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This Pretend Billionaire Threw Insane Parties for Celebs and then Vanished

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Malaysian-born Wharton grad Jho Low was perhaps best known for his love of partying with celebrities. He was said to drop hundreds of thousands on the regular and even millions if he was out and determined to impress a starlet like Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, or Miranda Kerr. In the parlance of casino and nightclub operators, where big spenders are often referred to as “whales,” Low was the biggest whale Las Vegas, Saint Tropez, and New York had ever encountered. A mastermind behind a state-owned Malaysian investment fund known as 1MDB, the US Department of Justice has claimed in a civil-forfeiture action that Low helped siphon off billions from the fund through fraudulent deals and complex money laundering. (Low, who has been criminally indicted in Malaysia, has denied all allegations of wrongdoing, and even set up a website to defend himself.)

What we do know is that he and those close to him bought things like a $35 million private jet, equity in music labels like EMI, masterpieces by Jean-Michel Basquiat, Monet and van Gogh, a $250 million super-yacht, a penthouse in New York’s Time Warner Center, and the Beverly Hills hotel Viceroy L’Ermitage. He even appears to have helped arrange financing for Leonardo DiCaprio's The Wolf of Wall Street through Red Granite Pictures. With the kind of money Low was throwing around, he was well past living the lifestyle of the rich and famous. At the moment when everything began falling apart, he was in talks to do some pretty big deals—including buying a big stake in the fashion label Tom Ford. He was also getting closer to the halls of political power in the US and becoming interested in that kind of influence globally. It's hard to imagine where he'd be now had the whole thing not come crashing down.

In their new book Billion Dollar Whale: The Man Who Fooled Wall Street, Hollywood, and the World, Wall Street Journal reporters Tom Wright and Bradley Hope paint a picture of Low's lifestyle and what it portends for the global financial system, Hollywood, and corporate America. It's a world where big banks like Goldman Sachs and heads of state get wrapped up in shady deals even they probably do not fully comprehend—until they come back to bite them. VICE talked to the authors to find out how Low cultivated an image as a billionaire and got in with the one percent, what his story says about the elite and high society of the world, and why law enforcement can't catch the alleged swindler.



VICE: Low’s upbringing is interesting, because it's not like this is a rag-to-riches story. How important do you think his background socioeconomically was to his alleged scheming?
Tom Wright: He comes from a wealthy family—definitely millionaires—but much poorer than the billionaire class he aspired to enter. His father, Larry, took a stake in a garment company, but was known in Malaysia as a petty fraudster. Low grew up in a mansion and saw his father’s partying ways, which involved flying in Swedish models for one celebration on a yacht. He also learned about offshore shell companies from his father. He had two older siblings, a brother and a sister, and Larry had high aspirations for his clan. He sent Low to [the elite] Harrow [School in London], where he mingled with Asian and Middle Eastern royalty and got to know the stepson of Malaysia’s future prime minister, Najib Razak. He longed to become a true member of that class, and he succeeded.

When they saw Kate Upton on a boat, they were hooked by Low.—Tom Wright

That success was largely just about cultivating an image as a billionaire rather than being one, right?
Bradley Hope: Giving the impression that he was rich and could make you rich and that he had a lot of rich friends was a critical component of Jho's whole way of doing business. Even as a kid, he would take steps to make himself appear richer than he was. In one great example, he borrowed a big yacht from a friend of his father's and changed some of the pictures to his own family to give the impression to friends at Harrow visiting during the summer that it was the Low family yacht. At Penn, he threw a splashy party at a club, but unbeknownst to attendees he stiffed the owner on the bill for months and only paid a fraction of the total in the end. We see him as the ultimate stage manager: He would think everything out down to the types of flowers on the tables and which drinks' glasses would be available.

What does Low’s story really tell us about high society and the elite of the post-financial-crisis world?
Wright: Everything is for sale! Even actors, models, bankers and businessmen worth tens or even hundreds of millions of dollars need (or want) more money. For example, Miranda Kerr made $7 million the year before she began dating Low. But that’s not enough to live on a $250 million super yacht and throw champagne-drenched parties on the French Riviera. DiCaprio was wealthy beyond measure but was enticed by Low’s promises of $400 million in film financing, including to make The Wolf of Wall Street, at a time when Warner Brothers didn't want to finance the film. That’s not the kind of money the actor could command. The world of the 0.1 percent is also extremely small—once Low was in it, he was able to move from one person to the next. In fact, he was one of the most skillful networkers the world has ever seen. He would size up someone’s use to him and leverage it. He used his friendships with Hollywood stars to entice Arab businessmen into deals. When they saw Kate Upton on a boat, they were hooked by Low.

Right, but what made him so able to glide through this world without detection while presenting such an outsized image?
Hope: For celebrities and musicians, it was about money. He had friends in the nightclub world and elsewhere who could "arrange" for celebrities to hang out with him or attend his parties for a fee. Some of them grew into friends or even business associates. For example, Swizz Beatz saw him as more than someone who paid fees—he saw Jho as a buiness opportunity and helped inspire Jho to try and buy Reebok from Adidas. That deal was pretty far along, but ultimately was scuppered by the explosion of the scandal in 2015. The bankers were also interested in Jho for money, primarily earning fees from transactions and deals. Many of his friends in the Middle East were excited to be involved in deals, too, but they also loved the lifestyle of being around Jho, especially the celebrities and supermodels.

In the book, you compare Low to The Great Gatsby. That's a bit much, no?
Wright: Both The Great Gatsby and Billion Dollar Whale are set in times of extreme wealth inequality. In the Roaring Twenties, the stock market made a chosen few extremely wealthy. Today, you could argue, it is access to trillions of dollars in investment funds, whether hedge funds, private equity funds, or, in Low’s case, sovereign wealth funds. Those who master this universe have access to boundless wealth, and can recreate their identities. Jay Gatsby was poor, and Low was from a fairly wealthy family. But like Gatsby, he saw wealth and glamorous parties as a way to vault himself into a more rarified world.

Where Jay Gatsby was looking to earn Daisy Buchanan's affections, Low yearned to be close to celebrities like Paris Hilton. In the 20s, Old Money still held a sway over Gatsby, but Low cared more about celebrity. There’s another similarity: Nick Carraway describes Jay Gatsby as “the single most hopeful person I have ever met,” and that’s exactly the defining characteristic of Low. To carry out such an amazing fraud, you have to believe in yourself. Even now, Low is sending messages from his hiding spot in China, offering to help out the Malaysian government in negotiations to recover the money. And he’s used lawyers in London and New York to attempt to stop the publication of Billion Dollar Whale. It hasn’t worked.

Why can’t law enforcement catch him?
Hope: Law enforcement in multiple countries have built and are building cases against him and many others, but we don't know exactly what they're planning. [If] he's in China, it's not easy to extradite him unless the Chinese government decides its a good idea. That might be more tricky because Jho has told associates he's been "working with Chinese intelligence" and has a measure of protection from the Beijing government. We believe Jho Low is in China, possibly Hong Kong, Shenzhen or Macau.

As the scandal came tumbling down starting in 2015, many of his contacts started talking to each other for the first time and they realized everyone was told a different story. And it turns out from some of the court documents, that Jho may have been pretending to be people in e-mail exchanges at times, too. We're not saying he has no genuine side to him, but it's clear that Jho is a man of many plans and he's always working on them. Even at nightclubs at the peak of his partying, he'd be off in the corner taking calls. Today, he travels around with seven or eight phones and sends messages from them like he's playing the piano. It's hard to get his sole attention.

When was Low last seen?
Wright: There was a rumor last week he was drinking wine in Hong Kong. Malaysia’s government says it knows for sure that he is in China, and they are negotiating to get him sent back. We last had a firm idea of his location in July, when he was moving between Macau, Hong Kong and Shenzhen, staying at apartments and Marriott hotels. He was trying to buy a boat and moor it at the Royal Hong Kong Yacht Club, which his wife joined. He lost his $250 million superyacht Equanimity when it was seized by Indonesian authorities, but he’s been trying to buy a new, smaller yacht, possibly as a last-ditch escape route.

He appears to be protected by China. Low helped negotiate a number of dodgy infrastructure deals last year between China and Malaysia, from which money was allegedly stolen. The idea seems to have been to use the cash to fill holes in Low’s scheme and to pay off unknown enablers in China. Then his patron, former Malaysian Prime Minister Najib Razak, lost power in May elections and was subsequently arrested. The new government wants to cancel the infrastructure projects and has charged Low in absentia for money laundering. But Beijing could be worried that Low knows too much about some senior Chinese officials, and that’s why he’s been able to remain there incognito.

This interview has been lightly edited and condensed for clarity. Sign up for our newsletter to get the best of VICE delivered to your inbox daily, and learn more about Wright and Hope's book here.

Follow Seth Ferranti on Twitter and Instagram.

This article originally appeared on VICE US.


Timothée in 'Beautiful Boy': Look at These Tears, Give Me the Oscar Now

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Timothée Chalamet has been alive for 22 years, and that is 22 years that he has not won an Oscar. He came close this year, when his role in the magnificent Call Me by Your Name nabbed him a Best Actor nom alongside some of the greatest living actors, but "close" doesn't fill that Oscar-sized hole on his shelf. Worry not, though! The guy is right on track for another shot at the statue.

On Wednesday, Amazon Studios released the second trailer for Chalamet's upcoming film, Beautiful Boyand the thing looks heartwrenching, emotionally ravaging, and very obviously awards bait.

Beautiful Boy is based on twin memoirs from David Sheff and his son, Nic—Beautiful Boy: A Father’s Journey Through His Son’s Addiction and Tweak: Growing Up on Methamphetamines, respectively—both centered around teenage Nic's crystal meth addiction and his father's struggle to help get him clean. Chalamet is playing Nic Sheff in the film adaptation, alongside a brutally sad Steve Carrell as his dad and Amy Ryan as Nic's mother. So if you've ever wondered what it would look like for an aging Michael Scott and Holly Flax to cry about their struggling son, Beautiful Boy's got you covered.

The movie premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival earlier this month and was immediately met with rave reviews for Chalamet and Carrell. Variety gushed that Chalamet is "the rare actor you could call handsome and beautiful at the same time" with facial features that "seem to wrap themselves around the emotions he’s feeling," and both the Guardian and IndieWire already called Chalamet's inevitable supporting actor nom.

Between Beautiful Boy, that upcoming role as Henry V, and, hell, maybe even Dune, if Villeneuve can pull it off, Chalamet seems determined to lock down that goddamn Oscar. And, sure, the guy's one of the most exciting young talents in Hollywood right now, but it's not the worst thing for him to keep losing out for a few more years—it worked for Leo.

Beautiful Boy is out October 12. Until then, watch the new trailer above and get ready to call your parents and blubber to them about how you're sorry for being a delinquent 16-year-old or whatever.

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This article originally appeared on VICE US.

How Much Money Do You Have to Earn Before You Get Weird?

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This article originally appeared on VICE UK.

Who is your favorite billionaire? Wrong answer: Being a billionaire is a fundamentally immoral thing to be and all of them should be slaughtered, their blood drained from their bodies, and their heavy heads placed on spikes. But ignoring that: Who is your favorite billionaire? If it’s not Elon Musk, you’re doing billionaire fandom wrong. And I’m not talking in that Rick-and-Morty-poster, le-epic-win–style way of enjoying Elon Musk: Enjoying him as a spectacle, as a projection of who you would be if you were rich, that’s the way to do it. Think about it, if you were a billionaire, would you be Bill Gates (philanthropist, still fundamentally looks like he gets wedgied now and again)? Jeff Bezos (unapologetically rich hench dude, first villain to get grenade exploded in an Expendables film)? Mark Zuckerberg (a grey t-shirt that got a bit carried away and an alien who has to actively remind himself to blink)? Richard Branson (“Mommy, why is that dinner lady suing the NHS?”)? Or would you be Elon Musk, who keeps trying to send shit into space and occasionally summons a beautiful woman from the world of celebrity to come and be his blonde concubine? Elon Musk is so rich he called a cave diver a pedophile three separate times because he keeps shit talking on Twitter and he knows he’s so rich he’s essentially legally bulletproof. You telling me that’s not you? Because that’s me. You’re telling me that’s not you? That is me if I ever get rich. So Lord help you all if I ever get rich.

Here’s an example of how Elon Musk is exactly you if you were rich. A couple weeks ago he smoked a joint on the Joe Rogan show, which we all know about and remember fondly because he did it with the casual élan of a 13-year-old who just tried to stick his dick in an N64. The next day—for this reason, as well as two executives quitting on the same day and the hangover from Musk tweeting he was taking the company private and a New York Times interview where he started crying—Tesla stock crashed 6%. I have to caveat the next section by saying: I am bad at math.

I am bad at math: a caveat

Listen. I am not good at math. Accepting your flaws and embracing them—working with them, and not against them—is part of growing and becoming a complete human. Numbers are a foreign language to me! I am not good at math. For that reason, I am going to, bafflingly, attempt a ton of maths.

How much did that joint cost Elon Musk?

According to CNBC, as of June, this year Musk owns 33.7 million shares of Tesla. Before he took a massive rip of that fat J, it was trading at $280.95, making his shares worth $9.4 billion. After honking on dank, dank kush, shares went down to $260.32 (making Musk’s shares worth $8.7 billion). A lot of billionaires’ wealth is theoretical—it is tied up in stock, which waxes and wanes as the days progress, or is locked into hard real estate, so their actual money on-hand is a lot less than the total calculation of their worth—but by my calculation, that puff puff pass cost Elon Musk: $695,231,000. To clarify: six hundred and ninety five. Million. Dollars. Sure, maybe your mom caught you with a little bit of weed once and you got mildly in trouble and grounded for a medium length of time. But tell me: Have you ever bong ripped so hard someone’s GDP disappeared? [1]

Musk’s recent behavior (best described as "gloriously erratic") has made me realize something: Basically every billionaire goes weird, in the end. And that’s got me thinking: Is weirdness inherent to the billionaire-fated mindset, or is weirdness thrust on to the normal human mind when it is exposed to such a ludicrous bank balance? Are billionaires billionaires because they’re weird, or are they weird because they’re billionaires? Or, to put it another way:

What is the exact amount of money I have to have before I go insane?

I intend to investigate that.

The billionaires

I have spent a very substantial amount of time now[2] investigating the historical wealth of the following five billionaires, who all broadly represent one end of the five-point billionaire personality matrix:

We will plot first their explosive wealth, then map their historical erratic behavior. I’m then going to put one graph on top of the other and try and figure out the exact net worth you need to have before you start going on podcasts and trapping Azaelia Banks in your house.

A few more caveats: Sometimes it is very difficult to figure a billionaire’s registered net worth in the years between their first mythologizing money-making deal (Richard Branson sold $6,000 worth of advertising in his first magazine, Student, when he was 15; Elon Musk sold a video game for $500 when he was 12) and their first billion because nobody (i.e. Forbes) really pays attention to how much money you have until you have a billion dollars. So there are some gray areas between, like, Mark Zuckerberg’s first million dollars in 2006 and his first billion-and-a-half dollars two years later (nobody knows how much Mark Zuckerberg was worth in 2007). Equally: I have not adjusted for inflation in any way at all because: come on! Boring! Thirdly: all accusations of erratic behavior are purely from me, purely on my own terms. I am the lash and I am the law, the only person saying what’s up is me. And so:

Bill Gates

Wealth: My guy Bill Gates is the vanilla ice cream of billionaires. Microsoft secured a deal worth $50,000 in 1980, when he was a 25-year-old CEO; in 1981, he became a millionaire through Microsoft holdings and the general business the company was doing. Although the exact figure is unclear, he had a rollerskating party in 1985 for his 30th birthday and he got speeding tickets a few times, which was about as wild as he ever got[3]. Then, in 1986, Microsoft’s initial public offering (IPO) went gangbusters and Gates, with at least $350 million in stock to his name, became a headline-making billionaire overnight. He’s basically been the go-to "Richest Man in the World" all the time you’ve been coherent and alive before Bezos took over from him this year.

(This is a chart of Bill Gates' wealth. You will notice his age, written along the X-axis, is wildly incorrect, a running theme throughout this piece. This is because I could not get Excel to change it.)

Mania: In 2006, he announced he was going to start stepping back from Microsoft to focus on philanthropy, and signed the Giving Pledge in 2009 vowing to give away at least half of his wealth over his lifetime. And since then, he’s done nothing too wacky. He put some money into developing Vitamin A-enhanced bananas in 2012? In 2015, he drank a glass of reclaimed toilet water? Like? Nothing he has done is too crazy and most of it is for the wider good of the developing world? Gates is our control billionaire. He's the most wealth of any man alive, the least signs of deep mania, the noble model of what an impossibly wealthy man should be.

(This is a chart of Bill Gates being weird. Instances of notable weirdness are marked in blue. You will notice there are no instances on this chart.)

Richard Branson

Wealth: Branson started making money in his teens after launching Student magazine and basically turning rival advertisers against each other to secure funding ("I soon learned the art that if I let Coke know that Pepsi were definitely in, that Coke would then jump in. And my education started,” he told CNBC last year. “It was an exciting time." And the past is a foreign country, clearly, if a 15-year-old can just call Coke up and be like, "alright, money please"). He made his first million at the age of 23 after launching a mail-order record sales business, and then he started chain-launching businesses: he was worth £5 million [$6.5 million] in 1979, made his first billion at 41, and spent the next 18 years making another half a billion to take his net worth higher, then doubled it again the next year. His net worth now hovers around £5 billion [$6.5 billion], making him our poorest and therefore most cucked billionaire.

(This is Richard Branson's wealth. He was the only one whose age I could get to work on it.)

Mania: Oh, Richard Branson is big time a maniac. Big time. I don’t know how old you are but if your age vaguely aligns with mine you might remember a period in the late-90s where basically the only news story, for about four years, was about Richard Branson repeatedly attempting and failing to circumnavigate the globe in a hot air balloon? He just kept crashing into the sea and doing a big OK-sign when the authorities came to rescue him? He tried to launch his own soft drink to rival Coke? In 2004 he started selling tickets to space and still hasn’t honored a single one of them?[4] When he sold Virgin EMI he ran through the streets sobbing? But the high point of Branson’s billionaire mania, the tipping point, the exact moment he cracked in a way he could never be glued back together again was when, shaven-faced and beaming, he donned a bridal gown for a doomed business called "Virgin Brides." This man was worth £1.5 billion [$1.9 billion] at this exact moment in time.

Which gives us a good starting point in our studies: Earning £1.5 billion [$1.9 billion] is bad for you.

(Branson's wealth with weirdness—every time he invested in hot air balloons, basically— marked in blue)

Mark Zuckerberg

Wealth: Mark Zuckerberg has done well for a guy who is the crystalline vibe of "spending too long online researching until your back seizes up," making his first million in 2004 as Facebook started to receive piecemeal outside investment, and he turned it into his first billion two years later when the company hit its 500 shareholder limit and went public. Since then, his wealth has escalated wildly: He’s worth around $60 billion as of right now, today. Like Gates, he’s signed the Giving Pledge and set up various charitable endeavors, but also took the bullet for the Cambridge Analytica thing at the start of the year and did that weird bulgey-eyed water drinking when he was being deposed. He just feels like he’s your cousin’s older boyfriend who is quite boring and just got really into climbing, and he’s wearing a North Face fleece and eating in silence at your family barbecue, only he’s Mark Zuckerberg, and he’s richer than God.

(Think I got his age more-or-less right with this one, actually)

Mania: Mark Zuckerberg’s lack of outward mania is actually what makes him so terrifying—he sort of has the eerie non-personality of an MRA who only eats red meat and reads books about murder —but yeah on the whole he’s not done anything too weird beyond getting repeatedly sued, forever, by everyone. It’s kind of funny that Mark Zuckerberg just quietly wants to live his life, driving a Prius and wearing a ton of zip-up fleeces, collecting every bit of data on every single person alive—and instead, he just keeps repeatedly getting in trouble for being himself. Anyway the high point of him being a maniac was the water-drinking thing, and his net worth was close to it is now when it happened, so I’m saying: Earning $60 billion is bad for you.

Jeff Bezos

Wealth: Bezos is currently the richest man on the planet and until Amazon Prime stops being so incredibly, annoyingly convenient, that is only going to continue. Early era Bezos was just a properly "reads the whole internet, every day" guy who didn’t know how to buy shirts that fit him, but a few years ago, he did a U-turn and started getting big into arm workouts and wearing padded vests, so he’s possibly the only one of our billionaires to glow-up in any significant way. Anyway, he’s now worth $120 billion and he looks like he can pick you up over his head so sadly the world’s richest nerd is now a Bond villain, meaning we’re all doomed.

(Yeah got the age right on this one as well. Really... really had a time making these graphs you're just barely flicking your eyes over, I have to tell you. Have you actually closely read any of these graphs? Of course you haven't. I wouldn't, if I were reading this. It's OK. I understand. It's just I really did try.)

Mania: If being a billionaire is a fundamentally immoral action then Bezos is the epitome of that because he has enough wealth to hand every Amazon employee $10,000[5] and he’d still be the richest man on the planet, and his empire is built on the backs of hundreds of thousands of warehouse workers who are too afraid to take a pee break in case they get fired or camp in a tent near their workplace to minimize their commute. Like most of our billionaires, he has dabbled in space travel (why does everyone with a net worth of $4 billion or above think they can crack space travel, when NASA, working on it for years, still occasionally fucks it up? Start on flying cars and work your way up.) and is begrudgingly tipping his toe into the waters of philanthropy, but the real billionaire weirdness of him lies in his (undoubtedly successful) leadership qualities and approach to work. Here, from Wikipedia:

Bezos does not schedule early morning meetings and enforces a two pizza rule–a preference for meetings to be small enough to where two pizzas can feed everyone in the board room. [122] When interviewing candidates for jobs at Amazon he has stated he considers three inquiries: Can he admire the person, can the person raise the common standard, and under what circumstances could the person become exemplary? [123]
He meets with Amazon investors for a total of only six hours a year. [122] Instead of using PowerPoints, Bezos requires high-level employees to present information with six-page narratives. [124] Starting in 1998, Bezos publishes an annual letter for Amazon shareholders wherein he frequently refers to five principles: Focus on customers not competitors, take risks for market leadership, facilitate staff morality, build a company culture, and empower people. [125][126]Bezos maintains the email address "jeff@amazon.com" as an outlet for customers to reach out to him and the company. [127] Although he does not respond to the emails, he forwards some of them with a question mark in the subject line to executives who attempt to address the issues. [127]

On one hand, that question mark thing is so, so sociopathic and chilling. But on the other hand, the guy who can barely type an e-mail is worth $150 billion. So who’s the real idiot? Once again: it is me.


Elon Musk

Wealth: Elon Musk’s wealth is my favorite of the lot because he’s basically just a chain-started nerd businesses and made millions turning to billions with each. His first software company, Zip2, netted him $22 million when it sold in 1999. A month later, he started X.com, which merged with Confinity a year later and became the PayPal we all know and love and use for ill-advised late-night eBay purchases (it sold for $1.5 billion in 2002: Musk made $180 million). Following the sale, he smooshed everything into three businesses—SpaceX, the world’s most expensive ego massage, an airspace company with designs on occupying Mars; Tesla, an electric car company that is statistically massive despite nobody you know seeming to own or drive one; and SolarCity, a solar energy company HQ’d in California. At the time of the three investments, Musk is on record saying he had to borrow money to pay rent: now he’s worth $20 billion and he’s shot a Tesla into space. Yeah? What have you ever done?

(His age is just completely fucked on this one.)

Mania: Elon Musk’s mania is my favorite of the bunch because it’s come to the surface this year—he started going out with Grimes, he invited Azealia Banks over to his house to watch him tweet, he keeps crashing his own stock by doing aforementioned tweeting, he tripled-down on calling a Thai-based cave diver a pedophile, he smoked weed on a podcast, he shot a car into space. His net worth this year is hovering around $20 billion despite all the times he gets high, he starts crying or calls someone a nonce, so it’s safe to say that: Earning $20 billion is bad for you.

But did the bizarreness start earlier than this? If you read the 2010 Marie Claire story where he double-fists ice cream cones and threatens to fire his wife, you might think: yes. In 2001, after Musk left PayPal, he got slightly too into the idea of firing a ton of mice into space and seeing if they breed up there. From 2017’s Elon Musk: Tesla, SpaceX, and the Quest for a Fantastic Future:

Musk’s friends were not entirely sure what to make of his mental state. He’d lost a tremendous amount of weight fighting off malaria and looked almost skeletal. With little prompting, Musk would start expounding on his desire to do something meaningful with his life—something lasting. His next move had to be either in solar or in space. “He said, ‘The logical thing to happen next is solar, but I can’t figure out how to make any money out of it,’” said George Zachary, the investor and close friend of Musk’s, recalling a lunch date at the time. “Then he started talking about space, and I thought he meant office space like a real estate play.” Musk had actually started thinking bigger than the Mars Society. Rather than send a few mice into Earth’s orbit, Musk wanted to send them to Mars. Some very rough calculations done at the time suggested that the journey would cost $15 million. “He asked if I thought that was crazy,” Zachary said. “I asked, ‘Do the mice come back? Because, if they don’t, yeah, most people will think that’s crazy.’” As it turned out, the mice were not only meant to go to Mars and come back but were also meant to procreate along the way, during a journey that would take months. Jeff Skoll, another one of Musk’s friends who made a fortune at eBay, pointed out that the fornicating mice would need a hell of a lot of cheese and bought Musk a giant wheel of Le Brouère, a type of Gruyère.

At this point, he was worth an estimated $165 million. My guy got so rich he tried to emulate biker mice from mars. Takeaway: Earning $165 million is bad for you.

(Weirdness marked in blue: at $165 million, with the mice, and at $22 billion, with the Grimes and the weed.)

Conclusion

Bill Gates and Jeff Bezos cancel each other out: Gates has been monstrously rich for 30+ years and never done anything weird, and Bezos has been monstrously rich for 20 years and has always been sort of background-hum weird. They are two opposite forces of billionaire weirdness that negate each other to meet in the middle at true neutrality. Mark Zuckerberg is fundamentally odd, but has not ever done anything psychotic enough to be interesting, but as our youngest billionaire, he has time and money on his side (remember when that guy who did #StopKony took all his clothes off and masturbated near some parked cars? I feel like we have something like this in Zuckerberg’s future. Keeps doing press conferences while solemnly holding an AK, for example. Decides to launch a career in pro wrestling and gets slammed to death by Ric Flair with one final, terminal “woo!” Runs for president). This leaves us with two full-on billionaire weirdos: Elon Musk, who made $165 million and tried to fire a tub full of mice into space, and Richard Branson, who went very peculiar in the ‘90s and thought he could dick on Coke. So seeing as they went weird at $165 million and $1.5 billion, we can split the difference and say that this amount of money will send you bananas:

$832,500,000

So try not to ever earn that. Thanks.


[1] Stock being stock, it has since climbed back to $280, so Musk has made his money back. I only put in this horrendously sterile, water-carrying footnote to fend off very tedious "well actually…" replies I’m going to get from people on Reddit and Twitter.

[2] This is a bad idea because now the concept of money means very little to me. Example: In 2002, Elon Musk sold PayPal to eBay, and the value of his stock made him $165 million. In my head, having investigated billionaires all week, I am reading that figure and thinking: Pathetic. What a pathetic number. Try making some real money, 2002-era Elon Musk. Do you understand how in my overdraft I am! Do you realize how much I spent on Ubers this weekend now that I think $165 million is an insignificant amount of money! I have broken my head!

[3] From a 1986 profile I cannot believe I read: “Oddly, Gates is something of a ladies’ man and a fiendishly fast driver who has racked up speeding tickets even in the sluggish Mercedes diesel he bought to restrain himself.” I just really cannot imagine Bill Gates as a ladies’ man, sorry. I know we’re meant to be building him up. But come on.

[4] Though quite why you’d trust a man who can’t even fly a balloon around the planet without crashing it into the ocean with the task of flying your soft human body into space: I don’t know. A Virgin train can barely get to Edinburgh without stinking of shit about it. No way do I trust that dude with space travel.

[5] As of April 2018, there were 563,100 Amazon employees registered, which at $10,000 a pop would make a hole of $56.3 billion in Bezos’ personal finances, which again he’d probably make back within a year just from me buying spatulas, Command hooks, and books I’m not ever going to get around to reading and having them delivered straight to the office

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Is Denver's Airport Trolling Conspiracy Theorists or HIDING ALIENS?

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If you're one of the 58 million passengers who pass through the Denver International Airport every year, you'll inevitably run into some weird shit that will disrupt the relative peace of your travels. Like, say, a mural of a gas mask-donned, post-apocalyptic stormtrooper brandishing an assault rifle, towering over a legion of weeping nuns and a ruined chapel. Or an insane, demonic sculpture of a mustang with glowing red eyes. Or the two bronze-casted gargoyles hanging out over the baggage claims for literally no reason. Airports are generally extremely sterile places that suck any lingering joy out of life. But the off-kilter art in Denver International (DIA), which was opened in 1995, has earned it a bit of a cult following.

It doesn't hurt that officials at Denver International—the cheeky bastards—lean into its reputation pretty hard. Recently, they introduced a promotional campaign called "The Denfiles," which features posters of aliens and UFOs that commemorate the airport's phantasmagoric reputation. According to Phillip Lucas, a communications specialist at DIA, the airport is currently in the midst of a massive renovation of its main hall, which required them to build "construction walls around areas that are off limits to the public during renovation." So why not imply that something sinister is going on behind the veil? "We saw these big white walls as an opportunity to entertain passengers while poking a little fun at ourselves," he explains.

Of course, conspiracy theorists being conspiracy theorists, the more unhinged corners of the internet immediately digested the #DENfiles posters as the Illuminati taunting the American people right to their faces. The Denver Post quotes a retired dentist/new-world-order whistle-blower named Lee Horowitz who believes there's something sinister about the campaign, a tacit admission that something strange is at foot. “It’s right in your face," he told the paper. "They’ve taken all of the quirkiness of those who are considered foolish conspiracy theorists, and conspiracy theories, and blended it into their mixture of propaganda for damage control." And honestly, the folks at Denver International are cracking up. After all, as Lucas mentions, what other airport in the country sees its PR team field questions about lizard people?

How did we get here?

Well, because of the aforementioned murals and "Bluecifer, the Murderous Mustang of Denver Airport," as Slate and Atlas Obscura dubbed the sculpture there that famously killed its creator, artist Luis Jiménez, there have been whispers about the airport's weirdness for a very long time. But things ramped up mightily in 2010 when Jesse Ventura, former Minnesota governor and pro wrestler, took his TruTV docuseries Conspiracy Theory to the heart of the Denver Airport, so he could finally get to the bottom of what those murals were really about. The episode is full of awesomely misguided Ventura-isms: "There's a lot of strange things about this airport … it just happens to be in a big fat vacant piece of land." Ventura concludes that the murals may depict a roadmap to the end of the world, and when doomsday comes, the global elites will migrate to the airport and subsist in bunkers buried underneath the tarmac. This is obviously extremely outlandish, but according to one-time Denver International spokesperson Heath Montgomery, Ventura's show was ground zero for the culture of conspiracy theories that has gripped the institution. "That is one of the first major TV clips to spread the rumors and myths online, and has really driven a lot of the conversation," he told me. "Social media has increased this cycle exponentially as popular YouTube hosts continue to pick up the story and distribute to new audiences."

Sure enough, if you go to YouTube and type in "Denver airport conspiracy theory" you'll find legions of terrified white men spelunking through the linoleum halls, trying to catch the intelligentsia in the act. The best might be from VaultofTruthOrg, where an interloper stands face to face with DIA's central mural. "Crazy stuff here, just slap it in our face," he spits. "World peace, ladies in gentlemen! By peace he will destroy many." In 2016 the Denver Post did an excellent job breaking down the many cryptological misgivings the crazier corners of the internet have attributed to Denver International; the art is exhibit A, but lest we forget the vaguely Swastika-shaped runways and Freemason-inscribed founding dedications. Montgomery, for his part, says the strangest theory he's ever caught wind of is that "the braille inscription on the airport time capsule from DEN’s opening celebration can somehow trigger the release of a toxin throughout the world or call in the alien mothership."

When I emailed Jay Weidner, one of the prime mythological seditionists on the internet and the guy who escorted Ventura through the airport in that episode of Conspiracy Theory, he maintained that Denver International will someday serve as a "safezone" for the rich and powerful. "Where [the airport] is located is very important as it is part of a government plan called COG, or continuity of government," he says. "Since it is close to being in the center of the country all flights to Denver are equal. The big wigs arrive and go underground to the special trains which take them under the Rockie [sic] Mountains where they will be safe."

Weidner and those of his conspiracy-believing ilk don't believe the official explanations given about all all the art they've come to see as something more than. The mural with the evil general, for instance? That was painted by Colorado artist Leo Tanguma, and it's the first part of a two-part installation. The second piece, which is also in the airport but doesn't get posted on the internet nearly as frequently, depicts the children of the world reveling in peace and harmony while the soldier lays dead and buried below them. In an interview with Zing Magazine, Tanguma noted that irrational minds have interpreted his piece in "the most naive way … like they think I advocate war and all these horrible stories." The rest of the weird installations? You can blame them on the airport's "Art and Culture Program," which consistently rotates exhibits from local Denver artists. The Nazi runways? They simply don't really look like a Swastika.

That all said, Denver International has taken a truly Denverish approach to the conspiracies that hound their most basic public foundation. "It just doesn’t make sense to fight something that is so pervasive at this point,” Montgomery told me. “So, we instead see it as a marketing opportunity. I mean, we’re talking about the Denver airport, right? We have been able to leverage that interest across many demographics to get people talking about our brand and our facility," Aside from there being real value in leveraging this interest, Montgomery said, it really is quite fun. “When we get letters or emails from people who truly believe what they see online, we have to chuckle a bit. I think our leadership, all the way up to the CEO, have really come to embrace our conspiracies and in turn have given us the ability to have some fun with them."

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Florida Cops: Finders-Keepers Doesn't Cover Giant, Washed-Up Bags of Weed

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Massive bundles of weed keep washing up on Florida beaches, and police would really, really, really prefer it if you left it alone. Over the past week, more than 100 pounds of marijuana wrapped in plastic bricks have been found in the surf in three Florida counties near Daytona Beach, the Washington Post reports, and it's been basically a feeding frenzy for anyone lucky enough to stumble across them.

Last Thursday, Volusia County sheriffs responded to a 911 call reporting "seven or eight people" fighting over one of these water-logged bales of bud, and wound up arresting one man who tried to sneak away with an 11-pound brick of weed in his trunk. Unfortunately for the cops, at least one woman allegedly managed to make a clean getaway with a score of nugs—and now they're on the hunt to track her down.

"This woman is wanted in connection to the marijuana that washed up on Flagler County beaches 9/13/18," the Flagler County Sheriff's Office wrote in a Facebook post last weekend, along with a picture of the alleged weed snatcher.

The woman in the photo does appear to have some pretty recognizable tattoos on her back and possibly on her left hand, as well, so the Sheriff's Department is likely hoping that some responsible citizen will recognize her and turn her in to Crime Stoppers, but so far, it looks like no one's been particularly very helpful.

"Anyone that helps you find this woman had no friends in school because they ate boogers and actually told the substitute what chapter you left off on," one commenter wrote.

"Go investigate real crime thats going on in Flagler like heroin and meth dealers instead of wasting tax dollars on this bs," another said.

"You know how when my bike gets stolen you send a deputy as fat as me out to tell me with his sweaty lip and his half untucked shirt that 'we’ll make a report, but don’t recover too much stolen property sir'?" a third asked. "Is this why?"

For the time being, the suspect is still on the loose, presumably getting supremely stoned, lying low until the heat dies down, and maybe trying to find some gloves to wear to cover up that incriminating tattoo, too. If you recognize the woman in the photo or her various back tattoos, you have a few options. You could do the noble and right thing, make the important decision as a law-abiding citizen, and narc her out to the cops.

Or, if you are a diabolical monster bent on disobeying the police and shattering the thin line between order and chaos holding our fragile society together, you could, you know, do the other thing: Dig through your recycling bin for a plastic bottle suitable for fashioning a grav-bong and immediately drive over to the woman's house to see if she needs any help disposing of the evidence. The decision is in your able hands.

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How 'Torture Porn' Captured the Violent Atmosphere of a Post-9/11 World

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This article originally appeared on VICE UK.

In his 2006 article: Now Playing at Your Local Multiplex: Torture Porn, New York magazine’s David Edelstein coined the term when referring to a cycle of ultra-violent, extreme horror films, which depicted scenes of sustained torture and, in the opinion of many critics and observers, revealed in doing so. Torture porn films made decent money too. To date, the Saw franchise has taken over $976 million worldwide.

Many commentators, Edelstein included, felt that, unlike many of the brutally violent slasher, exploitation, and cannibal films of the 70’s and 80’s, torture porn went too far: “As a horror maven who long ago made peace with the genre’s inherent sadism, I’m baffled by how far this new stuff goes—and by why America seems so nuts these days about torture.”

Edelstein’s article appeared as the torture porn sub-genre boomed. Successful titles included Eli Roth’s Hostel series, Rob Zombie’s House of 1000 Corpses and The Devil’s Rejects, Wolf Creek, and the Saw films, which proved so popular a Saw ride was created at Thorpe Park in England. The common thread in many of these films were captive victims suffering unspeakable and sustained violence from their captors and being forced to torture each other or be killed. The Saw series contains 81 murders, many of which have been ranked in online articles and videos. What do you prefer: Timothy being torn and twisted apart by a rack in Saw III or Dina being dismembered by a circular saw in Saw 3D?

A series of even more extreme European films were released during this period—not all horror movies per se, but titles pushing the boundaries of extremity with their physical and sexual violence and unremitting torment of their characters. Srdjan Spasojevic’s A Serbian Film or "New French Extreme" films such as Gaspar Noe’s Irreversible and Pascal Laugier’s Martyrs were not just stomach-churningly violent, they shared a deeply nihilistic worldview, which made viewing them a truly bleak experience.

To explore torture porn or indeed any cycle of horror films, it is vital to look at the political landscape of the time. Horror movies of the 70’s such as The Texas Chainsaw Massacre or Last House on the Left coincided with anxiety surrounding America’s war in Vietnam. Slasher films of the 80’s such as A Nightmare on Elm Street vicariously mirrored Cold War fears and torture porn’s boom coincided with 9/11, the War on Terror and the Iraq war.

During this period, the Bush administration supported torture to "get results." Former vice president Dick Cheney remarked that waterboarding techniques were: “Just a dunk in the water,” and shocking images from Iraq’s Abu Ghraib prison of prisoners being sexually abused, tortured, and humiliated by US Army personnel were beamed worldwide. So, whether torture was glorified or condemned, it was everywhere, and horror films of the time reflected our collective anxieties on the subject.

In a Guardian interview, Hostel and Cabin Fever director Eli Roth explained how horror films related to the political climate: “Horror films have a very direct relationship to the time in which they're made. The films that really strike a nerve with the public very often reflect something that everyone, consciously or unconsciously feels—atomic age, post 9/11, post-Iraq war.”

Looking at the Hostel films, Roth’s delivered a clear critique of the xenophobia, ignorance, and culture of fear that was rampant in post-9/11 America. Two all-American backpackers go to deepest darkest… Slovakia, and look what happens—they get tortured for fun by groups of sadistic "violence tourists." Whether audiences who flocked to see Hostel in their millions supported the Bush administration or didn’t, one thing was certain: being scared and watching extreme violence was all the rage.

Were torture porn films popular because audiences had become more sadistic? Perhaps some had, but for most, these films not only reflected the extremity of the real world, but they also allowed audiences to be scared in a way that didn’t seep into their real lives. People’s anxieties could be visualized on screen to provide cathartic relief: “The truth of the matter is,” explained Eli Roth on Fox News in 2004, “at times of terror people want to be terrified but in a safe environment. With all the things going on in the world like Iraq and Hurricane Katrina, where our government did nothing for anybody, people want to scream, but there’s nowhere in society where you can go scream at the top of your lungs. Horror movies let you do that.”

When David Edelstein came up with the term "torture porn," his suggestion was that horror movies had become too gratuitous, and in many cases he was right. When A Serbian Film director Srdjan Spasojevic said in a publicity interview that his film—which contained repeated rapes, murders, incest, and pedophilia—was: “...an attempt to show how we feel on the screen living in today’s world… a giant horrible metaphor for the things that are happening to us,” the film needed to deliver an intelligent, allegorical message that, although shocking and harrowing, provided room for thought. It failed. As Mark Kermode said when discussing A Serbian Film for BBC Radio 5 Live: “It doesn’t work on the level of allegory and isn’t to be taken seriously in the way it thinks it is. Torture porn is one thing, pompous pretentious torture porn is something else.

David Edelstein suggested in his original article that much of the multiplex horror between 2004 and 2010 was just plain nasty—violence for the sake of violence. But, whether Edelstein intended to or not, the term torture porn ended up as a blanket and often pejorative term that negatively labeled a whole range of films. Like "video nasty" or "slasher films," torture porn is an inherently negative and reductive term—it fuses pornography and torture, rendering any film with this label as cheap and dismissible.

“It immediately discredits the film,” said Eli Roth on Ain’t It Cool News. “It's more reflective of the critic than the film. It shows a lack of understanding and ability to understand and appreciate a horror film as something more than just a horror film. The gore blinds them from any intelligence that goes into making the film. And I think that the term ‘torture porn’ genuinely says more about the critic's limited understanding of what horror movies can do than about the film itself.”

Personally, I am not a huge fan of the so-called torture porn sub-genre. Barring some exceptions, the majority I have seen either made me feel unwell, slightly depressed, or both. However, I recognize that labels and buzz-terms automatically reduce a film’s chances of being taken seriously. As an example, we can look back to George A. Romero's Trilogy of the Dead. In Dawn of the Dead we see an American shopping mall filled with hungry zombies, mindlessly consuming; while Night of the Living Dead features the nihilistic killing of it's black hero by police officers. We now value these films as cultural and social artifacts, railing against consumerism and racism, but for a long time, they were just "splatter films" and hardly likely to warrant critical discussion.

Looking back at horror films from the early to mid-2000’s and the climate of fear and government-condoned torture is it is hardly surprising that films detailing these things did so well at the box office. Audiences have long been thrilled by being scared and seeing violence on screen. As the real world has gone through cycles of collective fear and threatened or actual violence, the horror genre has responded in kind. Yes, many films from this cycle were vomit-inducingly violent and often devoid of artistic merit or political context, but the term "torture porn" risks overlooking a body of work, which could tell us a great deal about what was going on in the world and how people felt about it.

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The Rise of 'Black Frosh' on Canadian Campuses

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When students from Ottawa universities held their first-ever “BLK Frosh” event three years ago, it was to help Black students feel included and meet each other. Now other universities are catching on.

Frosh, or orientation week, depending on what your school calls it, is generally a hyped-up experience that ends up feeling a bit disappointing. The drinking events—if they even exist—usually get too rowdy and the non-drinking events can fall flat. Frosh events can often feel awkward, but as a woman, queer person or person of colour they can be offensive and even harmful.

For example: there was that year where Brock University had to tell students to stop culturally appropriating during frosh. Or that time in Montreal when students were sporting blackface in a frosh event. The high risk of experiencing sexual assault at these events is an open secret. The list goes on.

While frosh weeks have been maturing as schools attempt to make them less about partying and more about learning something valuable, some students still feel the need for an alternative.

Selali A-W and Sakinna Gairey are the two founders of Black Like Me, the group responsible for putting together the Ottawa intercollegiate BLK Frosh event. This year the events were themed “for the culture” and included workshops such as “Surviving School While Black” and a beach day with free food and yoga.

“The way that Black Like Me does things is just pretty much by creating the condition that we feel would make people feel most comfortable, most safe, most at home, and then see what happens from there,” said A-W. “So people who are Black like me, Black like anybody else can find what they want.”

While some some people have criticized separate frosh events for “segregating” students, the founder of Black Like Me say that this is about empowering students who don’t get the same support as others.

“I think in Canada specifically, we have a very particular narrative when it comes to discussing Blackness in Canada, or Blackness in the context of Canada,” said Gairey, the other founder of the group. “Because of the nature of racism in Canada being more covert, and very implicit, a lot of conversations don’t get had. I think it is good for an initiative that is as loud and as Black as we are.”

For the 2018 semester, at least 10 schools had some version of an alt frosh. This year, Halifax’s Dalhousie University had their first alternative orientation week named “Dreaming in Colour” hosted by the Black, Indigenous & People of Colour Caucus in partnership with the NSCAD University student union and Kings College student union.

“We’re coming to terms that no one is going to do this work for us, no one else is going to give us centre stage or highlight us in this way, so we need to take the step up and do that, and if we don’t we’re just going to allow the false narrative to exist,” said Aisha Abawajy, BIPOCUS Executive Chair, who said they felt a lack of support from their own student union and barriers in creating the event.

At Ryerson, the Black Liberation Collective (BLC) connected with Black Like Me in Ottawa to help plan Toronto’s first Black Frosh, which took place this year and hosted over 200 students. After hearing from Black students across the city what they wanted to see out of frosh, they set out to create their own events.

“There really wasn’t spaces to talk to people or talk to Black students. And I come from a small town north of Barrie so that was one of the things I was looking for,” said Josh Lamers, one of the founder of Ryerson’s BLC. “When I was at U of T, the particular campus I was on was very white and so there was no one who looked like me, no one who wanted to have conversation that I wanted to have, and it’s very isolating.”

Lamers pointed to one example of an event at Toronto’s Black Frosh that provided one-on-one consultations at their community fair to teach students about new ways they can reimagine Black hair, since many students change their relationship with their hair when they start post-secondary.

Meanwhile, Carleton has also introduced new alternative frosh events like Fem(me) Frosh and Queer Frosh. One event called “Jilling Off” taught students about masturbation techniques as students might be starting to discover their bodies.

Harar Hall, programming coordinator at the Womxn's Learning Advocacy & Support Centre, said the feminist frosh is important to introduce students to the concept of these spaces when they first enter post secondary, and creating a space that is open for everyone to even just come and learn.

“I myself grew up in Toronto, I’m really used to the idea of having women’s spaces available in a very urban centre, a lot of people have never been in a space like this before,” she said.

“Disorientation” week is a title that has cropped up at multiple post-secondary schools—the idea is to “disrupt” orientation week so that activism is a part of being introduced to your school. McGill University introduced “Rad Frosh” in August, which included a Queer Prom and Radical Walking Tours all with the opportunity to opportunities to connect with activist groups and clubs on campus.

Ontario Public Interest Research Group in Kingston for Queen’s University will be hosting an alt-Frosh which has events such as “anarchism for students” and “progressive happy hour.”

But frosh week hasn’t shaken the reputation for drinking and acting stupid, still major parts of student identity. Groups like Black Like Me aren’t necessarily trying to change that, they’re just building on that experience. For the founders of Black Like Me, expansion was planned from the beginning—and they have support.

“I think it is important that as we do create these spaces we learn from each other around what works and what didn’t work,” said Lamers, who will be catching up with the Ottawa team to discuss the events.

“I’m really excited to see what the future holds,” said A-W, who hopes to eventually expand globally. “I think we’ve done a lot of great things here and a lot of folks have been able to tell us that and show up that and that it’s about time that we get that goodness everywhere else.”

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Alleged Former Hash Dealer Doug Ford Made It Across The Border Just Fine

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Alleged former hash dealer Doug Ford, who also happens to be the premier of Ontario, visited Washington, DC, Wednesday to discuss NAFTA.

According to the Toronto Star, Ford met with Canadian ambassador to the US David MacNaughton at Trump Hotel in Washington. He has vowed to stand up for Ontarians working in agriculture, steel and the auto industry.

The meeting is significant because Ford made it across the border without issue despite having allegedly sold hash and even supplied a “hash drive-thru” in Etobicoke in the 1980s, according to a 2013 Globe and Mail exposé. Ford has denied the allegations.

Last week, US border official Todd Owen told Politico that any Canadian who has consumed weed, or worked or invested in the legal cannabis industry could be banned from entering the US for life. We can safely assume those rules also apply to black market hash dealers.

In response, Bill Blair, the Liberal minister responsible for border security, told the CBC’s Power and Politics that Canadians crossing the border should make sure not to resemble stoner comedy duo Cheech and Chong.

“If one presents oneself reasonably and frankly if you show up at the border looking like Cheech and Chong, you’re going into secondary. But I think for the overwhelming majority of Canadians, they won’t experience a significant change in the way which the border operates,” Blair said.

Many wondered what Blair meant by that comment—and who should they show up looking like? Perhaps the answer is Doug Ford.

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Why Canada Should Legalize Psychedelics Next

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Mark Haden is the executive director of MAPS Canada and a professor at the University of British Columbia. The following is adapted from a recent interview on prohibition.

If you look at the roots of prohibition, it often has to do with racism—people in power targeting people without power, and one way of targeting the population is to target the drugs that they use. In the early 1900s, our first drug law in Canada was the Opium Act, and it was explicitly targeting Chinese people. So the beginning of prohibition in Canada was about racism—taking a minority and suppressing them.

This theme has existed for many decades. Psychedelics were criminalized during the battle between hippies and the status quo, with the Vietnam War going on in the background. You have young people of the day saying “We don’t want to fight the war,” and the status quo was saying “We want to get you off your comfortable couch, give you a gun, and drop you in the jungle.” There was a battle, a cultural divide, and the people in power did what they often do: criminalize the drugs that were used by the people without power. It really was unfortunate because not only did a huge amount of human suffering occur from the criminalization of psychedelics, cannabis and other drugs, but we also lost the ability to research—we lost decades of knowledge that we could have gained.

Now what we see is an explosion of positive scientific reports about how psychedelics can be used to heal. They’re very powerful tools and need to be used carefully and constructively, and criminalizing them prevents our society from developing the wisdom that we need to use these medicines in a positive and healing way.

We’re basically now on track to legalize MDMA-assisted psychotherapy for post-traumatic stress disorders in about four years. Psychedelics are being legalized because they’re being turned into a medicine. Cannabis is being legalized because of popular opinion. When Justin Trudeau said we want to legalize cannabis, the reason why he did it is because he read the polls, and the polls said that over 50 percent of Canadians wanted to legalize cannabis.

Cannabis is a relatively low risk—on the scale of substances it’s not going to kill anyone. Dependency and toxicity are relatively low, but with psychedelics there’s a greater chance of people having an unpleasant experience. The risk from psychedelics really comes from behaviour. Some people take psychedelics and behave obnoxiously. I have Google Alerts on all the different psychedelics, and every day I get a summary of what happened around the planet. There's a lot of bad stuff that happens. But when I look at the story and I say what was the problem it's always one thing, which is lack of supervision. Supervision and clean access to known products.

Those are problems of prohibition. If we didn't criminalize them, then we would have the opportunity to set up safe circumstances. Which essentially means we need a profession. I call it a psychedelic supervisor. We need somebody in charge of offering psychedelic experiences to people.

If I was in charge I would gather a group of people around the table including a psychiatrist, a psychologist, and a social worker who does group counselling, family counselling and couples' therapy. I would also include a variety of Indigenous people, the peyote folks, the ayahuasca folks. I’d include a government regulator, and then I'd ask a very simple question: how are we going to develop best practices to guide this new profession?

Part of using psychedelics skillfully would be screening out people who have risks for significant mental health diagnoses like schizophrenia. But there also seems to be an indication that people with big mental health risks may benefit from microdosing, so we need a best practice around that—to be very careful that we don’t make people worse.

Supervisors could have different specialties: what it takes to do an ayahuasca ceremony is completely different than what it takes to work with PTSD patients in a therapeutic setting, which is completely different from what it takes to work with a multi-day music festival. It would be similar to a doctor or lawyer or veterinarian or accountant, and they would be accountable to a professional body. That's how I believe psychedelics should be eventually legalized.

Recently a bunch of researchers were given a tour of the post-prohibition process in Oregon, and I toured cannabis grow-op facilities and sales facilities. And the tour was led by a cop. He was an old cop, so it was really interesting. I asked, “What do you think about legalized cannabis? I want to hear from a cop perspective.” And he said it's the best thing ever, which surprised me. He said when police enforce unwanted laws, they get targeted as the bad guys.

I’ve trained the Vancouver Police Department on how to look at drugs differently, and I’m aware that young cops come into the profession and they want to be the good guys. They’re the star of their football team in high school, and they want to chase bad guys and be the good guys. But they’re not being the good guys when they’re chasing down people with addictions and mental health problems. It gets awfully murky for them.

If you think about other crimes, there’s usually an informant. Someone who says come over here, I need help. With drug crimes it’s different, because it’s between consenting adults (usually) and so there’s no informant. In order to get information and target people, you need to ramp up your policing to make the whole thing work, and that ramping up has produced a huge problem.

There are some extreme idealists out there who believe psychedelics are going to make everything better, and I am not one of them. When psychedelics are eventually legalized, and I believe they will be, I think there will be some new treatment options for PTSD, end of life anxiety, and then people can have different types of spiritual experiences and hopefully work through those experiences in terms of living happier and better lives.

I’m not naive, I don’t think psychedelics are going to help with climate change or the concentration of wealth, or poverty. But the process of criminalization of psychedelics has also produced huge problems for us. It doesn’t work, and it’s never worked anywhere on the planet.

Story has been edited for length and clarity.

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This Photographer Shot Portraits of His Famous Friends in the Tub

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When artist Don Herron moved to New York City from Texas in 1978, the fledgling East Village art scene was just beginning to take shape. Soho was the capital of downtown New York, but artists were starting to take up residence in the Lower East Side, where rent was affordable and young artists could find a tight-knit community of peers.

While getting to know New York's art luminaries, Herron conceived of a project he titled Tub Shots, wherein he would photograph downtown cult figures in their bathtubs. From 1978 to 1993, he photographed art stars like Robert Mapplethorpe, Keith Haring, Peter Hujar, and Annie Sprinkle, along with Warhol Superstars like Holly Woodlawn, and International Chrysis.

Some artists collaborated with Herron to stage a scene, while others opted for a bare bones approach; a few were exhibitionist, while others posed demurely. Each portrait offers a glimpse of the subject as they were rarely seen—in a space that is both private and sensual, vulnerable and daring.

Herron died in 2013, but a selection of his photographs are on view in Don Herron: Tub Shots at Daniel Cooney Fine Art in New York. VICE asked downtown icons Sur Rodney (Sur) and Charles Busch to share their memories of working with Herron and being part of the East Village art scene when the photos were made.

L: Charles Busch, 1987. R: Sur Rodney Sur, 1980. © Don Herron, courtesy of Daniel Cooney Fine Art

VICE: What was it like being part of the New York art scene in the 70s?
Sur Rodney (Sur):
I moved to the East Village in the summer of '76. When I arrived here, the city was broke. The Lower East Side was mainly rubble and you could get a place to live cheaply. There was a very tight community of interdisciplinary artists, poets, writers, dancers, visual artists, and photographers. There was a lot of exchange and we made things happen for ourselves, to keep ourselves engaged as artists. We felt like outsiders, and New York seemed to accommodate that.

It was a moment where we felt anything was possible. We weren’t afraid of failure because nothing really mattered. We made our own rules. We could do anything we wanted. We were expressing ourselves, pushing ourselves to the limit, and seeing where it would go. We never expected that we would be accepted because we were outcasts. A lot of the stuff we were creating was for ourselves, to make things happen, to learn for each other. We created fame within the community we were developing, and that was fine for us. We never expected to make money—if we wanted to make money, we’d go and get a job.

L: Holly Woodlawn, 1981. R: Tom Nichols, 1980. © Don Herron, courtesy of Daniel Cooney Fine Art

Charles Busch: I was born in New York City. Even though I grew up here, I had never gone to Alphabet City. It wasn’t until 1984, when I was beginning my career in theater, that a friend, a very exotic Pakistani performance artist, invited me to see her do a piece at a bar and art gallery called the Limbo Lounge on Avenue C and Tenth Street. I had never been down there.

I was living on West 12th Street at the time. A friend and I walked from west to east, and it was like going into another country. Half the neighborhood was burned out shells, and people were warming their hands on fires inside trash cans. Then suddenly there was the Limbo Lounge. I had never seen anything like it. They didn’t just do an exhibition; they did an installation and turned the gallery into a strange, grotesque Disneyland. The audience was sort of gay, sort of straight, sort of goth, kind of punk, and everyone spoke with a Bulgarian accent even though they were originally from Cleveland—the East Village accent. The whole scene was very defined, and I felt like I was in Berlin in the 1920s.

L: Ellen Stewart, 1993. R: Richard Erker, 1980. © Don Herron, courtesy of Daniel Cooney Fine Art

Could you tell us about the work you were doing when these photos were made?
Busch:
The night I went to Limbo Lounge for the first time, I met the owner, Michael Limbo, and arranged to perform there. The show was called Vampire Lesbians of Sodom. I threw together a piece where I was in drag to do for a weekend, and it took off. We did more shows and eventually transferred it to a regular theater. It ran for five years and is one of the longest running plays in the history of Off-Broadway.

Sur: When I first moved to New York, I started organizing photography exhibitions in Soho. I worked with photographers very strategically because they were an eye to everything that was happening. Around the time I met Don, I was producing a talk show for Manhattan Cable Television, where I was talking to artists I met that I thought were really interesting before they were discovered—just anyone I thought was doing interesting work. A lot of the talk shows were screened at the Mudd Club. The clubs were very central to bringing people together.

I was a person who stood out on the scene because of my flamboyancy, and being black in the scene, which was pretty white. People forget, in the 70s and 80s, the art scene between black folks and white folks was very segregated. They didn’t cross over too much. I was like a fly in the buttermilk.

L: Peter Hujar, 1978. R: Felice Picano, 1982. © Don Herron, courtesy of Daniel Cooney Fine Art

What are some of the qualities that define the artists Herron photographed?
Sur:
In every community, in every city, there are art stars. Don [wanted] specifically to meet those people, and he found some way to find someone who knew someone to put him in touch. Like, he would read Cookie Mueller in the Village Voice, then find someone who knew her so he could photograph her, and she would know three or four other people.

He realized you have to get them while you can, because you don’t know how long they will be around, because anything could happen. It was drug central around Tompkins Square Park. We were living very fast. It was very dangerous but very thrilling. You were allowed to be as crazy as you wanted. No one really cared.

L: Robert Opel, late 1970s. R: Belle de Jour, 1979. © Don Herron, courtesy of Daniel Cooney Fine Art

What was it like being photographed by Herron?
Sur:
Don found me. I don’t know exactly how we met, but he lived on Ninth Street and I lived on St. Marks Place. I remember meeting him and him saying, “I’d really like to photograph you. I am doing a portfolio for something I want to call Underground Celebrities.”

He showed me some of the photographs he had done. The concept was easy. The bathtub was the frame you would be photographed in, and it had to do with the arch of the tub being like a Renaissance painting with those angels. In terms of whether we were dressed or undressed, whether we used bubble bath, that was entirely up to us. If someone didn’t have a bathtub, he’d find someone who did, then you’d jump in and present yourself however you’d like, and he’d shoot a roll of film.

Don was a very accommodating Southern gentleman. He was easy to be around, which is why he was able to photograph so many people. He was also very ambitious. He really wanted to do this portfolio, and the Soho News wanted to do something, then the Village Voice wanted to do something, and he tried to get involved with After Dark magazine—that’s where mine was supposed to run along with Mapplethorpe’s. But what he told me is that they wouldn’t print it because our genitals were showing. I thought that was kind of odd, but nonetheless I did use the photo on the cover of a book of my poetry.

L: Amos Poe filmmaker. R: Elke Rastede, 1982. © Don Herron, courtesy of Daniel Cooney Fine Art

Busch: When I was firmly established as a downtown crossover artist, Don got in touch with me; I didn’t know him at all. I hadn’t really taken my clothes off—I was usually putting a lot of clothes on [laughs].

I was still living in this crummy tenement building on a very beautiful street, West 12th between West Fourth and Greenwich Avenue. Don came over to my little railroad apartment and crummy bathroom. I’m an amateur art director, so I started moving the potted plants into the bathroom, trying to dress it up so it looked glamorous. We had a lot of fun. It was marvelous to be part of that body of work. It is a great group portrait, in a sense of the wide range of personalities in fine art, theater, and film. I am so glad I said yes, even though I hadn’t heard of him and I’d barely heard of myself!

L: Warner Jepson, 1980. R: Jackie Curtis, 1980. © Don Herron, courtesy of Daniel Cooney Fine Art
L: Keith Haring, 1982. R: Phoebe Legere, 1988. © Don Herron, courtesy of Daniel Cooney Fine Art

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Great-Grandma Avenges Miniature Horse by Shooting 580-Pound Gator

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Judy Cochran is a 73-year-old great-grandmother with a ranch in rural Texas and the newly elected mayor of Livingston, a small town of about 5,000 souls. She's also, apparently, a bloodthirsty gator hunter who, for years, has been trying to take out the reptilian bastard she believes ate one of her miniature horses—and this week, she finally got her revenge.

According to local Fox affiliate KDFW, Cochran was in a meeting on Monday, likely conducting a bit of mayoral business, when she got an urgent call from her son-in-law: He'd just caught a 12-foot, 580-pound gator using a raccoon carcass—what the Dallas News called "seasoned raccoon"—and he was pretty sure this was the same devil who'd eaten her beloved pony. And like the revenge-hungry Liam Neeson of grandmas, Cochran sprang into action, jetting over to her ranch and grabbing a Winchester .22 Magnum rifle.

"That's a big'un," her son-in-law, Scott Hughes, says in a video of the kill. "Nana, you better hit him good, cus that's the horse-eater. Get him right behind the brain." In a state of chilling calm, she does, in fact, "hit him good," sending the thing to a watery grave with a single shot to the head.

In footage taken moments after she slaughters the alleged horse-killer, you can hear Cochran cackling maniacally, luxuriating in the spoils of her years-long, metal ass war between man and beast.

"Typically the gators don't bother us, but we've been looking for [this one]," Cochran told the Houston Chronicle, before dishing out what sounds like a great tagline for her very own action movie: "Don't mess with Nana."

After Monday's totally legal kill, Cochran told the Chronicle she's going to get it skinned, eat the meat, have its head mounted, and slice off its hide to make alligator boots. She'll also be personally claiming the "ridgeback part of the tail" as a souvenir for her office, a token of the time she sent the alleged pony assassin to reptilian Hell.

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The Kavanaugh Allegations Are a Test and Republicans, They're Failing

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It's been only a few days since Supreme Court nominee Brett Kavanaugh was accused of attempting to rape a woman when they were both teenagers at a party, but there have already been a rush of judgements and debates, arguments and counterarguments that blossomed in the absence of anyone knowing anything. Even as Kavanaugh denied the allegations full stop, conservatives came forward to argue that even if they were true, his actions as a teen weren't actually that big a deal. Supporters and peers of his accuser, Christine Blasey Ford, have circulated letters backing her up and given interviews to the media. Reprehensible articles insinuating that Ford was part of some Democratic plot to bring Kavanaugh have spread widely on Facebook.

But we're little closer to finding out any new information about what actually happened. Ford now says she won't testify before the Senate unless the FBI looks into the incident, but while Donald Trump could order the agency to do so, it doesn't seem likely that he will. Instead, he told reporters, he'd prefer her to appear before the Senate Judiciary on Monday for the scheduled hearing she's already rejected. “If she shows up, that would be wonderful,” he said Wednesday. “If she doesn’t show up, that would be unfortunate.” The Republican members of the committee largely echoed that line, saying that an FBI investigation was unnecessary. South Carolina Senator Lindsay Graham was particularly blunt about it, saying on Twitter that Ford's request "is not about finding the truth, but delaying the process till after the midterm elections" and insisting that "It is imperative the Judiciary committee move forward on the Kavanaugh nomination and a committee vote be taken ASAP."

Maybe more clearly than Graham intended, this shows what the debate over Kavanaugh is about: not the truth of the accusation or what to do about prominent figures who've done terrible things (in this case, when they were much younger), but the power that conservatives can acquire with another right-wing justice on the Supreme Court. If confirming Kavanaugh means granting a lifetime appointment to a man who might have assaulted a girl years ago, then lied about it, Republicans will take that over the alternative, which is to risk not having a majority on the court.



In the month and a half between now and the midterms, there is ample time to attempt to learn more. The Judiciary Committee could negotiate with Ford to get her to answer questions, in writing if not in an open hearing. The committee could also try to learn what it could from other sources, including Mark Judge, the man who Ford says was in the room when Kavanaugh tried to rape her—but Republicans are refusing to subpoena him. And again, the White House could do what the George H.W. Bush administration did in 1991 during the Anita Hill controversy and order an FBI investigation. Instead, the GOP is giving Ford a take-it-or-leave-it offer: a daylong hearing, or we'll just confirm the guy.

You don't need to assume that the allegations are true to wish they were explored in more depth. If Kavanaugh didn't actually do what Ford is accusing him of, it'd be to his—and his family's—advantage to have his name cleared. An investigation, properly conducted, would give the public some more information that could be used to weigh the allegations and cut through some of the partisan shouting that has accompanied the controversy.

If we were taking this truly seriously, Graham's calls for a quick confirmation vote would have been excoriated from all sides. Sure, there's a chance that if Kavanuagh's confirmation were delayed past the midterms, Democrats would retake the Senate and block any attempt by Trump to appoint a conservative justice. But is that prospect really worse than that of installing a man who assaulted a woman and then lied about it on the Supreme Court for life?

The #MeToo movement has forced people to consider the idea that beloved public figures (usually men) have routinely behaved horribly toward people (usually women) in private. It also calls upon everyone to consider whether we want those who have harassed and assaulted to be in positions of authority and influence, a question that tests our partisan instincts. If a widely admired judge or politician is accused, people on their end of the ideological spectrum will often defend them and minimize the accusations. To admit the accuser may be telling the truth is to open the door to surrendering some measure of power, whether it's a seat on a court or a seat in the Senate.

That's to say that when someone from any given side of American politics is accused of something like what Kavanaugh has been accused of, it's a test: Are you open to hearing that a figure you back may have done things that disqualify them from wielding power? Or do you just want more victories for people you agree with politically, at any cost? Republicans as a party failed this test as Trump rose to power, they failed as Roy Moore nearly got elected to the Senate, and it looks like they're failing again now.


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This Company Will Pay You $50 an Hour to Smoke Weed

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It seems everyone and their dog is jumping headfirst into the cannabis industry, now that Canada is about to legalize it. But what if your primary expertise simply comes from the fact that you’ve smoked a lot of weed? Turns out that is a marketable skill set.

Toronto company AHLOT is hiring “expert-level connoisseurs” to join its Cannabis Curation Committee—a group of people who will sample weed from various licensed producers across the country. The findings will be used by the company to create a sample pack of weed as part of a Cannabis Collections series.

AHLOT'S Facebook ad asks "Do you dance with the devil's lettuce?" and shows a photo of a head of lettuce wearing devil horns, which, to be honest, doesn't really up their cred. But they clearly and repeatedly state "it's a real job" on their website.

To qualify, AHLOT says you need “a self-avowed interest in cannabis together with the ability to distinguish the often nuanced characteristics of different strains.” You’ll have to report on the “visual, factory and tactile examination of samples,” via an online form, and potentially do social media posts and attend live events.

The pay is $50 an hour for a maximum of 12 hours a month. That’s potentially $600 a month to get blazed, plus your expenses are covered.

There’s also a fun little survey to fill out with your application, including questions about the “ideal temperature to vaporize and evaluate terpenoid profile.” So it’s probably not worth applying if you don’t know anything beyond indica versus sativa.

“If you're a hidden talent with some spare time to document what you already love to do, we're excited to hear from you,” AHLOT’s website says. The deadline to apply is Oct. 17. If nothing else, do it to prove your mom was wrong when she said you would never amount to anything.

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This Raccoon Stared a Toronto Woman Down While Eating All of Her Bread

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Raccoons are the kings of Toronto. They dig up people's lawns, poop on their porches, take over their attics, and—even after the city spent $31 million on raccoon-proof trashcansstill manage to break into the things. Having successfully outsmarted their human overlords, Toronto's raccoons seem bored with just picking through trash scraps, and have now brought their siege straight into people's homes.

On Tuesday night, three bold little bandits mounted an assault on Jenny Serwylo's house, busting through her window screen, flying into her kitchen, and commandeering the place like a band of pirates, the Toronto Star reports. They quickly zeroed in on Serwylo's bread, enticed by a particularly appetizing-looking sleeve of English muffins. After hearing rustlings of the feast going down in her kitchen, Serwylo managed to drive two of them away with a broom. But one refused to leave.

Serwylo stared at the raccoon, and he stared right back at her. He stood his ground—converting Serwylo's toaster oven into his own personal kitchen table, systematically devouring her supply of bread—seemingly daring her to try and do something about it.

“I was growling at him and hissing at him, trying to scare him out, but he wasn’t having any of it," Serwylo said.

Serwylo tried waving the end of her broom at him, but she said he would just "yank it really hard," almost taunting her, and kept feasting. She spent the next 30 minutes trying to run him out of her home, but it was hopeless: He was going to enjoy his spoils, and he was going to take his time. According to the Star, the raccoon polished off the last of "literally all the bread" in Serwylo's home before sauntering off outside through the window he'd broken in through, back out into the city he and his trash panda brethren have clearly come to control—fully carbo-loaded for wherever the next siege in the war on Toronto's citizens might take him next.

“It was the most Toronto thing that’s ever happened,” Serwylo said.

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Michael Moore Is Threatening to Move to Canada

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Canadian Bacon director Michael Moore says he’s going to move to Canada if things get too messy after the release of his new anti-Donald Trump movie.

The documentary, Fahrenheit 11/9 is coming to theatres September 21 and is supposed to answer two questions: How did America get here, and how the hell do they get out?

The spiritual successor to Fahrenheit 9/11, the most successful documentary of all time, the new doc features great young hopes like David Hogg, a Parkland shooting survivor and everyone’s favourite Democrat, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, but is mostly about all the awful shit that has happened south of the border in the last few years. (The Flint water scandal plays a large part in the flick.)

And because Godwin don’t mean shit to Michael Moore, 11/9 even features a verrrrry direct Trump is Hitler comparison. Anyway, Fox News will love it and that’s the point.

The film is garnering excellent reviews for Moore, who is coming off a string of commercial disappointments.

All this considered, Moore expects that this film will give him some trouble back home in Flint, Michigan, and his plan is to escape to Canada—a country he’s kind of been obsessed with forever. Moore has long played the role of nosy neighbour and loves to sound off on Canadian politics.

Recently he said that even though Ontario Premier Doug Ford has a long way to go before reaching Trump status, it’s sad and embarrassing that Ontarians voted him into office.

“Anybody can fall for it,” he said. “Even Canadians can get played.”

Back in the day, Moore canvassed with an NDP candidate in 2008 and later tweeted in 2013 that then-prime minister Stephen Harper was too similar to “the way we do things in the US” and that he would boost Canadian crime and poverty rates. He tweeted earlier this year that there’s a special place in hell for Prime Minister Justin Trudeau. (OK??)

And after a showing of his film at TIFF this week, he reaaaally didn’t want to leave Canada. He posted an image on Instagram of him driving over the border with water on his windshield and said “That is not rain; those are our tears.” He also said he’ll miss our “washboard-abbed prime minister” and “fine Canadian doughnuts” (so maybe he changed his mind about Trudeau?).

But Moore still seems confused about some Canadian-isms though, something he will need to shore up before he immigrates.

He’s shared theories on Twitter about why he thinks that Canadians don’t lock their doors, mainly proposing that it’s because we have nothing to fear, something he also suggested in Bowling for Columbine. He did explain though, that because of Stephen Harper’s election as prime minister, Canadians have in fact started locking their doors more.

While we do suspect Moore is just bullshitting us to get some Canadians in the theatres this weekend, if he does come to this country, we would be happy to watch some non-boring documentaries about Canada’s own problems.

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What It's Like to Fall in Love Inside a Video Game

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With video games having long ago eclipsed Hollywood as the largest entertainment economy in the world, and players spending an average of six hours a week gaming, it stands to reason that some star-crossed lovers would eventually meet as they battled their way through their preferred electronic pastime.

We asked people who found their player two amidst a sea of opponents to share the story of how it all went down. Whether it fizzled out, developed into something serious, or resulted in more questions than answers, each of these stories further solidifies the fact that finding love in a Call of Duty lobby is now a normal part of the dating landscape.


We initially found each other on a Reddit thread asking if there were any Team Fortress 2 players at our college. We started playing together and talking in-game. It started with general conversation and TF2 silliness. There wasn’t much flirting. We would pocket heal each other, though. That’s kind of intimate. Eventually we started to bond over our mutual interests in science, My Little Pony, and [our] similar taste in music. I didn’t realize internet people could turn into real people so I didn’t think much of it at first but, after a couple weeks, we added each other on Facebook and soon after that she asked me if I wanted to grab coffee. Coffee went well and it ended up turning into my first serious relationship.
-Jenner, San Diego, California

My now wife and I used to role play on a browser game called IMVU. I had been doing it for a couple of months and got good enough to take kill contracts—meaning, if I defeated your character, you had to start from scratch. She was a contract I got for what amounted to $20. I worked for about a week on tracking her down and trying to take her out, but she had a small army of role players protecting her. Ultimately, I whittled them down to four players before she and I hit it off and started talking out of character. We met a year later and got married a year after that.
- Jared, Los Angeles

Luciano and Arianna and their 'Second Life' avatars, Terence and Veronik, both courtesy of Luciano

Arianna and I met on Second Life in 2008. Being a world where all the content is created by “residents”, your avatar is a blank canvas which you can customize to fit the idea of personality and role you want to play. My avatar’s main activity was not much of a stretch from my real life. I am a dubber, a voice-over actor, so I soon got involved in reading groups, where many residents gathered to listen to pieces of literature and, in many cases, to submit their own compositions to be read in front of an audience.

I was reading at this event in a beautiful land called SaliMar, when I noticed this stunning avatar in the audience. At the end of the reading, we started talking. She was Italian, just like me, and, as Arianna recalls, I started flirting with her like there is no tomorrow. No wonder. Arianna’s avatar was a model (fashion shows are a big thing in SL). But beauty is an obvious standard in Second Life. If you can customize yourself as you see fit, you bet your life you’ll make yourself look as handsome as a Greek God (or Goddess). So, some long-lasting chemistry must spark from personality, not beauty alone. Then, if the romance lasts, the avatar fades out and the person behind starts to appear. For me and Arianna the chemistry was strong.

We were enthusiastic and motivated. We put together a virtual theater group, touring several Second Life lands presenting full production reading events. Only months later we started the first attempts to see each other for real via Skype. We [hadn't] met in person yet. I live in Los Angeles, she was in Milan, thousands of miles apart.

Then the real test, the trial-by-fire: meeting in person. I flew to Milan, she was waiting at the airport and then… the sparks! Were we as beautiful as our avatars? Not by far. Nobody can beat those two guys. But the chemistry was even stronger. In SL, the avatar has two sides: it conceals you from others, but by the same token, the mask gives you that feeling of protection by which you open up more to someone. So, you end up knowing someone very deeply and intimately. Fast forward to ten years later, and Arianna and I are still happily married and, last year, little Liam was born.
- Luciano, Burbank. CA

When I joined World of Warcraft, I made sure I was playing with people I knew from school, friends from the "real world.” It was 2007 and online gaming was just starting to take off. The mindset at the time was still that the internet was a dangerous place full of predators. I eventually joined a guild that had [a voice chat application] channel that we used it for general chit-chat as well as game stuff. One day, my guild friend and I were paired up with a pair of random players waiting on standby for a dungeon instance and, once we’d completed it, my friend invited these players to join our guild. They accepted and joined the chat channel too.

We learned voices before we learned names. Character names were acceptable nicknames, and mostly, if people didn't want to tell you a piece of information, they didn't. You can learn deeply personal details before ever knowing something as basic as the color of someone's hair. One afternoon we revealed the county we lived in. Surprisingly, one of those two dungeon runners said that he was currently stationed in our area. Direct chats started. Slowly, more information about work, school, and life came into the conversations.

I worked at a store in the mall, and he came into where I worked. Thanks to months of [voice chat] we recognized voices. The meeting was anxious, to say the least. But with me chained to my post at the register, and a mall full of people, it seemed safe. We talked, exchanged numbers, and then he left with friends. We spent most of our time together in game since our schedules didn't really line up at first, but we also did offline things too: movies, dinner, the usual.

The relationship progressed pretty normally, really. The game was still a hobby, something we did independently or together, but it wasn't what held us together, and it certainly wasn't why we broke up. It was a long relationship, about four years. We don't talk anymore, but he's still on my friend list, and we still send the occasional like or happy birthday.
- Kat, Fargo, North Dakota

Philip and Katterin and their 'TSW' avatars, both courtesy of Phillip

When I first started playing The Secret World (now called Secret World Legends) I definitely had escapism in mind, but simultaneously expected a far richer experience, having enjoyed the game designer's previous work. While I did enjoy both escapism as well as a rich and rewarding gameplay experience, I never thought that the benefits I would reap would be quite so literal. Until I met Katterin.

Katterin was one of a multitude of players in the game world, but as in chat rooms of yore, relationships depended purely upon communication, and my virtual correspondence with her revealed to me someone I wanted very much to meet in the real world. Over the next few months, we communicated a lot and even met up a few times. Eventually, it became more than obvious that this was the person that I needed in my life, but never realized how much until knowing her. Moreover, if I didn't snag her, then someone far more deserving than I would have snagged her instead.

While my now-wife and I don't play TSW these days, we do still play games, but these games include: Mortgage Quest, Laundry Slayer, and Raising Baby, and its sequel Raising Baby: The Revenge of Poop. Sometimes these new games aren't very fun, but they are definitely challenging. And the XP accumulation is pretty insane!
- Philip, Kansas City, Kansas


Met a girl on this mobile game, The Infinite Black, and started talking to her and we hit it off and started dating long distance. She told me that she had gotten preggo right before we started talking and I was like, "Well okay, I have a kid too, so NBD, kids happen." Anyways, fast forward and we've been talking for months and I've been getting belly pics, helping her pick out a name, and was buying baby clothes on Amazon for her. (She never actually asked me for anything, though.) I was ordering up lunch and flowers to be delivered to her at work, all kinds of nice stuff.

I should’ve seen the signs that there were issues. From the beginning, she hated my child and would talk shit about him or just not talk to me whenever I had him visiting. I'm not sure why I stayed.

One of my buddies decided to run her phone number and it turned out to not belong to the name of the girl that I thought it did. It was assigned to some older lady. Turns out the girl I was dating was like 43 and had two kids my age. I Facebook searched her from a second account and found that I was blocked by her real account. I also found [out] that the "conversations" I’d had with her "parents" and a couple of her “friends” were her using dummy accounts. She had faked a whole family. I had talked on the phone with her daily for like nine months and never would've guessed she was older. She sounded young, knew all the jokes that someone our age would know.

I’m a truck driver, so I actually went down there by her house once and was going to see her, but I said something dumb and she used it as an excuse to not come and meet me. Instead, she had her "neighbor" pick me up and take me [around]. Turns out, that neighbor who had picked me up and taken me around town was actually her!

As it turns out, the pregnant belly (and eventual baby) pics she was sending me were just pics of someone else's baby she’d been stealing and cropping so you couldn’t see her face or anything. And because she never asked for anything, I never thought I was being catfished. I mean, she put in nine months of solid time and devotion to this one lie and I don’t think she ever got anything out of it other than me listening to her. I guess that could be her reward in a sick, controlling kind of way. It was seriously an awful experience and I'm glad to be with my wife now.
- Roy, Nashville

Accounts have been edited for length.

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Some Major Comedians Showed Up to Support Aziz Ansari's Comedy Cellar Set

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A few months after he was accused of making a woman feel "really pressured" into sex after a date, Aziz Ansari was already back to doing standup, playing a handful of shows across the country for sold-out crowds in the hundreds. On Wednesday, less than a month after Louis C.K. performed at New York's Comedy Cellar—his first show since he admitted to sexual misconduct—Ansari popped up on the same stage for a surprise set, Brooklyn Vegan reports.

Whereas C.K. gigged at the venue on his own, Ansari had backup from heavyweights in the comedy world: Chris Rock and Kevin Hart performed, along with Keith Robinson and Wil Sylvince. Rock even gave his own personal stamp of approval on the show, sharing a photo of he, Aziz, and Hart on Instagram saying, "Aziz was on fire." There's no word on exactly what Ansari's set was about, but fans didn't seem to bristle at the fact that he was back onstage.

"They lost it when he came out,” an audience member told Page Six. "It was pretty awesome, he was hilarious."

This isn't the first time Ansari has returned to the venue since the allegations were made, having performed a few sets there back in May. And after letting C.K. come back to perform, the club's owner, Noam Dworman, recently told the Hollywood Reporter he doesn't think there's a "clear standard" as to when a comedian should be "denied an audience."

"The Aziz thing is a great example, because who the hell knows what went on there? So this is the risk: If I ban Louis, now the next thing is Aziz comes up, and I'm supposed to ban Aziz, even though I'm not sure," Dworman told THR. "All of a sudden it's not the court system, it's not the criminal justice system, it's not even a procedural HR system, it's that the guy who owns the comedy club is supposed to decide what happened, who's guilty, what the punishment is and make sure the world never sees this guy again."

With the support of the audience and two insanely popular comedians, not to mention Dworman, Ansari seems to be forging right on ahead with his comedy career: He just announced a new slate of shows on Wednesday.

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The Best Dive Bar in Texas Opens at 7 AM and Refuses to Be Gentrified

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In Deep Dive, VICE asks writers around the world to explain how their favorite bar represents their city’s history and culture.

It’s a blazing, painfully bright Saturday morning at the D&W Lounge in Houston, Texas (911 Milby St.) and the joint is already humming along sweetly with jukebox tunes. The smell of slow-smoked meat wafts on the Gulf breeze from a nearby barbecue joint, taunting the drinkers in the venerable bar. That is, until a man arrives unannounced with a greasy paper sack full of an assortment of foil-wrapped tacos from Laredo Taqueria, one of Houston’s finest such establishments, and one located way across town, in another gentrifying barrio. “I waited an hour and a half for these,” he says, merely as a statement of exasperated fact, while offering them to total strangers, both inside the dark-as-night bar and the shaded patio with picnic tables.

The jukebox is already in fine form, churning out Tejano, old-school Texas honky-tonk, swamp pop and funky Chicago soul, much of it courtesy of that morning’s impromptu DJ: local music hero Nick Gaitan. After getting his start holding down the low end on upright bass for ska-punk-Latin heroes Los Skarnales (at their peak, the best bar band in Texas), Gaitan moved on to front his own band (Nick Gaitan and the Umbrella Man), when not thumping that bull fiddle for Texas honky-tonk god Billy Joe Shaver.

Gaitan grew up not far from the D&W, and though the neighborhood around it has changed tremendously over the last 15 or so years, it remains an island of authenticity, a bastion of true Second Ward soul.

Like New Orleans, historically, Houston’s inner city was divided into wards, each of which had its own identity: First Ward, downtown. Third, Fourth, and Fifth Wards: impoverished and African American, launching pads for the likes of many of the city’s most famous politicians, athletes, writers, and musicians. Sixth Ward is a weird little enclave of artists and preservationists that has managed to keep a 19th Century vibe in a city that devours its past like few others, while the Second Ward—El Segundo Barrio, as it is sometimes called—is the city’s most historic Mexican-American neighborhood.

Longtime D&W Lounge owner Keith Weyel

It’s home to the original Ninfa’s, the restaurant that put fajitas on the map, first for Houston, then for Texas, then for America and the world. And aside from a few other spots like nearby Our Lady of Guadalupe Church, few institutions have been around El Segundo as long as D&W, aside from what used to be the Maxwell House coffee plant, a 16-story roasting facility that closed this year. Once open around the clock, the plant was the reason D&W owner Keith Weyel has always maintained a 7 AM opening hour and 2 AM last call—every minute Texas law allows. It made sense to catch those third shift workers on their way home in the morning, and it was also a hit with weary cops and assistant district attorneys—it’s always felt like a place where you might stumble into Texas versions of The Wire’s Jimmy McNulty and Bunk Moreland, maybe a little worse for drink. And they might just be sitting right next to and laughing with barrio toughs they’ve locked up on multiple occasions.

And the decor? Amazing. There’s nothing quite like it in Houston. Downtown’s ancient La Carafe—a possibly-haunted cave-like structure built before the Civil War where the walls sprout history like dandelions and the wax-dripping candles behind the bars resemble stalagmites—beats it for genuine old-timey feel, but Weyel’s place bests even La Carafe for its unique vibe and originality. The bar’s stage—there’s frequent live music, often provided by Gaitan and his friends—is done up in a Chinese motif, complete with Buddhas and a print of Warhol’s vision of Chairman Mao. There’s taxidermy, including a Canada goose near the front door whose head sports a crudely wrapped bandage over its eyes: “We wanted our customers to know that the goose saw no evil when they walked in,” Weyel explains. There’s a shrine to Marilyn Monroe, and what at first appears to be a red-tablecloth-draped table with a Day of the Dead altar on it.

“That used to be the pool table,” Weyel explains. “I got sick of people fighting over it, so I decided to make it into something pretty that nobody would want to fight over.”

Weyel is a second-generation bar owner, son of the man who once ran another nearby dive—the Harrisburg Country Club. That “country club” name is tongue-in-cheek, a blue-collar east Houston mockery of snooty west Houston. When Houston, up to then a snoozy, yellow fever-ridden cotton port, went hog wild with money after the oil boom and the excavation of the Ship Channel in the early 1900s, most of the city’s cash fled west, founding what were then suburbs (but are now urban enclaves) like Montrose, River Oaks, the Houston Heights, and West University Place, leaving the Segundo Barrio behind. (In fact, in the 1980s, city leaders built a gigantic and hideous convention center on a long north-south line on the east end of downtown, one whose purpose seems to have been both to house large gatherings and to effectively wall off the eastside rabble.)

You see the eternal Houston at the D&W.

Then as now, the actual soul of the city stayed on the east side. In today’s Houston, the closer you get to open saltwater, the closer you are to the city’s true nature: despite what you might read in the tourist brochures and glitzy websites full of profiles of “hot chefs,” it’s really a city that hums along on international trade, much of it coming from the Port of Houston, on the city’s neglected, but rapidly gentrifying east side. The principal thoroughfares are either named after the city’s earliest pioneers (like the Milby Street on which the D&W stands), or direct you to Houston’s predecessor/one-time rival town in the area (Harrisburg), or lead you to the sea—like Navigation and Canal. And that hulking, now-empty coffee plant is a hopefully temporary reminder of Second Ward’s one time-importance in international trade: this was where the trains dropped off the beans the ships had brought in from Colombia and the Mexican highlands, there to be parched and roasted and delivered to a grocery store near you.

You see the eternal Houston at the D&W. There are the two white-haired Hispanic gentleman on the patio at a table nearby, most likely in their 80s, clinking longnecks formally under clouds of cigarette smoke. There’s the scraggly-bearded, sandy-haired former Navy man, showing off the melanoma scars and blemishes on his forearms and a fresh gash on his bandaged hand. (When a reporter buys him a beer, the ever-vigilant Weyel gently remonstrates: “His limit is five. You bought him his sixth. We told him it was his lucky day.”) He’s sitting at a table with three exclusively Spanish-speaking young men who seem to be freshly arrived from Mexico, all while Gaitan’s programmed jukebox spits out country classics like Ray Price’s “Crazy Arms” and that astoundingly on-the-one funk/soul jam “Mighty Mighty” by criminally neglected Chi-town genius Baby Huey.

“It’s a real neighborhood joint,” Gaitan says. “The kind where you don’t know who you will run into but somehow it's someone you know or at least that one of your friends knows. The hours are unlike a lot of other bars because of the morning shift that has been in place a long time for night workers. That also makes it a great place to day drink. That also brings its own kind of crowd too because hell, when a good day drinking crowd gets together, anything can happen.”

If you wanna go where everybody knows your name, and maybe plunk down some good money on the latest flavor-of-the-month chef’s pop-up dinner while you're at it, you'll need to head to west Houston’s so-called dive bars. But if you wanna go where you will get some of the city’s best tacos for free from a total stranger, you'll need to go to east Houston—and start out day-drinking at the D&W.

As Gaitan puts it, you will run into people from all walks of life there: “It encapsulates the soul of Houston because people from all different walks go there on all sides of politics, social groups, interests, ages, and the law amongst each other and sometimes with each other. It's a real good Houston hang mostly because of the people In it.”

Sometimes, especially in the summer, you wonder why the hell you keep living in Houston. There’s the traffic. The utter disrespect for the past. Terrible radio, by and large. The absolutely inhuman heat and humidity, from May through September, at least. Plenty of crime. We have giant cockroaches that fly through the air. All of that fed in to a marketing campaign about 15 years ago that acknowledged all of this broiled metropolis’s shortcomings. “Houston: It’s Worth It.” What does make Houston seem worth it are the people, and you won’t find a more interesting or generous bunch than those at the D&W Lounge.

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John Nova Lomax is a senior editor at Texas Monthly and the author of Houston's Best Dive Bars: Drinking and Diving in the Bayou City. Follow him on Twitter.

This article originally appeared on VICE US.

The Definitive Guide to Superhero Dicks

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On Wednesday, DC Comics finally answered the most pressing question of our time: What does Batman's dick look like? In Damned #1, the first of a three-part miniseries from DC's adult Black Label imprint, we were blessed with a glimpse of Batman's dong, and to the surprise of absolutely nobody, the caped crusader is circumcised:

THERE'S ABOUT TO BE AN IMAGE OF BATMAN'S DICK DON'T SAY YOU WEREN'T WARNED!

Even without canonical images of Bruce Wayne's penis, anyone with half a brain could have guessed the Dark Knight didn't have a foreskin. Batman is the type of hero who would believe that this form of body modification is the hygienic way to be. He's a man who gets his powers using technology and wealth, and what is circumcision but a way to modernize your dong? The Joker is also likely circumcised—him and Batman represent a sort of intra-circumcised duality. Batman likes his cut dick, while the Joker is one of those guys who's resentful that society stole away his foreskin without his consent.

I'm something of an expert on this: I've spent many long, arduous nights with my boyfriend talking about which superheroes would be circumcised, a topic that for whatever reason (PC culture, probably) the comics rarely address.

So if you've ever wondered whether your favorite superhero still has his foreskin, don't worry, I got you covered:

Batman

There's the Bat-Dick

As we've already established, he is cut and it's canon.

Superman

Behold the Super-Dong

I don't think you could circumcise Superman if you tried, at least not on Earth. Although multiple people have suggested that it could be done using a kryptonite cutting tool, my intuition is that they don't circumcise their boys on Krypton. I wonder if the Kents tried and failed to circumcise young Clark.

Robin

Robin's crotch

Since Batman is circumcised, I can only assume that his sidekick is as well. My boyfriend suggested that because he grew up in a family of circus performers, he might have not been circumcised as a baby, but whenever he transitioned from Dick Grayson to Robin, he removed the foreskin. There have been other Robins, but they've all been circumcised too.

Aquaman

It's an Aquacock!

A foreskin is like a fin, helping this sea hero glide through the ocean, and thus, our sweet Aquaman is still uncut.

The Flash

The Flash's penis

In Justice League, Barry Allen introduces himself to Batman as "a nice Jewish boy," so we can safely assume he is circumcised.

Cyborg

Cyborg's lack of dick

From the looks of it, Cyborg doesn't have a penis.

Captain America

Captain Ameri-cut

According to the Washington Post, "The WHO estimates that the overall male circumcision rate in the states is somewhere between 76 and 92 percent. Most Western European countries, by contrast, have rates less than 20 percent." He's Captain America for Christ's sake. Of course he's circumcised.

Spider-Man

Spideydicc

He's a regular guy from Queens—he's circumcised. He doesn't really think about it.

Iron Man

Iron Junk

The son of a weapons manufacturer, Tony Stark grew up in a typical wealthy American family. That means he is cut. And he's OK with that!

Thor

Thor's other hammer ;)

Thor is definitely still uncut. It's highly doubtful they circumcise their gods on Asgard. I mean, first of all, it's kind of European since it's from Norse myth, and circumcision isn't common on the other side of the pond. But moreover, why would a god need to modify his perfect body?

Black Panther

The Black Panther's privates

Wakanda is a high-tech society, too advanced for old traditions like circumcision. The Black Panther's dick might be high-tech in other ways, but it's definitely uncut.

The Hulk

Hulk dick

Bruce Banner strikes me as the circumcised type, but does the Hulk have the same dick as Bruce Banner? Does his dick turn green and get bigger when the Hulk comes out, or does it stay the same? Does the Hulk even have a dick?

According to the bonus features on the Avengers DVD, "They modeled every part of the Hulk, except for one. 'When the maquette came in, it's just a Barbie doll,' said Jason Smith." But in 2014, Mark Ruffalo commented on how the Hulk would have sex, saying, "Just like everybody else—just a lot bigger. He starts green and then goes back to his human form at the end, naturally. He gets big and then gets small."

But interviews are not canon, sorry. Despite what Ruffalo says, my feeling is that the Hulk is dick-less.

Doctor Strange

Strange Dong

Doctor Strange is for sure uncut. I mean, would you trust a circumcised wizard? I think not.

Hawkeye

Hawkdick

Hawkeye is an exceedingly normal American man, and thus, he is definitely cut.

Vision

Vision's crotch area

Vision built his own body, and from what I understand about his romance with Scarlet Witch, he likely has privates, but even if he decided to build himself a penis without foreskin, he's never been circumcised.

Star-Lord

Star-chode (jk I'm sure it's a fine dick)

He was born in America sometime in the 1970s, so he's cut.

Groot

Groot's lack of D

He doesn't have a penis, it would seem.

Rocket

Raccoon dicc

Raccoons have different anatomy than humans—most notably a penis bone—and thus cannot really be circumcised. "Raccoon penis bones are considered by some in the South to be lucky charms," according to Mental Floss. Fun!

Drax

Drax dong

Considering the amount of body modification Drax already has, it wouldn't be surprising if he was circumcised. My theory, however, is that he's uncut, but has a Prince Albert piercing.

The Thing

The Thing's thing.

The Thing is canonically Jewish, so logic says he would be circumcised. Although I was dubious of the fact that The Thing has a penis at all, Stan Lee has commented on this important issue, telling Vanity Fair, "I guess common sense would say it was made of orange rock too."

Mr. Fantastic

Elasti-dick

In the same interview, Lee also commented on the genital situation of Reed Richards, a.k.a. Mr. Fantastic. "I always thought it was more interesting to think about Reed Richards," Lee said after he was asked about the Thing's junk. "As you know, he had the ability to stretch, and sexually, that would seem to be a great asset in many areas." Jesus Christ, what an incredible interview.

My feeling is that although Reed Richards was circumcised at birth, he can use his powers to uncircumcise himself when he feels like it.

Wolverine

Wolverine's junk

The X-man's healing powers only manifested during his teen years, so there's a chance that he could be cut, but his backstory has been changed and retconned so much over the years who the fuck knows? Inverse.com published an investigation into whether Wolverine is circumcised in 2017: "James Howlett was born during that period of cultural shifting [in 1800s Canada], so there’s no telling whether his wealthy parents would have elected to have him circumcised," the author opined. "Since circumcision is technically a wound, it’s possible that Wolverine’s foreskin would have grown back when his healing factor appeared, which happened when he was a young teen."

Based off this information, I think the Wolverine grew back his foreskin when he became a mutant. Furthermore, there's an iconic scene where the Punisher blasts Wolverine's dick off and he grows a new one, which presumably has its foreskin.

Magneto

Magneto's genitals

Magneto is Jewish, and thus, he is cut.

Beast

Beast bulge

Have you seen this man's fingernails? He's definitely uncut.

Deadpool

Deadpool's D

According to Deadpool creator Rob Liefeld, "Yes, yes. We would never, ever live in a world where Deadpool can't regenerate his own cock and balls." Meaning every time his dick regenerates, he grows a new foreskin. How beautiful!

All screenshots of comics and the Guardians of the Galaxy movies.

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Here’s a Running List of Canada’s Dumbest New Weed Laws

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Recreational weed will be legal in Canada in less than a month but that doesn’t mean it’s going to be a free for all. Just the opposite, in fact.

The federal government has laid out rigorous restrictions on things like buying, selling, and growing weed, but individual provinces have also come up with their own sets of rules, some of which make more sense than others.

Since it’s all a bit of a chaotic mess, we’ve put together a handy guide of some of the dumbest regulations to look out for next month:

Quebec banning the sale of anything with a cannabis leaf on it

The law: In Quebec, weed will be sold only through government-run shops. But according to the province’s Cannabis Regulation Act, cannabis leaves and other logos or images associated with weed won’t be allowed to be used on products that aren’t legal cannabis.

“No name, logo, distinguishing guise, design, image or slogan that is not directly associated with cannabis, a brand of cannabis, the SQDC or a cannabis producer may be used on a facility, vehicle, poster or an object that is not cannabis but that could imply an indirect link. In Québec, it will not be permitted, for example, to sell T-shirts with the printed picture of a cannabis leaf,” the regulations state.

Punishment: Fines ranging from $2,500 $62,500 for first offence and up to $125,000 for repeat offenders.

Why it’s dumb: To be honest, I have no idea why they would make this a law in the first place. It seems hysterical. Like, are kids going to see a t-shirt with a leaf on it and run out to hit the bong? Are Japanese maple leaves also going to be banned in Quebec?

BC banning at-home cannabis plants that can be seen by the public

The law: BC is allowing its residents to grow the federally allotted four plants per household, but with a big caveat. “The plants must not be visible from public spaces off the property.”

Punishment: A $5,000 fine and a maximum of three months in jail for first-time offenders, which doubles for repeat offenders.

Why it’s dumb: People grow things outside—on their porches and balconies, and in their yards. This law seems overly harsh and emphasizes the existing stigma on cannabis, which is after all, a plant. As pot activist Dana Larsen wrote in the Georgia Straight, “If you are rich you can put up a big fence on a big property, but if you live in an apartment it’s virtually impossible to keep it completely out of sight.”

Nova Scotia is selling weed with liquor

The law: Rec weed in Nova Scotia will be sold through the province’s liquor board and will be available at the same stores where people buy booze. The cannabis stores will be located inside the liquor stores—a store within a store kinda deal.

Why it’s dumb: Generally speaking, weed and liquor are not a great mix. It’s very easy to do overdo it, get the spins, and vomit. Anyone who has consumed weed for a while knows this, but newbies may not be as familiar and placing these two substances so close together could give the wrong impression that they’re good bedfellows. Also, sometimes people who have substance abuse issues, including alcoholism, use cannabis to reduce their intake of other drugs. It doesn’t make sense to force someone with a drinking problem to go into a liquor store in order to obtain cannabis.

No growing in Manitoba or Quebec

The laws: Despite the federal government allowing Canadians to grow up to four plants per household, Manitoba and Quebec are banning it in their provinces.

Punishment: In Quebec, if you’re caught growing a plant, you face fines of 250 to $750 for first offence, and up to $1,500 for repeat offences. In Manitoba, you’ll be fined $2,542.

Why it’s dumb: The federal government is allowing people to grow their own weed, so really the provinces should fall in line. Quebec’s Health Minister Lucie Charlebois cited fears over her grandkids eating a neighbour’s weed plant as a reason no one should be allowed to grow at home.

The fines these provinces are imposing are being criticized as cash grabs that veer into unconstitutional territory. I wouldn’t be surprised if these laws resulted in a challenge. From a more practical perspective, I doubt that the majority of people will start growing their own weed just because it’s legal to do so—it’s much more convenient to buy it. So these rules seem unnecessary at best.

No blazing on boats in Ontario, BC, PEI, Manitoba

The laws: It’s pretty straightforward: you can’t consume cannabis on a boat if you’re in any of these places.

Punishment: In Ontario, fines of up to $1,000 for a first offence or $5,000 for subsequent offences. In BC, fines of up $5,000 for a first offence, subsequent offences $10,000 or three to six months in jail. In PEI, a $200 to $400 for a first offence, and $400 to $700 for subsequent offences. In Manitoba, a $2542 fine.

Why it’s dumb: I understand why you would ban someone driving a boat from consuming cannabis, but I don’t understand why passengers, especially on a private vessel, would be banned. It seems like this is the least offensive way to smoke a joint—literally out on on the open seas. Plus, booze cruises are definitely a thing, and probably a lot more dangerous.

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