All photos by Rohan Nel/Wild and Free Foundation.

I'm on my stomach in the dirt. Next to me, my team leader struggles to fix our jammed weapon—a relic of a bolt action rifle. We drew the short straws and missed out on semiautomatics, so this ancient gun is the only defense we have against the men we are lying in wait for: poachers, likely armed with AK47s.

We're out in the scrub of South Africa's lion territory, sheltered in the only cover we could find. To fight sleep we eat raw coffee by the handful. On paper, the plan was simple: I'm on the lookout for the vehicle of our fellow anti­-poaching rangers, who we've been warned may be on the poachers' payroll. If I spot any extra passengers, we'll "engage and extract the vehicle's occupants" while our team leader covers us. But his rifle is still inoperable.

We suddenly hear the truck. "Whistle if you see 'em," the team leader whispers to me. But there's no way I'm whistling. All we have is the element of surprise. I wrap some cord around my wrist and throw one end to him. Pulling it will be my signal. The vehicle is close and finally, after four failed attempts, a round chambers in the weapon. It's my signal that will initiate the ambush. Can I pull the cord?

It had been just two months since I'd joined the Protrack anti­-poaching unit. From the comfort of my home in Sydney, I'd read about how demand in Asia has seen the value of rhino horn outstrip that of gold or cocaine. It's predicted that within ten years poachers will entirely wipe out rhinos in South Africa.

Using my training from the Australian Army Reserve and the Sydney Metropolitan Wildlife Service was one incentive. But, to be honest, the idea of learning how to track armed men in the bush captured my imagination. More than my job as a bar manager.

From the outset I was warned that Protrack wasn't an NGO. It's a very different animal, a military company that has become Africa's largest private anti-­poaching force. It's a world where animal rights activists fight alongside mercenaries and career soldiers in Africa's war against extinction.

I quit my job and began to feel nervous. I wondered whether I'd be able to handle the marathon patrols, the starvation, and the military structure. But these were the wrong questions. What I should have asked was simple: can I pull the cord?

The anti­-poaching training was tough. Almost half of the recruits that applied didn't make it through. On my first day, they shaved my head and recorded my weight: 86 kilograms after only six weeks. In that time we'd learned weapons handling, close quarters combat, ambushing, vehicle extractions, crime scene maintenance, and how to behave around Africa's predators—a lesson made only more relevant when we learned an anti­-poaching ranger was eaten by lions not long before I'd joined.

We also learned how to steal. Some CNN journalists who came to document our training discovered this the hard way. We raided their supplies while the more presentable recruits smiled for the cameras. But when your body is literally giving up on you from hunger, the lines blur.

Left to right: Blisters, living quarters, group punishment at night. Images by author.

A month out of training, almost three months into my contract with Protrack, I find myself stationed on the Thornybush Game Reserve. My once skeletal frame is starting to resemble a living being again. I'm standing on the tray of a speeding ute as it chases the thwapthwapthwap of a helicopter, which has disappeared over the horizon. It's carrying one of the region's top vets, tracking a rhino that's been shot during a failed poaching attempt.

This vet is known for his good aim, but he was mauled by an injured cheetah earlier in the day. His right arm is heavily bandaged, and he's refused painkillers to maintain his focus. Miraculously he makes the shot and as the chopper lands, we start to track the rhino's footprints. The dosage of tranquilizer was massive, but she's managed to run a good distance before falling.

We find her with an exit wound the size of a dinner plate, the poachers have shot the rhino in the neck. Luckily it's a clean shot. The wound is a vision of festering raw meat. Left untreated, septicemia will claim her. I scan her body with a metal detector looking for bullet fragments.

Weighing time over tenderness, the vet quickly plugs the gaping hole with cotton wool and stitches the skin using what looks like tradesman's wire. He strains like a truck driver securing a heavy load with ropes, pulling the rhino's tough skin together. Halfway through the operation, the vet warns we need to shift the rhino's weight. Have you ever slept on your arm after a big night? Add a couple of tons and you can easily paralyze a limb—a death sentence in the bush.

It takes six men, digging in with their feet and pushing. She's so heavy we have to rock her back and forth to build up momentum. One ranger slips and the weight of the animal falls back down, pinning his foot underneath. We count to three and heave together to release him, as the vet finishes the final stitches. An injection is administered to counteract the sedatives and she's on her feet again, grumpy but alive. She's safe from infection, but still threatened by poachers who we know will return.

Moments like this made all the hunger and pain feel worthwhile. But when Protrack says it isn't an NGO, it isn't kidding. I thought I understood this back in Sydney, but the reality of this is not understood until I find myself lying in the dirt, with a piece of string determining if I engage men with just a knife.

So can I pull the chord?

I never get a chance to answer this. The vehicle passes us by and there are only rangers on board—no poachers. Intelligence will later suggest they'd been tipped off that we were observing them. I was disappointed, I went to Africa to be tested and I'd missed my chance. But now, with some time between me and that night lying in the dirt in the middle of lion country, I see how lucky I was.

Wisani Baloyi, a ranger who trained on the course just before me never got his chance either. But not because it passed him by. It was taken from him while on patrol. He was ambushed by seven poachers last month, shot through the femoral artery. It took just three minutes for him to bleed out. Using military tactics, the poachers waited for him to enter the kill­ zone before they struck without warning, ending his life. He was 20 years old.

Follow Rohan Nel on Twitter.

This story was co-published with the Marshall Project.

It's not yet publicly known if Officer Jeronimo Yanez ran the plates of the Oldsmobile Aurora that Philando Castile was driving before pulling him over in Falcon Heights, Minnesota, the night of July 6.

If he did—assuming Castile owned the car, also still unconfirmed—the computer in Yanez's cruiser would have lit up like a Christmas tree. With at least 52 stops and dozens of convictions over 14 years, Castile would seem to have the record of a career criminal.

Yet look closer, and there's no evidence of that. Minnesota courts list serious crime and driving records together, and Castile's show no citations for criminal behavior beyond motor vehicle infractions and a dismissed marijuana charge.

In the heat of the moment of a police stop, that distinction could be lost on an officer scanning the record while maneuvering his quarry to a stop, says one prosecutor.

"If an officer has a report like that, it could cause an extra rush of adrenalin," said Mark Rubin, the county attorney for Minnesota's St. Louis County, about 130 miles north of the Twin Cities. "And there could be consequences."

Rubin is not involved in the case. His personal reaction was "Wow!" when told of the extent of Castile's file—before learning that none of it involved serious crime.

And virtually no safety violations, either. Castile, 32, had no drunk driving, hit-and-run, or reckless driving charges. Except for two speeding tickets and a cryptic charge of "Public Nuisance-Interfere/Obstruct/Render Dangerous Public Road/Water," none involved safety—save to himself, with three citations for failing to wear a seat belt. His most recent charge, in January, was a parking ticket for "abandon motor vehicle on any public/private property without consent," for which he was fined $36.

Mostly, the St. Paul public schools cafeteria supervisor was dogged by repeated charges of "no proof of insurance," going back to 2002 when he still had his learner's permit, and driving after suspension and, later, revocation of his license.

Some of the charges from Philando Castile's driving record

Source: Minnesota Trial Court Criminal/Traffic/Petty Case Records

Fred Friedman, the retired chief public defender for Northeast Minnesota, called it unusual to be stopped so many times with no serious charges.

"It's a big deal to get stopped fifty-two times," he said. "You can't find somebody who's been stopped fifty-two times and doesn't have any felony convictions or drunk driving. That's highly unusual.

"Why was his license revoked? Was it just this insurance nonsense?" he continued, noting there's little chance that officers would know of Castile's troubles with the Department of Motor Vehicles just by seeing him driving along.

"Here's the heart of it: Why did he keep getting stopped?"

Diamond Reynolds, Castile's girlfriend, who livestreamed the harrowing events moments after the shooting as Castile lay dying in the driver's seat next to her, said they were pulled over for a broken taillight. With an officer's gun still trained on her, Reynolds also said Castile told the officer he had a concealed carry permit.

Yanez's lawyer responded to the Associated Press that the St. Anthony, Minnesota, officer shot Castile not because Castile was black but because he saw a gun.

A report from KARE-TV presented unconfirmed audio purportedly from Yanez's squad car before the shooting. In it, officers can be heard saying that Castile resembles a man who robbed a nearby gas station on July 2 because of his "wide-set nose"—a remark Castile's family has branded as racial profiling.

"I'm going to stop a car," one of the officers says on the recording. "I'm going to check IDs. I have reason to pull it over."

How valid that reason was is yet to be revealed, and may be answered following the investigation.

But why Castile was pulled over so frequently before that may never be explained—except perhaps by the accident of his birth, as a black male.

Robin Washington writes frequently about transportation and civil rights and is the former editor of Minnesota's Duluth News Tribune. Email him or follow him on Twitter.

This article was originally published by the Marshall Project, a nonprofit news organization that covers the US criminal justice system. Sign up for the newsletter, or follow the Marshall Project on Facebook or Twitter.

I couldn't wait any longer. I didn't care about anything else any more. I just wanted to feel the sensation of chasing a Vulpix through a meadow; of feeding a Rattata candy and watching it evolve; to trade japes with other aspiring Pokémon masters. I want to be in a Huffington Post story about getting mugged outside a Pokégym in Dalston. I need to get Pokémon Go.

There's only one problem: My phone is shit. Honestly so shit. The screen is cracked, it can only hold about four photos, sometimes it crashes before it's even switched on. It can just about send texts, but that's it. The camera is broken. I can't log into the App Store. There's no way I'd be able to download it.

All photos by Chris Bethell

But why should the absence of an app stop me? It shouldn't, because Pokémon Go is more than just an app. It is a force that did the unthinkable, that awoke a generation. It lifted us out of our ergonomic chairs, stopped us caring about fucking, and kicked us out of the door. So would I let the absence of a poxy app get in my way? Or would I follow the call of my generation, get out there, and make it happen? There was only one option, and it was destiny. I would hit the streets of London with no app, and play the game with one simple task: to catch them all. I just needed a few items.

Poké Balls, check, Poké outfit, check—I was almost ready for the journey to begin. But there was one imperative thing left to do: embark on the same ritual that 70 million had taken to enter the universe and surrender all of my personal information. So I kissed my passport and bank statements goodbye and left them in my front yard available for public consumption. It didn't matter anymore. I was ready to be enveloped, for my new life to begin: I was ready to become a Pokémon master.

Now I had a lot of catching up to do. The world had been playing Pokémon Go for nearly a week now, and every posting of a wittily named Rattata or rare Articuno sighting on Reddit had become torturous. I had neither Pokémon nor a sense of humor about it. So I went out in search of a community of trainers. And after walking the streets, poking my head over fences, and gamboling through alleyways, I eventually happened upon a group of likely candidates.

"Hey, buddies. Do you have any idea where is a good place to catch Pokémon around here?"

"Sorry what?" this man replied, tossing down a bag of gravel.

"I'm a Pokémon trainer, and I'm looking for a place I can catch Pokémon, preferably fire-type but not picky."

"You sound like you're talking nonsense to me, mate." Looking around to his friends, he continued. "Seriously, you sound like you're talking a different language."

With the alarm bells ringing, I sprint off into the distance. I know this kind of talk, and I know those three faces—Jessie, James, and, of course, Meowth. This was a classic Team Rocket ruse. And it was going to take better disguises to ensnare a trainer, especially one with these instincts. Still, I needed to seek council from someone who knows the ins and outs of this universe. I needed to speak with Professor Willow.

I began looking on Google. And after a thorough search, I had it. The professor is working at Northampton University, albeit under the name of "Dr. Willow Berridge," and has disguised himself as both a woman and an expert in Sudanese history. Classic Willow. So I hurriedly sent over an email with my all my questions.

And though the professor ignored my email, I think he made his message clear: You can't be coddled through everything in life. Sometimes you're led to the door, and you just need to trust yourself to take a step through. I thanked the professor, as I understood now that I needed to take those steps alone.

So I shut down from the rest of the world, stared at my Poké Ball and followed my nose for Pokémon. And after ups and downs, meanders in the river and many dead ends, as if by magic, I landed exactly where I needed to be: the park. The kind of place you read tweets about Magikarp bubbling at the surface and Nidoran frolicking in the grass. Staring out over the horizon and breathing in the Poké air, I couldn't believe my eyes: another trainer.

"Are you playing, my friend?"

"Pokémon Go," he says. "I am, yes. The name is Doug."

"Me too!" I say. "My name is Oobah. Can we play?"

"Cool. Sure."

"Where are the Pokémon?"

"They're all over the place here."

"Where though?"

"Well, there's a Vulpix just there!"

I had to trust Doug here. We were on the same team now. I hurled my Poké Ball instinctively at the Vulpix.

"Eureka," I yelled, jumping in the air and chasing after the Poké Ball. "I have my first Pokémon!"

"Are you mocking me?" Doug asks. But I scowl at him and walk off into the distance—he was a competitor now, and there were clearly more Pokémon nearby. "Like there," I ushered the river birds out of the way. "I think I see a Gyarados!"

Boom! I fished my Poké Ball out of the river, and within an hour, I had an arsenal of Pokémon under my belt. The dream was coming alive. I'd evolved from a meager person into a trainer. And there was only one logical step to take next: I had to go and claim a gym. But to do that, I needed to stock up, get candy for my Pokémon, and press the refresh button. I needed a PokéStop. So I headed to the nearest one.

It's a weird thing, a PokéStop. Very much like the shops we have in the real world, but simply lawless. For example, I'd read online that it was possible to exchange Pokémon you don't want for candy, but when I asked the man this question, he shook his head vigorously. So I picked up a carton of eggs and asked whether these hatched at 5km or 10km. The man simply took a deep breath. I bought the eggs.

I was ready to take on the gym. It was high time for me to claim what's rightfully mine, so I took a deep breath and burst through the door.

I span out, past the badminton courts, the beta trainers, and straight up to the home of the beef cakes: the alphas. In this, the amphitheater that would decide my destiny, I started calling people out.

"Anyone want to battle with Pokémon?" I snarled. "I'm done training, and now I'm ready to really take the gym." The people could barely look me in the eye: They were terrified. I strutted across the middle, between the Poké weights, spinning my Poké Ball and their eyes followed, watching my every move. They were begging for mercy. One even asked me to leave. And it was my time to pity them, to oblige them, for there were no trainers who were capable of challenging me. I had won the battle.

The gym was mine! I was on top of the world, a master in the making. I couldn't believe what I'd achieved and from this day forth, I would—

What the fuck? What the actual fuck? The whole thing completely crashed on me. "Are you for real?" a woman asked, and I wanted to scream the same thing: I'd lost all of my Pokémon, gym, and everything I'd worked so hard for in an instant. How could it be fair? Pokémon Go, you fucking suck.

At least I still had my eggs. I must have walked 5km by now.

It was useless. What had I been thinking? That lady who shouted at me in the street was right: Was I for real? Of course I fucking wasn't, look at me! Deserted by my own Pokémon, with nothing to live for. I had tried to jump the line with Pokémon Go: to define a generation and become a master, but I was no Pokémon master. I was just a boy wonder in a cool hat. But then. But then I looked up.

Of course! The Battersea Park Children's Zoo. I rushed through its hallowed doorway and stumbled upon an oasis. I couldn't believe my eyes: It was Pokémon Valhalla! I rushed from cage to cage, humming the Pokémon theme.

Psyduck!

Growlithe!

MEGAMULE!

I was right all along! They were all here; every Pokémon in the land, and me, the only human in sight. In mere hours, I had become the greatest master in history! Sweet victory, I would taste you for eternity. "I am the very best, the best there ever was!" I sang at the top of my lungs and pointed at MegaMule, "To catch you is my real test, to train you is my cause!"

It was then a trainer from the zoo emerged from a nearby building, presumably to congratulate me or complain about my singing. He took steps in my direction, each one increasingly tentative. His expression exploded into a smirk: His phone was out. Pointed directly at me. And that must mean, that I wasn't a Pokémon trainer after all. Hapless and appless—I was just a Pokémon.

"You thought you could get away with it, didn't you, Oobah? And now look at me, bearing down on you. The truth is: If you don't have the app, the app has you."

"Please sir, no."

"Yes, Oobah. You did all your frolicking around thinking you were the Poké hunter, but it turns out, Oobah, that you were the Poké prey after all. Like the rest of the world: merely part of the game. And there's one thing I've got to say about Poké prey, Oobah: I've got to catch them all."

"That's my phrase!"

"Wild Oobah: Your CP is low, but it's time for you to go!" He shouted.

"No, no, noooooo!!!!"

Follow Oobah Butler on Twitter.

All photos by Carla Hernández Ramírez

In 2009 and 2010, Sarah Shourd spent 410 days in solitary confinement as one of the American backpackers famously imprisoned by the Iranian government in a vacation hike gone terribly awry. This month, the woman brings her passion about the issue of isolating people in tiny, dark spaces to the stage with The Box, a new play about the horrors of long-term penal segregation, which premiered at Z Space in San Francisco on Friday.

The show features an unusual and striking set. With six "cells" stacked three by two from which the actors perform, theatergoers can gaze directly into the cages that are typically disappeared from public view. Although digital phones have brought the brutality of police shootings into the national consciousness in recent years, the racialized violence of extended isolation in the American criminal justice system has been much more difficult to realize in a visual form.

What is perhaps most brutal about solitary is its stillness. In the box, there is no plot, no movement, and often no dialogue—just endless solitude. In 2014, Center for Constitutional Rights attorney Pardiss Kebriaei painted a picture of banal torture at ADX Florence, the federal super-max prison, for the Nation, describing the typical inmate as "a person sitting still in a small cell, slowly deteriorating in a modern prison on the outskirts of a small Colorado town."

These words came to mind as I watched the play, and made me wonder how Shourd—a survivor of solitary outside the US context—went about developing the experience for the stage. I sat down with the playwright to talk about the show and explore how it's even possible to dramatize something defined by its invisibility.

VICE: What did your process of research and writing look like?
Sarah Shourd: The research was an intense period of in-depth letter correspondences that lasted intensively six months and less intensively about two years. I traveled to thirteen different prisons around the country to visit as many of the people that I corresponded with in person as I could. The prisons I visited included Pelican Bay, Elmira in New York, Edna Mahan facility in New Jersey, one in Southern California, and the Sacramento state prison.

How did your own experiences of solitary shape the text?
At the time I began researching and writing the play, what I really needed more than anything was to take a break from talking about and writing about my own experiences. I felt like it was a really important juncture for me to connect what I had been through and the aftermath—the suffering and pain of recovering—into something much larger. If anything, that's how it was useful to me: to step outside of myself into these other people whose lives I could relate to very intimately, but who were very distinct and in many ways just as inspiring as horrifying to me.

When you were researching the play, what surprised you about people's experiences of solitary confinement in the US compared to your own in Iran?
I think that in the beginning I was really fascinated by how other prisoners did things that I found so essential to my survival. For example, how people fill the time—a lot of people told me they did a lot of the same things I did, like obsessive counting, pacing, going through every event in your life. I used to call them "the re-runs"—just to get some kind of connection to yourself and the outside world.

There are also things like how people pass notes. It took me about six months in prison to devise a clandestine method to pass notes to the other women in my pod, which is of course very risky, but some sort of human contact is so essential to survival that it's what people do. And I wasn't surprised that people do it here—it was just incredible to learn about the ways that they do it. And then the whole internal system of barter, and the makeshift and of course in many ways very warped but still beautiful community that develops.

There are these two tensions in the play that you capture really effectively. On the one hand, there is the torment of isolation, and on the other, there are the moments of connection between fellow inmates. I imagine that feeling—of potentially indefinite aloneness—would be among the most difficult to capture.
I don't think it's possible for anyone to ever experience anything close to what it's like to be in long-term isolation. I think that a lot of attempts to do that—recreating a cell, and having someone spend a few minutes in it—can be counterproductive, because we live in a world where all of us crave solitude. We're inundated with information and stimulus. So solitude can be a wonderful kind of relief...

Solitary confinement is not the same as solitude. It's losing everything that you love, everything that gives any meaning to your life and makes you who you are, and not knowing if you'll ever get it back. And I think that this play will help people imagine themselves into that a little better.

But ultimately, the goal for me wasn't for people to experience solitary confinement through this theater piece—it was for them to experience the people subjected to it as human beings.

Can we talk about the set? It's really striking.
Sean Riley is an incredible set designer. All I had in the script was, "Three guys at the bottom, three guys at the top," and he had to really work his way around some serious limitations, one of them being sight lines. Because this space was a fairly large theater, we had to make sure that no matter where you were sitting, you could see into all of the cells, and that was one of the reasons we ended up having some of the walls be translucent.

We could have done it—I suppose—by putting a camera in an enclosed space and having people watch that on a screen, but that wouldn't really be theater, and I don't know if that would have been as effective.

So in opening up the box, so to speak, we had to create a theatrical experience that in many ways is not literal. And the actors had to compensate for a lot of those limitations by making it clear that they can't see one another, that they can't interact. Two of the main characters had their cells next to each other for thirteen years, and they'd never seen each other's faces. There was also the video, and the sound—we got actual recordings from inside an isolation pod.

I think striking the balance between documentary theater and harnessing the full potential of theater was something we all had to work very closely together to achieve.

Is there any tangible way for people concerned about solitary to get involved as it gets a bit of a re-think across America?
It's very easy to feel like nothing you can do makes a difference when it comes to mass incarceration, but I hope that people realize that something that seems small—like writing a letter to a prisoner—is a political act that can result in real change. The reason that our prison system has been able to get to the point that it has is that it's completely opaque, and there's no accountability. And developing relationships, sending out lines of communication that make the prison walls more porous—that make them breathe—is, I think, an essential way to start to force that transparency to become a reality.

This interview has been condensed and edited for clarity. The Box is running at Z Space through July 30. You can buy tickets here.

Follow Aviva Stahl on Twitter.

Photo via Flickr user Mark Taylor

Donald Trump's campaign said Thursday that the GOP candidate will most likely be picking Indiana governor Mike Pence as his running mate, the New York Times reports.

Trump could still change his ever-changeable mind, since he's planning on officially announcing his pick Friday. But sources close to the campaign told the Times that they're planning on picking Pence, the former conservative congressman and radio personality who's emerged as the favorite for Team Trump.

Pence is a die-hard conservative who would appeal to some sections of the right worried about Trump's Republican bona fides. In the past, Pence has opposed both gay marriage and extra legal protections for LGBTQ people; he's also floated the idea that the government should give money to "gay conversion" therapy. As governor, he wanted to create a government-run news site until the plan was widely denounced for sounding like an attempt to form a "Pravda on the Plains."

Pence is in the middle of a contested campaign for reelection, and if he were nominated, he would have to drop out.

Read: What Trump's VP Pick Will Say About His Campaign

The author, at the scene of another 'Pokémon Go' glitch

This article originally appeared on VICE UK.

Pokémon Go has officially landed in the UK. The augmented reality mobile app by Niantic, for iOS and Android, had already left a considerable impression in territories where it had been easily downloadable without any backdoor trickery—just look at the productivity of the workforces of the US and Australia these past seven days. And now it's here. Hell, now it's as good as everywhere. (Apologies to Japan.) We've read the stories about dead bodies, muggings and even stabbings, but they're not affecting the game's popularity.

Which is, partly, indebted to the app's amazing simplicity. You walk about, catch Pokémon that pop up on your map, and check into PokéStops to get Poké Balls and eggs and other such tools of the trade. You collect as many of the pocket monsters as you can, level up, and then you can put them into battle with other players at designated gyms—that might also be churches, or leisure centers, or garages, or trash cans, probably.

Because I'm a resourceful sort of person, I downloaded Pokémon Go the day it came out—thanks, handy internet guides to getting software that you're not supposed to have. That was a week ago now. I expected to have a little fun with it. Maybe it'd hook me in. But I had no idea how deep this would go, and me with it.

DAY ONE

After installing the game and designing a trainer, you get to pick from one of the three classic Pokémon dtarters. "Great," I think to myself. I'll pick a Charmander, and be done with it. Except the game's map promptly glitches out, and I tap on Bulbasaur. Shit. I don't want a dumpy vegetable as my starter. It doesn't even breathe fire. After some disappointment at myself and the game, but mostly the game, I stroll out into the unknown frontier of King's Cross in search of more Pokémon to join my seedy new friend.

I keep the app open as I wander, clicking on all the PokéStops marked on the map—just random landmarks, really, some obvious and others just a sketch of graffiti on a wall, yet each possessing a small clutch of fresh new balls. Catching the Pokémon themselves is relatively simple: You just flick a Poké Ball in their direction, whack them on their noggins, and that's that, gotcha. At least, it's that effortless in the game's early stages. It's actually kind of staggering how Pokémon Go just lets you into its world without any explanation or tutorials whatsoever. The confidence that Niantic has in its intuitiveness is uncommon, even for mobile apps. So far largely unmoved, I nevertheless press on, knowing that tomorrow is another day, with new Pokémon to collect.

DAY TWO

All I have here are Pidgeys, Rattatas, the usual boring normal types. But then I open up the app at work, and what's this? A Dragonair. What the hell is a water/dragon–type mulling around in central London for? I chuck about 50 Poké Balls at it—my entire stock—before it runs away. I shut the app down and declare that Pokémon Go is "shit for babies". The tantrum I throw lasts roughly three hours, until a bunch of guys in the office decide that we all need to go hunting together. Well, OK, if you insist.

And here, as a team of trainers, something pretty amazing happens. We're ducking in and out of streets we'd never previously been down, despite their proximity to our place of work, to check in at PokéStops for more items—after my Dragonair encounter, I'm in need of some Balls. We nab a few Grass-type Pokémon in a park—makes sense—and that's when that little switch inside my head clicks. This game is the dream we were promised by the Pokémon TV show: Going out to new places and catching these critters, free and having fun and not caring about any of the other shit happening in the world. If it doesn't fit inside a Poké Ball, who cares?

We're all quickly at level five, which opens the option of competing at gyms—the biggest markers on the map—and to pick sides, a team, to stick with for forthcoming battles. We're all agreed: It's Team Mystic or nothing. (Well, there are two other teams, but who cares about those losers.) We're confident: These local gyms will all fall before our mystical might. This was our turf, and on our turf, we were kings.

DAY THREE

We were not kings.

All the gyms had been taken by some prick on the red Team Valor, with some ridiculously strong Pokémon. There was no way we could challenge them. My usual work commute route wasn't cutting it in terms of building my levels. This wouldn't do. I had to get better, somehow. But when I try to play the game after work, the servers are having one of their teething-problems hissy fits, rendering me unable to push into new territory, to seek out stronger Pokémon for Team Mystic. But the weekend was upon me: Tomorrow, Saturday, I would expand my radius, eschewing public transport, and come hell or high water, I would bag myself some of those elusive rare Pokémon.

Article continues after the video below

Watch VICE's film on the Black Widow of Boxing

DAY FOUR

Now I'm not the most active person in the world. To be honest, I'm pretty happy living my life as a short dumpling boy who doesn't really like exercise. So I never anticipated that I'd walk 15 miles in a single day.

I kick off my trek in Waterloo, and am immediately hit with a slew of new Pokémon. PokéStops pop up all over the place. One has confetti around—someone's put a lure on there. And it's worked a treat—there are tens of people gathered here, all with faces in phones. Yet as I get nearer, a conversation sparks up. Pleasant exchanges, between total strangers—and I really can't stress enough how this kind of behavior is almost totally unheard of in central London. I soon enough show them who's boss, and proceed to catch all manner of uncommon Pokémon. Four hours fly past, and I'm in a cafe, looking at Reddit.

There it is. The /r/PokémonGoLondon subreddit has the locations of Charmander. The starter Pokémon that I was denied could now be mine. But the hot spots in question are right across town. I screenshot them. Tomorrow, my fiery friend. Tomorrow.

Along my impromptu tour of what ultimately feels like the whole of London, I begin trying to conquer gyms in earnest, bumping up against some truly powered-up Pokémon trainers. I stand just yards from them. "Red Team?" one of them asks me. I say nothing. I say nothing, and I take their gym, like a silent assassin with his pockets full of Drowzees and Slowpokes and Mankeys. Pokémon Go's asynchronous multiplayer is strange one. I figure I'm being some sort of super badass Pokémon trainer as I emerge victorious, like when you meet your rival at the end of PokémonGold/Silver/Crystal. But in hindsight, I think I came off as a weird nerd.

Naturally, Buckingham Palace is a gym. I stop to check out who's holding the place down as his or her own. I reckon I can take this person. I'm confident. Gym leader of the Queen's big house, that's me, in a matter of minutes. Except I can't take a sliver of health off the opposition. It's not going anywhere. And yet, surely I had this in the bag... Oh hang on. The thing's glitched again. Reboot. And again. And again. And nothing. My shot at ruling the roost at one of London's premium PokéGyms has gone. The dream has died. I go home and fall asleep, barely able to feel my legs anymore.

DAY FIVE

Charmander, you bastard, today is the day I'll get you. But first I decide to check out some unusual PokéStops near my flat, in particular the unmarked graves that I can farm Poké Balls from. As I'm walking up to the church and its graveyard, I notice a hearse. Oh, no. I can't possibly waltz into the middle of the congregation and stand around playing a Pokémon Game. Not wanting to be that dick by gatecrashing a funeral, I immediately let it go and head for Holland Park, a.k.a. Chamander City, on foot.

On the way there, though: nothing. A massive stretch of emptiness in the game. It's odd to come across these unpopulated part of Pokémon Go, especially in a big city like London. I trudge on through the desolation, down a straight road that simply never wants to end. All of my excitement is ebbing away, as each heavy breath leads me closer to a kind of epiphany.

Pokémon Go isn't about being a Pokémon master. This game has tricked me into doing actual exercise. Was lugging my arse across London really worth it? Should I have just gotten on the Tube like a normal human being? I was being fuelled by some urge to catch virtual animals that live on my phone. That makes no sense. This had gotten into my head in a wicked way. Pokémon aren't real. Why am I even doing this?

I reach Holland Park, catch a Charmander, and feel absolutely nothing.

Related, on Motherboard: What 'Pokémon Go' Owes 'Ingress'

DAY SIX

The addiction has spread. And the toll of all that walking is being felt. I look online for respite, but it doesn't come: The rest of the world is going through this waking nightmare, too. Both my physical and mental well-being feel as if they're on the rocks. This has blown up like nobody, surely, could have forecast. And once it's out there, in you, there's no stopping Poké fever. Poké fever comes for us all. That guy who got stabbed? He just kept going with his Poké Balls, with his PokéStops. I head to the shops. There are some kids hanging around outside, catching Rattatas. I think about warning them. That was me, merely days ago. But I know it's too late. Pokéfever already has them. I leave without saying a word.

DAY SEVEN

All of the gyms are now beyond me, ruled by cruel masters in possession of the fiercest monsters. Around them, the same selection of critters continues to emerge. The glamour of Pokémon Go has faded. The urge to go outside and add to my collection doesn't surface as it did just two days ago. I'm already at the other end of this particular hype ride. It's brilliant—it has to be, or else it never would have smitten me so. But Pokémon Go has broken me, too. Which is incredible, really, considering there's almost nothing to it. The real heart of the game isn't the game at all, but interacting with other people, real people, hovering above their smartphone screens. I don't think that there's much to this catching them all lark at all. But the social side of the experience? Seeing random individuals coming together because of a shared interest in something so simple as tapping away at the faces of digital animals? I think that's a little bit magic. But next time I know there's a gathering happening, I'm taking the bus.

Follow Sayem Ahmed on Twitter.

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Generally speaking, rich people can be terrible. It's hard to like someone who rakes in obscene bonuses for dismantling institutions like the NHS, replacing orphanages with skyscrapers, or selling weapons to the third world. But rich people might be even more insufferable when they're on vacation—unwinding from the stress that comes with having sold your soul to the devil is hard, you know.

We asked some friends working in the upscale tourist industry in Greece, France, and Spain about the worst things that they've seen $$$ people do.

RACISM AT THE GOLF CLUB

Once, a 40-something American banker came to our hotel with his butler, who was African American. The banker wouldn't lift a finger, except to play golf. Initially, I naïvely assumed that the butler had it pretty good, considering how insanely wealthy his boss was. But then at some point, the banker uttered the grossest thing I've ever heard in my life: He'd just lost his ball in the woods after a bad shot, when he turned to me and said loudly: "I'm gonna tell my labrador to go get it." The butler then rushed into the woods to find it.

Another time, a German booked a suite for himself and three more rooms for his bodyguards. Upon arrival, he asked if I could show him around the hotel grounds in a golf cart. He sat in the passenger's seat, balancing a bottle of wine between his knees, and, even though the cart could fit two more people, he asked his henchmen to run behind us. They ran for 45 minutes. From time to time, he would ask me to accelerate just to watch them sprint—he was bent double with laughter throughout the drive.

Christophe, receptionist and golf club manager—Deauville

A REALLY SPECIAL BIRTHDAY

Once a Russian family came to Madrid to celebrate the birthday of their youngest daughter. As soon as they arrived—they didn't even wait to check-in—they asked me to hire a small plane or a helicopter that would pick them up at the hotel rooftop that same night, for a brief flight above the city. During the flight, they wanted to be able to throw balloons in the sky—balloons on which they'd written their best wishes for their beloved girl. It all had to happen to the soundtrack of the birthday girl's favorite pop song playing in a loop. Of course, they were not going to take no for an answer and were prepared to pay whatever it took to make their plans a reality.

Gloria, personalised attention—Madrid

HAPPY ENDINGS IN THE AEGEAN

Four Russian guys chartered two of our yachts for a trip around the Greek islands. One boat was for them and the other was for a group of ladies, whom they had also rented. The whole thing soon turned into what looked like a porn set. From the moment we left the harbor, the guests started to walk around completely naked in front of the whole crew, until eventually they started having sex in front of us too. I felt very uncomfortable throughout the trip, but technically, the boat is the customer's private space, and as long as they don't ask you to participate in the act, you have no other option but to be discreet.

Every morning, the entire boat turned into one big orgy that lasted till late at night, when the girls were sent back to their yacht in an inflatable dinghy. It might sound kinky, but it's not the ideal situation to get caught up in when you're working. But the whole point is for the customer to leave happy. And happy they left.

Michael, skipper—mostly in the Cyclades

JUST LIKE AT HOME

The hotel I work for offers this "From Home to Home" service, for guests who are likely to spend a longer time with us. It usually involves changing some carpets, sofas, curtains, and things like that, so they feel more at home during their months-long stay. But the game changes completely when the guests are either Arab or royals. Most recently, we've had to change the bathtub on one of our suites for one that was gold plated with embedded diamonds.

María, client services manager, Madrid

COCAINE ON BOARD

In the summers, I work as a chief mate on luxury yachts—what some call "small yachts." These rich men's toys are normally worth several million dollars. My job is to maintain the right balance between customer expectations and shipboard operations—and also to supervise the crew members when they're out of control.

Once, an English guy rented a 115-foot long boat and invited his friends to spend a week with him. They all were seasoned capitalists in their 50s—they all worked in the financial sector—and they were very into exhibiting their young girlfriends and their fake boobs. They were fun and loved to party—which meant that to them, it was perfectly normal to have containers stuffed with cocaine onboard. Before we left the port, they took care to hide drugs all over the boat. At first, partying with them was exciting, although they were hard to keep up with. Especially with my boss, who kept snorting lines 24/7—at lunch, before a jet ski tour, while fishing, and in the middle of the night. This situation lasted a couple of weeks. One day, I found harder drugs on the boat and that was my breaking point. The next day, I packed my bags and looked for a healthier work environment.

Sophie, chief mate on Sailing Ships—mostly in the Caribbean and the Cyclades

THE RELIGIOUS SERBIAN

People most often ask for women and drugs. If you don't want to get dragged into that kind of business yourself, you just have to point to the right people. Drugs are very easy to get hold of, but they're awfully expensive. Women are harder to find. However, my weirdest experience with a wealthy customer does not involve any cocaine or prostitutes. It stars a Serbian CEO, who was also a devout Christian.

On the first day of his stay, he asked me to rearrange the furniture, burn him a bunch of CDs of Byzantine music, and open a couple of bottles of champagne—each worth about $1,700. He also demanded that I accompany him wherever he went—to the beach, to dinner, and a bunch of parties. He wouldn't let me leave his side, and to be honest, I was really enjoying it. Then one night, after the two of us had just come back from a rather wild party, he decided that he needed to immediately get to Tinos—an island about an hour away from Mykonos, where we were—to light a prayer candle. Tinos is basically Ibiza for Greek Christian grannies. He rented a 130-foot-long boat, and the next thing I know, it's 7 AM and I am in Tinos, surrounded by elderly ladies making their way to the church of Our Lady of Tinos on their knees.

Manos, bellboy—Mykonos

RICH OLD PEOPLE ARE THE WORST

The worst job I've ever had was for a yacht charter agency when I was 20. It was the beginning of summer, and I thought it would be brilliant to get paid to hop from Greek island to Greek island. A friend of mine, who already worked there, helped me get a waitressing position at the agency. I was told that I was expected to be at my customers' beck and call 24/7, and to never complain about the long working hours. I was also told I'd earn $830 per week, which had already eliminated any possibility of complaining in my mind.

I was sent to a luxury cruiser yacht that had been chartered by two Russian couples in their 70s. The yacht cost $83,000 per week, and of course along with it, they'd rented the crew, which included another waiter, the cook, the captain, a cleaner, and myself. We would be traveling around the Ionian islands—specifically to Paxi, Lefkada, and Kefallonia.

From day one, their behavior was atrocious. The first meal I served was prawn pasta, and as soon as I brought out the plates, one of the two women got me to peel her prawns, saying: "Come here, you do it for me." While on the job, all I could think of was shoving the prawns into her eye sockets but didn't say anything. As soon as they finished eating, the other wife demanded that I massage her feet. I told them that I was there to serve drinks and food, and they called the agency to complain and I quit. For the next couple of days—while I was waiting for the yacht to moor at Lefkada, where I'd be replaced by another girl—every time they'd get hammered, one of the women would call me "little bitch."

She would also ring the service bell in the middle of the night to ask me to bring her water, she'd make the cook prepare a new meal as soon as he'd finished cooking for the day, and she'd spill wine on the floor on purpose just to make the cleaner mop it. The cherry on the cake was that every time I'd approach their table to refill their glasses, one of the husbands would grope my thigh. He kept moving his hand higher and higher, until I told him I'd tell his wife. This is what happens when old people have too much money. They know they don't have much time left so they turn into wankers. I got off at Lefkada, I took the ferry back home, and never got paid.

Dimitra, Waitress on a yacht—mostly in the Ionian Sea

WINE FROM HEAVEN

I used to work as a sommelier at the restaurant of a five-star hotel. One of the most common requests I'd get from wealthy clients was to serve them their favorite wine, even if it wasn't on our wine list. Which wouldn't be that big a deal, if the vino they asked for wasn't often in another part of the world. I constantly had to speak to people in Paris, London, New York, or Buenos Aires to find their drink of preference—wine that cost between like $2,200 and $7,700 per bottle—and then hire a plane and pilot to deliver it in Barcelona, in time for the client's dinner.

Gustavo, sommelier—Barcelona

INDESCENT PROPOSAL

Sometimes, married men flirt with me. They offer to buy me a drink at the bar and give me their phone number, but that's pretty much as far as it goes. I must have hundreds of numbers from relatively well-known businessmen and politicians in my phone. Sometimes, they invite me to their room too. I remember this one time I was working the reception desk, when a father in his 50s entered the lobby with his two teenage daughters in tow. He asked for two rooms on separate floors—one for himself, and one for his girls. I fulfilled his request, and he gave me about a $100 tip. The following evening, I understood why. The family had dinner at the hotel restaurant, and once they were done, the dad asked his daughters to go to bed. After that, he approached the reception desk and said, with a charming smile: "If you're bored, you know where to find me." He must have waited a long time.

There are also many thieves among the very wealthy. Once, the cleaning lady went into a room to clean after a customer had checked out and found that the pillows and a painting had disappeared. I had to debit the customer's credit card and call to let her know. Instead of denying it, though, the woman simply said: "Yes, charge my card. I'm not a thief. I just wanted this painting so badly." She seemed to think that the hotel was her personal shopping center.

Émilie, receptionist—Paris

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In our new VICELAND travel series VICE Does America, we piled VICE staffers Abdullah Saeed, Wilbert L. Cooper, and Martina De Alba into a 1989 Winnebago and sent them off on an epic American road trip to find out what the hell is going on in our country. The trio traveled to forgotten corners of the US and met porn stars, pot heads, Creationist scientists, an African king, and a few pompous presidential candidates along the way.

On the second episode, the gang checks out a Donald Trump and Megyn Kelly porn shoot in California to find out how minorities navigate the very white, male-dominated industry. Then, they visit a giant marijuana grow house in Denver, Colorado, to see why the state is leading the country's legal weed movement. And Abdullah, VICE's resident weed expert, makes sure that Will and Martina dab for the first time before they head off to Mount Rushmore.

Watch the full episode above and check out new episodes of VICE Does America every Wednesday at 10 PM on VICELAND.

Protestor Ieshia Evans is detained by law enforcement near the headquarters of the Baton Rouge Police Department on July 9. Jonathan Bachman/Reuters

At its most basic, news photography is the business of capturing the facts of an event on film. You go to the where, find the what, take shots of the who. But the best photos of news events contain something more. They show us a politician's face in a vulnerable moment, or the grace of an athlete in mid-leap, the raw emotion of mourners at a celebrity funeral.

Jonathan Bachman's recent photo of a Black Lives Matter protester in Baton Rouge being arrested, which he took for Reuters, is one of those wire photos destined to become an iconic image. The woman, Ieshia Evans, seems to have a serene power of the police officers taking into custody, and the lack of any other protesters in the frame give the photo a surreal tinge, as if it's taken the combined might of the Baton Rouge Police Department to arrest a single black woman.

Bachman took other excellent shots from that weekend of protests in Baton Rouge, but none have taken off like that one. We talked to him about how he captured that moment, and took a look at the photos that he took immediately before and after.

VICE: What was the mood like at the protest? Were you ever in physical danger?
Jonathan Bachman: Up to that point, the protests in Baton Rouge were very peaceful. People are very angry, but at that point, they had not turned to violence. However, later that night there was an incident were an officer lost teeth after being hit with an object.

I never felt like I was in danger. The demonstrations were peaceful. Reuters sent me to a hostile training course earlier this year. I learned a lot from the course. It taught me to how to constantly be aware of the situation and your surroundings.

When you're taking photos, how do you balance getting interesting, compelling images with trying to capture key moments in the event?
This was actually the first protest I have covered. So I was just trying to tell the story of what was happening in that moment and the time leading up to it.

How did the protesters treat you? Did you get the sense they want media attention?
Often I was offered snacks and water. It truly was a peaceful demonstration. I don't think media attention is their top goal. The demonstrators are just angry and want their voices heard. I feel they know the media is there, documenting the event, but I don't believe getting on TV or in pictures is their top priority.

What do you think a photojournalist's first and top priority is?
A photojournalist's first priority is to truthfully tell the story of what is happening through a series of images.

Protesters in London on Sunday, July 10

It's easy to feel overwhelmed by it all. In a Groundhog Day–like cycle, news spreads of another black person's death during or after an encounter with the police. Another name becomes a hashtag. Tweet, rinse, repeat.

Last week, Alton Sterling, Philando Castile, and Alva Braziel died after being shot by police officers before a brutal attack saw five Dallas cops killed, reportedly by a lone gunman. In the wake of this spate of killings, Black Lives Matter London was born last Thursday. It's grown in size since then, having already caught the attention of the mainstream media as Brits flocked to a series of protests last weekend, demonstrating against police brutality in the US.

To some, the idea of British people protesting "an American problem" is confusing. But for the people behind #BLM London and its expanding support network, the frequent killings of black people in the US are more than just horrific crimes; they're an opportunity to raise awareness and begin scrutinizing the UK's own rampant systems of inequality. To find out what #BLM London's next steps are, I tracked down Marayam Ali, the 18-year-old student driving the movement. We spoke about how it all started and why she feels raising awareness of systemic racism in the UK is necessary.

VICE: People are asking why Black Lives Matter is relevant in the UK—why should British people care about what's happening in America?
Marayam Ali: People seem to be forgetting that black lives are being lost everywhere. The injustice is everywhere, worldwide. I think the last case that got a big response in the UK was the 2011 riots when Mark Duggan was killed. People were really aware of that, but there's just been this big, empty space since then. The things happening in America now are making us want to stand in solidarity with the US, as well as acknowledge and fighting against our own problems.

What are some of the parallels you see here in the UK? As recently as last year, the Met police chief was quoted suggesting British society, and not just the police, is institutionally racist.
The list is endless—the only difference is that we don't have guns. Institutionalized racism still exists. People always seem to target young black people in particular, and there are negative stereotypes everywhere. You could see a young, black male, and some people would automatically fear them, without even knowing them, because they just exist as this negative stereotype.

Why do you think it's important for protesters to show solidarity with the US now?
There have been countless murders over the past week. Black people here have family over there, they have black cousins, black friends, and waking up and not knowing if you'll be able to speak to them on the phone the next morning, or knowing whether they're alive or not is terrifying. We need to show America that they're not alone; we feel, we're here, we know what's happening. We care, and we're fighting with them against these injustices.

Why did you decide to start #BLM London?
I want to demolish institutionalized racism and the system that targets black people everywhere.

But how did it come about, exactly?
It wasn't just myself. I was actually working with another 18-year-old, whose name is Caprese Willow, and she organized the protest on Sunday. From there, loads of people got onboard. I started the page #BLM London on Thursday, and it's just gotten a massive response with people asking how they can get involved, what they can do to help, and what's happening next. The number of people looking to help is just amazing. There are young people, even famous people like musician Kehlani—she got in touch with us asking how she can help—and it just goes to show how much people care. It's amazing.

You mentioned you founded #BLM London with another woman, Caprese. What do you think about women's central role in the BLM movement?
Emotionally, we just feel more. The people dying are the children we've raised and given our lives to. When they get killed in unfair circumstances, it's heartbreaking, and as a woman, you identify with other mothers who have had to go through such extreme loss.

Quite a few activists are using the momentum behind BLM to discuss other issues such as economic inequality and discrimination against black LGBTQ people, for example. What do you feel about that intersectional approach to activism?
It's not just about black lives and accepting different communities, but about one community for everything. Bringing about change by making the movement one huge thing is what we're about—changing everything, not just one cause. And I hope we can do it.

There's still a sense that we in the UK pay more attention to stories coming out of the US. Why do you think people don't seem to know about Kingsley Burrell, who died while under police restraint in 2011 at age 29, like they know about Alton Sterling, for example?
The media is very biased. They tend to show one side and forget the other, which is why I think there hasn't been much of a response to black lives being lost in the UK, because people didn't know about it. It's not because they don't care; they just don't know. Nowadays you see more on social media than you do on BBC News and the like. A lot of the time, if people aren't looking online, they don't see what's happening at all, which is what we're trying to change. We want the names of all of the people who have lost their lives known.

Do you think people in the UK should be focusing more on examining the UK's systems of inequality rather than only voicing these problems when awful things happen in the US?
We staged Sunday's protest to show solidarity with the Black Lives Matter movement in the US, but mainly to raise awareness of black lives here. We had multiple people giving speeches about what's happening here in the UK because there's a level of systemic oppression and racism that people aren't fully aware of. So we're working toward building a voice for those suffering from that here as well. This time, obviously, we were fighting for the lives that were taken in America because anything that happens there resonates with the UK deeply and emotionally, but in the future, we're looking toward spreading awareness about what's happening in the UK, not just working in partnership with the US.

What are your plans for the movement?
Because we have so many people asking how they can get involved, we're going to take full advantage of that and bring all those people together. We're planning on holding discussions, workshops, and things like that to raise awareness of the cause. That's our next immediate step, but it will be going on for a while. We're not going away anytime soon.

Follow Yasmin Jeffery and Ben Doyle on Twitter.

Image by Frances Smith

On Thursday, the ACLU, America's most prominent civil liberties organization, made it clear that while they're nonpartisan, they would definitely, definitely battle the policies of a hypothetical Donald Trump presidency.

A collection of legal memos spells out that in a bit more detail, challenging several of the Republican nominee's policy proposals. They cite numerous conflicts with the Constitution, as well as other legal objections, and make it clear that ACLU lawyers would wrap many of Trump policies in legal red tape if they were ever enacted.

Issues that the ACLU would challenge a hypothetical President Trump on include the "temporary" ban on Muslim immigration and the surveillance of Muslim communities, the deportation of 11 million or more undocumented immigrants, the reinstatement of torture, and the redefinition of libel laws to allow for more lawsuits against journalists.

"This is an invitation—in fact and exhortation—for Mr. Trump to look at the constitutional implications of his policies," said the ACLU's executive director Anthony D. Romero in a conference call with journalists on Wednesday.

Trump's policies, Romero claimed, would violate the First, Fourth, Fifth, and Eighth amendments. However, Romero pointed out that the ACLU had largely analyzed "statements made by Mr. Trump over the course of the campaign," rather than formal proposals, because many of the alleged billionaire's positions remain ill-defined, and he sometimes contradicts previous statements. That vagueness required the ACLU to extrapolate measures for enacting Trump policies, many of which it says would be unconstitutional.

For instance, in order to deport the number of immigrants Trump has said he wants to, the ACLU assumes that measures like unjustified traffic stops, door-to-door raids, and racial profiling would be necessary—which would violate the Fourth Amendment's protection against unreasonable search and seizure. "We think that individuals on US soil have certain rights," Romero said. "Those positions stand in stark contrast to Mr. Trump's policies along the border." Such policies, implemented in the past, have led, according to the memos, to "the filing of numerous administrative complaints and lawsuits."

As for the ban on Muslim immigration—again, an administrative matter—"it's not a slam dunk that Trump would be able to implement this without a major legal challenge on his hands," Romero said. Legal scholars like John Inazu have argued that the Supreme Court's 1944 decision Korematsu v. United States—which found that national security threats were more important than the civil rights of Japanese Americans interred in camps during World War II—does provide a possible legal basis for a ban. But according the ACLU, enacting such a policy would violate the establishment clause of the First Amendment, since that clause "bars the government from enacting a law or policy that either favors religion generally."

The ban, along with Trump's proposed surveillance programs targeting Muslim communities and mosques, "would be a constitutional battle that would roil for years," Romero said during the conference call. (The NYPD's blanket surveillance of Muslims was challenged by the ACLU, a lawsuit that resulted in a settlement that changed police policy.)

Romero also expressed concern about Trump's "enthusiasm for waterboarding," noting that torture violates the Eighth Amendment, which protects against cruel and unusual punishment, as well as the Detainee Treatment Act of 2009. As for Trump's mostly off-the-cuff promises to make it easier to sue the media for libel, Romero said that they came along "during times of national election, precisely the time when vigorous debate from both sides need to be valued."

Such policies "would engender a legal and constitutional battle that would be unprecedented," Romero added.

According to Romero, a similar report on the constitutionality of Hillary Clinton is "more than halfway done." Although he gave no specifics, Romero said the ACLU is "deeply troubled" by several of Clinton's proposals, including some of her immigration policies.

Follow Mike Pearl on Twitter.

In this image made from a June 25, 2016, police body-camera video, an officer points a gun at Dylan Noble, back left, in Fresno, California. (Fresno Police Department via AP)

Police in Fresno, California, say they were looking for a man with a rifle last month when Dylan Noble sped by in his black pickup truck. After a half-mile chase, the 19-year-old pulled into a Chevron station, where officers quickly confronted him, demanding he put his hands up. Noble got out of the truck, moved toward the officers, and ignored repeated warnings to stop reaching into his waistband, the cops claim.

The officers proceeded to put two bullets into Noble's body before moving closer, issuing another command for him to put his hands down, and pumping two more––including a shotgun blast––into the teen after he was down, as the Associated Press reports.

Noble died on June 25, but the body-cam video showing his demise was just released Wednesday. And while the police shooting may not be as as patently unnecessary as that of Alton Sterling, who was killed when already prone in a Louisiana parking lot, or Philando Castile, who was shot and killed in the driver's seat of his car a day later, the recording raises familiar questions about why cops essentially executed a man who seemed to pose little threat. The Fresno footage is not as visibly grotesque as the Facebook Live video Tuesday showing three men being shot in Virginia, but the incident suggests it's almost fortunate to go a full day without new footage emerging of people dying on camera in America.

Everyone from the tech gurus running social media sites to cops on the beat are grappling with this new reality. In fact, Fresno police chief Jerry Dyer claims he had planned to release the video on Friday, but backed off in light of the massacre of Dallas police officers at a Black Lives Matter rally a day earlier.

"Tensions are high," Dyer said at a news conference Wednesday. "In some cases, we are one spark away from a forest fire. And I pray this video doesn't serve as that spark." The department is conducting its own investigation of whether excessive force was used, focusing on the last two shots fired at Noble, and Dyer has asked the FBI to weigh in.

While no massive (or violent) protests erupted as a result of Noble's death, friends of the deceased have controversially defended the appearance of both the Confederate flag and the phrase "White Lives Matter" in his memory. Meanwhile, those who knew him are vigorously disputing the idea that Noble essentially committed suicide by cop (he can be heard yelling "I fucking hate my life" just before the first shots were fired). Friends and family point out he had a steady job and girlfriend, and cite his passion for music and a palpable love of life. At least one officer involved has reportedly said he feared for his life when Noble reached for his waistband, but rather than a gun, the teen seems to have been grasping at a plastic box. (The feds are reportedly looking into what, exactly, the object was.)

Noble's mother is seeking damages for her son's death, and his father has called out the cops for being "trigger-happy."

It seems clear at this point that grisly videos can inspire people to take action against gun violence, racial injustice, and police brutality. Then again, it's not implausible that a society confronted with an endless stream of death might become desensitized to horrific violence. Still, in a world where an increasingly large number of cops are required to record themselves, and pretty much everyone has the ability to hop on Facebook Live, the most harrowing thought is that weeks like this one may not seem all that remarkable in the future.

Follow Allie Conti on Twitter.

Photography via Nintendo

Plenty of things were better, or at least they seemed that way, in the 1980s. Tom Cruise. Powerful Dynasty shoulder pads. Those chocolate-on-chocolate-on-chocolate Feast ice creams (the pre-Magnum luxury melty sweets on a stick). Transformers. But one thing that definitely was not is video games. Quit the hooting, granddad, Defender was a load of crap, and Tetris just a bunch of lines.

I'm joking. Obviously. A bit. Point is: Video games are eons ahead of where they were in the 1980s. Look at Treasure Island Dizzy, and then at, I don't know, the Ratchet & Clank reboot of earlier this year. Pole Position and Mario Kart 8. Elite and the imminent No Man's Sky. Here, in 2016, given the choice between the two and the two only in each instance, I'd always pick the latter. More accurate controls, more levels of play, as a terrible SEGA Master System commercial once bragged about. With Safari Hunt.

But despite this position, I can't help but feel very excited indeed for Nintendo's brand new (not-actually-new-at-all-really) console of 2016, beating the NX to market by who knows how long: the Nintendo Classic Mini, a professional wrestler's palm-sized 30-games-in-one plug-in doodah for televisions that comes pre-loaded with more NES-era "classics" than any man, woman, child, or adroit simian could shake a stick with a shit on the end of it at.

Coming out in the US on November 11, with the dates for other territories TBD, and immediately putting itself at the top of Christmas lists among 30-somethings across the 50 states slash the world, this gray box of emulated treats, a diminutive mimic of the original 8bit NES, is a lot like already-out-there micro-consoles collecting a raft of retro hits and misses—there's something like 340 of them just focusing on the Mega Drive, at the last count. The differences are a) that this is an official Nintendo product, so you know it's built to last and probably won't be lying about what games are included on the box; and b) seriously, come on, look at those games.

Am I about to list them all? I think I might. See, where I said up there that video games in the 1980s weren't as good as they are today, which is true, that isn't denying the fact that a great many foundations for series we hold dear today—Zelda, Metroid, Mario, and more—began on the NES. And while sometimes clunky of controls and always less-vivid-than-you-remember of visuals, the greater percentage of the 30 titles on the Nintendo Classic Mini are bona-fide try-them-at-least-the-once affairs, if for no other reason than to see where the lore of Samus Aran, of the Belmonts, of Little Mac, began. Nutshell: For sixty bucks, this is video-gaming history for a fraction of the price of assembling the same collection via Nintendo's eShop. (VICE contributor Chris Scullion worked that out to be over $150.)

Deep breath, now: Balloon Fight; Bubble Bobble; Castlevania; Castlevania II: Simon's Quest; Donkey Kong; Donkey Kong Jr.; Double Dragon II: The Revenge; Dr. Mario; Excitebike; Final Fantasy; Galaga; Ghosts 'N Goblins; Gradius; Ice Climber; Kid Icarus; Kirby's Adventure; Mario Bros.; Mega Man 2; Metroid; Ninja Gaiden, aka Shadow Warriors; Pac-Man; Punch-Out!! Featuring Mr. Dream; StarTropics; Super C, aka Probotector II; Super Mario Bros.; Super Mario Bros. 2; Super Mario Bros. 3; Tecmo Bowl; The Legend Of Zelda; and Zelda II: The Adventure Of Link.

The NES Mini, as we might as well start calling this thing, because that's what it is—albeit without the option of sticking your own, old-school cartridges into it, do not try that—outputs in HD (fingers crossed the emulation quality is sound), as you'd expect given that they even got that right for the Wii U, and every game will save your progress as you go. Which is great for a whole load of those aforementioned 30-somethings who have children of their own now (oh, hi) always fucking demanding shit when you're trying to murder a Hammer Brother. Sorry, son, I can't help you with that PlayStation VR headset that's got itself somehow wedged somewhere it shouldn't be, daddy's at the end of Kid Icarus and this gigantic-eyed-wall-cum-mythical-monster boss is substantially harder than muscle memory is willing to remember.

(To be fair, the end of Kid Icarus is a piece of piss. Or at least it was when I was eight or nine. I don't suppose I'll get anywhere close to it these days. Thanks, hands-holding modern video games.)

But isn't it fantastic, really, that Nintendo gives precisely no shits whatsoever about what's going on in terms of obvious video game trends. Everyone and their sickly aunt is trying their hand at virtual reality, and here's Nintendo saying that all-senses-enveloped gaming isn't its bag for next year's Wii U–succeeding NX, and then mere days later confirming the re-(re, re, re, re) release of a host of video games probably older than the average user of a 3DS. Good luck to them, I say. "We're not sure about this mobile lark," was their line not so long ago, and look at Pokémon Go. Killed. It.

Which is why I'm sticking my neck out and saying, here, right now, here it comes, that the NES Really Small No Seriously Look At It will outsell the PSVR by, let's say, three to one. Because, why not? This year's been totally batshit insane in so many ways, when it's not been completely tragic, so who's to say that Nintendo won't find itself unable to meet demand for the NES Barely There At All You'll Really Have To Feel For It Amid All Those Cables From The Other Consoles You Don't Need Anymore.

I want this to be a success. To sell out. To make someone's day, and the day after. I want a bunch of graying grumps, my age and older, to point their most-likely-to-care kid at this and say: Look, see that, that's real gaming, that is. And for their most-likely-to-care kid to laugh at them, offer an, "oh, dad/mom," and jog upstairs to play Dota 2, telling their friends on Skype that they just gazed upon Galaga and almost choked on their (no car has ever come near it) garage-cooled can of supermarket-brand energy drink. But I want that to not matter because this isn't for the kids, obviously. It's for them, the grumps; and it's for me. And you can't have it. (You can, though, find more information on Nintendo's website.)

Follow Mike Diver on Twitter.

Read more articles about video games on VICE, and follow VICE Gaming on Twitter.

This past Monday night, every major social media platform you can think of was hacked—kind of. Smack dab in the middle of a Facebook Live Q&A with the creators of USA's buzzy hacker thriller Mr. Robot, an anonymous (pardon the reference) figure clad in the mustachioed mask representing the show's fsociety hacking collective interrupted the feed with a threatening-sounding message: "You deserve something new, something unexpected, something you've never seen before."

The gambit was more treat than trick, though: what followed was a livestream of Mr. Robot's Season 2 premiere, which was then streamed on Twitter, YouTube, Snapchat, and USA's website—and within hours, every stream was wiped from the internet faster than you could say "Raspberry pi."

From a marketing standpoint, the ploy was clever, but it wasn't so much an alignment with the show's smash-the-system messaging as it was a self-satisified wink within the system itself. (In case you forgot, the show's central protagonist Elliot Alderson isn't the biggest fan of social media.) All in all, the scheme was a rare misstep for Mr. Robot, which is unquestionably one of the finest dramas TV has to offer right now—and given its risk-taking, try-anything narrative approach, it has no right to be as good as it is.

All photos courtesy of USA

Much like Elliot's stream-of-consciousness voiceover narrative, Mr. Robot is always moving. It's packed with near-constant fourth-wall-breaking monologues, disorienting dream sequences, kinky BDSM scenes that would make a Showtime programming executive blush, philosophical therapist conversations rivaling The Sopranos's own fraught doctor-patient relationship, and anarchic hashtag sloganeering that makes #OccupyWallStreet seem subtle in retrospect—all this, airing on a cable network owned by one of the biggest media corporations in the world and previously best known for mildly pleasant carbon-copy procedurals.

In less capable hands, these elements would likely congeal into a simultaneously silly and self-serious program worthy of low-level ridicule; instead, creator Sam Esmail (who wrote and directed the 12 episodes in Mr. Robot's second season, a rare feat of auteurism even in modern TV's boundary-free landscape) has so far delivered a show that's slick, compelling, and compulsively watchable.

The fact that Esmail's pulled this off—specifically, making a show about hacker culture that feels resolutely modern and doesn't resort to stale, goofy stereotypes—is one of two major twists that Mr. Robot has capably pulled off. The second twist, which takes place in the dizzying final three episodes of Mr. Robot's first season, is too jaw-dropping and perfectly executed to spoil here (the show's first season is free to stream for Amazon Prime members, so just watch it now), but it concerns identity and self, themes that last night's excellent premiere, "unm4sk," dove headlong into.

"How do I take off a mask when it stops being a mask?" Elliot (played as ever with smoldering intensity by the incomparable Rami Malek) asks the audience during the 90-minute episode. It's a question plaguing all of Mr. Robot's primary players in the two-part episode—which, keeping in line with the cinematic aspirations expressed by Esmail on last night's post-show Talking Robot, is separated by a brief and dramatic "INTERMISSION" title card.

Elliot continues to wrestle with last season's revelations, struggling to regain control of his mind while piecing together who he is (and isn't) and what he's done (or didn't do); the mostly-still-MIA Tyrell Wellick (Martin Wallström) appears in a brief flashback donning a literal mask, his true self still unrevealed to Elliot and the audience at-large; Darlene (Carly Chalkin) wrests control of fsociety by assuming a newfound sense of purpose that isn't wholly convincing to those around her; and Angela Moss (Portia Doubleday) has seemingly become a wholly different human being as the newest public relations star of Evil Corp—sorry, E Corp—a mask of her own that she's trying to keep from falling off.

Even the beleaguered former Allsafe founder, Gideon Goddard (Michel Gill), is incorrectly charged with being a "crisis actor"—specifically, an actor serving as part of a manufactured distraction by the government—before his narrative in "unm4sk" suddenly, shockingly concludes. Gideon's fate embodies the tougher questions asked by Mr. Robot, themes that cut deeper and more personally than tech security, wealth distribution, and government chicanery: Are we who we really say we are? How do we know for sure? And if other people think we're someone different, does our own self-perception matter at all?

And perhaps the greatest hurdle Mr. Robot faces in its second season is an identity crisis of its own. Before that earth-shattering twist, Season 1 was a sexy, deeply intriguing urban noir (not unlike Netflix's astounding Jessica Jones from last year) that provided a healthy dose of humor and self-awareness along the way. Post twist, there's nothing funny about Mr. Robot anymore—save for the quirky, Seinfeld-obsessed tangents of Elliot's new friend Leon, played very capably by NYC rapper Joey Bada$$.

While no one was in danger of mistaking Mr. Robot for a comedy to begin with, I worry that the show could collapse under the weight of its own self-seriousness if it continues down such a dark, tortured path. Still, "unm4sk" is a satisfying, stylish episode of TV that finds Mr. Robot avoiding the pitfalls of past enigmatic TV phenomenons (looking at you, Lost) by forcing us to ask just enough questions with the promise of (some) answers to come. Whether Mr. Robot can sustain this impressive level of momentum relies on whether Esmail continues to value narrative risk-taking over continuing the series down the overcast, foreboding path it's currently heading down. After all, trying on different masks can be fun, too.

You can watch Mr. Robot Wednesdays at 10 PM on USA.

Follow Larry Fitzmaurice on Twitter.

Luca Bruno / AP

On Thursday night in Nice, France, a truck sped down the seaside promenade where people had gathered to celebrate Bastille Day. So far, 84 people are confirmed to have died, with many more injured, around 18 of whom are in critical condition. This is everything we know so far.

The truck was driven for almost 1.2 miles down the promenade, mowing down people in its path. Eyewitnesses reported that the driver seemed to swerve from left to right in order to kill as many as people as possible. The police shot the driver, although it is yet to be confirmed that this is what stopped the attack. Photos of the truck show the windshield covered in bullet holes.

The New York Times reported that "the main strip through Nice was littered with bodies, one after the other."

President François Hollande has called the incident's "terrorist character" undeniable. "The horror has, once again, hit France," he said on Thursday evening.

So far no group has claimed responsibility for the attacks. Police have now confirmed the suspect is Mohamed Lahouaiej Bouhlel, a Franco Tunisian. A search was conducted at his home in Nice. Neighbors have told Agence France-Presse that he was a solitary, quiet figure who didn't respond when greeted. One neighbor commented he did not seem overly religious. Le Monde has reported he was born in 1985. French officials have reported the truck contained weapons and an "inactive" grenade.

People who follow ISIS communication channels saw members celebrating. One channel, called the United Cyber Caliphate, contained a message that simply said "France" and then a smiley face, according to the New York Times.

Thousands of people ran from the promenade through the center of Nice and the side streets. One eyewitness says that police simply told people to "run."

Hospitals in the region have received dozens of wounded people with some still in critical condition.

News organizations in the UK have largely avoided showing the most shocking footage of the attack, but videos are being circulated on social media, against the wishes of French police. Francetélévisions, the national broadcaster in France, apologized this morning for showing graphic images of the attack.

Marine Le Pen, the leader of the far-right Front National, has used the attacks to promote the party's anti-immigration, anti-Muslim agenda. She told Le Figaro:

Donald Trump appears to have finally chosen a vice presidential candidate, and his name is Mike Pence, multiple news outlets reported Thursday. Pence, as most people are just learning, is the Republican governor of Indiana best known for his role in last year's controversy over a bill that appeared to make discrimination against gays legal in the state.

Despite that brief, ignominious moment in the national headlines, Pence was probably the safest, most boring choice Trump could have made for a running mate—a stable, dyed-in-the-wool conservative who's concerned-dad-who-just-has-a-few-gosh-darned-questions tone is a stark contrast with the noisy left-of-center bloviating going on at the top of the ticket.

Of course, if you ask the Republican Establishment, Pence's boringness might be just what Trump needs to shore up the grassroots conservative wing of the conservative base—a branch of the party that Trump is looking to win over as he heads into a potentially rocky Republican National Convention next week.

Despite having opposite vibes, though, Trump and Pence are not entirely at odds. The Indiana governor is a former talk radio host who once claimed to be "Rush Limbaugh on decaf," and as such loves to talk, much like his new boss. And in a move Trump would find very familiar, Pence partly funded his own 1990 campaign for the House of Representatives—which he didn't win.

Both Trump and Pence also have a past history of supporting Democrats, and of taking political positions that are all over the map ideologically. Back in 2014, The Federalist even went so far as to call Pence a "technocratic progressive," although in recent years, he has shifted more sharply to the right, particularly on social issues. although Pence, unlike Trump, eventually shifted more firmly to the right.

Both men also have a history of saying, well, weird shit. In one anti-big-government screed on his congressional campaign website, archived in 2001, Pence declared that "smoking doesn't kill;" in another, he mistakenly wrote that George Washington was a Republican. And in a strange rant about pop-culture, also archived in 2001, he claimed that the movie Titanic was popular because the sinking of the titular ocean liner symbolized American moral decline.

For the most part, though, Pence oozes recognizable, old-fashioned conservatism that might help ease the GOP's fears that Trump is driving the party's station wagon off a cliff. Pence is well known for his evangelical Christian faith. He also has the support of perhaps the only moral force more important to Republicans than Jesus: The Koch Brothers, whose political group, Americans for Prosperity, absolutely adores the tax cuts Pence managed to get passed in Indiana, according to Politico.

On social issues, Pence's positions are slightly to the right of the Republican mainstream. Earlier this year, he signed a drastic new abortion law in Indiana that, among other things, requires women who get abortions to pay to cremate their fetuses.

But its in his opposition to gay rights has been the social issue on which Pence has earned his reputation, a position that dating back to his 12 years in Congress. In 2000, 15 years before signing Indiana's anti-gay religious freedom bill, Pence declared his opposition to any federal funding for HIV and AIDS patients, if they "celebrate and encourage the types of behaviors that facilitate the spreading of the HIV virus," instead favoring programs intended to change "sexual behavior."

In his days as a congressman, Pence also opposed the addition of hate crime legislation based on sexual orientation to a defense bill in 2009, saying, "This will have a chilling effect on religious expression, from the pulpits, in our temples, in our mosques and in our churches. And it must be undone." He also attempted to amend Indiana's constitution to outlaw gay marriage in 2014, even though his fellow Indiana Republicans felt like existing anti-gay marriage laws were enough, according to theIndianapolis Star.

If there's one obstacle getting in the way of party unity at this point, it's that Pence is not exactly a Trump fanatic. While he has supported Trump since the latter locked up the GOP nomination, Pence endorsed the far more socially conservative Ted Cruz back in the heat of the party's 2016 primary. Pence has also been an outspoken critic of some of Trump's policy proposals, tweeting in December that "calls to ban Muslims from entering the U.S. are offensive and unconstitutional." As a congressman, Pence also supported the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), a trade agreement that Trump talks about constantly, referring to it as "perhaps in the history of the world, the worst trade deal."

Pence also supports the Trans Pacific Partnership, a deal Trump calls "a rape of our country" and plans to dismantle if he takes office. So the new running mates will probably need to come to some sort of meeting of the minds on that one if they win.

At this point, there is still a little time. On Thursday evening, the Trump campaign said that, in the aftermath of the deadly attack in Nice, it would postpone the press conference where Trump was expected to formally introduce Pence as his No. 2. At press time, the campaign had not yet set a new date for the announcement.

Follow Mike Pearl on Twitter.

Rescue workers respond to the scene where a man drove a truck into a crowd in Nice, France, on July 15, 2016. Image via Getty

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

International News

At Least 84 Killed in Terrorist Attack
At least 84 people have been killed in the southern French city of Nice after an attacker drove a truck into crowds celebrating Bastille Day. The driver, reportedly a 31-year-old Tunisian-born Frenchman named Mohamed Lahouaiej Bouhlel, also allegedly opened fire on the crowds before being shot dead by police. Interior Minister Bernard Cazeneuve said 18 other people were in a critical condition. President François Hollande said a state of emergency will now be extended by three months from the end of July. —Reuters

Yemeni Rebels Head to UN Talks
Yemen's Houthi rebels will attend UN-mediated peace talks in Kuwait today, despite threats of a boycott by the Yemeni government negotiators. The Houthis are demanding a share of power in a new government, while the Yemeni president, Abd-Rabbu Mansour Hadi, insists on the withdrawal of rebel groups from all cities. —Al Jazeera

South Sudan Spent $2 Million on DC PR Firms
South Sudan was able to spend $2.1 million on lobbying and public relations firms in Washington, DC, from 2014 through the end of 2015. The money was spent in an attempt improve its image, keep US aid flowing, and stave off sanctions in response to conflict atrocities. More than 5 million people in South Sudan are in need of humanitarian assistance. —VICE News

North Korea Unveils Alleged Child Abductor
North Korean authorities presented a man they claim to be a defector working for South Korea at a press conference in Pyongyang. Ko Hyon-Chol broke down in tears and confessed to trying to kidnap two North Korean orphans and take them to South Korea. South Korean agents were accused of planning the attempted abduction. —AFP

US News

Gingrich Wants to Deport Muslims
Newt Gingrich, the former speaker of the House and a possible vice presidential candidate, said on Fox News that every Muslim in the US who believes in Sharia—Muslim religious law—should be deported. Following the terrorist attack in France that left 84 dead, Gingrich said, "Sharia is incompatible with Western civilization." Trump has postponed the announcement of his VP pick following the attack.—CNN

Oregon Cop Placed on Leave for Facebook Posts
A police officer in Oregon has been placed on paid leave after reportedly making hateful Facebook posts about the Black Lives Matter movement. In one post, Tom Newberry reportedly commented that drivers should accelerate over any protesters blocking the road. The Linn Police Department is investigating the comments.—AP

Clinton Campaign Jumps on Pokémon Go Craze
Hillary Clinton's campaign will hold a Pokémon Go "PokéStop" event in Ohio on Saturday, enticing people with "free Pokémon." At a campaign rally in Washington, DC, Clinton joked about using the game to boost turnout: "I don't know who created Pokémon Go, but I'm trying to figure out how we get them to Pokémon Go to the polls." —The Hill

BP Bill for Oil Spill Reaches $61 Billion
Oil giant BP has issued a final estimate of the cost of the 2010 oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, the largest in US history: $61.6 billion. "It's a really scary number," said leading oil analyst Fadel Gheit. The cost of lawsuits and penalties has cut the market capitalization of the company by one third. —The Washington Post

Everything Else

Rihanna Cancels Stadium Show in Nice
Rihanna, due to perform in Nice tonight, has canceled her performance at the Allianz Stadium after the terrorist attack in the French city. "Our thoughts are with the victims and their families," the singer posted on Instagram. —Billboard

'Game of Thrones' Sweeps the 2016 Emmy Nominations
The HBO series scored 23 nominations for the 68th Annual Primetime Emmy Awards, just ahead of the 22 nominations earned by The People v. OJ Simpson and the 18 nominations Fargo received. —Los Angeles Times

Russian FSB Agents Punished for Celebration
Russia's FSB security service will punish a group of new agents photographed wildly celebrating their graduation. The graduates were seen driving a convoy of black Mercedes through Moscow and honking their horns. —BBC News

NASA Made a Video Simulating Pluto Landing
To celebrate the one-year anniversary of the New Horizons spacecraft's flyby of Pluto, NASA released a video depicting a lander descending to the surface of the planet. It is based on 100 New Horizons snapshots. —Motherboard

D-List Celebrities to Speak at GOP Convention
The Republican National Committee has released the speaker's list for next week's convention. It features professional golfer Natalie Gulbis and General Hospital actor Antonio Sabato Jr. Donald Trump had promised "showbiz." —VICE News

Italy Considers Legalizing Weed to Fight the Mafia
Italy's top prosecutor, Franco Roberti, said legalizing weed could act as a "weapon" against both ISIS and the Mafia. Legislation is to be introduced in the Italian parliament next week to remove criminal prohibitions on marijuana.—VICE News

Women's handbags have always been a mystery to me. As a kid, I was convinced that my mum and her friends just had to carry around all sorts of magical items, plus a couple of bricks. I thought that was the law – in case they needed to save the world or something.

As a grown man, I can't really say I find handbags and purses any less puzzling. So, driven purely by curiosity, I decided to ask a bunch of women I know, as well as a few strangers I bumped to on the street, to let me photograph the contents of their bags.

I spent the last couple of months wandering around St. Petersburg (where I am based), asking every woman I met to "show me what's in your bag." Some thought I was a mugger, some thought I was insane, and some complied. The latter, I noticed, took great care to arrange whatever items they possessed on a black piece of cloth I carried around in my own backpack, before they allowed me to photograph their composition.

Finally, I also asked these women to let me snap their ID photos. I feel that the combination of each portrait and the subject's personal items gives a striking first impression of who these women are.

'Broad City' via Comedy Central

Nothing soothes the pain of a low (or nonexistent) bank balance like a night of blacked-out debauchery. Sadly the things you'll need to get loaded enough to forget your financial woes cost money—which, obviously, you don't have. But if you've got the will to party, you'll sure as hell find a way to scrape by. Here's how thrifty young adults have mastered partying while broke.

DOWNLOAD AN APP THAT PAYS YOU TO PARTY

I like drinking, and I like money—so I was pleased to learn about Surkus crowdcasting, an app that pays you to attend shitty nightclubs, with free drinks and an entry charge to boot. I've only done it once, but it works! Women get paid substantially more than men (typically, $25 vs. $5), but you get a $15 bonus the first time you use the app, as well as an extra $15 every time you successfully refer someone. The club I went to was trashy and loud, and if I'd guess 89 percent of the women attending were only there because of the app—which I'd still recommend to anyone who wants to get drunk for free. - Lindsay, 28

CARRY A FLASK AT ALL TIMES

I managed to stay drunk and social during my starving-artist phase by keeping a flask of whiskey on me at all times. At bars, I'd order a coke or ginger ale, take a few sips, and discreetly pour the contents of my flask into the glass. If you're stealthy, this can save you thousands of dollars a year. Just don't get caught. - Jayce, 26

THROW HOUSE PARTIES

Every time I throw a party at my house, I wake up with a month's worth of leftover beer and liquor—none of which I paid for myself. That's the beauty of house parties: You can write "BYOB!" on the invitation, and everyone will bring enough alcohol for the entire party. You can also throw a keg party, charge $5 a cup, and make a profit while you party. - Conrad, 23

DON'T KNOCK CHEAP WINE

A Freakonomics podcast on expensive wine from a few years ago changed my life. In taste tests, even so-called wine experts couldn't tell the difference between Two Buck Chuck and $70 bottles. I was buying the cheap shit before I heard that podcast; now, I feel extra smug. - Laticia, 25

TELL EVERYONE IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY

We love birthdays in America, from free cake at restaurants to free shots at the bar—and if you want it to be, every night can be your birthday. Now you can't claim it's your birthday at the same place more than once a year, and the jig is up if they ask to see your ID for verification—but otherwise, pretending it's your birthday is a low-risk, high-reward tactic. - Casey, 22

BE SOBER

Don't drink. Don't buy drugs. Go out with your friends, dance, laugh, and have a great time. Wake up the next morning without a hangover, without a random person in your bed, without an overdraft on your checking account. Being sober can be scary, boring, and frustrating—but when it's fun, it's proof that you don't need to be fucked up to have a good time with your friends. You don't need to be sober all the time, but everyone should try it out at least once a month. - Simone, 26