Taylor Swift, Kanye West, and Kim Kardashian West at the 57th Annual Grammy Awards on February 8, 2015, in Los Angeles, California. Photo by Larry Busacca/Getty Images for NARAS

Over the past week or so, the internet has been losing its shit over the latest in the never-ending saga between Taylor Swift and Kimye. This latest beef stems from the fall-out over West's song "Famous," released in February, in which he raps: "I feel like me and Taylor might still have sex / Why? I made that bitch famous."

Since then, Swift has feigned the kind of innocence her career has been built on: claiming that Kanye failed to share the lyric referencing her on "Famous" ahead of time and that she had cautioned him against the misogynistic message. But in a dramatic plot twist, Kardashian West pulled back the veil, releasing a recording of a call between her husband and Swift in which West clearly asks if the singer is OK with the lyric, and Swift gives her blessing, all without once mentioning misogyny.

Despite being a white woman herself, Mrs. West has built her own career on something Swift has viewed as dangerous to hers: overexposure. After all, the Ray J sex tape from 2007 was the reality star's original claim to fame. Since then she has monetized every aspect of her person, openly sexualizing and objectifying herself, from her art book of selfies to her own series of emojis to wrapping paper featuring her thonged butt, all of which, needless to say, are diametrically opposed to Swift's brand of innocence.

On VICE: Spike Jonze spent the day with Kanye West:

The reality TV star has also positioned herself relative to blackness, through her husband and her cultural and aesthetic appropriations, such that she is able to consume and regurgitate black culture without most black people taking offense. (This despite the fact that it took having a baby with a black man for her to realize racism was a material reality.)

Swift's positioning to blackness, specifically black men, couldn't be more different. Over and over again, the pop singer has played the victim, tapping into racial anxieties and expectations around black men and young white women. Despite wanting "to be excluded from this narrative," she was the one who wrote and performed the song "Innocence" at the VMAs in 2010, and the lyrics were widely interpreted as a shot at Kanye. This was after Kanye's public apology. The very title of the song positions her as a victim and West as a racialized bully. Because of choices like these, because of stories about her petting the Weeknd like he was a zoo animal and entire music videos that glamorize white colonial rule in Africa, Taylor Swift has done a remarkable job of alienating women of color and black women in particular.

Drunk or not, on that fateful night in 2009, Kanye started a feud of epic proportions. Ye lives in what New York critic Frank Guan names as a cycle of "assumption, confession, and paying back of enormous debts," but, to his credit, he's never lied about it. When Kanye rushed the stage, he expressed a frustration with the greater structures that privilege people like Swift over Beyoncé. Of course, Swift wasn't responsible for these structures in their entirety; however, she's also clearly never forgiven his making her into a symbol.

With this latest battle in what has surely become a war, Kim Kardashian West came for Taylor Swift with the high drama of an act-three bed trick. There was the build-up, considerable foreshadowing, and several narrative teases (the GQ profile must have been a warning shot, in retrospect). Blac Chyna could never have come for Swift in that way without racism and misogyny coming into play, marking her out as an angry black woman. It couldn't have been Ye, either. He is a black man, and whatever his actions are toward young, thin, attractive white women, he is seen, as Sharon Osbourne has insisted, as "a bully." So it had to be Kim. Each of these celebrities is trapped within the expectations of their brands, but of their bodies, too—race and gender matter. Kim Kardashian West, PR genius that she is, has orchestrated a coup on white women's manufactured innocence that is, simultaneously, completely on brand.

At this point, West's calling Swift "that bitch" is no longer what galls her. Getting upset over this comes across as low-hanging fruit on the tree of offensiveness. To portray herself as the victim of misogyny is one thing, but Swift plays on racial anxieties and paints him inaccurately in this situation. Among queer and black people, the word "bitch" is not something that impacts your feminist credentials. Even Beyoncé, the woman West said deserved the Video Music Award when he charged the stage in 2009, calls herself "that bitch" on "Formation"—a song that can only be understood as a black feminist anthem.

Kardashian West has perhaps carved out a new sort of white femininity, one that keeps receipts and doesn't back down in defense of blackness.

There's a difference between calling yourself a bitch and someone else calling you one, certainly, but it is the claim that West made her famous, that Swift cannot stand on her own merits, that is more troubling from the feminist perspective. This is clearly what she took issue with on the leaked call. In the recording she says, "You gotta tell the story the way that it happened to you and the way you experienced it. Like you obviously didn't know who I was before that. It doesn't matter if I sold 7 million of that album before that, which is what happened." Her awareness seems to indicate that West related the gist of the lyric, even if he didn't explicitly ask about calling her "that bitch."

This feud, like anything mega-celebrities do, has already become another avenue for monetizing relationships in the age of social-media spectacle. It is, in short, entertainment. With each Snapchat, Instagram, or Twitter post, we should all remember that celebrity feuds are, in actuality, very low stakes: They're filthy rich and will be fine. Still, West's actions toward Swift and her impulse toward playing the victim (while, at the same time, taking potshots) makes you want to keep score. And, if we're being honest, it matters how white women treat black men on such a visible stage. It's a question of representation. Kardashian West, for her part, has perhaps carved out a new sort of white femininity, one that keeps receipts and doesn't back down in defense of blackness.

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Screenshot from YouTube

Even if Pokémon Go seems to have surpassed it in download numbers, Tinder is still one of the most efficient methods to look for fresh meat. And since the app is all about making a good first impression on someone who's listlessly swiping through profiles while taking a shit or lying in bed with a hangover, it's safe to say a lot can go wrong with those first impressions.

With that in mind, we asked girls from all over Europe what they use Tinder for, and what will get them to swipe right or left.

PAZ, 22, LONDON

VICE: What's your biggest turn-off?
Paz: A photo of them posing with something stupid like a bottle of champagne. Something that makes them look like a douchebag. I don't like it when their first photo is of them showing off already. Also, if they're sitting on a car or something trying to be cool – it's so cringe. It's like, "nah!"

What would you swipe right for?
Like maybe a photo of them smiling, having fun. I really like dogs so if they have a puppy. Just a really laid back picture, not trying too hard. And a picture of them – not a group photo because then you don't know who's who.

What would make you want to talk to a guy?
A genuine good opening line. Not just like "Hi". More like, "What do you do?" I have a really descriptive profile so it helps if they mention something I put in my bio. I play a lot of sports so if they go "What kind of sports are you into?" then I'm like, this person took the time to actually read my bio. They genuinely want to find out about me, not like "hi, DTF?"

What would make a really uninteresting profile? What would make you swipe left?
A lot of guys put their heights on their profile. How tall are you is probably not the first thing I'd ask. Or when people put stuff like "Going on holiday to Malaga, Malaga 2k16," – no one fucking cares, mate!

What would make you accept a first date?
If they initiate meeting up and if they make a genuine plan. I really like it when people are like "Do you want to go to this place, I've heard it's really nice." I don't like it when people ask you out and then try to make you decide. If they don't know where to go, do they even want to meet up?

VICE: How long have you been on Tinder for?
Dennisa: I'm not on it anymore but I used it a lot last summer.

What made you download the app?
I was single and I had just moved to Paris and I didn't know anyone. I thought it could be cool to meet new people.

So, it was not just to flirt?
No, just to meet new people. I matched with tourists, people from abroad like me with whom I could go around Paris and visit stuff.

Did you end up meeting many people?
Yes. I come from Indonesia and I am a Muslim. I met this guy during Ramadan who wanted to convert to Islam. We stayed together for a month or so. But, apart from him, it never went farther than a first date.

What makes you want to right swipe?
I don't like blond boys. Then, even if the person is not pretty, if they've got good, artsy pictures, I'm more likely to swipe right. I work in fashion and media so photos are important for me.

Anything that pisses you off?
I am Asian, so I hate it when the guys I matched with tell me things like "I've never been with an Asian before" or "I like the shape of your mouth." I don't like the fact that they insist on it and they just want to tick Asian girl off their bucket list. I don't give a shit that you've never been with an Asian girl, mate.

MARGHERITA, 23, MILAN

VICE: When did you start using Tinder?
Margherita: I used it last year, for a few months. I wanted to meet new people and I was curious to see how it worked. Then I got into a relationship and I deleted it.

And how did it work for you?
Actually, it didn't work that well. I had tens of matches but I went out with a girl only once. She was pretty weird but mostly boring. I ran away in the middle of the date.

How often did you use it?
When I was bored: on the bus, or while watching TV at home – like all social media.

You identify as bisexual. Do you go for guys or girls on Tinder?
Basically, Tinder works like real life to me: I check out boys and girls, but at the end of the day I go for girls.

What does a profile picture need to work for you?
Well, essentially I have to like her face and her attitude. I don't like selfies that are too sexy or provocative. I like girls who are not shy and are okay with their bodies. It's great if they feel like showing them off, but then it doesn't have to become too much. The line is often very, very thin.

Do you care about the bio?
I'd read it only if I wasn't sure about the picture.

Did you have a pick-up line?
Nope, no pick-up line. If I really liked someone I'd write to them, otherwise I'd just wait to be approached. I'd try to become friends with the other person first. If they were fun to chat with then we could go out for a beer.

LOIS, 24, AMSTERDAM

VICE: Why did you download Tinder?
Lois: I was single and it seemed like fun. It was mostly out of boredom, but also out of genuine curiosity after hearing all the success stories. But mostly just to have something to do while taking a dump.

What did you find the most annoying thing on Tinder?
Pictures of guys with cats. That is so clearly meant to show that they also have a soft, sweet side. Surely everyone sees right through that? And boring dudes in boring button-down shirts – that's also a big turn-off.

Is there anything you do like about it?
I had a photo of myself as the McDonald's clown on there, and that got some funny reactions. One guy said, for example: "Nice McMuffins." I thought that was a good one.

Have you gotten any dates out of it yet?
Once, almost. That guy was pretty fit but before the date he said: "I have to admit something; I did gain a bit of weight recently." And of course I'd heard the stories about guys who were a lot slimmer in their pictures than in real life, so I ended up turning him down.

IRIS, 20, BUCHAREST

VICE: How did you end up installing Tinder?
Iris: I had just broken up with my former boyfriend. A friend saw that I was sad and told me to try out this app.

Did you have any luck?
I met my current boyfriend on Tinder. We spoke for the first time in January, and met in person after a week. We've been together ever since.

What don't you like about Tinder?
Anyone with a smartphone can use it. I hated the fact that all these assholes think they can pick up chicks with lame pictures and status messages. You have to work at it, honey.

(LEFT) EMILY, 19, (RIGHT) PALOMA, 19, BERLIN

VICE: Emily, what have you used Tinder for so far?
Emily: I've been looking for girls but not for a relationship. I just wanted to meet new people and try to have a good time with them.

How long have you been using Tinder for?
First I used it to look for boys for about a month but then I deinstalled it. Later, I went back on Tinder to date women. I was only on there for three days – then I met her. [Looks at Paloma]

So, what does a profile have to have for you to swipe right?
If the first picture is really ugly, I won't even look at the others. But with good-looking people I always check out the rest of the pics too. With Paloma, it was the pics. They were just beautiful. No posed photos or selfies, but photos that show the whole person – the things she does and the things she likes. I also appreciate it when people write about themselves instead of putting up a collection of corny quotes.

What puts you off?
People who are just out to get laid. I'm not a fan of manipulated photos and duck faces either.

What are some of the worst things people have said to you on Tinder?
If you're a woman seeking women, there is a bunch of girls looking for a third party for a threesome. That's weird but it has been the only negative thing.

Paloma, how long have you been using Tinder for?
Paloma: About half a year but sporadically. Sometimes I'll spend all day on Tinder, other times I'll forget about it for a week. I'm mainly looking for sex and fun – but I have to have fun first to get in the mood for sex.

Who do you swipe right for?
I guess the criteria are pretty obvious. Beauty is key, but so is style. If a girl is really hot but a bad dresser, I'll pass. But if I see a reasonably pretty girl in great clothes, that already tells me a lot about her. I don't really care about the interests people list.

What kind of poses make for the best photos?
If the girl is hot, it doesn't matter. If she's pulling a stupid face but she's really cute, then I don't care. But I don't like body photos that don't show the face. Those people can just jog on, as far as I'm concerned. I hate that stuff. If they can't face the camera, it shows that they're insecure.

What was the worst first message anyone ever sent you?
I was living in Barcelona at the time. One woman asked me if I wanted to come round to hers, share a bottle of wine and fuck on her last night in town. I tried to ask her some questions but Tinder was so slow that everything only got through to her the next day. And I probably would have said yes, actually, if only I'd been able to find out a few more things about her. So I guess it was Tinder's fault, or the network's, not hers.

KARNA, 24, COPENHAGEN

VICE: When did you first start using Tinder?
Karna: Oh God! I've been using it for like two years or something. It was definitely when it was still a new thing in Denmark. Maybe it's been three years.

Why do you use Tinder?
I started using it as a joke. Then, all of a sudden you're sitting there, shopping people. And the likes! They give you a real confidence boost.

What do you look for on Tinder?
I like them to fit a certain mould with their looks. It's kinda hard to describe – I don't want them to be too handsome, but not too ugly either. If they're too handsome I almost know what type they are. I am like Goldilocks – I don't like them too soft, but I don't like them to be too hard either.

Do you go on a date with everyone you match with?
No, not at all. I also only date the guys who ask me out.

Do you have a type?
I like guys that are chill. I like it when they have a funny bio. And if they're doing something fun on their photos. I don't like people who take themselves too seriously.

How important is the photo and bio?
It's very, very important. Both need to really pop.

Is there a type, you would never go for?
Guys with nude photos. And too many selfies. I'm not into sports either, so I don't like the guys who post a lot of photos of that sort of stuff. It's also because I know, that we're not going to be a match.

More on VICE:

We Asked People With the Most Right-Swiped Jobs on Tinder Why Their Job Makes Them So Fit

I Reviewed My Coworkers' Tinder Profiles

Paris Lees: My Transgender Tinder Adventure

Kink isn't always colourblind. Photo by Flickr user Stephanie Lawton.

For as long as I can remember, certain sexual acts were deemed "freaky white people shit" by the vast majority of my black female friends. From my earliest memories of teenage slut-shaming as a Toronto high school student, it was agreed upon in our young black and brown minds that white girls were the only ones who engaged in oral sex, for example. We would grow up to find that not only was this complete and utter bullshit, but also wonder how that stereotype started in the first place.

Virginia senator Tim Kaine happily embraced the role of Hillary Clinton's running mate and attack dog at the Democratic National Convention Wednesday night, introducing himself to a national audience as the relatively unknown No. 2 on the party's presidential ticket. But he was upstaged earlier that night by the actual vice president—a testament to Joe Biden's otherworldly appeal as the salty populist of the American middle class.

Biden, the first primetime speaker in Wednesday night's lineup, reminded the American public why he's one of the most compelling, and authentic, speakers in politics today. He guffawed about his lack of sophistication and basically erupted into fits about about his love of America: "We are America, second to none, and we own the finish line!"

Since joining Barack Obama's ticket in 2008, Biden has been deeply effective as a sort of validator—a tough-kid Catholic from Scranton, Pennsylvania, who rode the Amtrak daily from Delaware to his job in the United States Senate. On Wednesday night, he reprised that role, viciously trying to pop the Donald Trump bubble, with more enthusiasm than anyone else who has spoken at the Democratic convention so far this week.

A Joe Biden fan cheers on the vice president during his speech to the Democratic National Convention in Philadelphia on Wednesday night.

The result was deeply fun to watch—Biden just killed it, eviscerating Trump's disconnect from the struggles of working people with each goofy Bidenism. "No matter where you were raised, how can there be pleasure in saying, 'You're fired'?" he asked, the audience completely enthralled.

"He has no clue about what makes America great," the vice president went on, working himself to the speech's crescendo. "Actually, he has no clue, period."

Kaine tried to do those things, too. But for the most part, he was just as advertised: a self-described "boring" centrist who was clearly the safest possible pick for Clinton. In his first major address to an audience outside Virginia, Kaine praised his running mate at length, even as progressive critics—particularly those skeptical of Kaine's stance on free trade and specifically the Trans-Pacific Partnership—heckled him a bit on national TV.

"We all should feel the burn," Kaine told the crowd. "And we all should not wanna get burned by the other guy."

But after a slow start punctuated by a couple of eye-rolling one-liners like that one, Kaine seemed to find his bearings, projecting an air of swing-state masculinity that Clinton might need to help boost her favorability ratings with white men. He also repeatedly broke into the Spanish he picked up as a missionary in the Honduras to the delight of the crowd—a routine that could bolster Clinton's built-in advantage with Hispanics against the Nativist icon at the top of the Republican ticket.

More than anything else, Kaine showed that he's quite comfortable mocking Republican nominee Donald Trump, apparently relishing the attack-dog role traditionally assumed by vice presidential candidates.

US Senator Tim Kaine, of Virginia, accepts the Democratic nomination for vice president on Wednesday night.

"Trump is a guy who promises a lot, but, uh, you mighta noticed, he's got a way of saying the same two words every time he makes his biggest, yoogest promises: Believe me!" Kaine said. "It's gonna be great, believe me!" he continued, speaking in a strangely effective faux-Trump voice. "We're gonna build a wall and make Mexico pay for it—believe me! We're gonna destroy ISIS so fast, believe me!

"So here's the question: Do you really believe him?" Kaine added. "Donald Trump's whole career says you better not." Then, in what may have been his biggest applause line all night, he scoffed: "There's nothing suspicious in my tax returns, believe me."

The hope, of course, is that Kaine will be able to win over potential Trump voters, specifically, white, low-income males in places like Ohio, Pennsylvania, and his home state of Virginia—all battlegrounds Democrats carried in 2008 and 2012, but which have the potential to swing red again this time around.

And if he can also help Hillary Clinton project continuity with the Obama era. But as Biden's speech revealed earlier in the night, he has a very tough act to follow.

Follow Matt Taylor on Twitter.

The headlines were hard to miss, even for non-foodies: "The Parmesan Cheese You Sprinkle on Your Penne Could Be Wood," "FDA Warns the Parmesan You Eat May Be Wood Pulp," "Cheese Exec Pleads Guilty in Wood Pulp Parmesan Scandal." Such were the gems that kicked off the great Parm-wood imbroglio of February 2016.

According to various reports, an FDA investigation found that some manufacturers were padding their pre-grated or shredded Parmesan cheese with excess amounts of fillers like cellulose, an anti-clumping agent made from plant waste, including wood pulp.

"That story broke just as my book was going to press," Larry Olmsted, a food journalist and author of the just-released Real Food/Fake Food: Why You Don't Know What You're Eating & What You Can Do About It, told VICE. Although the cover of his new book features a large hunk of what looks to be Parm, Olmsted's chapter on the cheese isn't about cellulose additives. It's about bewildering or nonexistent food regulations that allow US restaurants and retailers to label their cheese products as "Parmesan," even though the stuff in the green Kraft can bears almost no tactile or gustatory resemblance to Italy's storied Parmigiano-Reggiano.

Even some of the $20-per-pound Parms sold at specialty-food stores could be knockoffs from Argentina, "where the only legal standard governing its import is that it not be poisonous," Olmsted writes.

"But believe me, fake cheese is far from the biggest problem Americans face in the supermarket," he told me.

From mercury-laden "snapper" that's not really snapper to antibiotic-loaded honey, Olmsted's book details many of the common scams and counterfeits that make their way onto our dinner plates and into our grocery carts. Here, he answers questions about his book's most startling discoveries—and the implications fake food has for American health.

VICE: What was the biggest surprise for you during your research?
Larry Olmsted: Biggest single thing would probably be the restaurant side of all this. There's a long history of food adulteration, so I was not surprised that ground coffee or tea would be adulterated. But I was surprised to find the lack of regulation on the restaurant side and how often they lie with impunity. People say, "Oh, I only eat in nice restaurants, so I don't have to worry." But that's no protection. I wasn't prepared for the level of hyperbole on the restaurant side of the fence.

What kind of hyperbole are we talking about here?
The Tampa Bay Times did a big piece on restaurant fraud, especially for farm-to-table restaurants. It was a really good story, and they found that almost every restaurant was lying about something on its menu. And a lot of it had to do with seafood. Like, when you order red snapper, you're probably getting tilefish, which is often loaded with mercury. Or you order wild-caught salmon and get farmed salmon from Norway that's so high in heavy metals that people are advised not to eat it more than once a month. And that's not the worst end of fish farming. Let's talk about shrimp: Over 90 percent of the seafood we eat in the US is imported, and we consume more shrimp than any other kind of seafood. Most of it is farmed from Southeast Asia, and most of those farms have bad records of using banned or unapproved antibiotics. So there's no doubt to me that all this could have significant health effects, and that eating shrimp is one of the riskier propositions.

Are there not regulations governing all this?
There are some fed rules against misleading consumers, but they're very vague. In the book, I mentioned McCormick and Schmick. Very high-end restaurant chain. For a couple of years, they were advertising Kobe beef that wasn't actually Japanese. Complaints finally tipped the scales and led to a class-action suit. But in most cases, the damages a consumer could sue for is just the difference in cost between the $100 price they paid for a Kobe steak and the $10 steak it really was. So that's only $90. No lawyer is going to represent someone for that.

So there really isn't much risk for the restaurant, unless there's a class action suit. I think there's the potential as this gets more attention for more nonprofits to sue restaurants on principle, and I think that's warranted in some of these cases.

Should consumers blame restaurants and retailers, or are they getting duped too?
The supply chain is convoluted and opaque. But the FDA—in large part because of a government accountability survey I mention in the book that called for more regulation against seafood fraud—set up a new DNA testing lab for imported seafood. They started this pilot test of seafood labeling and found that 85 percent of seafood was labeled correctly at wholesale. So only 15 percent is mislabeled at wholesale. But that number more than doubles at the retail and restaurant level. So despite the length of the supply chain and all the middlemen, a lot of the deceit is really happening at the restaurant or retail level.

What are the harms that come from all this? I mean, apart from those fish loaded with mercury or metal, why is this bad for consumers?
Well, there's the economic fraud. You just overpaid for your steak. Also, in that Kobe beef example, the vast majority of beef in the US is what I'd call drug-laden. It's rich in hormones and animal byproducts, which basically turns cattle into carnivores when they're by nature herbivores. Lots of drugs used in US cattle. Real Kobe beef would have no drugs in it.

So on one level, you're being economically defrauded. And while there's a lot of debate over this, I would go so far as to say you're being poisoned and your health is in danger from all these added hormones and drugs. Of course there's the chance the restaurant could substitute drug-free meat for the Kobe, but most of our meat is not drug-free.

Also, a lot of our favorite geographically indicated products—like Parmigiano, Kobe, olive oil—there are very precise definitions for how they're traditionally made. Most producers ban steroids or hormones or drugs. That's true for many of these products. So their name carries an implied guarantee of quality and wholesomeness. When you get fake Parmigiano or olive oil, you're not getting wholesomeness. So there's the potential omission of health benefits. Parmigiano cheese, for example, was chosen by both NASA and the Soviet Space Program to go into space with astronauts because, for nutrition per ounce, it's like a wonder cheese. In Italy, it's one of the first things kids are given when they're weaned off mother's milk. Same with olive oil. All this wonderful heart health and anti-carcinogen and anti-Alzheimer's research. Every time they do a study they find something good about it. So if you get a lower-quality olive oil, you're also losing some of that nutritional quality—even if the lower quality isn't actually bad for you.

Wait, what's wrong with the olive oil I'm buying?
A number of studies and investigations have found various but significant levels of extra virgin olive oil sold in the US, especially mass-market supermarket brands, are not meeting the true standards for extra virgin. When I open a bottle of true olive oil, the aroma explodes out of the bottle, my kitchen smells like an olive grove, and the taste is transcendent. I've never found a supermarket bottle, even when labeled extra virgin—which is legally supposed to represent the very highest quality level—that did that.

What do I do about all this? How can I, as a consumer, ensure that what I'm buying is the genuine article?
That's the hard part. There's no one-size-fits-all solution. I give all the specifics in my book, but it varies depending on what you're buying.

Can you give me a few examples?
So for seafood, if you're buying retail, there are all these third-party auditors. The two biggest and most trusted are the Marine Stewardship Council, or MSC, which has a logo you can look for that's kind of like a fish and a check mark. I spoke with chef Rick Moonen, who's a big voice in sustainable fishing, and he said Marine Stewardship was one he absolutely believes in. The second one is the Global Aquaculture Alliance's Best Aquaculture Practices (BAP) seal for farmed food.

Also, it depends where you buy it. I recommend Whole Foods. Not for everything. But they have good traceability when it comes to seafood. They'll say if it's wild caught and where it's from. Not everything they sell is good stuff, but they seem to be very transparent and honest about what they sell.

In restaurants, I'd watch out for snapper and tuna and shrimp. And I tend to watch out for what I call "value added adjectives." You see these menus listing Berkshire County pork chops and heritage-breed chickens and buffalo-milk mozzarella. If I see just one of those items, like it's their signature dish, then I believe it. But if everything on the menu is from small farms or has those premium adjectives, most restaurants can't afford that, so I tend not to believe it. It's just really easy to add those words and get more money.

What would you like people to take away from your book?
Everyone's focused on the shock and awe statistics. But it's about finding real foods, which are great and tend to be more wholesome and nutritious. They taste better.

I think a lot of this all goes to the disconnect we have from food. The old model was that you go to the market, and you buy what's fresh and local. We kind of have programmed ourselves to just open our cabinet. There's no rational reason to think that cheese is something you should be storing in your cabinet for a year and putting on food. You lose out on so many things when you eat like that. If you buy some fresh basil when making pizza, there's no problem. But it's once you decide you want a bag of dried basil in your cabinet that will last for two years—that's when you run into problems.

Photo via Wikicommons

It's not enough that e-cigarettes have been blowing up in people's faces or may give you something called "popcorn lung"—now the glowing nicotine dispensers could be giving you cancer, too.

The Washington Post points to a new study from the Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory presenting evidence that the vapor from e-cigs contains two chemicals—specifically, propylene glycol and glycerin—considered "probable carcinogens" by federal health officials.

This isn't the first time health advocates have highlighted the toxicity of e-cigarettes. Way, way back in 2009—before the word "vape" even entered our general lexicon—the FDA warned that certain e-cigs emit a chemical typically found in antifreeze, and last year a New England Journal of Medicine study pointed out that they also give off formaldehyde, too. Good shit.

Perhaps it's best to take the words of this latest study's author, Berkeley Lab researcher Hugo Destaillats, as pure gospel: "Regular cigarettes are super unhealthy. E-cigarettes are just unhealthy."

Follow Larry Fitzmaurice on Twitter.

Read: Some Guy Stole a Human Brain and Used the Fluid to Get High

Photo via Flickr user Samat Jain

In what is perhaps one of the more mild examples of police harassment to make headlines recently, cops arrested 64-year-old retiree Daniel Rushing when they mistook glaze from his donut for crystal meth, the Orlando Sentinel reports.

Rushing was pulled over for a minor traffic violation, and Orlando corporal Shelby Riggs-Hopkins asked to search his vehicle after noticing he had a concealed weapons permit in his wallet. Riggs-Hopkins's attention quickly shifted from the firearm to what she described in her report as "a rock-like substance" on the floor of his car, which she identified initially as crack cocaine. Later, she decided the substance was actually crystal meth.

"I recognized through my eleven years of training and experience as a law enforcement officer the substance to be some sort of narcotic," Riggs-Hopkins wrote in her police report.

Rushing assured the officers the flakes were simply glaze that had fallen from a recently eaten Krispy Kreme donut, a snack he liked to treat himself to on Wednesdays. Unconvinced, officers took Rushing to jail, where he was strip-searched, denied the medication he takes for back pain, and locked up for ten hours before being released on a $2,500 bond for possession of a firearm and methamphetamine.

Later, a lab tested the flakes of Rushing's breakfast and learned it actually wasn't an illegal drug, and the Florida State Attorney's office dropped the case. Rushing has decided to hire a lawyer and plans to sue the city for the embarrassing affair.

"I'll never let anyone search my car again," Rushing said. He probably won't forget napkins next time, either.

Read: This Guy Started a Meth Ring with His $3 Million Lottery Winnings

James Forcillo shot Sammy Yatim nine times in 2013. THE CANADIAN PRESS/Chris Young

In what many would consider a rare instance of police accountability, Toronto cop James Forcillo was sentenced to six years in prison Thursday for the attempted murder of Sammy Yatim.

Forcillo shot and killed Yatim, 18, unleashing a total of nine bullets on him during an altercation on a Toronto streetcar in 2013. Although Yatim died of his injuries, Forcillo was acquitted of second-degree murder because a jury ruled the first three rounds he shot were justified (Yatim had been wielding a small knife at the time); the additional six shots, fired when Yatim was lying down wounded, were at the crux of the attempted murder charge. Yatim's death sparked outrage and protests against police violence in the city.

In delivering the sentence, Ontario Superior Court Justice Edward Then said Forcillo failed in his duty to protect Yatim, choosing only to protect his own life. The second volley of shots were "unreasonable, unnecessary and excessive," he said, noting Forcillo did not follow "crystal clear" training to use his weapon only as a last resort nor did he engage de-escalation tactics in convincing Yatim to turn over his weapon.

The sentence comes in the same week that two Ottawa cops are being investigated for the death of Abdirahman Abdi, 37, a mentally ill black man whom witnesses say was beaten by cops and left bleeding and handcuffed on the sidewalk. The province's police watchdog, the Special Investigations Unit, is looking into the matter but the group is notorious for its own accountability issues.

It's hard to say if Forcillo's sentence will have a bigger impact on violence in policing. (Only a couple of Canadian cops have ever been convicted of on-the-job murder or manslaughter.) But what's clear is Justice Then didn't say anything that law enforcement agencies in this country haven't heard over and over again.

According to A Matter of Life and Death, a recently released report by Ontario Ombudsman Paul Dubé, Yatim's death wasn't an isolated incident but rather was "sadly familiar, reminiscent of too many similar incidents dating back too many years." He listed other examples of men in crisis who'd been carrying small weapons—a hammer, pocket knife, table leg, scissors—when they were killed by police.

"There have been scores of fatal police shootings in Ontario involving persons with mental illness in recent years—more than 40 just since 2000," Dubé wrote. In the three years it took to complete the investigation, 19 such shootings took place.

The deaths have resulted in 25 years worth of studies and reviews—more than 550 recommendations from Coroner's inquests alone, said Dubé, and yet training remains more focused on how to use weapons than on alternatives.

"Ontario officers have plenty of training on how to use their guns, but not enough on how to use their mouths."

Here are some examples of recommendations, many of which echo each other, that have come up over the years:

Torontonian Edward Yu, who was 35 when he was killed by police in 1997, suffered from schizophrenia. When officers arrived at a bus stop where Yu had assaulted a woman, they found him at the back of the bus alone; he held up a small hammer and was shot three times. An inquest two years later recommended an amendment to the Police Services Act, requiring an extra day of training for officers on "crisis resolution"—it was not followed up on. The inquest also recommended de-escalation tactics, including a greater emphasis on talking and listening when responding to calls.

The 2010 death of Evan Jones, shot four times by cops in Brantford after raising a cleaver above his head, resulted in Coroner's inquest that made 26 recommendations including a review of use of force training and training on dealing with mentally ill people.

An inquest into the 2014 death of Jermaine Carby, a black man who was shot while being carded at a traffic stop in Brampton, recommended police implement a strategy to "measure the effectiveness of officer training for unconscious bias, mental health issues, de-escalation and use of force."

Implementing these regulations isn't an impossible task. In BC, after Robert Dziekanski was repeatedly tasered and killed by RCMP at Vancouver airport in 2007, a commission recommended more rigorous training on the user of tasers, that cops be made to write detailed reports when deploying the weapons, and that those using tasers be required to carry defibrillators. Thomas Braidwood, the judge in charge of that inquiry, later said he was "impressed" with how quickly the province moved to enact his recommendations.

So why aren't Ontario cops doing it?

Peter Harte, a Yellowknife-based lawyer who has spent years defending police in use of force cases, told VICE police are taught to gain compliance as quickly as possible in most situations—and that means using force.

"The impression I have is police officers are taught that the first response is force—any kind of non-compliance needs to be dealt with initially by force," he said, noting more junior officers seem to resort to force more quickly than their veteran counterparts. "I still see people getting physical right off the bat."

Harte said he think an old school mentality towards policing exists where the approach is if you're arresting somebody, you're dealing with a "bad guy."

As for the Forcillo outcome, he said it's rare that police are held accountable for violence that takes place in the line of duty because both juries and judges would tend to empathize with cops. He also said he doesn't think the sentence will deter cops from using force—and might even encourage the opposite.

"I think one of the lessons that will be learned is that more physicality, extracting compliance faster, is critical to being able to avoid pulling out your firearm," he said.

Ontario's Ministry of Community Safety and Correctional Services, which oversees policing in the province, has committed to adopting the ombudsman's 22 recommendations. If that commitment falls through, the way others seem to have, marginalized members of the public are the most likely to pay the price.

Follow Manisha Krishnan on Twitter

Editor's Note: You might know Bun B as the Texas-based rapper, professor, and activist who's one half of the legendary Houston duo UGK. He's also VICE's political correspondent, reporting on the ground from the campaign trail of the strangest presidential election in recent memory.

It's the third day of the Democratic National Convention, and it's actually a pretty beautiful day in Philadelphia. I'm sure walking a few miles around the Wells Fargo Center will change that sentiment, but the sun is shining, and the Philly homies Freeway and Jakk Frost always hold me down out here, so I'll be OK.

Today, I'm meeting with California secretary of state Alex Padilla, a rising star in the Democratic Party whose been in politics since he was 26 and was actually the first Latino elected president of the city council in Los Angeles. More recently, Padilla's been making his name on the issue of expanding voting access. While Republican state lawmakers across the country push voter-ID laws that effectively make it harder for people to cast ballots, Padilla has been trying to make it easier. Last year, he supported an automatic voter-registration bill that would put people on the rolls whenever they go to the DMV—a position that's all the more interesting given the immigration and border security issues that California has to deal with.

We meet Padilla at the Marriott in downtown Philadelphia, where the California delegation is staying, and the lobby is jumping. Every table in the bar is full, with delegates quietly strategizing or reporters doing interviews and filing stories. The energy is kinetic—it feels like a lot of shit has gone down behind-the-scenes here this week. And I want in.

Secretary Padilla is predictably charming and engaging, and he speaks with the confidence and authority of someone with a higher elected office than the one he currently holds—and the one he holds is pretty powerful to begin with. As the secretary of state, he's in charge of administering all elections in California, and he tells me it's one of the primary reasons he ran for the position in the first place.

"I figured if I could run for secretary of state in California, I'd be in a position to serve as the counter example of how, yes, you can maintain the security and integrity of our elections, but you can also facilitate people being registered to vote," he tells me. "You can facilitate people participating because that's what democracy is all about."

I ask him whether he thinks that Donald Trump's campaign is going to drive Latino voters to the polls this fall. He says yes but adds that it's not just about the Republican candidate's hateful rhetoric and anti-immigration positions.

"It's one thing to say, 'Shame on Donald Trump,' for what he's saying," Padilla says. "But we have to not just complain about it—we've got to do something about it. I do see the numbers. People are registering, and people are going to continue to turn out in higher numbers. I think that's what happens." Clearly, this guy was born for this. He's absolutely in his zone.

Photo by author

As the interview ends and Padilla exits the bar, I hear a commotion coming from somewhere else in the lobby. As it gets louder, I realize it's chanting. Suddenly, the Marriott has been occupied by about 60 Free Palestine protesters, chanting about ending Israeli apartheid and waving signs that, for some reason, are all pink. Amazingly, hotel security lets them do their thing, at least for a couple of minutes, and then the protesters leave in the same orderly way they came in. Welcome to the DNC.

I follow them out the door and make my way to Aprons Soul Food, a restaurant just south of downtown. I'm meeting with Houston mayor—my mayor—Sylvester Turner. Newly elected to his current post, Turner spent more than 25 years as a lawmaker in the Texas House of Representatives, and we've developed a relationship over the years. Because of the rise in violence in our city, we've been talking more often than usual as of late.

Today, though, we're at the Democratic National Convention, so I want to talk about party politics. I ask him how the Democratic Party has changed, in terms of the demographics of its leadership and the voices it incorporates, since he first started coming to national conventions. He tells me it's gotten better at incorporating different voices and perspectives—and is miles ahead of the GOP in that regard—but that there's still work to do. Turner points to the LGBTQ community as an example of how minority communities and interest groups can get their voices heard, because, as he says, "they know what they want, and they're not afraid to fight for it." He's got a point there.

Making my way into the Wells Fargo Arena later that afternoon, it's easy to see the difference between the DNC and the Republican convention in Cleveland last week. The Democrats have a bigger stage, for starters, which leaves little room on the floor for delegates or anyone else. There's a lot of love on the floor, but the DNC handlers aren't showing any of it, constantly shuffling people along like cattle and making it impossible to get anywhere.

I literally run into Oklahoma state senator Anastasia Pittman, who tells me its her fourth convention. I ask how she thinks the voices and the faces of the party have changed in that time, and she tells me the 2016 election cycle has been eye-opening. In the past, she explains, the Democratic Party was divided not just by policy issues or political views, but by ethnicity. "At times, the Democratic Party has not properly represented the communities and people that they serve," she explains. But this year, she adds, that seems to be changing.

I eventually head toward the Texas delegation—stopping to take a photo with US Representative Elijah Cummings on the way—and try to see if I can spot a familiar face in the crowd of cowboy hats and new Clinton-Kaine signs. I find one, but it's not who I'd ever imagined it would be. Her name is Tawana Walter-Cadien, and we met at in the summer of 1990 as juniors in high school, attending the Minority Scholars Institute at Lamar University in Beaumont, Texas. The program was designed to push high school kids to go to college. It was also the first place that I ever performed a rap song in front of a crowd. Obviously, it worked for both me and Tawana pretty good: She's running for Congress in Texas's 10th congressional district, which stretches from the northwest part of Harris County, near Houston, out to Austin.

I have some time to kill before the speeches start, and that's when I notice another big difference between the DNC and Cleveland: There are no bars open in the arena at the DNC. You have to go all the way across the security zone to get liquor, so by the time you've walked back to the arena, you'll have sweated it all out. No buzzes allowed for Democrats, apparently. I walk back inside the arena in sober disgust and spot Donald Trump's campaign spokesperson Katrina Pierson. I don't know what she's doing here, but as I walk past, I tell her, "Welcome to the danger zone!" Caught off guard, she turns and replies, "Yes I am!"

I sit through a couple of the early speeches, but things don't really get going until about 9 PM, when Joe Biden, vice president of the United States, takes the stage. The delegates are immediately on their feet, roaring with applause, and they stay captivated until he leaves the podium, cheering and hanging on to his every word. Like most of the audience, I assume, I can't help but wonder what this presidential race would have been like if Uncle Joe had decided to run for president. I'm not sure Trump would still be in the game. If Biden has regrets, though, he doesn't voice them, going to bat for Hillary Clinton—and effectively bashing Trump—and then exiting the stage to louder applause and an even longer ovation.

It's getting closer to Obama time, and the delegates are getting restless. I meet a couple of gentlemen from Washington, DC, in the hall who invite me up to a suite to watch Obama speak. I have some trouble getting past the Secret Service—apparently Jill Biden is in the vicinity—but eventually make it in. Once I'm in there, though, a woman asks me for my credentials, giving me a look that tells me she thinks I'm crashing this suite. I find the right passes, but she still spends the next half hour giving off vibes that let me know I'm not welcome.

Still, the Democrats are definitely partying tonight. Before Obama speaks, Lenny Kravitz gets on the stage and rocks this funky joint to the fullest. That's followed by a video of famous people singing "Fight Song"—Clinton's campaign theme—and everyone in the crowd laughs and sings along. The singalong seems to amp the room up for Tim Kaine, who accepts the party's nomination for vice president. In the next suite over, I see NBA legend Isaiah Thomas.

I go back downstairs just as the opening video for Obama comes on the screens. And when it's done, the crowd just erupts. The president's speech is long, and people have been in this room for hours, but almost everyone holds their ground, cheering and clapping and waving Obama sticks at all the appropriate pauses. The moment is just too big for anyone to leave now.

As the speech winds down, Obama moves on to his praise for Clinton, rhetorically passing the baton to his former primary rival and now would-be successor. Then, as the crowd cheers, Clinton herself joins the president on the stage, and the crowd goes fucking nuts. The party may be in for a rough fight this fall, but for tonight, the Democrats are having their shining moment—and they're soaking it up.

Follow Bun B on Twitter.

Boozehound HQ in the airport (via Wikipedia)

As a daily booze drinker, I take great umbrage to the news that the way alcohol is being sold in airports is to be revised. What the fuck, guys? Drinking in airports is my right. It's the only thing to do other than get a katsu curry from Wagamama at 8:30 in the morning and play House of the Dead III in the arcade surrounded by screeching kids and sad looking parents. What's the point of having a holiday if you're just going to have to clean some kid's shit off his arse while he cries? No wonder they pound pint after pint at the Gatwick 'Spoons before getting on a four-hour flight to Crete.

But the Brits are maybe hitting the bottle a little too much pre-flight. In the last two years, 442 people have been held on suspicion of being drunk on a plane or at the airport. Lord Tariq Ahmad is in charge of reviewing whether selling alcohol to bored passengers at the crack of dawn is a good idea or not. He says: "I don't think we want to kill merriment altogether, but I think it's important that passengers who board planes are also responsible and have a responsibility to other passengers, and that certainly should be the factor which we bear in mind." Pssht, "responsibility". The only responsibility I have is to get so blind drunk before my flight that I forget that I could potentially die in an explosion after the plane falls backwards during take off like some horrible fiery Alton Towers ride. Call me old-fashioned, but I'd quite like to have my own corpse at my funeral and not just some assorted ashes and bits of melted safety card on my remaining teeth.

Naturally the northerners are getting more pissed than the rest of the UK as the excitement of leaving the north would get anyone giddy enough to imbibe five gin and tonics in 20 minutes, which is why Manchester and Glasgow airports are trying a new scheme where shops sell booze all sealed up to stop scallies battering the pilots.

I hope for the sake of fearful flyers and depressed parents everywhere that Lord Ahmad doesn't do away with our sweet nectar in the airports. They can be scary places and sometimes a stiff drink is what you need to allay your anxieties. Conversely, maybe this will stop roving packs of ultra-lads neknominating each other to death before their flight to Amsterdam so they can jeer at prostitutes and throw up in the canal after drinking three snakebites and smoking a strong bifta rolled in novelty Tin Tin rolling paper.

@joe_bish

More from VICE:

Inside Tempelhof Airport in Berlin, Which Now Houses 1300 Refugees

Punk's Not Fed: I Ate at the CBGB Newark Airport Restaurant and It Sucked

How to Drink Like a Brit

The other week, there was a bizarre story about two grandmothers being kicked out of a cinema for laughing. The duo were at a showing of Absolutely Fabulous: The Movie in Islington, but apparently it was too funny.

That seems like a fairly draconian policy for a cinema showing a comedy film. But it's also further proof that cinemas can no longer compete with the luxury of home entertainment. These days, we're used to watching films and boxsets in the comfort of our own home, spread-eagled on the rug, eating snacks of our choosing and laughing at a volume that suits us. You simply couldn't bring that level of comfort into a cinema.

If cinemas are to survive they need to compete with staying in at home and watching Netflix. Punishing people for laughing is a step in the wrong direction.

Perhaps I could be a kind of movie messiah – an eye-opener - delivering a wake-up call to the frontlines of the film industry and dragging it into the 21st century, ensnaring disenfranchised millennials and saving the box office from "weaker prospects going forward than at any time in the past 30 years". So, like a brave apostle on a mission of enlightenment, I decided to head out and educate different cinemas by bringing the art of 21st century viewing to them.

COMFORT, DARLING

If there's one thing that really puts me off joining people for a trip to the pictures, it's the dress code. That library chic at the Curzon just makes me feel so impotent. I want maximum comfort before I settle in for a three-hour foreign language epic. So for my first foray, I slip into my best dressing gown and a good pair of worn boxers and get on the bus to Peckhamplex. This Patsy is going to see Ab Fab.

I grab myself an extra-large sack of popcorn and take my seat in the centre of the front row. Sprawling my bare legs across empty seats, I get cosy. During the trailers, my friend rings me. I answer, stand up to the side of the aisle and swiftly tell him what time the showing will finish. Returning, a lady behind me tuts loudly: right now she is an agent of cinema's impending downfall, but after my work is done, she'll merely be a relic. So to mark the moment of this passing of the torch – from old to new – I cracked a beer and took a selfie.

The film started. There they are: Eddy and Patsy, on the big screen! I yell into the air and clap when they appear. Patsy - dirty as ever - falling asleep on the toilet seat. Hahahahaha. Whenever she delivers a zinger I swirl my beer and toss it up into the air. This is the life. This is what watching films should be about. It's the best experience I've had in front of the big screen in years. It's so good, as a matter of fact, I decide to do what I do when I'm having fun: get out my Mac out and let people know what they're missing out on.

Yes some of these photos are quite bad but we were in a cinema it's dark in there.

I ask the lovely lady behind me whether she has the WiFi code and she stares blankly at me – what is wrong with these fridges? It's no biggie, I can hotspot. Soon I hear a "psst" from the side of the aisle: it's tall cinema employee who I had friendly banter about popcorn size with on the way in, calling me over.

"Sir, we've had complaints that you're filming the movie on your laptop?"

"Oh, sorry. You must be mistaken: I'm just charging my phone and tweeting to my friends."

"Well, can you put all of that away, mate?"

"I suppose, yeah."

The guy walks on and I get the message: it is chillout time. So I let the story kick on, taking deep drags on my e-cigarette and bathing in its vapour miasma. It is an absolute blast until I feel a sharp poke in the shoulder; he's back with reinforcements.

"You've got to go sir, come on." The guy starts helping me pick away all my stuff.

"But what did I do?"

"We've had four separate complaints about you, mate. I've already had to give out a few full refunds. You know what you've done."

"I was just trying to get comfy," I say, as I'm led through the cinema, where dozens of staff – some laughing, some with furrowed brows – are gathered watching me drag my stuff out.

And with that I'm out on my arse. Sat on the benches outside gathering my thoughts, a staff member walks past and mumbles 'prick'. Twenty minutes I lasted, before being forcefully ejected. Clearly this is not the place for me – well, it won't be for at least a few months, as I've been banned – and not a place to start a revolution. Onwards and upwards, I'll have to birth a new dawn on a new horizon.

I AM THE BIG SHOT

Maybe people would respect me more if I looked more 'cinema'. Then perhaps I could enjoy Ab Fab in the comfort I so richly deserve. So I've drank seven cups of coffee, dressed up as Ron Howard, brought my favourite chair along and am in search of that magical shot. Time is money, people, so I blast through the foyer –"one big shot of espresso and a ticket to Ab Fab, please!" – and I'm on my way. I walk around the screen finding the perfect spot and set out my chair somewhere on the second row in the aisle. The credits roll. "Roll titles," I mutter quietly, immediately ingratiating myself with the film community.

"Perfect shot," I say to myself at the end of every scene, proving my spectacular film knowledge. Soon, however, a couple on the row behind are rubbernecking. Can a man not speak to himself during a film? It says 'big shot' on my chair, for crying out loud. Sure enough, a security guard emerges from the outside, bounding down the stairs towards me.

"You can't film in here! Do you know how serious this is? You can get a £500,000 fine for it. My manager will call the police if he sees you doing this."

"But I'm not recording."

"You're not?"

"No, I'm not recording, really."

"Oh," He says confusedly, before disappearing off up the stairs. I've already missed out on a bucket load of shots and that's only going to get worse, as the door fast reopens.

"My manager is worked up, he doesn't believe you. Can you please come with me?"

"Ok, fine." I climb the stairs with him and outside stands a congregation of staff.

"Is this about the chair? If so, I'm sorry but my back really doesn't agree with-"

"No not the chair, mate, more about the fact you're filming!" The manager barks.

"I'm not filming, seriously."

"I can see you on the cameras inside, holding the thing up to your eye. This is a serious offense."

"But it's not a camera. Look, let me show you." So I put down the device on the floor, and the group gather.

"Almonds? Is that Piriton? What even is this?" The manager asks.

"It's my lunchbox."

"Then why does it have a lens on top of it?"

"Oh, that's just a pair of binoculars. I like to have them depending on where I set up my seat – I just want to get the best shot possible."

"Is all this spraypainted?" I nod, and the manager scratches his head and picks up the box to feel its weight. "This was a waste of time." I'm encouraged to go back to my seat. And from there, I enjoy the rest of the film in the best seat in the house, chowing down almonds and Percy Pigs. Adaptable, accommodating, it's a great score here in Brixton, and though I unnecessarily missed five minutes of the flick, they're going to be fine once the revolution comes.

MICRO-SAVINGS

If there's one thing in particular that perturbs millennials and stops them from heading out to the cinema, it's the money. And in a world where we'd rather skip buying soap to save for the bus, we're not going to spend six quid on a frankfurter with three fried onions, are we? But I've discovered a little loophole - a foolproof method as it were - to save you money and bring the legions back to the box office. So I headed to the biggest iMax in Europe with that recipe.

One man; one microwave; one mission: to make his own popcorn to enjoy the film with.

So I stroll into the lobby and what's the first thing I spot? All I need: I got the power. I plug the little fella in and start taking the popcorn out of my bag - it's all too easy.

"Man, you can't do that." A clerk rushes from behind the ticket desk, then stops blankly. "Have you brought your own microwave here to make your own popcorn?" He's staring up at me - I nod. "Well... that's awesome. But don't do it directly in the view of the main door like this, go around the counter."

Well, why won't you look at that? The tide is turning! I rush around the corner, giddy, and find the perfect spot. Out comes the popcorn and the microwave goes on: just two minutes and counting until everything changes. 50 seconds fly by and the heat thunderously rises with every rotation; people gather in disbelief, taking photos on their phones. 40 more: am I Gandhi, amid gathering crowds, leading the march against imperialism? 30 creep by to the hum of this marvellous machine and the beat of its timer. I watch, hypnotised: I can see the light.

"What do you think you're doing?" A man rushes over and yanks out the cable.

"I'm just, making my own popcorn, it's my favourite."

"You've brought a microwave, presumably all the way from home, to make your own popcorn at the cinema?"

"Correct, yeah. Do you mind if I just finish it off with 30 or so more seconds?"

"Are you joking? We can't let anything be plugged into our walls for one, it's dangerous."

At this point, the manager dismisses the security guard and assumes the dominance, packing the cable away.

"Now the popcorn is essentially ready anyway, can I just take it into the screening and see the film?"

"Are you crazy? You can't take a microwave into a cinema screen. It's a hazard. Think about it: people walking around, in the dark, and you've got a microwave there. They could break their toes!"

"Well what about if I buy a seat for the microwave?" I plead.

"...What?"

"A seat, that I can put the microwave on."

"Just think about what you've just – no - I'm sorry but you can't come into the screening. You're going to have to take the microwave away from here."

The manager turns away for a second and I call him back. "Would you like a bit of popcorn?" He swivels 180 degrees, wearing a face twisted with bemusement. It fast explodes into knowing smile, and he takes a handful, engulfs it heartily, and turns away. My work here is done.

You can't be surprised by the staff taking me to the dogs after a few disturbances: this is commonplace when you're bringing about change, upsetting the status quo. And these guys just aren't ready to be saved, yet. But you saw the sign, you saw the manager taking a handful of popcorn. A small gesture that, like the fluttering wings of a butterfly, could reverberate around the globe and go down in the history books as the moment that saved cinema culture. That mouthful and smile told me one thing: it didn't matter that this man has a lifetime's supply of professionally made popcorn at his behest and probably spends most of his days picking at the stuff; he wants to break bread with the proletariat; he wants a taste of the working man. And as far as I can see, it is simply a matter of time. A matter of time until everyone is carrying their microwave, showing up to the cinema in their underwear and making a pitch for their own chair.

You mark my words, today is the day that we saved cinema.

@Oobahs

Photos by Dean Noroozi, James Butler and Jamie Hubball

More shit we made Oobah do:

I Asked Strangers on the Internet to Insult Me for a Laugh

We Went On a Hunt for the Giant Sea Monster Living in the Thames

I Followed Bottles of Vodka Home from the Shops to Meet the UK's Drinkers

(via Per-Olof Forsberg)

Banner week for people shoving drugs up their nastiest bits to hide them from the police. Banner, banner week. Yesterday, a reminder: we learned a man in Swindon shoved seven grams of cocaine up his dick, up his dick, presumably in that dark crevice between the foreskin and the meat, but still I don't understand precisely how – I mean, seven grams! Seven fucking grams! Up your dick! – and now today, to Liverpool, where they are shoving Kinder Eggs full of heroin up their dots for fun and for profit:

A drug smuggler who stashed heroin-filled Kinder Eggs up his bum is an "academically-gifted" former grammar schoolboy.

Sean Kenny was jailed for four years after leading a plot to carry drugs worth thousands of pounds down to Plymouth.

His sentence showcases the audacious Mossley Hill criminal's stunning fall from a talented schoolboy to Liverpool's latest drugs mule.

Kenny faces a stint behind bars after being caught at Plymouth rail station along with his "naive" brother James - who he manipulated into helping him.

The pair were found to be in possession of nearly £25,000 of heroin and cannabis placed inside Kinder Egg capsules and stashed in their bottoms. (via)

Yes I have some questions, officer:

i. What kind of dude has £25,000 lying around for cannabis and heroin and then gets the train to Plymouth, like get a hire car my boy, get a taxi, there is less need for you to shove the drugs into your penny that way, you can just keep them on your lap in a holdall, I truly to not understand this travel decision;

ii. To get the capsule (or capsules) out of a Kinder Egg, one must eat the chocolate first, and I want to enquire as to what the vibe is like in a room when you are eating a Kinder Egg with the express intention of shoving the middle of it up your bum. Like: Sean Kenny and his brother, just tearing through a box of Kinder Eggs, methodically, no joy, popping all the capsules in a little pile in the middle of a coffee table, knowing where they were going. Knowing exactly where they were going. They were going up their arses;

iii. Did they make the toys in the middle or nah;

iv. When one is putting a substantial number of drug-filled Kinder Egg capsules up one's pipe, does one lubricate first, or is there a sort of machismo in putting a Kinder Egg inner inside your body without assistance? I feel like a man who wanted to put a lot of heroin into his bum for monetary reasons might have some reservations about lubing up first. I dunno why this is. I just... I just can't shake the mental image of Sean Kenny, on all fours on a coffee table, sweating and shouting "I'm not gay!" while his brother thumbs another Kinder Egg into his arse;

v. Again, a question of quantities: £25,000 worth of drugs is a pretty decent amount of drugs, by volume! That is a lot of drugs to put in your anus! That's.... that's quite a lot of heroin to have up your arse! How you walking, my boy?

I suppose we've all learned a lot this week, specifically about the smuggling of drugs from one place to another. Sit with me and hold my hand and let's review our findings: shoving 7.2 grams of cocaine up your dick? Bad. Shoving £25,000 of smack up your lentil? An inadvisable idea. If you want to smuggle drugs into Glastonbury or whatever – that's the only time you really let go, these days, isn't it, what with the triathlon coming up and trying to get your head down at work, they say if you do overtime for six more months then in a couple years you could make it up to partner level, that's how Lewis got started and look at him now, plus you're saving up for a flat, also, so no gak, thanks, and you've sort of been on a healthy kick lately haven't you, lots of juice and juicing and prunes, so it's not really worth a big weekend now, just sweating and crunching your teeth and feeling bad all Sunday, you'd rather go for a run, wouldn't you, same high! – but yeah just shove it in your sock or fold it into a loaf of bread like everyone else. Again, to reiterate, in case you need it: don't fill a Kinder Egg capsule w/ smack and bang it up your arsehole. Thank you for your time.

@joelgolby

More stuff from VICE:

A Guy in Swindon Used His Dick to Hide Seven Grams of Cocaine from the Police

What It Feels Like to Smuggle 700 Grams of Cocaine In Your Stomach

Sculpture, Smuggling and Buried Hash: Talking to One of the UK's First Major Drug Traffickers

Photo via Flickr

Every month I shell out a bit over a hundred bucks for my Toronto student metropass. Compared to the city's adult pass, which is $141, that always seemed like a bargain.

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

Photo by Chip Somodevilla / Staff via Getty

US News

Clinton Warns the Nation of the Dangers of Trump
Hillary Clinton told voters that America faces "a moment of reckoning," as she formally accepted the Democratic nomination on Thursday night. Clinton questioned whether her opponent Donald Trump has the temperament to be president: "A man you can bait with a tweet is not a man we can trust with nuclear weapons."—CBS News

Amazon CEO Becomes World's Third Richest Person
Jeff Bezos has surpassed Warren Buffett to become the third richest person in the world. Forbes estimated Bezos's fortune to be $66.5 billion after his company Amazon posted a stronger-than-expected quarterly earnings report. Revenue grew 31 percent to $30.4 billion.—Forbes

FBI Investigates Another Democrat Group Hacking
The FBI is investigating a cyber attack against another Democratic Party group, which may be related to the recent hack of DNC emails. A breach of security at the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee appears to have been intended to gather information about donors, rather than to steal money.—Reuters

Two Cops Shot in San Diego, One Suspect in Custody
Two San Diego police officers were shot late Thursday night in the Southcrest neighborhood. One officer has died, and the other was seriously wounded. Police warned residents to take shelter while they actively searched for the suspects. One suspect has been taken into custody, but police are reportedly still searching for additional suspects.—NBC News

Auschwitz. Photo via Wikimedia Commons

International News

Al-Nusra Front Cuts Ties with Al Qaeda
Al Qaeda's Syrian affiliate al-Nusra Front has announced it is ending its ties to the global jihadist network founded by Osama bin Laden, to concentrate on the fight against the Syrian government. The group has also changed its name to Jabhat Fath al Sham, or The Front for liberation of al Sham.—Al Jazeera

El Salvador Police Arrests Gang Leaders
The authorities in El Salvador have arrested the leaders of one of the country's most powerful street gangs, the Mara Salvatrucha (MS-13). Five leaders of the gang have been arrested, and 120 people detained following police raids. Weapons, money, drugs, and other assets were seized.—BBC News

Afghan Government Loses 19 Districts to the Taliban
The Afghan government lost control of nearly 5 percent of its territory to the Taliban between January and May, according to a US government watchdog. A new report finds the area under government control has decreased to 65.6 percent, a loss of 19 of the country's 400 governing districts.—Reuters

Pope Francis Meets Survivors at Auschwitz
Pope Francis is today visiting the former death camp of Auschwitz-Birkenau, where 1.1 million people were killed during World War II. The pontiff is expected to walk around the camp in silence, and meet camp survivors and Poles who risked their lives to hide Jews from the Nazis.—AP

Photo via Wikimedia Commons

Everything Else

Sesame Street Axes Three Characters
As Sesame Street moves to HBO, the show is getting rid of three longtime characters, along with the actors who play them. Bob McGrath (Bob), Emilio Delgado (Luis) and Roscoe Orman (Gordon) have all been let go.—Rolling Stone

Virginia Cops Try to Catch Criminals with 'Pokémon Go'
The Smithfield Police Department in Virginia has attempted to lure people with outstanding warrants into their station by inviting them to catch Ditto, the very rare Pokémon. The call to "capture" was posted on the department's Facebook page.—Richmond Times-Dispatch

Norway Wants to Give Finland a Mountain for Its Birthday
The Norwegian government is considers shifting a border to gift Finland a mountain peak to mark the 100th anniversary of its neighbor's independence. It would place the highest peak on Mount Halti inside Finland.—The Guardian

Canada Has a Rape Kit Problem
Health advocates say there are no consistent rules, and no standard of training across Canada, when it comes to stocking and administering rape kits. Frontline workers say too many people have to leave their community to access a rape kit.—VICE News

Uber Has Yet to Reduce Drunk Driving Deaths
A new study in the American Journal of Epidemiology says that ridesharing services like Uber have had no impact on the rate of drunk driving fatalities in the US. It's partly because drunk people often aren't willing to pay for the cost of a ride.—Motherboard

UN Might Stop Classifying Transgender People Mentally Ill
The World Health Organization, the UN's health agency, is considering a change to its current stance that classifies being transgender as a mental illness. The classification has not been updated since 1990.—VICE News

On Thursday night, Hillary Clinton showed up in Philadelphia to formally accept the Democratic Party's nomination for president, giving a speech that told her life story and framed her as the candidate of public service, responsibility, and cool resolve. She preached the values of ordinary Americans—"builders" is what she called her family. She ran through a wish list of Democratic positions on a laundry list of progressive issues ranging from systemic racism and gun control to climate change, healthcare and reproductive rights, and campaign finance reform. And she painted Donald Trump as a dangerous loose cannon who couldn't be trusted with nuclear codes.

It was the first time the nominee had addressed the convention this week, but It felt like a rerun. It wasn't a bad speech, exactly, but it also didn't do much to expand on the themes that have been expounded on again and again by Clinton's squad of surrogates throughout the convention. The candidate herself takes a workhorse approach to oratory, driving in her talking points like she's hammering nails through drywall, and on Thursday, she hit her marks again, helped along by the enthusiastic crowd.

But she suffered from the comparison to Barack Obama, whose convention speech the night before touched on many of the same notes that Clinton's did, but with rhetoric that soared rather than walked. The former secretary of state even quoted Obama when the crowd booed at the mention of Trump's name, telling them "Don't' boo—vote." But it sounded a bit flatter, and a bit less cutting, coming from her.

Throughout the speech, Clinton struck an expansively inclusive tone, welcoming supporters of Bernie Sanders—many of whom have been protesting her nomination since the start of the convention—under the Democratic Party's tent. "I want you to know, I've heard you," she told these voters. "Your cause is our cause. Our country needs your ideas, energy, and passion." She also promised to "be a president for Democrats, Republicans, and independents. For the struggling, the striving and the successful. For those who vote for me and those who don't."

This too was another iteration of the Democratic National Convention's central theme, countering Trump's naked and xenophobic appeals to older white voters with a wave of diversity and an emphasis on identity politics. Over the past four days, speakers in Philadelphia have included disabled people, a trans woman, mothers of the victims of gun violence, a little person, teens, cops and their families, veterans, a 73-year-old school board member and mother of a dead soldier, and a recently naturalized US citizen who had come to the country as an undocumented immigrant.

Since the convention kicked off on Monday, Democrats have been trying to make the party's tent as big as possible—large enough to accommodate former New York City mayor and noted oligarchist Michael Bloomberg and the liberals who despise his administration's aggressive policing policies, or former Defense Secretary Leon Panetta and the peace activists who tried to drown out his speech with chants of "No more war!" All of these people, the liberal argument goes, can agree that Trump is garbage, and will therefore line up behind Clinton this fall, even if some of them aren't totally happy about it.

But even as Obama, Biden, and Bill Clinton brought down the house this week, the primary question lingering over the convention was basically, "Her?" Sure, nearly anyone can get behind some good old-fashioned Trump bashing, but the Democratic convention was a reminder that Clinton herself is also eminently bashable. On Wednesday, Obama dismissed attacks against her by saying that she has been "under a microscope for 40 years," and "during those those 40 years she's made mistakes." But opposition to Clinton was on display even inside the convention hall, where groups of Sanders delegates wore glow-in-the-dark neon shirts and mostly refused to applaud with everyone else.

Gary West, a Sanders delegate from Texas, told me he stayed silent throughout Clinton's speech. "We didn't want to disrespect her" by heckling, he explained. "But we didn't have anything to say." When asked if he'd vote for Clinton in November, he said, "We'll see."

Other anti-Clinton Democrats weren't as circumspect. As the nominee began her acceptance speech, some audience members in the upper deck of the arena heckled her with wordless yelling, until they were either silenced or kicked out. Other pockets of Clinton critics occasionally burst into chants over the course of the night, although they were drowned out pretty quickly by the nominee's own fans.

Though much of the anger directed at Clinton seems inarticulate or without a clear endgame, it's also true that, so far, she has proved a flawed messenger for the Democratic Party's liberal agenda. As evidenced in Philadelphia this week, her rhetorical abilities pale in comparison to politicians like Obama and Biden. After the vice president gave one of the convention's most devastating denouncements of Trump on Wednesday, there was open speculation among convention-goers that had Biden decided to run, he could have beaten out Clinton for the 2016 nomination, and would be crushing Trump in a general election fight by now.

Still, convention speakers spent the final night running down the long list of Clinton's qualifications, and celebrating the milestone of becoming the first major American political party to ever elect a woman as its presidential candidate and Clinton's long list of qualifications. But resumes are not particularly inspirational on their own. "Hers is the poetry of doing," Ted Danson said of Clinton earlier Thursday. But typically voters want some actual poetry from their candidates, and in that regard Clinton fell a bit short.

In her speech, Clinton herself admitted as much. "My job titles only tell you what I've done—they don't tell you why," she told the crowd. "The truth is, through all these years of public service, the 'service' part has always come easier to me than the 'public' part."

In theory, Clinton's lack of rhetorical gifts could present some major issues for her as she heads into what is bound to be a tough general election campaign against Trump. His campaign message is clearly resonating with a sizable bloc of angry white guys, and the candidate himself has a remarkable gift for spinning the media around his own narrative. But the Democratic National Convention showed that Clinton won't have to take on Trump alone. The party has a lot of ammunition to go after Trump with—and an army of people ready to take aim at him, even when Clinton herself cannot.

in her speech, Clinton referenced her now 20-year-old book, It Takes a Village. The book was about society's role and impact on children—but it could also refer to the collective effort involved in her presidential campaign. While her own performance was anticlimactic, the Democratic convention showed that Clinton has a figurative village of passionate and high-profile campaigners who can sell her candidacy for her. And it looks like she might need all of them.

Follow Harry Cheadle on Twitter.

As we navigate whatever crap-era of the internet we're in, it's becoming clear that most of its promises have been unfulfilled. Cultural barriers thought to be eradicated as we learned more about one another have instead begat digital walls that have cloistered us even more. Money expected to trickle down with the ease of transaction is simply being funneled to Silicon Valley. The ease of publication has meant the sharing of more stories, but also more tossed-off reactions from sexists, racists, anti-Semites, and whoever else is out there. But what about the promise of "disrupting" dating?

At first, the positives of online dating were obvious. Being able to vet over a more extended period of time and trading messages back and forth over days as opposed to a few drinks at a bar meant fewer false starts. Both parties could try to get on the same page, offering fewer misunderstandings when they treaded those murky waters between "dating" and "relationship." That's good. But more than that, it was the expansive dating options that changed the game.

Rather than your love life being tied to where one happened to be born, or the trustworthiness of your social circle, or the whimsy of chance, online dating allowed for more variety in potential suitors. It was the Mall of America instead of the corner bodega. Having these additional options would, theoretically, allow potential dates the chance to hone what they were looking for, to find the partner juuuuust right. This was the goal of first generation dating sites like Match.com, eHarmony, and OKCupid... They cast enormous nets, and let the user choose their catch.

But that's old internet. The new hot dating sites are curated, niche, with their URL names branding the singular category they serve. Christian Singles (duh), Farmers Only (also duh), SaladMatch (vegetarians), MeetMindful (spiritual yoga folk), TrekPassions (fans of Star Trek). These sites are now legion, and their perceived value is understandable. Filtering for sci-fi nerds or religious affiliations is just a step removed from clicking your sexual preference on your profile. But the ability to focus a dating search on one specific category can also be horrifying if the category of interest is built around pernicious things like hate or violence or crackpot ideas.

The latest and one of the most portentous niche dating sites is Awake Dating, "the best dating site for conspiracy singles, awake singles, truther singles." (The word "best" is also worrying, as apparently there's more than one?) At the site, users match based on the norm, like proximity and age, but also the out-there, like "9/11 Was an Inside Job" and "Illuminati." When I check it out myself, my closest potential romance is with a 32-year-old woman with a Monica Lewinksy profile pic who lists among her interests, "How to Survive When You're Wide Eyed Blazened Awake" and "Jewish Mind Control."

"It's conception goes back a couple of years," says Jarrod Fidden, Awake Dating's CEO, in his heavy Australian accent over Skype. "My wife and I found we didn't resonate with the people who were involved with the mainstream narrative. While we were married, we thought that, maybe if you were single, you don't have someone else to share these ideas with. So, we provided that platform."

In a little over two months, Fidden claims the site has gathered over 10,000 members, hooking up on commonalities such as Area 51, anti-vax activism, or the Round-Earth Conspiracy (the movement that sees the "mainstream narrative"of a round Earth as propaganda used to control the masses). "Everyone's interpretation of what it's going to mean to be 'awake' is going to change from person to person," says Fidden. "It's not for us to decide what's outlandish or not. There's all this information, and in this day and age, each has their own opinion."

But, well, maybe that's not good. With so many outlets, everyone not only has their own opinion, but access to others who share that opinion, no matter how outlandish it is. If you happen to believe that Kraft controls the New World Order, on our beloved internet you're sure to find someone to second that, and thusly legitimize your own insanity.

When I press Fidden about this potential echo chamber effect that could come from conspiracists dating one another, he dips into his own personal experience. "I've had discussions with my wife about things we haven't agreed on, and every discussion we end up changing opinions," he says. "The ability to communicate openly and honestly disseminates the ideas, and finds the truth."

By now we know that's not exactly how it works. One need only delve into the Twitter mentions of any fight about gun control or the lady Ghostbusters to see that opinions, once fortified by other internet randos, become solidified and dug-in. There are a few terms flying around for this concept. The Filter Bubble is the biggest.

The main concept is thus: Surround yourself with those who believe the same things as you, and those beliefs become truths, which means there's no talking you out of them.

How this occurs is obvious when you consider our new internet reality. Everyone's personal experience on the web is a unique butterfly of surfing tailored to their own needs. Your Facebook feed is curated by you, with your own friends or acquaintances. If you get annoyed with them for certain posts, the "hide from feed" button is a few clicks away. Your Instagram and Twitter work the same. We've come to accept this, but what's a little more insidious is the fact that your Google search results are different from everyone else's as well.

Google and most other search engines are intended to give us information about what we want to know. To do so, they use "cookies" to track not only our location (which comes in handy, if we're looking for nearby Korean joints) and search history (which comes in handy if we're a NASCAR fan searching for "Jim Johnson" and don't want to hear about the Dallas Cowboys). In those cases, pumping us search results to return the information we're looking for is benign. The cancerous part is when we search about issues where opinions mingle with fact.

As Eli Pariser—former CEO of Upworthy—highlighted in his 2011 book The Filter Bubble: What the Internet Is Hiding from You, a search for "BP" can produce two outcomes for two different users. For one, it can offer information about stock prices, but for another, the Deepwater Horizon oil spill that ravaged the Gulf in 2011. The difference depends on what the user's search history has shown. This difference is relatively low level, but consider the person Googling "the truth about vaccinations" with a search history showing a pattern of visiting anti-vaxxer websites. They could be led to more conspiracy nonsense that further promotes their preconceived ideas, as opposed to actual science.

This isn't just the fault of search engines, though. They're mostly just doing their job, after all.

"I don't think we can blame one particular site," says Engin Bozdag, a senior researcher at 4TU Centre for Ethics and Technology and senior privacy consultant at PwC who studied the filter bubble in his PhD thesis. "We cannot just solve this by regulating algorithms and telling them, 'you should create a more diverse environment so people can hear diverse opinions from opposing viewpoints.'"

Frankly, that product won't sell, because people wouldn't want to use it. If the top search engines or social media platforms began highlighting opposing viewpoints or opinions, people will move to ones that don't. (DuckDuckGo is a search engine that doesn't track users, meaning it provides the same results for any search, but there's a reason you haven't heard of it until now.) Which, in a roundabout way, brings us back to niche dating websites.

WATCH: My Life Online

"Let's say you want to date a conspiracy theorist, doesn't have to tell you, you shouldn't do that," says Bozdag. "That would violate your autonomy and choice. And if it shows you results you do not wish, you won't use the tool anymore."

Meaning that it really falls on the prospective internet user to purposefully gather opposing views, seek out those beyond their own cultural sphere. And that's really fucking hard. "On Twitter, I try to add people from opposing viewpoints to see what arguments they're using. At least, see their sources," says Bozdag. "But this is an exhausting task. No one would want to do this unless you have a very personal interest."

Leaving us in a weird place with no clear solutions, which is getting people to do things they don't want to do just because they should, like asking people to eat vegetables even though they don't taste as good as McDonald's burgers. No one wants to do things that are hard, because they're hard. Avoiding the filter bubble is solely up to our own willpower to forgo base tendencies to surround ourselves with only those we agree with.

"The reason why you should listen to other parties, that's beyond internet, or Facebook and Google," says Bozdag. "is to improve your own arguments, and also enlarge your own viewpoint before you make up your mind."

Niche dating sites that filter out our ability to connect with those who don't share our belief that lizard people control the world's currency from the sewers of L.A. is only adding to the problem. Worst of all, while the other forms of the filter bubble are generally self-contained within the minds and opinions of one person, one idealized end result from these niche dating sites is love, then lasting relationships, and then the creation of our planet's next generation crackpots. And that's one scary prospect.

Follow Rick on Twitter.

Illustration by Tyler Boss

Life Inside is an ongoing collaboration between the Marshall Project and VICE that offers first-person perspectives from those who live and work in the criminal justice system.

Sports gambling is a serious form of entertainment in prison. I'd guess maybe 30 percent percent of inmates bet on sports, at least where I was in the late 1990s, at Wyoming State Penitentiary. That's where I learned the hustle, working as a 'writer' who collects betting slips and delivers them back to a bookie. I'd make 20 or 25 percent off the top, or $1.25 cents off a $5 bet, no matter whether the better or the bookie won.

It's a great job because there's no exposure. It was the actual bookie who had to sneak into the education wing of the place, where the copy machines were located, and find a way to distract the staff and make copies of the cards listing the odds for all the day's games. Then he'd have to count and store all the winnings.

In 2001, I was transferred to a federal prison. In addition to my five years for burglary, the feds had indicted me on conspiracy to distribute methamphetamine, and gave me just under 17 years. When I got to the federal facility in Yazoo City, Miss., I saw the action was ten times what it had been at the state level. So I became a bookie myself. Basketball was the most profitable because it happened every day, but individual football games could bring in a lot of money. I took in $7,000 worth of bets on one NFL Sunday. Generally, my goal was to make a profit of 25 percent.

I'd call family members or friends to get the lines—lists from Las Vegas of who is favored to win and by how much—that bookies use to set the odds. After a few years, the federal prisons brought in CorrLinks, a basic emailing system, and I could have people send me the lines that way.

In the Mississippi prison, nobody used actual cash; it was all stamps and mackerel. Fish was good because you could buy hundreds of dollars worth at a time from the commissary, whereas you were only allowed to buy one $10 book of stamps. At the end of the day, a bookie would have tons of little pouches of mackerel worth between $1.15 and $1.35. He could use them as currency on their own, or sell them for a buck each to weight-lifters who wanted to bulk up on protein.

I had up to 14 writers working under me. White guys and black guys who could go get bets from their racial groups. I also had a few writers who dealt with everybody—race never goes away in prison, but sports betting was often able to bridge the divide.

Eventually, I was transferred to a prison in Coleman, Florida. A partner and I went into business together, and I made even more money down there. Some of the bookies didn't know what they were doing: they wouldn't know how to do the calculations and would be paying above odds. So we would bet against them and make a killing.

I got to the point where I easily made $16,000 each month.

One of the biggest hauls came during the 2010 Super Bowl, when the New Orleans Saints played the Indianapolis Colts. The Colts were favored to win, but my partner was a Saints fan, so we set up the odds against what Vegas was recommending, which generally you shouldn't do. Everyone who wanted the Colts to win bet against us, but the Saints won. We made close to ten grand that night. Of course, there were also times we had a bad night and lost all our money.

We spent nights counting our stamps, but needed a way to hide them. There were Now and Later candies for sale at the commissary, in those six-inch packages. We'd buy them, take out the candy, trim the stamp books into squares, fold them up, tuck them into the packages, and seal them back up. One package could hold a hundred books of stamps.

We lived well, never calling home for money. We spent maybe $1,500 a month on food, cigarettes, and gambling. Instead of going to the chow hall three times a day, I could prepare a meal in my cell with food from the commissary. I could also pay people to steal special food from the chow hall: shrimp, steaks, roast beef. I'd buy cartons of cigarettes that others had smuggled in, sell them, and make a profit. If I liked the shoes a guy was wearing as he walked off the bus, I could buy them from him.

When I was released, in 2014, my probation officer told me she didn't want me to be involved in gambling, and forced me to shut it all down. That, unfortunately, was the end of my run.

About that whole "Smile more" thing. Let's get the common fact out of the way that criticizing the first woman Presidential candidate in history for not being "warm" enough—for expressing a sense of grave urgency at a time when the United States of America's basic tenets of democracy are hanging by a single, solitary thread above a black hole of hate and fascism—is remarkably sexist any way you look at it.

On a broader level, though: what, exactly, does anyone have to smile about lately? Yes, this week's been filled with inspiring speeches and hope-loaded rhetoric—but as Los Angeles Mayor Eric Garcetti put it in his speech during the DNC's final night," politics have a darkness that would not only stop, but reverse the march of progress towards the greater, more prosperous, and more equal America we can and must become." Or: now that the Democratic party's glorified four-day slumber party has concluded, shit's about to get real.

The ever-present specter of doom and gloom didn't stop some from having a jovial attitude though. The night's most potent non-Hillary quotable line came from Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, who introduced himself with a five-star zinger that was funny because it was, well, true: "I'm Michael Jordan and I'm here with Hillary," he stated to confused laughter. "I said that because I know Donald Trump couldn't tell the difference."

If Abdul-Jabbar's wisecrack was perfectly acerbic and well-timed, others' attempts at injecting a bit of levity into the proceedings didn't land as well. Actress Chloe Grace Moretz has taken a bit of a beating on social media lately for tangling with the likes of Kim Kardashian in a manner decidedly un-woke, so there was a bit of internet skepticism regarding her planned appearance at the DNC—and unfortunately, it was well-warranted. "I'm a millennial," she proclaimed with all the subtlety of nails running down a chalkboard, during a brief speech focused on getting out the vote for, well, millennials. Encouraging young people to vote is a necessary service—but considering the still-ongoing efforts to disenfranchise minority voters in America, you can't help but wish that her get-out-the-vote message carried a bit more reach.

Other out-of-touch moments included Ted Danson and Mary Steenburgen's remarks regarding Hillary Clinton, who they've known since the 1970s and accordingly gushed over not unlike rich people at a cocktail function. Perhaps the most offensive moment of the DNC's final night, though, occurred during Katy Perry's statement before performing her inspo-pop anthems "Roar" and "Rise": "I have a mind, and I have a voice," she claimed, before sneering that, at the very least, a vote for Hillary would "cancel out your weird cousin's vote, if you like." Obviously, the theme of unity at this year's DNC has largely been directed towards smoothing the fissure between the party and Bernie Sanders' supporters—but it's vaguely insulting and classist statements like Perry's that only feed into the large-scale cultural divide plaguing the US, and add more fuel to Donald Trump's spiteful fire.

Perry was also arguably the closest the DNC came to booking a youth-oriented performer for this year's ceremonies (Lord knows the GOP tried, though). On the other end of the spectrum, legendary singer-songwriter Carole King took the stage to perform "You've Got a Friend," hewing much closer to the Clintons' taste profile (remember when Fleetwood Mac performed "Don't Stop" at Bill Clinton's inauguration ball?). "Hillary's got so many friends," King offered with a genuine corniness mid-performance, "And Bernie too!" The shots of Democrats in the audience swaying to the performance—an unintentional bookend to Paul Simon's DNC-kickoff appearance at the beginning of the week—was proof that even if there's clear divisions in the party's current ideological makeup, plenty of Democrats are, for better or worse, great at losing themselves to triviality if only for a few moments.

Obviously, though, there was little triviality to be had during Clinton's speech, as she capably laid out the case for supporting her (even though a collective feeling of distrust towards her still exists among voters) and urged the country to, please, for the love of all that is sacred and holy, not elect Donald Trump to the highest possible office in America. "Don't believe anyone who says, 'I alone can fix it,'" Clinton stated, later invoking President Barack Obama's speech from the previous night: "Don't boo, vote." And really, at this point, what else is there left to do?

Follow Larry Fitzmaurice on Twitter.

JT Leroy (left) and Asia Argento in 2005. Photo via Yui Mok / PA Archive/Press Association Images

When the story broke in October of 2005 it was described as the greatest literary hoax in recent memory. What had started as the phone calls of a fucked-up 16-year-old boy name "Terminator" to his therapist had turned into a strange literary phenomenon that had drawn in the likes of Gus Van Sant, Tom Waits, Courtney Love, Winona Ryder, Mary Karr, Asia Argento, and more. It was the bizarre case of the writer JT Leroy, the subject matter of Jeff Feuerzeig's compulsively watchable Author: The JT LeRoy Story.

Growing up on a West Virginia truck-stop, Jeremiah "Terminator" Leroy had lived through an abusive childhood watching his "lot lizard" mother turn tricks to feed her habit. By the time he was seven, she was making him cross dress, using him as bait for the local johns. Soon he was hustling up and down truck-stops of the American South, addicted to heroin and HIV positive.

The mid-90s found "Terminator" in San Francisco. A fateful phone call to a child protection hotline introduced him to a psychologist, Dr. Richard Owens, who advised him to write things down in between sessions over the phone (they never met in person) as a form of therapy. In the meantime, between 1994 and 1995, writers Bruce Benderson and Dennis Cooper began receiving phone calls from a troubled boy with a "very soft female voice." Now living with a British woman named "Speedie" and a boyfriend, "Astor," "Terminator" began to fax over his writing. Benderson and Cooper were astounded. How could a 14-year-old hustler write this?

His first novel, Sarah, came out in 2000 when JT would have been 17. It was dubbed autobiographical fiction and drew heavily on the gothic details of his upbringing, tying them together in a heightened style that made it an instant classic of transgressive fiction, garnering endless positive reviews. Still, no one had yet met JT in person.

At the height of the success of Sarah, in 2001, an awkward young man with a girlish round face, a blonde wig and glasses debuted before the world as the writer Jeremiah "Terminator" Leroy. Having finally emerged from obscurity, he was now everywhere, feted by a growing tribe of celebrity friends and confidantes.

But in October of 2005, an article entitled "Who is the real JT Leroy?", written by Stephen Beachy for New York Magazine, questioned whether the writer really existed at all and suggested that the "man behind the curtain" was in fact no man at all, but a 40-year-old Brooklyn woman named Laura Albert, otherwise known as JT's British assistant, "Speedie." An article in the New York Times in February of 2006 went on to prove that 24-year-old JT Leroy—or "Wigs and Glasses," as Beachy called him—was actually played in public by a woman called Savannah Knoop, the sister of Laura Albert's husband Geoff Knoop, or "Astor." Instead of JT Leroy there was a cast of characters with shady motives. His books were not the autobiographical product of a West Virginian drug-addicted child prodigy, but the fiction of a mother-of-one in her late-thirties who was writing for American TV series Deadwood by the name Emily Frasier, or "Speedie." The confusion was felt by everyone.

Jeff Feuerzeig's documentary looks at what he calls "the wildest story about 'story'" through the experience of Laura Albert. "What I ended up learning going on this journey with the film was that there was a massive amount of deceit in this story that Laura shares very openly, no doubt," says Feuerzeig over the phone. "But it was a much more organic journey that couldn't possibly have been premeditated."

Albert is unpredictable and fascinating to watch in her pieces to camera. The most unreliable of unreliable narrators, she shares all without remorse, foul-mouthed and wide-eyed, as though she herself cannot quite believe the batshit stuff that happened. "Is it surprising that Laura Albert turned out to be a good storyteller?" Feuerzeig asks. "She clearly was a great storyteller. When it came time to tell her story she shared everything."

Having never heard of the JT Leroy story, when Feuerzeig first read about it a few years ago it bowled him over. He contacted Albert and sent her his critically acclaimed The Devil and Daniel Johnston, a documentary that looked into the relationship between mental illness and art-making in the case of musician Daniel Johnston. Albert liked it and agreed to do the documentary, despite turning down several directors previously. "This was her chance to finally tell," says Feuerzeig.

Via pieces to camera and a staggering volume of self-documentation, we're given an image of a deeply disturbed young woman. Albert's archive of old notebooks, super 8 footage, photographs, doodles (which Feuerzeig animates in Author) and audio recordings could be "the largest known collection of self-documentation, if anyone is keeping score, in documentary film," in Feuerzeig's opinion.

Physically and sexually abused as a young girl, she later developed a food addiction and a hotline addiction that turned into hours of ringing child hotlines posing as different young boys. She used avatars to explore the outside world, often employing her sister while she remained indoors, too ashamed of her "size." She had an affinity for punk culture. We find out that she was institutionalized.

Laura Albert in 2007. Photo: Kelly Lee Barrett, via Wikimedia Commons

Hiding behind the persona of a young abused boy, far from her own mental illness, her own history of abuse, her weight, and her perceived inability to be a true artist, Albert's arc reads almost like a mythical tale of tortured female expression. Feuerzeig tells me that these days she wears a pendant of a typewriter round her neck that says, "Write hard, die free."

There's a relish for the details in the obsolete technologies from the 90s and early 2000s in Author. We watch cassette tapes roll as Tom Waits rings JT to tell him his writing is "so wet, it's alive." We hear the phone calls between Courtney Love and Laura Albert after the "reveal" has happened ("I've a tiny line of coke, I don't want to put you on hold, do you mind if I do it?") and we listen as JT Leroy (Albert) tells Asia Argento that he loves her over the phone. Each little insight offers an explanation to the betrayal felt by many of JT's friends and the bitter fallout that followed, the "Carrie moment" as Albert calls it. "I'm going to be standing there covered in pig's blood."

"A metaphor is different to a fucking hoax," JT Leroy drawls down the phone to Dr. Owens towards the end. What is the JT Leroy story a metaphor for then if it isn't a hoax? At the time of the "reveal," the writer Mary Gaitskill, one of JT's earliest supporters, commented that the JT Leroy story represented "the confusion between love and art and publicity," a confusion that seems far more suited to 2016 than to 2005, when the duality between identity and work has never seemed more prescient. As art-making has become increasingly defined by popularity contests played out across platforms, and as the curation of avatars and personae has become standard in celebrity-obsessed culture, the question central to Author is, does the work stand for itself?

Will the work stand for itself without the drug-addicted teen from West Virginia? Feuerzeig thinks so. He begins Author with a Fellini quote. "A created thing is never invented and it is never true: it is always and ever itself." How much does our idea of 'who' wrote 'what' influence our appreciation of it? JT LeRoy's books are being re released to coincide with Author, so there's one way to find out.

Author: The Jt LeRoy Story is out in the US September 9

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