Screenshot of the game via Jamaica Ponder's blog

Read: A Catholic Priest Snorted Cocaine Surrounded by Nazi Memorabilia While on Camera

A group of New Jersey teenagers are in deep shit after playing a Nazi-inspired version of beer pong, NJ.com reports.

Earlier this week, some students from Princeton High School were caught posting Snapchat photos of the drinking game, which they dubbed either "Holocaust Pong" or "Alcoholocaust." The two teams allegedly took on the roles of Jews vs. Nazis, and arranged their cups into the shapes of swastikas and Jewish stars. Apparently, the team of Jews could use a rule called "Anne Frank," which involved hiding one of their cups from the opposing team.

Jamaica Ponder, a 17-year-old Princeton High student, took to her blog after photos surfaced on social media and condemned her fellow classmates, writing, "If this is the joke, if this is supposed to be funny—well then you'll have to excuse me because I simply cannot drink to that."

Princeton High School Superintendent Steve Cochrane told AP that the district will be discussing the incident with the students and their parents.

"I am deeply upset that some of our students chose to engage in a drinking game with clearly anti-Semitic overtones and to broadcast their behavior over social media," Cochrane said in a statement.

UPDATE 4/8/16: An earlier version of this story incorrectly stated that the teens made the game up. Turns out some other terrible people invented it a while ago.

Photo via Flickr

I think a lot about the people that help me: I wonder what my barista has studied, how much their rent is, whether or not their tips are enough to scrape by each month. I do the math while I wait for my coffee, and the math never adds up—especially not if they live alone in Vancouver. It can't. Got student loans? Need medication, therapy or self-care? Nope.

"You can't imagine how many houses there were here," says Ben Sisneros, looking up the Pecos River Valley to the Great Plains beyond. "There used to be bars, stores, schools. Right over there was La Salla Dancehall."

Now the dancehall is an empty patch of earth. The church we're outside in Colonias, New Mexico, is crumbling in the sun. The surrounding area is approaching ghost town status, close to being reclaimed by the desert, and Sisneros is one of its patriarchs.

Though he's pushing 80, Sisneros looks ten years younger, a fact made more startling when you consider his propensity for near-death experiences. He tells me he's been bitten by a brown recluse spider, hit by a heart attack, and struck by lightning—twice. He credits his own longevity, in part, to the healing powers of gasoline, which he claims can be used to treat everything from wasp bites to cuts to ear problems. "You pour it in your ear until it comes out your mouth. That fixed my hearing real quick," says Sisneros.

Ben Sisneros in Colonias

Colonias's decline could not be fixed so easily. Once a town of thousands, it's now reduced to seven families nestled within the ruins of numerous abandoned houses. There are places like this across eastern New Mexico: Puerta De Luna, Yeso, Vaughn, Capulin, Cuervo, Colmor—once burgeoning farming and railroad communities, now reduced to shadows of their former selves, or completely abandoned, after long-term economic trends or a change in railroad routes robbed them of their viability.

"They're haunting places," says Nick Trujillo, a New Mexico resident who that has made a hobby of exploring the lonesome ghost towns in the eastern part of his state. "There is something deeply personal about entering someone's house, even if they have been gone for decades."

Abandoned personal effects

Houses were often left in haste. The insides are reminiscent of a crime scene with items strewn haphazardly across the floor, as if ransacked long ago. In others you can find dishes left at tables, pans still on the stove, and cabinets left open as if the family was raptured mid-breakfast. The left artifacts—children's dolls, faux Christmas trees, postcards—reflect a kind of family time capsule as well as a reminder of rural decline.

"The abandonment of the plains had begun during the late 1800s—even as they were being settled" writes Steve Fitch in his book Gone: Photographs of Abandonment on the High Plains. "This abandonment was accelerated by the Great Depression... the exodus continues today."

Looking out a window in Colmor

The town of Yeso was particularly hard-hit by one such exodus. At its height, it had upward of 300 families, many of whom worked in railroad-related jobs. But as train travel declined, people left, until it was mostly abandoned by the 1950s. Today this ghost town is composed of a handful of ruins—in various states of decay—stretching north from the train tracks into the yellow abyss of the plains.

A house in Capulin

"It gets lonely out here," says Deb Dawson, standing outside the refurbished WPA schoolhouse where she lives, a half dozen small dogs circling around her feet. Dawson is one of Yeso's two remaining residents—she followed her husband here in the 80s, and when he left, she stayed. Now she adopts rescued animals from shelters, and is up to ten dogs and 20 or so cats. "I love animals," she says. "They are good company. They make you feel close to God."

A house in Cuervo

Another near ghost town is Puerto De Luna (PDL), 30 miles east of Colonias that began to be settled by non-natives beginning in the mid-19th century—first Hispanic people, then migrants of European descent.

"In later years you had all these young easterners showing up, the Pages, Gerhardts, and Greslachowskis," says Richard Chavez, a long-time resident. "They became part of the Mexican culture. That assimilation is typical of many communities in New Mexico."

Richard Chavez in Puerto De Luna

"There were a lot of people here then," says Horacio Lopez, whose mother was a Gerhardt. Then the railroad bypassed the town, and as Lopez says, "The town began dying... It has never fully recovered."

"It has been a steady decline since the early 1900s," adds Chavez, one of the town's many unofficial historians. "Some of us are coming back. Either to retire or to die... This is our home. There are so many important stories, so much history."

A sunset in Yeso

See more of Samuel Gilbert's work here and follow Gabriela Campos on Instagram.

All photos via 'the bomb'

The fear of nuclear annihilation in 2016 is perfectly rational. There are over 15,000 nuclear weapons scattered around the globe, many of which are controlled by people who might not have their heads screwed on quite right. Earlier this year, North Korea detonated a hydrogen bomb, its fourth nuclear test to date. And just a few days ago, as world leaders met in Washington, DC for a nuclear summit, the Hermit Kingdom fired off a long-range missile that might someday be capable of handing nuclear deliverance to a target thousands of miles away. Iran's nuclear program has plateaued following last year's accord, yet it is a fragile truce, and atomic aspirations rarely die so easily. Elsewhere, extremist groups like ISIS are working diligently to obtain radioactive material for a dirty bomb, a prospect that Obama described last week as "the most immediate and extreme threat to global security." Even in the US, the people tasked with guarding these civilization-erasers don't always inspire confidence. In March, 14 US service members in a unit responsible for maintaining a fleet of 150 Minuteman nuclear missiles were placed under investigation for allegedly doing cocaine and other drugs between shifts. And over the years there have been a number of nuclear mishaps that resulted in lost bombs and near-detonation.

And yet, when was the last time you really worried about "the bomb"? When was the last time you did something about it? Not so long ago, nuclear armament was a mainstream political issue. On June 12, 1982, over one million protesters assembled in Central Park to call for a halt to the nuclear arms race. But anti-nuclear zeal has dimmed somewhat in recent years. Last week, activists held a rally in Washington, DC during the nuclear summit to demand, as one attendee put it, "a world that is free of nuclear weapons." According to WUSA 9, the only channel that appears to have covered the event, there were about 100 protesters.

For the makers of the bomb, (Full disclosure: VICE is a supporting editorial partner of 'the bomb' and Tribeca Film Festival) an immersive film and music project that will premiere as the closing event of this year's Tribeca Film Festival, that's a problem. A collaboration between film directors Smriti Keshari and Kevin Ford, author Eric Schlosser, and the UK installation design company United Visual Artist Viewers, the film's goal is to remind us that nuclear weapons still exist, and that they still threaten the survival of our species.

In order to really drive the point home, the 50-minute film will be shown in 360 degrees displayed across nine 20-foot-tall screens in New York's grand Gotham Hall while the indie-rock band The Acid performs a live score turned up to 11. The idea is to fling viewers into an immersive experience of the perils of nuclear warfare.

"There's a lot of high level discussion of this issue, and there's almost no public discussion," explained Schlosser, whose book Command and Control: Nuclear Weapons, the Damascus Accident, and the Illusion of Safety, about the poor security at US nuclear weapons facilities, served as an inspiration for the project. "The threat remains, but it has been completely forgotten about."

"Because these weapons are buried underground, they're out of sight, they're out of consciousness, we don't think about them," director Smriti Keshari told VICE.

Drawing from over 200 hours of archival footage, the film works through a reverse chronology of nuclear arms development, from stiff North Korean military parades all the way back to cheerful scenes of shirtless sunburnt engineers wiring up the first ever nuclear weapon in New Mexico in July, 1945. The emphasis is on creating a visceral portrait of the issue, rather than providing a methodical analysis, say the film's creators. There is no narrator and no talking heads. Complex formulas and diagrams—taken from a collection of thousands of documents compiled by Schlosser for his book—flitter across the screen. Disembodied voices fade in and out. "We're trying to get people to wake up and trying to get people to feel," says Keshari.

Those who go to watch the bomb hoping for a ton of explosions won't be disappointed. The footage of blasts is, as you can imagine, absolutely top notch.Some of it is so spectacular, so trippy, so ridiculous, I was convinced that it was fake. But it's all real, and it's oddly enjoyable.

"At first, it's adrenalizing. It's like the Fourth of July. It's beautiful," said Keshari.

I only watched the film on a single screen, and I still found it thrilling. I can only imagine that when experienced in 360 degrees in a cavernous room, it's going to be a bit terrifying, too. With views of nuclear annihilation on all sides, viewers will quite literally have no way to escape it. The filmmakers, for their part, believe that bringing back some fear of total nuclear apocalypse might not be such a bad idea. "The reason that we feel fear is to help us survive," said Schlosser. "It's that healthy fear that gets you off your ass and makes you do something."

After the fireworks, the bomb pivots to the rather more grisly reality of nuclear war, with a silent chapter from Hiroshima and Nagasaki that includes powerful video portraits of badly burned victims of the bombing. "We show you the sobering and devastating reality of what it actually looks like," said Keshari. Another particularly dismaying sequence shows scenes from a series of US experiments in which unbearably cute dogs, monkeys, pigs, and doves are put into cages and pens within the blast radius of nuclear tests, like a kind of Noah's Ark of Horrors as part of a number of experiments to study the effect of radiation on flesh and blood.

The score, much of which was written specifically for the project, feels well matched to the subject matter. There is a techno-inflected edginess to some of the early tracks, a nod to man's infatuation with things that go boom. As the film progresses and the imagery piles on, the music becomes more somber and emotive. By the end, it's overwhelmingly affective, almost like a funeral chant for the planet. Even if you came for the fireworks, what will stick with you is a sense of numbing dread. "It won't be for those that are faint of the heart. It is intense," said Keshari. "It's going to be shocking. I think it's going to be really mesmerizing and at times really upsetting. But it's the truth, right?"

Over the course of our conversation, Keshari reminded me several times of one such truth that she finds particularly imperative. Those 15,000 nuclear weapons in the hands of tyrants and drug-addled Minutemen guards would be capable of destroying our planet nine times over, she explained. "Let us face without panic the reality of our times," declares one of the disembodied, unattributed voices in the film. Of course, many viewers' instincts will be to do the exact opposite.

And yet Schlosser and Keshari insist that the point of the bomb isn't just to make us freak out. Despite knowing better than most just how close human civilization is to a nuclear catastrophe, the filmmakers are surprisingly upbeat. "I'm not feeling apocalyptic. I'm not feeling depressed. I don't think we're all doomed," explained Schlosser, who says he has been studying nuclear security for eight years. "But it's essential that people know the threat is out there. And it's essential that they realize there are thousands of these machines hidden away underground, underwater, waiting to be used at a moment's notice, to kill you. That is important knowledge."

To be sure, the film tries to end things on a positive note. But that sweet spot between paralyzing fear and complacent optimism is a small one. Some viewers might be inspired to head out to find the nearest protest; others, I suspect, will return to their lives a little more fearful of an impending nuclear catastrophe. Some might just curl up in a ball and try to forget all about it. Either way, it's impossible to watch the bomb and not come away with some level of heightened awareness of the issue. And that, for the team behind the project, might just be enough. "These political systems and these weapons are surmountable," said Schlosser. "And the first step is to know that they're out there and how they pose a threat to us."

Welcome back to First-Person Shooter, a photo series that offers a brief vantage into the world of compelling and strange individuals. Each Friday, we give two disposable cameras to one person to document a night of his or her life.

It wasn't easy to reimburse Luka Marjanovic, a Bosnia-based newspaper deliveryman who documented his morning route using two disposable cameras we sent him. PayPal, Quickpay, Venmo, Square, and every other service refused complete transactions with Bosnia for various reasons, though that probably shouldn't have come as a surprise. Bosnia and Herzegovina is a complicated country with a rough history, still reverberating from the shock of a war and genocide that raged just over 20 years ago. Recent reports estimate that unemployment across the country today is over 40 percent.

Luka, however, likes his gig and is thankful to have the work, even despite his early call time. Every morning, seven days a week, he wakes up around 3 AM and heads to a hospital complex where a minivan drops off the morning papers. After picking up his share, he spends the next two to three hours delivering the news on bike throughout Sarajevo, Bosnia's capital city.

"It leaves me enough time to pursue other things," he told us after sending back his exposures. "I have been considering a 'career change' lately—it just seems there's nothing better to do around here right now, you know?"

Luka photographed his delivery route, the run-down buildings that are omnipresent in certain areas of the capital city, and a bunch of Bosnian dogs he saw on his morning. He also answered some questions about what he documented.

VICE: What was your day like?
Luka Marjanovic: I woke up at what was supposed to be 5:30 AM, but daylight savings kicked in on Sunday morning, so I lost an hour. I went to pick up the newspapers, then got a flat tire during the delivery, so I had to walk a little and use a trolleybus.

Did it matter that you lost an hour of time?
Not really. I can start as early as 3 AM, but my wake up times are getting worse the longer I'm on the job. Customers don't mind by now :)

Do you get paid by the publications themselves?
It used to be like that, but now we get paid by the number of subscribers per address, so we can carry less but still earn about the same. It's mostly senior citizens on my line, so it's mostly one paper per subscription.

I noticed some older people in the photos. What about them caught your attention?
This one old guy saw me taking photos, so he wanted to get his story across to me. A couple of streets around his house were no man's land during the war here, and the buildings in that area got completely destroyed by the artillery. His house happens to be next to one of those , and parts of it might collapse. He's in the danger zone. The community is doing nothing about it. Most of these buildings are from the 19th century and are under the state protection as cultural monuments.

Are the rundown houses typical throughout all of Bosnia? Or just in the area you deliver to?
Well, it's from the war that went on here in Bosnia. Lots of buildings have been, let's say 'fixed.' But some not so much, or not at all—especially some neighborhoods. There happens to be lots of those fixed buildings in the area I deliver in.

What do you mean by fixed?
General house renovation in Bosnia is financed mostly through donations. But most of that money ends up in the pockets of corrupt politicians and greedy businessman. If that it's an embarrassment.

What are the conditions of the country like generally right now?
Well, there is no political consensus between the national leaders because Bosnia and Herzegovina is a multinational state, and every year we only have about 27 percent of the funds needed for the country's total budget. The economy is that weak. Unemployed is at about 40 percent, but people still get by somehow.

Do you like delivering papers?
I would just like to point out that despite it being a paid job (not even a part-time job—it takes me a little over two hours and it pays better then most low-responsibility jobs here in Bosnia), it also does a great job of keeping me fit and making me get up early every morning. It leaves me enough time to pursue other things, too. So I've been sticking to it for a little while. I have been considering a 'career change' lately—it just seems there's nothing better to do around here right now, you know?

What did you do after you finished delivering?
Got a coffee and relaxed with the Wills Jeep in the History museum—that jeep was made in 1941.

What do you do in your free time?
I study Peace Studies at the town University. I also work as a manager at a landscape studio here in Sarajevo. You can follow me on Instagram.

Follow Julian on Instagram and visit his website for more of his photo work.

This article originally appeared on VICE UK

David Cameron's had quite the week. He was in Washington after sunning himself on holiday in Lanzarote when the biggest data leak in history linked his late father's name to a maze of tax-dodging overseas investments. By Friday, MPs were calling for his resignation.

So was journalist Abi Wilkinson, who put a callout on social media for a protest on the streets of London—calling bullshit on Cameron's decision to keep us in the dark about the thousands of shares he'd owned in his father's trust, which reportedly hasn't paid a penny in tax in Britain since it was founded in the 80s out of Panama and the Bahamas.

On Saturday, April 9 at about 11AM, thousands of people gathered outside the gates of 10 Downing Street to show that they'd had enough. They carried placards, megaphones, homemade signs, and wore the odd pig snout or full pig mask. Let's be honest, people weren't about to let that one slide so soon.

Some then marched over to the Conservative party spring forum—where earlier an audience inside the Grand Connaught Rooms had laughed when Cameron said it had "not been a great week"—and were met with a police cordon outside the venue. Jolyon Rubenstein, from BBC 3's The Revolution Will Be Televised, addressed the crowd back at Downing Street, while others banged drums and somehow set up a drum'n'bass rig.

We were there as the colorful protest, with its tropical tax-haven theme, wound through the city. Here are our photographer's shots from the day.

You can follow Sam on Instagram here.

Check out Ida's Tumblr, blog, and Instagram.

Dawson Raymond, under fire for posting videos of alleged child predators.

A 23-year-old Calgary man who was filmed by the ringleader of an expanding network of vigilante pedophile hunters (yes, that's a thing) is speaking out and claiming he was framed. The guy has filed a police report and says if he had the money, he'd sue.

Director Trey Edward Shults had quite the 2015. Early in the year he wrapped production on Krisha, his debut feature film, a deeply personal affair that grew out of a short film based not-so-loosely on his own family's experiences with addiction, loss, and the problems surrounding them. Even with the heavy subject matter, it connected with audiences at the SXSW Film Festival in March 2015, where it had its world premiered and swept the awards, winning both the Grand Jury and Audience prizes. After Austin, Krisha made its international bow at the Cannes Film Festival, and then distributor A24 (Ex Machina, Obvious Child) bought it and agreed to fund and distribute Shults's next feature, It Comes at Night. Flash-forward nearly a year, and the film is now out in theaters.

From Trey's own mouth, Krisha's seemingly-immediate success can be attributed to the team he assembled, comprised chiefly of his family and friends, which lends the micro-budget film an undeniable energy and intimacy. Through and through this is a home movie, set exclusively within the walls of his family's own home where his real-life aunt, Krisha Fairchild, plays the titular character, and Trey himself plays her estranged son. The film reflects two realities, one where Krisha, long absent from her family due to addiction, returns one hot and muggy Texas Thanksgiving hoping to reconcile her errors. The other reality is the chaos that is Krisha's state of mind. Adeptly navigating the maze of emotions that come with these struggles, Shults crafts a claustrophobic thriller set to go off when the turkey comes out of the oven.

While at Cannes last year, I sat down with Trey Shults, Krisha Fairchild, and Shults's real mother Robyn, who plays his character's aunt in Krisha to talk about their heartfelt, familial, and dizzying portrait of addiction.

VICE: How did the idea for Krisha come about?
Trey Edward Shults: I always wanted it to be a feature and the short film was supposed to be a feature, but I didn't know what I was doing. We shot the original thing in my mom's house with my family members in a week, but I was the sole producer and our budget was just $7,000. The crew was me, my director of photography, and a sound guy. The feature ended up being minimal, but that just wasn't the film I envisioned and the shoot didn't go well. It was the worst week of my life. I had a nervous breakdown, and then I took two years re-editing the footage and rethinking it. It turned into the short that way. Once we had a little bit of success from , that gave everyone some encouragement. Then, I rewrote the feature, got the troops together, and we shot in August.

The film's style is very unique, both the cinematography and the score working in unison––it feels kinetic. How did that style develop?
It's a combination of me, for the past five or six years, obsessing over movies, and auteurs, and studying them, and then trying to find my own way to do things. But for this particular movie, stylistically, everything serves Krisha's mental state; it's subjective to her experience. And everything was planned out to do that with the film grammar. For example, there's a visual progression that starts with wider lenses and longer takes, then we narrowed things in and changed aspect ratios, as well as used longer lenses. And then we did the same thing with the score. The score has an arc with her character, and each piece contains an element of the prior piece, but it shifts so it's starting off with a lot of percussion, and then strings come in, and by the end it's synths. That stuff was all planned.

Beyond writing what you know, what drew you to make such a personal first film about and starring your family?
We had a family reunion, and my cousin Nika had a relapse, and then a month or two later she had an overdose and passed away. Addiction runs strong in my family. So I guess Krisha's character is kind of a combination of different family members, and the story a combination of different things in our family. I don't know, I just always knew it had to be made with my mom and with Krisha, in my mom's house. I wouldn't have done it any other way. It just felt right, and that's what made the movie special.

Krisha, can you talk a little bit about the process of deciding to do this film? Especially such a personal film with an emotionally-intense role.
Krisha Fairchild: When you have someone in your family that you've loved their whole life, and you've watched them struggle with these things; it's like a roller coaster. You have to do hard things. And then when the person comes back, and they're clean, then there's this sense––I don't want to use the word guilt––that you can't escape, that you feel like, "Oh, God, we did these things to her to help her the last time, the tough love, and now she's OK." And, of course, "OK" is all relative with an addict.

So, she had been "OK" for five years, being a part of the family and everything, and then this one time, we all felt the off-the-rails-ness, but we knew that we couldn't save her. I think after she passed, we all felt a sense of––again, guilt is not a healthy word to use––a sense of What could I have done differently? So by doing this movie, for me, I wanted to create a character that is empathetic and people can find the place where they feel compassion and empathy for the addicts, or the people who are struggling with mental issues, or whatever, in their family. We wanted to tell people, if you can't save them, if you can't help them, just let them know you love them.

Robyn, can you talk about your experience having your son make a movie with you about your family?
Robyn: I have always been so supportive of his vision of wanting to be a filmmaker. I was a little anxious about whether I could do a role like that, because I'm not a trained actor, but I didn't really care... I just knew I would. So for me, yes, it was a lot about Nika, it was a lot about our history, but I gotta say, as a mom, it was more, I wanted to help him make what he saw.

Krisha: Well, I'm an actor, and I had that same anxiety!

Robyn: Yeah, and it's so personal, and yet––in a way—it being so personal made it easier.

Krisha: It did.

Robyn: The acting part I really was feeling, and the crying was real. In a way, that was easier than if I'd gone and done some part that I didn't have an attachment to. I mean, I already love , I already love , so that made it easier.

Krisha: And we had complete trust.

Robyn: We had complete trust and love.

Krisha: I mean, where else are you gonna get that? Most actors, they show up for a shoot and they've met the director once or twice. It's stressful. But Trey has been making movies that have made our family cry and laugh—

Robyn: ––All of our lives.

I just always knew the movie had to be made with my mom and with Krisha, in my mom's house. I wouldn't have done it any other way. — Trey Shults

You also made this movie in your real house in Texas. So you're essentially finishing a scene, wrapping for the day, and then just going to bed in your bed? Trey: Oh, yeah. At the end of the movie, when Krisha goes in the son's room, that's where I live, with my girlfriend and her three cats.

While you were making this film, you had a number of other actors coming into your house. How did you deal with separating your family from these other professionals?
Robyn: You don't.

Trey: We were all one big family.

Robyn: Yeah, we just clicked immediately. Everybody felt comfortable.

Trey: And pretty much everyone in the short was back for the feature, and then we had people on top of that, but everyone knew each other in one way or another.

Robyn: And because we were all living in one house, we were sharing showers.

Krisha: I got there two days early to wash all the sheets, and sanitize all the pillows for everybody who was going to stay there. Trey's girlfriend and her mother, who's a caterer, did all of the meals. It was completely family style. We ate every meal together, at a table, like a family.

So you're going against the grain of "You can't choose your family."
Trey: Yeah, exactly!

Krisha: We have a blood family and we have a soul family.

Are you guys planning on doing another thing together, about family stuff? Or just with your family, but not necessarily about your own life?
Trey: I don't know. I personally want to do something totally different next. I feel like this has been a special, kind of magical experience, and you can't duplicate that. I just want to do something totally different, with different people. But then, I mean, who knows on the movie after that?

Robyn: We're hoping, on his third or fourth movie, he might try to use us again.

Trey: There you go.

'Krisha' is now out in theaters. See here for more info on the movie.

Follow Jeffrey on Twitter.

Enjoy this grainy video of John Lawson preaching in South Africa

This article originally appeared on VICE UK

Every so often, a slightly chunky middle-aged white guy will walk into a prison in a developing country with a bible tucked under his arm. Unlike most roving missionaries, John Lawson's an ex-con. In 2007 he turned straight upon his release from prison and a year later founded his own non-denominational Christian ministry. He was one of several reformed gangsters we recently interviewed to find out why they'd left behind their lives of crime, but John's story stood out as one that warranted a bit more exploration.

He now spends his time preaching in some of the world's most dangerous prisons, including jails in places where Christianity doesn't tend to be the dominant major religion. John's job as a minister is unpaid, so he says he relies on fundraising and the Christian generosity of people in largely poor countries who cover some of his expenses and put him up while he's doing his preaching thing. We spoke to him to ask about his travels, what it's like stepping back into prison, and some of his dodgiest experiences so far.

VICE: Hi John, what are some of the countries where you've preached in prisons so far?
John Lawson: Scotland, Northern Ireland, Ireland, France, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Moldova, the Ukraine, Romania, French-Guiana, Guatemala, India, Nigeria, Zambia, Uganda, South Africa, New Zealand, Belgium, and Norway.

Did you ever feel threatened in any of them?
I never felt scared or threatened, even when I was allowed into a remand cell in Johannesburg Central A prison, where some of the prisoners were very violent guys. The guards almost had to push me inside, as the cell was packed from floor to ceiling. It looked very intimidating at first, but soon turned out to be a humbling and powerful experience.

There was a prison in Romania that was quite intimidating. It was notorious for housing some of the country's most violent men. Special guards escorted us into the middle of the prison, dressed all in black with full body armour, balaclavas, and guns. They had to protect their identity in case they were recognized, which could have put their families in danger on the outside. They pushed us inside a large classroom, locked the door, and quickly left before the prisoners entered.

That does sound a bit intimidating.
Yeah, it all went well though.

You also visited Pollsmoor Prison in South Africa, which was made notorious for those of us in the UK by Ross Kemp's documentary about its rampant gang and rape problem. What was that like?
Pollsmoor Prison is a hotspot for violence and intimidation. It's overwhelmed by the Numbers Gangs. They have a ranking system like the army, with privates, corporals, sergeants, captains, and generals. The only way to move up the ranks is to stab, kill, or rape people.

The day we arrived, I can remember a huge rat running over my foot as we stepped out from the darkness of the corridors into the bright sunlight of the exercise yard. We were surrounded on all sides by cell blocks, housing over 3,000 men. As we entered the yard, the prisoners who were locked in their cells pushed up against the windows, and welcomed us with cheering, shouting, and clapping. They made so much noise that it was like a football match.

As my friend Tony Anthony and I began to share the gospel message, the whole place fell into silence. As we prayed, it was surreal to hear these men repeat the prayer with their faces pressed against the bars, eyes closed, and hands extended out through the windows. It was a moment I'll never forget.

John in a South African prison AKA the sort of Tinder profile pic to possibly decide against. Photo by John Lawson

Did any prisons other than Pollsmoor stand out?
Yeah, I was shocked by the conditions of a prison in Zambia's Copperbelt region. TB was rife, HIV was through the roof, sexual assault was commonplace, and the overcrowding was horrendous. You had men sleeping like sardines, using each other's heads and feet as pillows.

The other shocking thing was that they locked up young boys aged 13 and up with the men. I cried as one young 14-year-old boy asked me to pray that the older men would stop raping him. He was an orphan serving four years for shoplifting food to eat.

That's grim. What about the rest of it?
I was pleasantly surprised by how clean a particular prison in Uganda was. There were also good arts, crafts, music, and education facilities there.

Why do you feel the need to speak in prisons across the world and not just stick to British ones?
I want to share the message that set me free to as many people as possible in the same way that if you found the cure for cancer, you'd want to share it with the world. I also operate by invitation, so if I get invited abroad, I go.

How would you respond to those who might draw parallels between what you do and the colonialist drive that spread Christianity to far-flung corners of the globe?
I would consider it an honor for anyone to critique me by comparing me to any missionary of the past. I would, of course, distance myself from any colonists that used the gun instead of the word.

Have you got any other visits planned in the immediate future?
I will be visiting more prisons in Romania, Canada, and Ukraine later in the year . I would like add that all this has only been possible through Jesus Christ, that I owe my life to God, and that it is him that gives me the strength to go out there into these prisons. I gave my life to God one day in my cell in Glenochil when I accepted that I was headed for hell, as I told you in the previous interview. I believed that Christ was crucified for my sins, that he died on the cross, and that God raised him from the dead after three days. In that moment, I turned away from my sins and placed my faith and trust in Jesus, which changed my life.

John has a memoir out now called 'If A Wicked Man.'

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This article originally appeared on VICE UK

I've watched a grown man in a blue-and-white checkered suit dive headfirst into a puddle of mud. I've been hugged and hi-fived, rained, spilled, and spat on. I've screamed "come on!" at a pack of galloping horses without knowing which one, exactly, I was rooting for. For better or worse, I've been to the Grand National. Also—hi, I'm American.

More than 10 million people tuned into Saturday's horse race on television and some 70,000 spent at least $37 on a ticket to watch it live in Liverpool. Heads of state, business moguls, bookies, bachelors, students, families, and "punters"—an English colloquialism with an apparently simple meaning I still haven't figured out—have turned up to the race each year, in ever-increasing numbers, since it was first held 177 years ago.

I tried—I mean, really—to understand what all the fuss is about. But at the end of my day at the races, I left knowing only this: the Grand National is the Grand National, and because it is the Grand National, it is the "greatest race on Earth."

"Ladies and gentleman," a man bellows over the loudspeakers, "welcome to Aintree, home of the 2016 Crabbie's Grand National: the world's greatest horse race." He makes a few announcements, about parking and who should enter the race where, in a thick Scouse accent. I hear (and largely fail to understand) this accent intermittently as I walk the length of Aintree's outer wall towards a tent called the Steeplechase Enclosure.

There's trash everywhere. Broken bottles of wine and crushed beer cans and half-empty plastic cups of God-knows-what – Crabbie's, probably—have spilled out of dozens of overfilled bins. Throngs of men in suits of varying quality walk arm-in-arm with women in heels, elegant dresses, and hats on their way inside.

In the Steeplechase Enclosure, the cheapest "seating" available, I find hundreds of people standing on a treacherously steep, soggy hill. 24 bookies have set up stands in front of the stretch of the racecourse where, in a few hours, 39 horses and jockeys will blaze past the crowd.

I've done a bit of research as to who I should bet on, but The Sun's 20-page guide to the Grand National was unintelligible. Ucello Conti "could be worth a fiddle." Gilgamboa is "boa constricted." Kruzhlinin has "no kruz control." The Druid's Nephew, however "could do it." I put $28 on Druid's to win—and, with 14:1 odds, pray for a big payout.

I mount the hill, and about halfway up, Harry Howard—a 21-year-old in pinstripes and tweed—stumbles toward me, lost. "I have no idea where my mates are," he says. "I've been lookin' for 'em for, like, ten minutes. Everyone looks the exact same."

Though a little drunk, Harry can't be faulted here—everyone is, in fact, pretty much wearing the same outfit. Except a group of barrel-chested dudes in what are easily the wildest suits I've ever laid my eyes on: offensive plaid, one depicting the world's largest game of Pac Man, another covered in sombrero-clad skulls. They're clearly peacocking, so I ask if the Grand National is a good place to pick up women.

Mike Cochran, the evident ringleader, directs the question to a man who only identifies himself as "Lou Pickles."

"Is this the place to pick up chicks?" Mike asks.

"Oh yeah, and drugs," Lou says. "You want some coke?"

§

It's a little before 3PM—horses have been racing for about two hours—when rain and hail start "pissing it down," as the English say. About 1,000 people crowd into the Steeplechase Enclosure's single tent, before the wet lets up.

Back outside, I approach a man in a suit and a horse-tie standing alone with binoculars around his neck. Michael Greene has been to every Grand National held this decade, and hasn't missed the race on TV once in the past 50 years. Why, I ask him—I've been asking this all day, and have heard the word "atmosphere" invoked each time—why is the Grand National such a big deal to you?

"The fascination of it," he says.

"What's fascinating about it?"

"Really fascinates me."

"But why is it fascinating?"

"Hmm," he says. "Fascinatin'."

This man has been watching the Grand National for more than 50 years, has traveled four hours and changed four trains to see the race in person, and—as far as I can tell—can't explain why.

The big race—the actual Grand National, in which the greatest horses and jockeys in the UK will sprint four miles and vault over 30 fences in an effort to take home about £550,000 —is minutes away, and I still haven't figured out why everybody seems to give such a big shit about it. Sure, there's money to be won—or, more likely, lost. But why are there 70,000 people here? Why aren't there 70,000 people at every other horse race in Britain?

The grand marshal waves his flag. The pack takes off, neck-and-neck all the way to the first "fence," a massive pile of what look like Christmas trees stacked as high as a horse's head. A few horses glide over gracefully. Two trip over the top of the fence and shoot their jockeys onto the ground. About five minutes in, after falling to the very back of the pack, Druid's Nephew drops out. Bummer.

With five fences to go and two more jockeys down, Rule The World sprints to the front of the pack on the final stretch, his jockey slamming the horse's rear end with a whip. Rule The World breaks away, and crosses the finish line. He wins the greatest horse race on Earth. The jockey, 19-year-old David Mullins, rips off his riding goggles, spits, and pats his horse affectionately on the neck. And now—even though there's one race still to go—the day is, essentially, over.

About an hour later, people pour out of Aintree onto the streets of Liverpool. I ask bookie Chris Waldron why what just happened sets the Grand National apart from thousands of other races across the globe.

"It's one of the best days of the year," he says.

"Why?" I ask. "Why do people bet so much? Why is it so great?"

He hesitates for a moment, and shrugs.

"It's just the Grand National, innit?"

Outside, a severely inebriated man in a suit and tie teeters, alone, in the middle of the street as the Aintree crowd stumbles drunkenly past him. If this man can't explain to me why the Grand National rules, I decide, I will put an end to my day-long quest to figure it out.

"The day is amazing," he says, slurring his words. "Really really amazing. Because of the alcohol. I've lost a lot of money, but eeeeeeeh. Hundreds."

"How much? £500?"

He doesn't speak.

"£600? £700? £800?"

"Mmmmmmmnearly five," he says. "But it's worth it."

"Why?" I ask. "Why is it worth it?"

"Because," he says, "because, because—because it's the Grand National."

Follow Drew and Theo on Twitter.

Donald Trump at a rally in Arizona. Photo via Flickr user Gage Skidmore

Everything you need to know about the world this morning, curated by VICE.

US News

CIA Will Not Waterboard for Trump
The CIA will refuse to use "enhanced interrogation" tactics like waterboarding, even if ordered by a future president, according to director John Brennan. "I will not agree to carry out some of these tactics I've heard bandied about because this institution needs to endure," he said, referring to Donald Trump's enthusiasm for waterboarding. —NBC News

Emergency on NASA Spacecraft
NASA's Kepler spacecraft has kicked into emergency mode more than 75 million miles away in deep space. The unmanned craft—launched in 2009 to seek out habitable Earth-like planets—is now operating minimally while engineers try to figure out what has gone wrong. —USA Today

Navy Officer Accused of Spying for China
A US naval officer born in Taiwan has been accused of passing military secrets to China, according to American officials. Lieutenant Commander Edward Lin now faces charges of espionage, communicating defense information and hiring prostitutes at a preliminary hearing on Friday. —The Washington Post

Clinton Holds Poll Leads in Key States
The latest polls show Hillary Clinton enjoying solid leads over Bernie Sanders in upcoming Democratic primaries. Clinton polls at 53 percent in New York, ahead of Sanders on 37 percent, while in Pennsylvania she gets 49 percent compared with 38 percent for Sanders. —CBS News

International News

Ceasefire Begins in Yemen
After a year of fighting, the Yemeni army and rival Houthi rebels observed a ceasefire overnight Sunday. Beginning at midnight, both sides have formed committees to observe the cessation of hostilities and facilitate the delivery of humanitarian aid. Peace talks are set to begin on April 18 in Kuwait. —Al Jazeera

Suicide Bombers Carry Out Explosions in Russia
Three suicide bombers have carried out explosions in a village in Russia's Stavropol region near the North Caucasus, according to police. The bombers were killed by the blasts but no-one else was hurt, according to RIA news agency. —Reuters

Five Men Detained Over Indian Temple Fire
Police in India detained five people in connection with an explosion and fire at a Hindu temple in Kerala that killed more than 100 people. The five men who work at the Puttingal temple are being questioned about an unauthorized fireworks display that led to the explosion Saturday night. —BBC News

John Kerry Visits Hiroshima Memorial
US Secretary of State John Kerry has visited the Hiroshima memorial in Japan, the most senior American official to travel to the site of the world's first atomic bombing. Kerry was joined by foreign ministers from the G7 group of nations holding talks in the city. —AP

Bruce Springsteen. Photo via Flickr user Shayne Kaye

Everything Else

Man Charged With Will Smith's Murder
Cardell Hayes, 29, has been charged has been charged with murdering former NFL star Will Smith in New Orleans on Saturday night. Smith was shot dead in his car at a traffic intersection. —CNN

Congressman Calls Springsteen a Bully
North Carolina Republican Mark Walker called Bruce Springsteen a "bully" for cancelling Sunday's show in Greensboro because of the state's new anti-LGBT legislation. Walker said he would go see Justin Bieber instead. —The Hollywood Reporter

Dubai to Build Tallest Tower
Developers in Dubai are building a $1 billion skyscraper to surpass the current tallest building in the world, the Burj Khalifa. Emaar Properties says the new structure will be "a notch" taller. —The Guardian

Islamic State Influence Spreads to Bosnia
As many as 300 Bosnians have pledged allegiance to the Islamic State, according to new reports. Some villages in the north of the country are thought to be under Sharia law and openly fly the group's flag. —VICE News

Done with reading today? Watch our video 'On the Front Lines with International Volunteers Fighting ISIS in Syria'

Hello Again,

I am Nicholas Gazin and you are reading my weekly column in which I review and discuss comics, zines, art books, toys and anything that gets mailed to my house. Here are reviews of five things. I include links for you to buy the things from their publishers but always, always, always see if your local comic or book store has it in stock first.

#1: If the Raindrops United by Judah Friedlander, published by Hachette

Famous comedian and actor Judah Friedlander is now also famous cartoonist Judah Friedlander. You know him from his many things he has done and will continue to do. He made a book of single-panel gag comics and now you can read and look at them. Check out these pages. If you like them then you'll like the book. If you don't then you won't. I'm a real freewheeling, no-wrong-answers type of comic critic. Also, I asked Judah about his book and yo can read that below.

VICE: How long have you been doing humorous drawings for?
Judah Friedlander: I used to make my own cartoons—some comedy and some political—when I was a kid—around ten years old. I started doing animation in the ninth grade and got pretty into that for a few years. I did a little animation in my early 20s too. Then I kind of stopped drawing for years, but would pick it up again here and there. I started doing some drawings and paintings again in 2006. And the past couple years, I started drawing again as a way to combat anxiety.

I draw to relieve anxiety too. If I'm talking to someone, drawing helps me focus as well. Just the act of putting marks on paper feels calming for me.
Yes—there's something about how a pen feels on paper that relaxes me. A lot of the drawings in my book were done with a stylus pen on my phone, and some with a stylus pen on a tablet—and I even enjoy the feeling of the digital pen and screen.

Which cartoonists do you like? Are there any in particular who you feel informed your work? I see similarities to Shel Silverstein and David Shrigley.
As a kid, I definitely liked Shel Silverstein (I still like his work now too). I think the biggest influence were the cartoon books of B. Kliban which came out in the 70s. My parents had some of his books; I must've been seven or either when I first started looking at them—and I just thought they were hilarious, wild and great. Looking back, I'm glad my parents didn't censor those books from me. I like Shrigley's work, but didn't become aware of him until recently when my book was mostly finished. In the 80s I liked The Far Side, and a lot of political cartoonists—as a kid I didn't always understand the political cartoons—but I loved the drawings, and my dad would explain to me the meanings of the cartoons. I'm probably going to forget to mention other cartoonists, but I also liked John Callahan. And recently I've gotten to know Lalo Alcaraz, because he writes on Bordertown (in which I voice one of the characters), and I like his work too.

At what point did you start showing people your work?
Several years ago, when i was just doing a few drawings here and there—not that often, I might've taken a pic of the drawing and texted it to a few people. But I would say a couple years ago, I started posting some of my cartoons and drawings on Instagram—and that was a cool experience to get people's reactions to the drawings.

Check out Judah Friedlander's website, Twitter, and Instagram and go see him headline on April 12 at the Village Underground in NYC.

Buy If the Raindrops United.

#2: The Complete Peanuts 1999–2000 by Charles Schulz, published by Fantagraphics

This is the second to last book in Fantagraphics' Complete Peanuts series which began in 2004 and collects the newspaper comic strip that ran from 1950 to 2000. Each comic was drawn by Charles Schulz and he never took a sabbatical.

What's most amazing about this book is how funny a lot of the comics are—even after 50 years, Schulz's well of ideas never dried up. You're having fun, laughing, and sympathizing with the characters, and then there's one final Valentine's Day where Charlie Brown's mailbox is empty of valentines like every year. And then the next comic is mostly a typed open letter to the readers from Charles Schulz saying goodbye and then the note that he died a few hours before his final comic strip was printed. Somehow in the course of reading the book I forgot that it had happened the way it did, and his death and the abrupt end of his comics upset me a lot. I found myself mourning Charles Schulz's death a second and more meaningful time.

The second half of the book collects all of his Li'l Folks cartoons, which he drew from 1947 to 1950 and preceded Peanuts. Over the course of the series, we see the little boys and girls and dogs transform from somewhat generic characters into Charlie Brown, Snoopy, and the other round-headed little child-adults who became the Peanuts gang.

The 50 year run of Peanuts comics is one of the greatest creative works humankind has produced. It's far and away the greatest newspaper comic ever. These books were beautifully designed and produced by Seth and Fantagraphics. I interviewed Charles Schulz's son Monte for this column a few years back and he mentioned that this series is his favorite thing ever produced based on his father's work. Let the Peanuts gang live forever in your home with this heartbreakingly perfect series of books, the last as essential as the first.

Here are a few more of my favorite comic strips from this book:

That last one was the final comic about Lucy pulling away the football. Schulz didn't resolve a lot of the repeating ideas of his comics but this one sort of had a conclusion. Wherever you are Charles Schulz, I love you.

Buy The Complete Peanuts 1999 - 2000.

#3: Yes Yes Yes Alternative Press '66–'77 From Provo To Punk, published by a + m bookstore / VIAINDUSTRIAE

At this past year's NY Art Book Fair there were some guys selling old beautiful sex newspapers. Several of the ones they were selling are in this massive phonebook-size volume collecting graphically amazing pages from old alternative press newsprint publications. There's Black Panther stuff, sex rags, punk stuff, political magazines. The color pages are mind-melting. The black-and-white stuff is equally great. The dust jacket's texture is beautiful and the spine lists all the publications that the book pulls from in alphabetical order. I love this thing so much.

Check out some of these beautiful spreads.

Check out this one.

And this one.

And this one.

And this one.

And this one.

Buy Yes Yes Yes.

#4: Crickets no. 5 by Sammy Harkham

Sammy Harkham is a great comics storyteller. Some cartoonists are primarily artists and some are mainly writers, but with Sammy Harkham you have no complaints. The cover shows a woman on a plane looking out the window at the Los Angeles skyline at night. The brown curtain next to her lets us know this story is set some time in the past.

The inside front and back covers reprint the Blobby Boys comic that originally appeared on this site.

The main meat of the comic is about a Jewish couple going to a large family gathering. The family gathering is made up of the husband's relatives who all hate his wife for not being Jewish enough in their eyes. The couple fight and play with their baby. The husband shoots low-budget movies. They have asleep sex. The wife is clearly unhappy and surprises her husband on Thanksgiving by taking the baby and going to visit her family for a few weeks. The cover has a neat relationship with the story since we never see the wife on the plane within the comic, only on the cover. It was a smart and neat choice to use the cover to relay story information instead of a summarization of the contents of the comic. You look at the cover, you read the main comic, and then you look at the cover again. Maybe you read the Blobby Boys comic before or after reading the main story.

Buy Crickets no 5.

#5: Last Slice by Stan Zenkov

My friend Stan made this zine. I don't know how you can buy it online.

That's it for this week. See you next week! Look at my Instagram!

Police looking for attackers in Mumbai in 2008, via

In November 2008, 10 members of Lashkar-e-Taiba, an Islamic militant group, carried out a series of 12 shooting and bombing attacks, killing 164 people and wounding another 300. For almost 60 hours, in the aftermath of the destruction they had wreaked, they were able to hold off hundreds of India's best-trained special forces, before they were eventually killed or captured.

The Lashkar-e-Taiba members had received months of commando-style training. They were an elite fighting unit. But they were also high. Evidence from the scene, as well as later blood tests, found that at least some of the men had been using cocaine, LSD and steroids. It now seems clear that it was the use of drugs that allowed the group to repel a force many times their size for over two days with no food or sleep, even when some of them had life-threatening injuries.

In his new book Shooting Up, the Polish historian Lukasz Kamienski demonstrates that since warfare began, men and women have used drugs to enhance their military capabilities. Kamienski says the Mumbai attackers, whose battle fever was topped up by a steady supply of psychotic substances, are just the latest in a long line of high combatants: from Viking berserkers driven into a trance-like frenzy by mushrooms to Inca warriors sustained by coca leaves to American Civil War soldiers hooked on morphine and the speed-fuelled Wehrmacht.

In the 1980s, the military historian John Keegan responded to the question, "Why do soldiers fight?" with three answers: "inducement, coercion, narcosis." While Keegan later decided this theory was too simple, Kamienski argues that, on top of the inducement provided by dehumanizing training regimes and the coercion that sees nations force people to fight in their name, "narcosis" can be read literally: in order to kill other people, human beings need to put themselves in a different frame of mind. Drugs can make soldiers do things they otherwise never would: leave their humanity behind and becoming the fighting apparatus of an army.

"The anthropological evidence shows us that we are not warlike people," Kamienski tells me over the phone from his home in Poland. "It is very difficult to cross the line where we become able to kill fellow humans. The question is about turning a civilian into a soldier who can kill without that having too much of a psychological impact."

Shooting Up takes a chronological approach, taking us from pre-modern times to the present day. At the beginning of the book, we hear about Greek hoplites hopped up on wine, Homeric heroes swimming away from their sorrows by drinking opium and mushroom-eating Siberian tribes. But all that pales compared to the most famous mushroom-warriors, the Vikings.

Clad in bear pelt, Viking warriors were feared like few other forces in the history of war. "God save us from the Fury of the Northmen" ran the prayers of anyone who lived within striking distance. At the time it was thought that Viking warriors were seized by a fury given to them by Odin, a fury that would double their strength, remove their humanity and render them immune to pain. They bit their shields, howled like wolves and cut down anything that crossed their path. But Kamienski shows how the Vikings achieved this state, in part, by drinking Amanita mushrooms. He quotes the toxicologist Erich Hesse, who writes, "the intoxicated person imagines himself to have been changed into some animal, and the hallucination is completed by the sensation of the growing of feathers and hair."

I can't say that taking them has ever put me in the mood to lay waste to a Norwegian village, but taken in the right quantity and in the right way, mushrooms alter reality to the point where doing unnatural things (raping and pillaging) seems natural. This thinking can be seen in the combination of drugs taken by the Mumbai attackers too. Coke provided them with the energy, steroids gave them the strength and acid altered their sense of reality to the point where, like the berserkers, they could fight in frenzy.

For Kamienski, a particularly striking example of the way drugs were used to enhance the performance of soldiers comes from the Second World War. "I was completely shocked by the fact that the Wehrmacht was so heavily pumped on methamphetamine during the invasion of Poland," he tells me. "It's something you never read in history books."

German soldiers in WWII, via

In public, the Nazi regime took a very hard line against the use of drugs recreationally, but privately, many of the Nazi elite had intimate experience with getting high. Hitler spent much of the war medicated. Goring and Goebbels both loved morphine. When the former tried to offset the effects of the morphine by taking cocaine, he became addicted to that, too.

And they also supplied drugs to German soldiers. During the 1939 invasion of Poland, Pervitin, a version of crystal meth designed to combat stress, stave off fatigue and manufacture euphoria, became the German "assault pill." With Poland conquered, the German army ordered 35 million tablets of Pervitin for the spring 1940 offensive of France.

There was little thought for the welfare of the men. The drug was used to take the Nazi war machine into overdrive. "The Nazis just wanted to make their soldiers better fighters: to fight for longer hours, to be less exhausted, to fuel the blitzkrieg even more", says Kamienski. Many German soldiers became addicted to the drug. When official supplies ran out, they would get it sent from Germany, where it was freely available. "Today I'm writing you mainly to ask for some Pervitin," wrote Hein, a 22-year old soldier stationed in Poland, to his family at home in Cologne.

The Germans weren't the only fighting force running on speed, though. Everyone was at it: the British, Americans, Japanese and even the Finns, who were , at this point, the world's largest heroin consumers. "My conclusion would be that the Second World War was fought heavily on speed or meth," Kamienski tells me.

In the 20th century, condemnation of drugs and a worry about these kinds of social effects became more pronounced and resulted in a series of prohibitive laws. Kamienski calls Vietnam "the first pharmacological war" because of the sheer quantity of drugs taken - many historians have suggested that 10-15% of American soldiers were addicted to heroin.

In the end, it is only a surprise that a wide-ranging study like Shooting Up has not been produced before. But then again, the use of drugs was an accepted part of culture until relatively recently, and so the use of them in war was hardly surprising. Today, western armies take a more hardline stance against drug use, although many American soldiers returning from Iraq and Afghanistan talked about the prevalence of "go pills" like Adderall and energy drinks, as well a wide range of protein powders and supplements to help bulk up. But through the long lens of history, that kind of small-time substance use would make a Viking chuckle.

Shooting Up, by Lukasz Kamienski, isout now.

More on VICE:

Why Do the Irish Take More Weird New Drugs Than Anyone Else in Europe?

How I Sentenced Someone To Life In Prison For Selling Drugs

Laugh a Minute: We Spent a Night with Sheffield's Busiest NOS Salesman

Goodbye, beardo. Photo by Jason Franson/The Canadian Press

Thomas Mulcair (or is it Tom?) has been booted as leader of the federal NDP on the third and final day of the party's convention in Edmonton. A stunning 52 per cent of delegates voted for a leadership review, which will result in a race for a new leader.

Mulcair took to the stage about 10 minutes after the results were announced to chants of "NDP." Delivering his concession speech with devastated calm, Mulcair spoke of "hope" and "optimism" for the party. Delegates seemed considerably more attentive than they had been during his previous speech, clapping for a solid minute afterward, with many giving him a standing ovation. He stared at the back of the wall, sporting a forced smile, looking close to tears. The convention adjourned immediately afterwards. He'll remain caucus leader until a replacement is chosen.

In addition, a proposal to debate the Leap Manifesto—the condensed and more enjoyable version of Naomi Klein's This Changes Everything that Mulcair implied he'd support and consequently got in major shit from Alberta Premier Rachel Notley and high-ranking members of her cabinet—was approved by delegates.

All up, it was the worst possible outcome for Mulcair and his supporters, both outright rejecting him as leader and the mushy centrism that helped lose his party in the last election.

Mulcair knew his job was on the line. His performance during the October election was disastrous, with the party's attempts to neuter his anger and reconfigure him as a guy you wouldn't be fucking terrified to be in the same room with ended up backfiring and resulting in him coming across as deeply insincere.

It was widely expected Mulcair wouldn't attain his personal cutoff of 70 per cent of support from delegates: the heavyweight organized labour duo of Canadian Labour Congress and Public Service Alliance of Canada had already rejected him as leader in the lead up to the vote, while half of the party's youth caucus voted against him.

So Mulcair turned into a sponge, a quintessential Edmund Burke-styled delegate, stating he'll adopt any policies that NDP members want him to.

The Leap Manifesto was by far the most illustrious of the policies debated and voted on in the three-day convention (Point no. 3 of the document petitions for "no new infrastructure projects that lock us into increased extraction decades into the future" AKA oil and gas pipelines AKA fuck Alberta and its economic future).

But there were plenty of other ideas batted around: after all, the debates over resolutions on Saturdays clocked in around the same length as the extended edition of Return of the King.

Some of the ideas suggested in the 175 pages of proposals were pretty fucking cool: promoting worker-owned co-ops as alternatives to Uber, endorsing Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions (BDS) against Israel, somehow converting the tropical nation of Turks and Caicos Islands into the 11th province of Canada, reinstating the phrase "socialism" to its rightful place in the party's constitution.

Unfortunately, only a handful of resolutions from each category actually get a chance to be voted on—a committee congregates before the festivities kick off to sort through the hundreds of ideas—meaning none of those aforementioned policies actually made it to the floor of the Shaw Convention Centre.

Instead, hundreds of NDP members successfully voted on profoundly predictable resolutions including lowering the voting age to 16, the renegotiation of the Trans-Pacific Partnership (TPP) and the maintenance of the party's unwavering infatuation with proportional representation.

Most of the actual "debates" (which featured delegates taking three-minute turns explaining their positions and usually almost always agreeing with each other) exuded stereotypically Canadian courtesy, with the exception of the one speaker who most definitely moonlights as a slam poet and another who crescendoed in volume and rage until his mic was cut off.

Oddly, there was a complete absence of resolutions addressing the NDP's misfires in the last election—committing to balanced budgets,refusing to hike personal income taxes on the country's highest income earners, booting pro-Palestinian candidates—with over an hour of time gobbled up by sparring over convoluted procedural points.

Most of this revolved around an agenda change: the schedule for the leadership review on Sunday was tweaked without approval from delegates, triggering a unique intensity of wrath only to be found among people who blow their entire weekend at a political convention.

Those first few hours of Saturday served as a perfect metaphor for the NDP's utterly botched shot at the throne in October: overly polite and politically vacuous. A five-minute video broadcast just before lunch combined melodramatic music and cheesy interviews with MPs about how much it sucked to lose 51 seats and Official Opposition status, helpfully reiterating that gloomy theme.

Such blandness officially ended when Rachel Notley, Alberta's charismatic premier, arrived on stage after the break accompanied by a fucking monstrous standing ovation (there were probably another 10 of those in the course of her half-hour speech, no joke). It was at that moment when it became intensely clear that the convention really had little to do with new or amended policies.

Photo via Facebook

It was expected that Notley would channel some more of that delicious Kirkland Signature™ Western Alienation in her speech. But she went well above and beyond the call of duty, converting the quiet mass into hundreds of stomping and cheering church attendees (chants of "NDP" and "Rachel" noisily filled the hall for much of the speech).

After ridiculing conservative opponents (conveniently ignoring the fact her soon-to-be defeated brethren in Manitoba also "invest more and more into the only social program they support—which is the prison system"), delivering a veiled insult at Kevin O'Leary in the form of a Donald Trump joke and trumpeting the merits of her government, Notley took aim at the Leap Manifesto and, by association, Mulcair.

"That is what you get to do when you move up from manifestos, to the detailed, principled, practical plans you can really implement by winning an election," she quipped.

Later in her speech, she deployed the language of "pipelines to tidewater," emphasizing that additional energy exports would allow for the transition to a "diversified, greener future." (Hi Trudeau!)

First Nations, Métis and Inuit people weren't mentioned a single time in Notley's speech, an especially odd omission given both the provincial and federal NDP committed to implementing the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (which in essence requires states to seek "free, prior and informed consent" from aboriginal groups before building pipelines, a dangerous prospect for a government that wants to build pipelines through nations that don't want pipelines).

The speech was all remarkably well received. No other event during the day came close to drawing the amount of applause as her speech did. It also made the collapse in support for Mulcair that much more real: he didn't even draw much applause when he hijacked a mic "entirely out of order" to show his support for a resolution that backed nuclear disarmament (as if any NDP member would reject the idea).

Such a fact is borderline sad to consider. Mulcair fucked up the election in a very real way. Instead of resigning as leader, he decided to take his chances on a nebulous vote of confidence in the heartland of the Alberta NDP. It completely flopped. What's next for the federal party is completely unclear, with support splitting between East and West, Labour and Environmentalists, Leaping and, uh, Sitting.

Pass the organic popcorn.

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Photo: London Mexico Solidarity

This article originally appeared on VICE UK

The British Museum's Great Court is a beautiful place. Light streams through its curved glass and steel roof, bouncing off pristine white floors. These two acres of space are loaded with meaning: a statement about the not-quite-faded power of modern Britain; a bright, illuminated courtyard that leads to rooms housing the world's treasures, the spoils and plunder of a once-imperial power.

A banner hangs on the wall for upcoming exhibition Sunken Cities, which will tell the story of two Egyptian towns that, until recently, had stood forgotten beneath the surface of the sea. In the corner of the banner is a large green logo: BP, one of the world's largest oil and gas companies and, since 1996, a corporate sponsor of the British Museum.

Last Sunday, April 3, theatrical campaign group BP or Not BP? smuggled ten items into the museum's Great Court. They set up an unsanctioned exhibition called A History of BP in 10 Objects, to protest the relationship between BP and one of the country's largest public cultural institutions, and to show museum visitors the extent of what they perceive to be the oil company's corporate crimes.

This action followed news that Tate's long-standing relationship with BP was ending, and came a few days before the announcement that BP wouldn't sponsor the Edinburgh international festival anymore. With a new director, Hartwig Fischer, joining the British Museum this week, BP or Not BP? wanted to build on their movement's momentum. "We want to mark out oil as being unacceptable," says Chris Garrard, of activist group Art Not Oil, walking through the exhibition.

The objects presented made the case fairly well. There was crude oil from the Louisiana coastline, a by-product of the Deepwater Horizon spill. There was a Lamassu charm from Iraq, where secret memos have exposed the alleged link between oil firms—including BP—and the invasion and subsequent carve-up of the country.

One of the pieces in the totally unplanned exhibition. Photo: Amy Scaife

Photo: London Mexico Solidarity

There was a photo of Colombian trade unionist Gilberto Torres, who is currently suing BP for its links to a venture trading company that he alleges was involved in his kidnap and torture by paramilitaries. And there was a statement from Bunna Lawrie, a member of Australia's indigenous community fighting BP's plans to drill in the Great Australian Bight, an area of outstanding natural beauty and deep cultural significance.

Having said that, did any of this seem to matter to people who stumbled across the unofficial exhibit? The museum's security team, after establishing that nothing dangerous was going to happen, let the exhibition go on. Families milled about. A Spanish dad, having listened intently to a description of what was going on, decided it was "very interesting." His son mentioned the Greek government's demand that the Elgin Marbles, the ancient Greek sculptures housed in the museum, be returned.

"I tend to lump all oil companies together under one big evil umbrella," a middle-aged Englishman told me. "I had no idea they were sponsoring the museum," he added, before telling his two young sons about greenwashing, wherein a company whose practices are harmful to the environment presents itself as environmentally friendly.

Opponents of BP's greenwashing have had good news of late. The ending of the oil giant's relationships with Tate and the Edinburgh international festival has been greeted with jubilation by groups like Liberate Tate. BP, for its part, points to sharply falling oil prices and puts the end of such sponsorship down to what a company spokesperson told me was a "challenging business environment in the global oil industry."

Anti-oil campaigners roll their eyes at this explanation: they say that based on BP's 2015 financial figures, the amount of money the company gave Tate was the equivalent of two hours of profit. BP or Not BP? used a freedom of information request to find out that, based on financial figures running from 2000-2011, money from BP accounted for only 0.8 percent of the British Museum's budget.

Photo: Amy Scaife

But ending the collaboration between the petroleum corporation and the museum won't be easy. Spokespeople at BP and the British Museum were both very positive about their institutions' relationship. "The British Museum is exceptionally grateful to BP for their loyal and ongoing support," a museum spokesperson told VICE. "It is only possible to develop and host temporary exhibitions with this kind of external support... The income generated through corporate partnerships is vital to the mixed economy of successful arts organizations and enables us to deliver a rich and vibrant cultural program."

BP, for its part, says it is "proud to partner the British Museum." Despite its recent withdrawal from Tate, the company thinks that it is "right that we contribute to British society in many ways, including culture." Asked about BP's contribution to climate change, the spokesperson said that the company was "playing its part by advocating a price on carbon, providing lower carbon products such as natural gas and renewables, pursuing energy efficiency, and supporting research"—a claim disputed by a number of climate scientists in an open letter published on April 3.

The sponsorship contract between BP and the British Museum is up for renewal, and could leave the oil company's logo plastered across the museum until at least 2022. The British Museum may sit at the center of an establishment that thinks nothing of continued fossil fuel exploration, but with the science growing ever clearer, can it really afford to look so out of step with the times? This was the one question the British Museum's spokesperson did not answer.

Once I'd left the museum, I got in touch with Professor Paul Gilroy, a cultural studies scholar currently based at King's College London, who'd worked with Tate on several occasions. What did he make of the relationship between BP and the British Museum?

"I think a parting of ways between BP and our great, national museums is long overdue," he said. "We talk a lot about privatization in the economic sense. This is privatization in the cultural sense. I understand that checks change hands, which help to defend those institutions from financial pressures, but in this domain of unequal exchanges they are always going to be selling more than they can gain. Let public mean public."

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l-r Skopelitis, Christoula, and Valsamidis. All photos by Cristos Sarris

This article originally appeared on VICE Greece

The morning sun breaks through the lowered blinds and lights up the green carpeting in riza3architects' headquarters in the center of Athens. In the waiting room, desks have been placed next to each other in a Tetris-like pattern. For a moment, I think of the last time I visited an architectural office. That space was trying really hard to show it was "modern." Here on the other hand, on the fourth floor of a polygonal building, things are different—there are no soulless "modern touches," no decoration. Desks, papers, architectural tools, and the people that work here; that's it.

Stratis Skopelitis, one of the founders of the firm, greets me with a warm welcome. "Sorry to keep you waiting but we're kind of swamped today," he explains as he shows me to his office.

"How can design address homelessness?" I ask as soon as we are in. Stratis sits up in his chair. "That was the question we had to answer when we started working on this project." Last year, the team—consisting of Skopelitis and his colleagues Maria Christoula and Alexandros Valsamidis—took part in the 'Tiny Home Community' competition, set up by members of the North Carolina branch of the American Institute of Architects.

The competition was asking participants to design low-cost homes with prefabricated elements, that could house the homeless folk of Raleigh, North Carolina. More than 100 architectural offices from all over the world answered the call, including some well-established companies, but first prize was eventually awarded to riza3.

Stratis Skopelitis

A local media frenzy ensued, as soon as news of their victory spread throughout Greece. Everyone wanted to meet the three young people, who had found a groundbreaking, cost-effective, and above all functional solution to the housing problem. "We didn't expect all the publicity we got," Stratis says, still somewhat shocked. "We certainly didn't know how to deal with it. We've won competitions in the past but none of them garnered so much attention."

Maria Christoula enters the office in a rush. "Sorry but Alexandros (Valsamidis) just called to say he's going to be a bit late, as there is some work to be done at one of our building sites." Maria, Stratis, and Alexandros have known each other for years, having worked together for one of the largest Athenian architectural firms before creating "Riza3architects." They've worked on a variety of projects, both state-funded and independent, designing swimming pools, railway stations, and a number of homes. "Above all, we are friends," Maria points out. "At some point we decided to work together because we speak the same language, have common views on architecture, and generally seem to complete each other."

I ask her how they ended up taking part in the competition. "We had been working on the specific project for a while. But it was gathering dust in our drawers because for many Greek architects at this particular moment in time, a project like that is a luxury. We need to prioritize projects that cover our financial needs. Unfortunately in this country right now, most young architects have to offer their services almost for free, and go through the motions losing touch with the social value of architecture. At least those who haven't moved abroad yet."

Maria Christoula

I ask Stratis and Maria if they have also thought of looking at their options abroad. "I lived in England for six years but I couldn't imagine building a life there so I came back," Stratis says. "Now, together with Alexandros and Maria, we're trying to keep our excitement alive—we're trying to battle our demons and look for ways to stay creative. This award gave us the valuable feeling that our work is recognized and appreciated. It's a friendly pat on the back, something that tells us to keep going."

The office door swings open again and in walks a burly man in a dusty blue T-shirt. The cement dust on his hands reveals that he has just been at a building site. "This is Alexandros," Maria chirps in. "Give me a few minutes to clean up and we'll go for a walk in the city center," Alexandros offers.

A little while later we're heading towards the neighborhoods of Metaxourgio and Kerameikos. We wander around Avdi square—an area that has been flooded with homeless people in the recent years of the financial crisis. "Our study came out of our own personal concerns, our experiences, our architectural influences, and current social needs. In other words, the homeless issue was not something we had to imagine, it's something we are faced with. We see those people every day—they live next to us, on the side of the street," Alexandros explains as we walk towards Leonidou street.

The crippling sense of futility that hangs over Greece and the useless information we are bombarded with every day make it difficult for a person to focus. But we didn't give up. We tried to keep our minds clear of distractions and focus on the task at hand.

Maria jumps in: "I think we also need to point out that no architectural study can solve the homelessness issue, if it isn't followed up by political action and specific plans for social intervention. We're just here to offer a solution for low-cost housing. The good thing about this competition was that it allowed us to find the space needed to further develop our study. The deadline, the specific requirements, and the transparency with which the whole competition operated, helped us focus solely on our work."

"I'm not saying that it wasn't an arduous process far from it. The crippling sense of futility that hangs over Greece and the useless information we are bombarded with every day, make it difficult for a person to focus on anything. You get discouraged; you want to quit, to run away from your problems. But we didn't give up. We tried to keep our minds clear of distractions and focus on the task at hand."

"We all have our own method. Stratis, for example, would leave the office when all the work was done for the day and ride endlessly around town on his bicycle, until his mind had cleared. Alexandros finds peace when horseriding, while I have an 11-year-old boy to take care of. I also use what little free time I have to learn how to play the violin. We were basically just trying to stay creative and to avoid being crushed by the every day pressures of making ends meet. To escape from the black cloud that hangs over Greece. Today, we're proud of what we have achieved."

Photo by Cristos Sarris

I ask Alexandros what makes their study unique: "I think the main thing is that it's a truly groundbreaking idea and a highly affordable solution within the boundaries of a permanent home plan. Essentially the structure is made up of elements that could be produced in a factory or found within a range of 50 kilometers from where the structure is set up. Our design costs 50 percent less to build than the average home. Moreover, we have made use of things that would normally end up in the garbage, such as materials than can be salvaged from demolition sites. Just imagine rubble being transformed into a classy home—a home that is in harmony with the environment. Another thing that also appealed to the competition committee, was the fact that our designs can be expanded into bigger homes. They essentially function like Lego bricks, something that greatly assists any plans for standardization and industrial production, allowing us to cut back on production costs even further."

At the moment, the Activate14 initiative that set up the competition in North Carolina is busy trying to gather the necessary funds to activate the first series of production. At the same time, thousands of miles away, on the fourth floor of a polygonal building in Athens the minds that came up with it are planning their next steps—seeking out new uses, sizes, and formats for their design.

"These design could have countless applications—from bicycle parks and homeless communities, all the way to holiday homes," Alexandros says before rushing out to visit another building site.

By now you will have heard that the celebrity injunction is back. You may even have heard who the injunction that's making headlines concerns, thanks to the devil-may-care attitude of the US, or a Scottish newspaper (or figured it out for yourself, thanks to the death-wish reporting of the Daily Mail).

And yet, because of the creaking, clunking nature of British law, it is still impossible (or illegal, at least) for me to write down the name of the individual who has taken it out.

Weird, isn't it? That I could be taken to court for writing a single word in this space: _____. If I was to type the last name of the applicant there, I would be opening myself up to a whole world of legal trouble. If the courts really wanted to be dicks about it, I could potentially face prison. For writing a single word.

Weirder still, I wouldn't even have to write it there. I could drop the same word—as a noun, maybe; or a verb—into an unrelated sentence and that alone could be enough to haul me in front of a judge, if it identified the claimant.

Weirdest of all, I wouldn't actually have to write it at all. I could just hint at it with the faintest suggestion of a wink and a nudge and I'd have a legal threat land on my desk.

All for one word. A word that can be freely reported in any other country in the world without fear; a word that has appeared in almost every UK newspaper in various different contexts for weeks now.

How did we end up in such a ludicrous position?

You can trace this same problem back to the late 80s, when a series of injunctions were taken out by the government against various publishers in landmark legal action known as the Spycatcher cases. They failed in the end, but lasted long enough to make the system look ridiculous.

Spycatcher was a book written by a former MI5 serviceman, Peter Wright (co-authored by Hollywood director Paul Greengrass). In it, Wright gave a candid account of his time in MI5, revealing confidential details about personnel, operations, and technology. It was embarrassing and compromising for many individuals, so the British government sought to injunct its publication.

They successfully obtained an injunction in London, but the trouble is that, much like today, an injunction issued by the British courts is only effective in England and Wales. As such, the book was published without constraint in Australia (after the UK government failed to block it there), the US, and many other countries—then simply imported into the UK by curious people on vacation and other such provocateurs.

Although people could easily get hold of their own copy of Spycatcher, and the whole thing was huge news, the Sunday Times was held in contempt of court for serializing the book and the UK press was legally forbidden from touching it until the European Court dismissed the injunction because there was nothing left to protect.

So for at least 30 years we have known that living in a globally-connected world has made a mockery of our injunction laws. The internet, unsurprisingly, has only exacerbated the problem.

The closest we got to effecting any useful change was the last time we got properly gloved up and elbow deep in the murky world of celebrity injunctions back in April 2011.

Five years ago, it seemed that practically every celebrity worth their salt had taken out some sort of court order to cover up their screwing. Their weapon of choice was the super-injunction: an order which is so secret it not only stops you naming the parties but also bans you from even saying an injunction has been granted.

Ryan Giggs had one to hide an affair he was having with Imogen Thomas. Jeremy Clarkson had one to stop it being known that he was sticking it to both his wife and his ex-wife concurrently. Even boring celebrities like the BFG of political journalism, Andrew Marr, had taken one out to throw a smokescreen up around a story that he had a lovechild (DNA testing subsequently revealed the child wasn't his).

Related: Watch 'Walking Heavy: Meet One of Britain's Most Notorious Reformed Criminals'

Injunctions scattered the nation's newsdesks like so much confetti and everyone—including the tabloid press's fiercest critics—became united in the view that there was absolutely no justification for a ragtag bunch of celebs (overwhelmingly rich, white men) to misuse the courts in such a way, merely to spare their blushes.

Public indignation was huge. Political heft was being put behind the cause, with John Hemming MP using his parliamentary privilege to bust one of the big names. Clarkson and Marr gave up and outed themselves. We were tottering on the verge of finally sorting out Britain's injunction problem once and for all—and then, bang. The phone-hacking scandal broke.

Any sympathy for the press evaporated quicker than piss on a hot rock and the whole thing got dropped.

Quietly, injunction lawyers skulked away, leaving a huge cache of forgotten injunctions behind them, some of which remain in effect to this day. (Most of those 'super-injunctions' that Twitter supposedly bust wide open? You'll still be in breach of the law for identifying anyone involved in the dozens of them that still stand.)

For five years the lawyers have been biding their time, regaining their strength, feasting on the souls of virgins, and preparing their return.

Now they're back. And this time we need to fight them. Properly.

You don't have to be interested in the sexual proclivities of the people involved in this latest injunction to want this stuff overturned. You can happily balance a personal belief in the right to privacy with a desire to see the end of this sort of legal stupidity.

It's the fact that injunctions—often a crucial tool in the administration of justice—are widely being misused by celebrities to cover up their personal indiscretions that has people seriously considering the place of the courts in such matters.

Yet injunction reform has been slow to happen because most of the people involved in it don't have any particular inclination or impetus to force it.

Injunction holders, naturally, would rather everyone forgot about injunctions so that their secrets remain hidden. Privacy lawyers would largely be happy with the system becoming even more complicated and unwieldy to boost their number of billable hours. And publishers don't really have the time or the cash to take such a massive gamble.

Still, if there's one good thing to come out of the absolute shitshow currently occurring over PJS v News Group Newspapers (which is the technical name for that injunction) it's that widespread attention is finally being paid to this part of the industry again.

All we have to hope now is that a massive, distracting scandal that potentially implicates the Prime Minister in some rather dicey conduct doesn't derail the debate again.

Fingers crossed, eh?

Read: Getting Drunk at Taco Bell

A hungry guy in a fancy hat broke into a Washington, DC, area Five Guys fast food chain last Friday to cook himself up a few cheeseburgers, ABC News reports.

According to the Metropolitan Police Department, the hamburglar slipped into the store behind a deliveryman and waited until the employee went home before firing up the grill.

Surveillance video shows the guy being pretty chill about the whole thing, even pouring himself a soda and calling someone up to chat—you can watch him cradle the phone in one shoulder as he flips a few patties. The dude doesn't steal any money, either—he just takes off after grilling up his meal and pockets a bottle of water to wash everything down.

Five Guys burgers are fine, and its fun that they dump your fries straight into your to-go bag and everything, but doesn't the guy know that Shake Shack's open late?

Thumbnail image via Flickr user Mike Mozart