflappable demeanor shooing away a prospective client trying to capitalize on the lack of traffic with an insultingly low offer. Around the corner, the Rue Saint-Denis—normally even more of a teeming flesh market—was completely desolate. Pope Francis has said that the attacks were part of a "piecemeal World War III," but the emptiness of the street, combined with the alarmingly unseasonable warmth and the lingering discomfort, made it feel like I was the survivor of some surreal Armageddon.

You can't help but imagine the violence of the Middle East seeping into the very fabric of France.

At the start of the week, the city—or at least the part of it we inhabit, within a two-kilometer radius of the assaults—seemed to palpably deflate. No one could function at work. Friends came over and burst into tears in the middle of conversation. Anxiety mixed with what is very clearly a form of collective depression holds all of us in its fist. The mood this time, in comparison to January, is not at all cantankerous—I have heard no one arguing—but it is far darker. Some people try to put on a brave face, at least on social media, with #JeSuisEnTerrasse. Event invites for "protest orgies" and other sybaritic pleasures circulate online—perhaps some are even serious. There is a deep desire for defiance, but there is a brittle vulnerability, too.#JeSuisXanax, one friend—a witness, I am told—cryptically posted. Many people lapse into a version of the following: Last time they targeted cartoonists and Jews, but this time they attacked our entire way of life. Virtually everyone catches themselves in this terrible construction.

On Wednesday morning, I woke to news of a raid in Saint-Denis, near the basilica that entombs the kings of France and near the soccer stadium. The police fired 5,000 rounds into a dilapidated building. The 26-year-old female cousin of Abdelhamid Abaaoud, the organizer of the attacks, was killed by a suicide bomb; the most grisly tabloid accounts described her head and spine flying out of a window and landing in the street.

Abaaoud is dead, too, though the story feels far from concluded. You can't help but imagine the violence of the Middle East seeping into the very fabric of France.

I would like to say these atrocities won't change me, but at the beginning of the week, I caught myself paying extra attention to the two Maghrebi men dressed as handymen who slipped through the door to my daughter's daycare as I was stepping out. I found myself scrutinizing them, trying to see inside their bags. One smiled and thanked me as I let him pass. I left with my heart in my throat, a double pang in my breast: guilty for profiling, horrified that I am so baldly incapable of protecting my child. And it was not lost on me that this suspicion and doubt I felt inside me is precisely what the terrorists want. Still, I wonder, how many more attacks would it take before I shut the door and refuse to let these men enter?

Thomas Chatterton Williams is an American writer living in Paris. He is the author of a memoir, Losing My Cool.

Photo via Flickr user James Vaughan

Paying for school is a perennial pain in the ass. Although students have thousands of scholarship options, from the niche to the general, the massive to the tiny, competition is fierce. But if you happen to be a fan of the Star Trek franchise—a "trekker" as many acolytes of the shows and films preferred to be called, not "trekkie"—your quest for cash might not be so hopeless. Starfleet International (SFI), founded in 1974 and arguably the world's largest trekker society, offers several yearly scholarships for fans, meaning all the hours you've clocked with Captain Kirk over the years could finally pay off.

Awarded every summer since 1990, SFI scholarships currently pay out $1,000 per winner. The organization offers five separate scholarships (in the arts; business, education, or language studies; engineering, medicine, or veterinarian medicine; or, as a catch-all-award, one for miscellaneous fields) for students enrolled in accredited higher education programs around the world. The applications are reviewed and voted upon by a committee of SFI members and short and general. They only ask one brief question about your involvement in the trekker community and make no requests that your scholarship be tied to Star Trek. Trekker community involvement, according to the fund's current manager and 20-plus-year trekker Tammy Wilcox, is mostly used as a tiebreaker between applicants. Their only stringent requirement is that applicants should have been members of SFI for at least a year before applying.

A thousand bucks may not seem like a lot of money when compared to a full-ride scholarship or the overall cost of a year at a private American college—$32,405 as of this academic year. For comparison, there are other, better-paying weird scholarships out there, such as a $1,500 stipend from the Kitsap Quilters awarded to Washington-based students working on fabric science or a $3,000 scholarship for students of "grocery sciences" offered by the Asparagus Club. There's even an almost unseemly $10,000 scholarship doled out by the Ayn Rand Institute to those who extol their love for The Fountainhead in an essay.

But the SFI's annual $5,000 endowment is fairly significant for a fan association, especially when you consider it in terms of the tens of thousands the group has allocated in awards over the past quarter century. It's also open to more fields of study than other niche scholarships. Not to mention, it dwarfs the payout of most other general-purpose funds available to the vast majority of students.

"I'm a graduate student and it's a lot harder to find funding than it is for an undergraduate," says Michael Denman, an environmental geographer at Texas A&M University and this year's SFI misc. field scholarship winner. "If you want to go to a conference, publish a paper, everything costs money, so most of us are constantly on the lookout for anything we can find. The SFI scholarship is actually a lot better than the majority of the scholarships my peers go out for. A lot of people were going for scholarships in the $500 range and they were writing a lot more."

For more on fandom, watch our doc on the mystical universe of Magic: The Gathering:

With just over 4,500 SFI members registered worldwide, the scholarships are not just incredibly general and broad; they're also pretty easy to get. Cappex.com, a site dedicated to connecting students with scholarships, gave the SFI award a "two People" rating, which means it doesn't "have as many applicants as most." It also can make a significant financial difference in a student's life. For Denman, it will allow him to present his thesis to the Association of American Geographers this summer in San Francisco. For Wilcox, who won an award a few years before she became involved with the scholarship's administration, it allowed her to buy books that she couldn't afford. And for Wilcox's daughter, who won an SFI award just over a decade ago, it paid for her entire first year of community college.

The 25-year survival of the scholarship is exceptional, especially when you consider that other broad Star Trek-inspired scholarships have gone belly-up. For about a decade, the Klingon Language Institute, an organization founded in 1992 and dedicated (half-cheekily, half-seriously) to building up the lexicon, speaking base, and translated library of the show's famous invented language, offered a $500 scholarship to any student in the field of linguistics. According to KLI Webmaster Chris Lipscomb (tlhlngan pong, or Klingon name: Qurgh), the scholarship was funded via membership fees and only awarded a few times. For the last decade, though, due to a lack of willpower, funding, and interest dedicated to maintaining the program, despite the existence of a fairly large and dedicated Klingon-speaking community, the KLI scholarship has lapsed out of existence.

Initially, the SFI scholarship was able to sustain itself thanks to the proactive involvement of the stars of the shows. In 1990, when the awards were first issued, Wilcox explains that many of them donated photographs or other memorabilia to be auctioned off to fund eponymous awards relevant to their personal interests. But eventually some of the stars died and others abandoned the project.

"Fandom has changed over the years," explains Wilcox. "Stars like that aren't as personally involved anymore. People are afraid that somebody from the fan club's going to come and shoot them or something like that.. So a lot of fell off."

Rather than let the award lapse, Wilcox's predecessors started calling for donations from members, hosting regular fundraising events, and offering SFI devotees the option of kicking in a few bucks with their dues. And somehow the sheer goodwill of the community, rather than the largess of a specialist association or some grand donor, has managed to sustain the fund for ages; they have yet to encounter a problem stocking it.

Engagement with the scholarships is sporadic at best. Some years the applications come in thick and heavy; other years they don't get applications in every category. This year, they received applicants in just three of five categories. But they don't take this as a signal that applicants feel weird about being associated with a trekker award. Denman for one couldn't wait to tell everyone he knew about his scholarship and claims that no one really cast any shade on him for pursuing or flaunting it.

"I got a few surprised looks for my cohort," he says. "My advisor got a little pink in the face and smiled real big when I told him why I needed a letter. But if you bring in $1,000—it looks good when people are bringing in resources to the department... Maybe had I not won, it would have been something they made fun of me for."

Nor does the organization take haphazard application numbers as a sign that there's low interest in the award. Their pool is small and, Wilcox points out, fandom is cyclical. Most of the original fans of the franchise are no longer in school and younger fans are just getting towards college age. So they expect turbulent numbers, but it means they can build up a nest egg for the future.

In fact, despite its sporadic engagement, the scholarships are actually the lifeblood of the SFI as an organization. A community-building club known more for trivia courses, conferences, and other esoterica, the organization actually depends on the scholarship as part of its justification for its not-for-profit status. It's also an extremely motivating program for those in the trekker community, even if they don't go out for it themselves. Although already bound together by their interests, the power of philanthropy can make an endeavor seem more worthwhile and less self-serving for givers and more beneficial and less tangential to life for receivers.

"You find yourself looking for hobbies as you get older," says Denman. "I was always a trekker. My parents raised me up on the movies. Finding a group for that was great, but then finding that they had scholarships was amazing."

The SFI community's commitment to this award, despite its lack of Star Trek specificity, speaks to the unique fandom it embodies. Often viewed as bizarre from the outside, trekkers comprise a community for those who need one. It's kind of sweet to know that if you share your love of targs and tribbles, your fellow Star Trek fanatics will have your back.

"People are always appreciative of ," says Wilcox. She pauses briefly then adds: "But everybody still wishes that they could do even more."

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