Illustrations by Joel Benjamin

I don't know why we do things that don't help us get better. For me that means 13 years of psychodynamic therapy with little to no effect on my anxiety disorder. Part of the reason I stayed so long in the psychodynamic therapy game was that I was afraid of breaking up with therapists. I just didn't like having "the conversation." One time I moved 500 miles away to break up with a therapist. Occasionally, I would leave one therapist for another therapist, the way some people get out of troubled relationships by "trapezing" onto a new partner. But on the whole, my propensity for people-pleasing and fear of conflict (traits characteristic for many of us with anxiety disorders) kept me in ineffectual therapist relationships for far too long.

I also think my inability to tell the whole truth contributed to my lack of progress. I often distracted from the problem at handthe place where I needed help the most prominentlybecause it was too terrifying to go there. It was easier to talk around the problem, to woo a therapist with my sense of humor and self-knowledge. I felt less vulnerable pursuing an intellectual understanding of my family history than saying, "Right now, I feel like I'm dying." If I said it out loud it made it more real. I didn't want to hurt my therapist's feelings or make them think there was something extra fucked up with me. Wasn't therapy supposed to be my "safe space"? Why was I having a panic attack there?

So we continued to talk about my childhood, my history, my mother. Self-knowledge isn't totally fruitless. It's probably good to know the initial sources of your anxiety, but it doesn't really help you in the clutch. Then, during the great meds transition of Spring 2015, a hell that I chronicled here, I became desperate enough to seek a different kind of help. Actually, my psychiatrist was basically like, "Yo, you need to stop with the psychodynamic therapy and get into cognitive behavioral ASAP." When the pupil is dying 20 times a day, the teacher appears.

I've been doing a mindfulness-based form of CBT called Acceptance and Commitment therapy now for about five months and it's the best thing I've ever done for my anxiety. Where the psychodynamic therapy I did for years attempted to get at why I felt or behaved a certain way, CBT and its offshoots seek to eliminate suffering in the now as quickly as possible by training the mind to recognize its own dysfunctional thought patterns.

Part of what has made this therapy so effective for me is that it dwells in the present and in action. It's practical and tangible. When left to my own devices I don't live in reality. I'm drawn to fantasy and catastrophic thinking. So I need my therapy to be super grounded in the present: no rebirthing, no Jungian dream analysis. Also, it's more difficult to bullshit when you're focused on the present. When I came to this therapist I was in such a place of desperation that I couldn't afford to not be vulnerable. Whenever I found myself putting on an act for my therapist, I was just like, Why am I even here then?So I didn't bullshit either of us.

I want to share two of the most helpful tools I've learned over the past few months for readers of this column who are uninsured and can't afford to pay for therapy out of pocket, or for those who just feel kind of like whatevs toward therapy.

The first thing that has really helped me is to examine the difference between the sensation, or feeling, I am experiencing and the meaning I give the feeling. This means that sometimes, when I am on the precipice of a panic attack, I will literally get out a piece of paper and divide it in two. On the left side I will write down the sensations: rapid heartbeat, shortness of breath, tightness in chest, choking feeling, blurred vision, butterflies in stomach, dizziness. On the other side of the page I will write down the meaning I give these sensationsthe thoughts that I ascribe to them.

As an example, here are some thoughts that I regularly experience at the onset and during a panic attack: Oh no. Something's wrong. I'm dying. How will I ever hold it together professionally? What's wrong with me? How will I speak? How am I going to stay here? I'm going to have to leave. How will I stand up? People are going to know or judge me. Why am I having a panic attack with someone I love? My time with this friend or loved one will be ruined. I'm going to be like this forever. I'm different than everyone. This is going to last forever. Why do I feel so weird? This is the breakdown. All is not OK. I'm going to be consumed.

When I separate my feelings and thoughts out like this, in different columns, I'm able to sort of slow down the "doom cycle." Sometimes, on a good day, I can even find a reasonable attribution for the sensations. To me, it always seems reasonable that I could be dying. But sometimes I find a more obvious reason. Maybe anyone would be nervous in the situation I'm in. Or maybe it's the first time I've let myself slow down all day to feel anything. Maybe it's feelings from three hours ago.

Obviously, there are some situations (a work meeting, a class at school) where it doesn't seem weird to take out a piece of paper and write. You just look like you are taking notes. But for situations where it would be kind of "weird" to begin "journaling" in the middle of the event (dinner with a friend, during sex), I have another good tool.

I've started to assess my emotions and give them a number on a scale of 1-10. As a lifelong avoider of feelings, I can't always describe exactly what I am experiencingbut I can always tell if it's a 3 (mild discomfort) or if it's a 10 (definitely dying).

Recently I put the number system into play while having lunch with a professional acquaintance who was visiting my city. For normal people, this doesn't sound like a huge deal, but I'm not normal people. We were just finishing our food and I was about to drive her to her hotel, when suddenly, I was hit with a weird-ass feeling, like a wave of existential sadness. What freaked me out the most was there was really no reason I should be experiencing this feeling. What was this sadness? Was I going to cry in front of this person? How would I hold it together enough to drive her to her hotel?

The thing is, the sadness itself wasn't totally unmanageable. If I were to give it a number, I'd say it was about a 4. You can drive on a 4. You can continue living. But my fear around the sadness, the thoughts that catapulted it into high anxiety, ratcheted me up to about an 8 or 9. 8 and 9 are far less doable than a 4. So what I discovered was that it was actually my reaction to the feeling, and not the feeling itself, that made me feel like I was dying. This thought somehow brought me back down to about a 5. I suffered some, but not as badly as I have in the past.

I don't know if I'll ever be "cured" of my anxiety disorder and the depression that underlies it. I was born a sensitive and imaginative person. To cure my anxiety entirely, I would probably need to be cured of myself. But these tools, and others I'm learning, make me feel less doomed when I am in a bad cycle.

I also just like the idea of experimenting with tools. The notion that a panic attack or experience of anxiety can be a time to practice, and is not something that must be solved now, is a big relief. Often I make the situation worse with my urgencythe thought that I must get better today, or else. But experimenting with various tools takes the pressure off my meds to be at the elusive "perfect level" and lessens my need to always feel like everything is OK.

Perhaps because I've struggled so much in this area, I sort of just assumed that successful people, or "normal people," don't feel fear. Like, if I feel fear then I have no chance at being OK, as though fear is a flaw or something that can be smelled on me. The truth is, I still don't particularly want to be courageous. Like, if it were up to me I would not have these issues that force me to be courageous. But when I can approach the doom itself with a looser grip, I feel like less of a freak among people and more like a sort-of OK person.

If you are concerned about your mental health or that of someone you know, visit the Mental Health America website.

Follow So Sad Today on Twitter.

A Syrian woman washes her clothes in a park fountain. All photos by Lazara Marinkovic.

This article originally appeared on VICE Serbia

Currently, one of out of every 122 people in the world is a refugee, internally displaced or seeking asylum. If there was a country made up solely of those now forcibly on the move, it would be the 24th most populated state in the world. And women make up almost half of that number. To get a better understanding of the problems that women might face while on the run, I headed down to a park in the centre of Belgrade where refugees have erected a tent town.

I first met up with local Sofija Manjak, who currently volunteers at a community group initiative called Asylum Info Centre. A student at Belgrade's University School of Medicine, her job is to identify refugees in need of medical assistance and take them to the doctors who have set up an exam room in the park.

"A pregnant woman I spoke with told me she was due to give birth in three weeks. I wanted to take her to the doctors immediately, but she refused, fearing this would cause her to miss her trip to Hungary that makes up the parental allowance for each of the girls once she reaches Germany. She doesn't speak German but insisted she'd learn it as soon as she got there.

Women look through the clothes at the improvised help centre for the refugees.

"Nothing matters anymore, I just want them to be safe. Taking care of my children has been the most difficult aspect of this trip. We've had problems with the police everywhere we went and I wish they never had to experience that. Hopefully our shortcomings will only make them stronger," she told me.

Nuhr doesn't want to talk about their trip through Turkey, Greece and Macedonia. She says that's all behind her now.

"My fellow Syrians help me," she told me when I asked if it was difficult to travel with kids. "It might sound strange, but I feel as if I found peace on this trip. My ex husband is not bothering my any more. I don't miss him at all."

Jagoda Trgo-Grujic has volunteered at an improvised assistance centre in the park for almost three weeks. She's in charge of packing and distributing hygienic packages.

"Many women don't need sanitary pads, because they're pregnant. We always offer them, but they just brush them away while pointing at their belly," she said. A Doctors Without Borders team is also on site and checks around 80 people daily only 20 percent of whom are women.

"A pregnant woman needs regular check-ups and none of these women are getting that. They know their due date and probably try to calculate whether or not they have time to keep on travelling," Dr Vladimir Rankovic told me. "Women from the Middle East are tough. They have survived wars and destruction; they're able to navigate their way through the harshest conditions."

Ferdyna and her three-year-old daughter.

Ferdyna, who just arrived in belgrade with her husband and her daughter, Reehena, took me to see her tent in the middle of the park. "The Iranian border was the most difficult to cross. We spent 12 days there with a child while people were being killed around us," she told me in Arabic while her husband translated. Their tent was covered with freshly washed laundry the first time she was able to wash Reehena's clothes. She had borrowed the detergent from a family in a neighbouring tent.

"We help each other someone always has some baby food or water to spare," she said. "I want a new life and I want my children to be educated. Before the war, we lived just like you do. I could have been a journalist in Syria if I had wanted to. I want that for my children."

Watch our documentary, 'Europe or Die':

A recent UNHCR report on refugees noted the importance of psychological assistance to women and children when they reach safety, calling on all EU countries to seriously consider their recommendations. Many women and children develop PTSD-related anxiety and panic attacks after the trip according to experts. Sixteen-year-old Elyna, however, doesn't allow herself to get depressed. Together with her mother and brother, she hopes to make it to Sweden. She told me that the most important thing she brought from home was her photos.

"We didn't have time to pack. Everything was destroyed except our photos. The whole house was wrecked," she explained. The most difficult thing for her was crossing the Mediterranean and then having to sleep in the street but Facebook was there to help whenever there was access to Wi-Fi. That's how she knows her friends back home are still safe.

"I'm still in touch with my friends but we talk less and less almost everyone has left for somewhere else. I hope they all reach whatever country they're trying to get to," she said.

Elyna (middle) and two friends.

I met a volunteer named Helena. "In the two weeks I've been here, I haven't seen a woman crying," she said. "It's empowering to see how strong people are in the refugee camps they aren't just some poor souls, they are fighters who have decided to take control of their lives."

Hiba is 20 years old and was only a year away from graduating nursing school, when she left Syria. She heard our translator speaking Arabic and asked us to help explain her mother's medical record from a recent Macedonian hospital visit. It said everything is fine, but because her mother doesn't speak a word of English, she was worried she had cancer. Hiba whispered to our translator, asking him to explain to her mother, in Arabic, that everything was fine. And it was. The mother thanked us, but refused another check up in the park.

Hiba (right) and a friend.

"I didn't want to leave Syria, but my family forced me. It's terrible there," Hiba said. She misses singing the most. "I never really went out much, but I listened to a lot of music. People have told me that I'm talented and I can sing."

Hiba took me to a tree at the other end of the park so I could hear her sing. She asked us to wait for some men to pass by apparently, it's not "nice" for a girl to sing in front of men because the female voice "is too beautiful". At first, she sang in Arabic but quickly switched over to English. I guess Celine Dion is universal.

"I broke up with my boyfriend before I left home. He went to Turkey and now I'm here," she told me quietly. I shared an internet hotspot so we could become friends on Facebook. I asked her if she'd like me to leave it on so she could chat with her friends, but she didn't seem to find any point in that.

"Switch it off. There's nobody online today. Everyone's on the road," she said.

More from VICE:

Calling Bullshit On the Anti-Refugee Memes Flooding the Internet

How to Be a Good Host to a Refugee

We Asked Some Refugees for the Stories Behind Their Smartphone Backgrounds

Still from 'The Muppets.' Courtesy of ABC

This article originally appeared on VICE US

Early on in the first episode of The Muppets, Scooter the gopher is chatting with a prawn Muppet. "Hey, Pep," Scooter asks. "How was your cousin'swedding?" "Eh, her dress was ick," the prawn responds in an indeterminateaccent. "But you know there aren't that many options when you're pregnantwith like 4000 babies."

That bawdy interaction neatly encapsulates the ethos of ABC's current envisioning of The Muppets. Many commentershave already pointed out that the show is more adult in tone than creator Jim Henson'smuch loved The Muppet Show from the 70s. Henson'sversion was a variety show; the updated version is a workplace mockumentaryfocused on Miss Piggy's late-night talk show, for which Kermit is the executiveproducer. Piggy and Kermit have recently broken up, providing romantic tension, gags, and references to sex.

Those last ones are plentiful: Kermit winkingly refers tomeeting his new pig girlfriend Denise at a cross-promotional synergy meeting wherethey "ended up cross-promoting." Animal, now the houseband drummer, laments how he can longer go on tour: "Too many women,"he says, shaking his head. "Too many towns." In the second episode, Miss Piggy is dating singer Josh Groban, and the Swedish chef jokes about her "groping" him (get it?). There are other adultthemes as well. Sax-playing Muppet Zoot reveals he attends AA meetings in the first episode; there's a marijuana-legalization gag in the second. Comedian Fozziethe Bear is dating a human, setting the stage for a Guess Who's Coming to Dinner? riff with her parents where they makeinsensitive comments about him peeing in the woods and eating salmon.

The cockroach joke manages to hit multiple taboos at once: sex,stereotypes of promiscuous Spanish-named immigrants, and gross-out humor. It suggests thatthe show isn't just about adult themesit's about deriving humor from thewrongness of using adult themes with cuddly Muppets. As such, The Muppets is less the heir of Henson'spuppet workshop, and more in the tradition of the infamous 1989 Peter Jacksonfilm Meet the Feebles.

The Muppets wants to be adult, but in a gentle, fun way that doesn't involve putting you off your food and making you despair of humanity.

Jackson is of course known these days for his work on themainstream, critically lauded Lord of theRings films, and the less praised but more family-friendly Hobbit trilogy. Early in his career,though, he was notorious for splatter horror films of a surpassingdisgustingness.

Even by Jackson's standards, Meet the Feebles is a nightmarishly disturbing film. ParodyingThe Muppet Show, a group of sentientstuffed animal puppets is putting on a variety show, and the film records boththe acts and the associated backstage hijinkssaid hijinks involving as muchsex, blood, bodily fluids, and general nastiness as Jackson can spurt out.

It's difficult to describe just how upsetting and horrifyingMeet the Feebles is. I can watchtorture porn without flinching. I was disappointed that the gore in Hostel had been oversold. But Meet the Feebles was stomach-churningwhen I saw it in theaters 25 years ago, and rewatching it, I found myself onceagain groaning in disgust and loathing loud enough to startle my poor, confusedgreyhound, who kept wandering in to try to figure out what was the matter. Somehow,I had forgotten about the giant Muppet fly reporter with hairy, plush mouthparts flexing and hissing. Constantly on the lookout for gossip, the fly hidesin toilets; one scene shows it in the bowl, liquid feces dripping from its faceas it slobbers and chuckles. In another sequence, the fly buzzes beneath diseasedbunny Harry's bedclothes. "That rash on your groin looks pretty bad,"it declares gleefully. "Don't taste too good neither." DavidCronenberg only wishes Jeff Goldblum could have been that repulsive.

Why isn't Jeff Goldblum that repulsive, though? Why is it soparticularly upsetting to watch small furry puppets vomit gouts of green bile,or to watch a stuffed elephant-like creature engage in "nasal sex"?Why is it worse to see cute animals shot to pieces by a machine gun than to seethe same thing happen via special effects to human beings?

On VICE: 'The Secret History of Cabbage Patch Kids'

Part of the discomfort is probably just the extremitymade possible when you're dealing with puppets. The Feebles can be turned, twisted,and mangled in ways that human bodies can'tas demonstrated by the Muppetcontortionist who accidentally gets his head stuck in his rectum.

But the real reason Meetthe Feebles is so effectively horrifying is because it is so wrong. Stuffed animals aresupposed to be cute and appealing. The Muppets, in particular, are humerous andadorable; most people (including me) have affection for them. Meet the Feebles isn't just gross; it'san exercise in defilement. Meet the Feebles gets its particularcharge from the fact that it's conflating things that just shouldn't beconflated.

On the Creators Project: Kermit the Frog Has a Real Life Long-Lost Brother

Meet the Feebles wants to be the most hideous film ever,and it is. It wants to make you afraid to look at puppets, or at children, orat people, ever again, and it succeeds there too. The Muppets, for its part, has more mainstream goals. It wants tobe adult, but in a gentle, fun way that doesn't involve putting you off yourfood and making you despair of humanity. It's looking to be This Is Spinal Tap or Parks and Recreation: horny, knowing,but ultimately feel-good humor, for those who loved The Muppet Show, but want something just a little more grown-up.

This is a noble enough goal, but as Meetthe Feebles shows, the dirty Muppet road leads not to feel-good humor,but to gigantic flies emerging from a filth-stained toilet bowl. This atmosphere is hinted at in The Muppets, from the mental image of plush cockroach babies boiling out of somemother puppet, to the way the show constantly leads you to contemplate the mechanics ofpig/frog sex.

A primetime show that was as gut-churning as Meet the Feebles would be greator at least memorable. The Muppets isn't up to the task, though. "If you never thought about these puppets fucking, then you're boring," it seems to say, yet it's afraid to follow through on its own disturbing hints. You get neither the inspired all-ages whimsy of Vincent Price cavorting with monster puppets, nor the awful-god-I-can't-unsee-it scene of a kitty cat performing oral sex on a giant plush walrus as his adorable fins flex. The Muppets is ugly, but not ugly enough. At least for the moment, it seems to be attracting a large audience. But if you really want sordid muppets, you should check out Meet the Feebles, or as much of it as you can stomach.

Follow Noah on Twitter.

The Muppets airs on Tuesdays at 8 PM on ABC.

Correction: An earlier version of the article misstated the species of one of the Muppets. The Muppet Pep is a prawn, not a cockroach.

Outside the Chateau Vino. All photos by the author

Australian states regulate sexual freedoms with a surprising amount of inconsistency, and nowhere is this truer than Queensland. For example it's legal there to sell R-rated videos, but not R-rated magazines. Laws around the legal age of consent are also a little strange, with 16 being the standard, but anal sex banned until18. And then there's all the red tape around swinging.

Watch: The Ten Best VICE Documentaries About Sex

Swingers clubs in Queensland must be in commercial areas withspecific zoning. They can't charge for entry unless they're alicensed brothel. If alcohol is for sale, there can't be any sex, nor can there be any unwrapped food. There also can't be any sex in public areas, such as dance floors,and properties must open themselves up to frequent council inspections. The upthrow of allthis is that unlike NSW or Victoria, swingers in Queensland have only a handful of venues, andjust one on the Gold Coast: the illustrious Chateau Vino. (The club makes money through a complicated system of memberships).

The best little bar in Molendinar

Hidden away in the industrial suburb of Molendinar, ChateauVino boasts a BYO bar, a dance floor, a stripper pole, an outside area for smokers, and11 "play rooms" for their patronage of people aged 20 to 55. And whileswinging isn't really my thing, I went along on a Saturday night to see howSunshine State laws have affected the local scene.

The guy in the white shirt works at Chateau Vino almost every night,despite not swinging. The pirate is Mick's wife.

It was Pirates of theCaribbean night at the Chateau and I arrived to find some wenches watchingporn and gossiping at the bar. Off to the side, a group of Captain Jacks shot pool and eyed off the wenches.The atmosphere had an unmistakable sexual charge but I was surprised by how comfortable I felt.

As mentioned, there can be no sex or nudity in Queensland's publicclubs. If a single nip slips in a Queensland bar the club owner is liable fora $4,000 AUD (2,500) fine. Consequently "playing" is restricted to the playrooms, which isactually sort of futile as the doors to these rooms are often purposely left open. As I talked to a guy called Mick, who owns the bar, it was impossible not to notice a bunch of fake Jack Sparrow dreadlocks flailing through an open doorway.

This is Mick's best friend, Wayne, who is alsothe marketing manager for the club.

"The swinging scene on the Gold Coast is unique because it'ssocial," Mick told me while sipping a chardonnay, his arm curled around his wife's waist. "Most places around Australia, and most other parts ofthe world, are much more hardcore. You go to a club or a gathering and by 10 PM everyone's naked and fucking."

Mick explained that because of this difference, Muggles (whatswingers call non-swingers) don't feel completely out of place at Chateau. This in turn creates an oddly platonic side to the place.

Food from packets

"People go to most organized orgies with one thing in mind,"said a scantily-dressed woman named Sherry, standing next to her husband. "Butwhen we come to this place, we don't arrive with expectations. We come tosocialize and feel sexy, and if something happens, then something happens."

The DJ told me he very rarely works at Chateau Vino but always has a good time. He was also quite shy though, and the music was loud, otherwise wewould have chatted for days.

The Gold Coast swinging lifestyle isgeared towards middle-aged couples. That'swhy Mick says that Chateau Vino offers two thingsa place to play, and aplace to party, even if you're not there to swing.

By 12:30 AM I was standing at the bar with two couples, onefrom Melbourne, one from South Africa, both fully clothed. The Melbourne couplehad just flown up for school holidays. "We found a babysitter for the kids,went out for a few drinks in Surfer's Paradise and came here," theyexplained. They told me they knew most of the people as they came through the door,greeting them with kisses and longish hugs. "We come almost every time we'reup here. It's like one big family, and it's neat because not all places arelike that."

Sex harness in a play room

Of course there's another side to Chateau Vino. As the nightwore on more and more people dispersed to the private rooms and soon the barwas mostly empty. Couples still loitering in the main area began leaning in alittle too close for comfort, whispering sweet tales of their exploits. Outof curiosity I wandered past some playrooms, checking out how many roomswere occupied and by how many people. I was surprised by the sheer quantity ofbodies; it seemed to me that a lot had walked straightpast the bar and and got into it.

Bed in a play room

So what do swingers reallythink of Queensland's sexual restrictions? Throughout the night almosteveryone I spoke to mentioned that, whenever possible, they seek out a morehardcore experience. One couple even described their annual trip to a three-daysex retreat. "Yeah, we go to this retreat every year," the woman said. "It'sdefinitely what we look forward to. I mean, by the end of the weekend I canbarely stand up!"

Rules of entry

And that's the crux of it. Swingers don't go to clubs like Chateau just because they want to socialize. I don't think sex should be governed but if Queensland wasn't a such nanny state and nudity was permitted in public spaces, the entire club would have been hammering away right on the bar. I guess that's where my preconceptions about swingers get a bit snooty. I might be too judgmental or close-minded to appreciate the highs of sexual maturity, but for the purposes of my Saturday night I appreciated some lawfulness. Even if all signs of modesty were only a facade.

Photo by Andoni Lubaki

READ: I Spent a Day with a Speed Dealer

Lancashire police in the UK have attributed an outbreak in aggressive behaviour to a batch of toxic amphetamines. Officers say that on each of the four occasions, users became violent and aggressive, acting irrationally while suffering from alarmingly high heart rates. The tainted drugs made users convulse and lose the ability to talk or control their actions, and resulted in hospital visits for a number of men.

Two men, aged 33 and 47, were sedated on the 27th of September after allegedly taking the substance. One of the affected users had to be restrained by six police officers and calmed by a dose of anaesthetic. In a separate incident, a 24-year-old man climbed a wall and managed to scale a tree, before being detained by police for his own wellbeing. Similarly, a 30-year-old man was found to have climbed the roof of a pub.

Regarding the incidents, Sergeant Pete Latham of Blackburn police told The Guardian: "We are becoming increasingly concerned about this suspected harmful batch of amphetamines, particularly as the users we have come across have shown extreme signs of violence and a couple of them have put themselves in dangerous situations."

The government categorise amphetamines as a class B drug, and possession of the mind-altering substance is punishable by up to five years in prison and an unlimited fine. Supply of the drug is punishable by up to 14 years in prison and an unlimited fine.

(Photo via)

This article originally appeared on VICE Romania

Working in a casino should be easy, right? You'd imagine that it's little more than watching people walk in, serving them a drink, seeing them lose a load of money and then finally stumble out while trying to figure out what to tell their bank advisor. I wanted to know if that was actually the case so I called up a few friends of mine, who actually work in casinos.

Turns out it isn't quite as straightforward as it sounds. As a casino worker, you need to maintain incredible focus and possess a unique ability to remain completely alert while everybody around you is getting plastered. You also need to be able to react to situations quickly and keep a smile painted across your face even when you're talking to dickheads of unfathomable proportions.

All the stress aside, you at least get to see a lot of weird and wonderful things. Believe it or not, casinos attract characters for better and for worse. From gambling addicts certain that their next spin will make them rich, to eccentric millionaires and tragic old men who bet their pension away a day at a time, as well as the opportunistic teens who put their last tenner on the blackjack in the hope of a few free beers. It takes all sorts, really. Apparently, a lot of seemingly sane people really lose it when they see their money going down the drain.

I got six casino workers to tell me their best anecdotes. Each of the stories below is told by a different person.

(Photo via)

The Nuts

A lot of gamblers have various superstitions and routines that they religiously stick to whilst betting. For instance, some will only make bets with their left hand, while others start swearing or chanting little mantras before placing a bet. I once saw a man who would throw salt into an ashtray every time the dealer spun the wheel. It was to ward off evil spirits, of course.

While waitressing in a Bucharest casino, a high-roller asked me to bring him something to eat, but I could only do that after the wheel stopped spinning otherwise I might jinx it, he said. I waited patiently and then went to get his order. When I returned to ask if he'd also like a drink, I saw that the guy had rammed his hand down his pants and was fiddling with his junk.

I thought I was hallucinating but it was obvious that everyone around me had noticed it too. Seemingly, it was his good luck charm. Every time the wheel spun, the guy put his hand in his pants and had a right old fiddle. Our manager made sure we only took tips on a tray that night.

Eat It

As the "eye in the sky" the guy who watches the security cameras all night , I've seen some seriously strange things. The maddest of which happened in a casino in Nairobi, Kenya. A customer came to the roulette and spread his money across two thirds of the numbers. Pretty good odds you'd reckon, but as is sod's law, he lost. When that became clear to him, he flipped. He grabbed the money before the dealer could take it and started running. A security guard cornered him pretty quickly but as soon as he realised he didn't have a chance of escaping, he put the bills in his mouth and attempted to swallow them.

Immediately, another guard intervened. The two tackled this guy in a way that was far less Ocean's 11 and much more Stuart Lancaster's starting 15 a move that forced him to spat them out. Without thinking twice, the guards put them straight back on the roulette table all crumpled and soggy. The dealer called the cleaner and she came with an electric fan. Once it had dried up, the money was straightened out and put right back into play. I haven't a clue what happened to the guy though.

Watch our documentary, 'Miss Camel Beauty Contest':

A ROYAL FLUSH

For years, I've worked with surveillance for cruise ship casinos. One morning at about 6AM, the casino I was working in was empty except for one American woman playing the slots. This woman was cleaning up; she'd already won a few thousand dollars. At some point she realised she needed the bathroom, but was convinced someone would steal her winnings if she left. Some players are a bit paranoid that's just the way it is. Even though they know that myself and my colleagues are monitoring the TV screens.

So, instead of just going to the toilet, or even calling the attendant, she went behind the slots, pulled her trousers down and laid one out right there. After, she sauntered back to the slots relieved two meters from her own shit and continued playing as if nothing had happened. When the slot attendant came by to see how things were going, he smelled something dreadful. He clocked it pretty quickly and asked her what had happened. With a completely straight face, she feigned innocence and claimed she vaguely remembered that there was someone walking around back there.

Anyway, we got the whole thing on CCTV. When I wrote my report, it took all of my strength to remain professional and not just scribble down "she took a massive crap behind the slots." When the news came out, security went into her room to ask about the incident. Upon hearing what had happened, her partner requested to be moved to another room immediately. Presumably that was the end of their holiday.

On the Rocks

Back in 2009, I was working at the opening of a casino in Bucharest. It was all very glamorous and the owners were expecting a lot of cash to be thrown about. I was pretty experienced at the roulette table, so my manager was counting on me to man that position for the night. Five minutes after the doors opened, three men sat themselves down and handed me a massive wad of cash to change into chips. This got me a bit flustered, but I tried to collect myself for the first spin. With my hand trembling, I dropped the ball in but it flew straight back out and got wedged under the door to the kitchen. I began sweating profusely. I smiled and apologised as the waiter returned the ball.

I gave it another spin but the exact same thing happened. This time, however, it landed at the feet of the drummer on stage. "Fuck," I muttered under my breath. The men were staring at me confused, one even asked if I was a beginner. I tried to shrug it off by making a joke about using too much moisturiser. Thankfully they laughed and I slowly began to feel slightly more in control. As the waiter handed me the ball again, I noticed that half of the casino was looking at me, praying for me to fuck up. People always say that "the third time's the charm" but that's obviously not true because the ball flew out and landed in one of the gamblers' whiskey glasses, splashing booze all over his tux. I'd been preparing for the grand opening for five months but I couldn't even spin the wheel.

Big Brother

One night, while working as a croupier, a gambler was down about 50,000. I'm sure he was sober he'd stuck to soft drinks all night and he didn't seem like he was on anything stronger. But, out of the blue, he started talking to the security team through the CCTV cameras. He was staring right into the lens and swearing, shouting about there being magnets in the balls, how it was all rigged and a massive joke. He noticed the cameras were swivelling and this just made him even more paranoid: "So now you are staring at me. You're watching! You took my money and you're just laughing at me, right?"

He grabbed an ashtray and started trying to smash the camera with it. Obviously by this point, security came milling into the room. I feel a bit sorry for the guy, the people watching behind the cameras were pissing themselves laughing.

(Photo via)

ULTRA-VIOLENCE

I used to be a casino receptionist in Bucharest. One day, this massive guy almost seven feet tall with a beer-gut to match decided to kick off at 8AM in the morning. I should've known he was trouble when he came in, he had this really intense look on his face. When he signed-in on our computer, I noticed a yellow mark next to his name. Yellow ticks mean one of two things either you're a high roller or an aggressive cheater. He could have been either. He was allowed to play but only on the condition that I notified the security staff. The chap was barely sat down before he started throwing massive sums of money around. He was placing heavy bets all over the table. After a few consecutive losses, his mood turned and he threatened to throw a metal ashtray at the dealer.

Having been asked to calm down, he was switched to another table, where he tried the same tactic of ridiculous spread betting across the numbers. He stayed there for a while, won some money and began to relax. When the dealer changed, so did his luck. Before long he'd lost all his winnings, which didn't go down well. Right as I entered the room, I saw a security guard holding the staff door open whilst my manager was yelling at the dealer to run for his life. I've never seen anyone move that fast and I don't think the dealer looked back until he'd reached the kitchens. Everyone else in the room followed, just as frightened.

It turns out this guy was so pissed at losing that he managed to remove the top of the roulette table which is incredibly heavy and subsequently threaten to murder everyone in the room. Security bolted in and managed to drag the guy out. Somehow he got back in and started begging me to let him play again and promised that he wouldn't kick off. He assured me that he wasn't a bad person, he just can't think straight when he's on a losing streak. Fair enough.

More from VICE:

Sex, Piss and Violence: My Life as a Youth Hostel Receptionist

The Life of a Bellboy at a Five-Star Hotel

Some Dodgy Speed in Lancashire is Making People Really Aggressive

Image courtesy Lynlea Combot (@lynleabinly)

Monica Heisey is a longtime VICE contributor and an editor-at-large at Broadly. Earlier this month she released her first book, I Can't Believe It's Not Better. A guide to life from the perspective of a 26-year-old comedian, it's about sex, food, and how to get fired from work. Rob Delaney likes it. You should too. Here's an excerpt to get you started.

Getting a Job, a Short Story by Your Parents

You rise early, despite having gone to sleep late at 10PM the night before. "Good morning, world!" you, their sweet daughter who they love and cherish, so talented the world is your frickin' oyster, shout out your window as morning radio plays in the background. The world mirrors your enthusiasm.

You pick out a sensible outfita pair of slacks (you call them slacks, everyone does) and a blazer with that kicky blouse your mom got you. She's very thoughtful, and the blouse is a perfect balance of professional and fun, because you artsy types like to be a bit different and she knows that. She gets you.

You eat a balanced breakfast because you were listening when a very wise someone told you that was important. You make sure to drink some milk, because of your bones. You remember your mom has forwarded you an article about milk and wonder what studies show lately. You double-check that the oven is turned off, lock your front door, then head out into the world with the air of a soon-to-be Employed Person. It's all happening. Today you're going to knock on some doors.

Heading into the city's neatly delineated, easy to define "downtown" area, you think to yourself glad I'm not here at night and will be able to take the subway home before dark. You're Danger Aware. You're also packing a hot Duo-tang full of printed resumes that do NOT include your Twitter handle because why would that be necessary? This is your moment. You have a university degree in English Literature and Language. You deserve this.

The first door you knock on is that of a Business Office. Everyone inside looks very respectable and stressed. They are thinking about their families and drinking coffee and one guy is making such a good joke, oh my god you should hear this joke, you wouldn't believe it, he should be a comedian. Later when you try to tell the joke to your friends you will get lost somewhere around "so the duck says to the chicken," go silent for a bit, and then just leave it. Fine.

You're not sure where in The Office to go, so you ask the receptionist to help you. She is young (40) like you (23) so she gets what you're going through. "Nice blazer," she says, genuinely impressed. "Very work appropriate." Everyone around you is wearing a blazer. This blazer is the best thing you have ever bought. The job is basically in the bag. "I've never smoked pot and there are no pictures of me drinking on Facebook," you tell her. She looks like she might pass out.

Regaining her composure, she leads you to an area marked "Interview Space." "We're basically always hiring," she says. "It's so weird to me how few people go out knocking on doors. They just don't know what's out there!" You wait for a while and read exciting magazine articles about the warming planet. You're not worried, and you're not mad at your parents or their friends or the system. You're not even thinking about sexting, which is what's been holding you back from a job this entire time. Between thinking up clever hashtags, doing selfies, and photographing your genitals for just whoever, you haven't had time to get a job. You're not mad at yourself, you're just disappointed. That's on you.

You know this, in your heart of hearts, but you only really feel it now, looking at this New York Times article about youth culture. How do they know? How do they always know?? It's like looking into a mirror, if people were constantly predicting the death of mirrors. You consider getting out your phone to update a post on your Facebook page, but remember something your dad said about professionalism. And he's right, because he's still with it. You're glad you never got those tattoos all your friends seem to have these days.

Finally, the boss comes out of her office. "Please, step into my office," she says. She is also wearing a blazer, but you can tell hers is of a better quality. She probably listened to her mother when she said that it makes more sense to spend money on fewer items of clothing that are better made. It does.

Inside her office are the hallmarks of the life you want: a novelty mug, photos of her kids doing various activities requiring an upper-middle class income to participate, a computer, a motivational poster (advertisement for mortgages), and a landline. She sits down at her desk, your resume in front of her. She looks like that actress from that thing... Gennifer Gerswhin? She's got hair. You know her. From the film.

"Great resume," the lady boss begins. "Thanks!" you say, politely. You feel good because manners are their own reward. "And you're on LinkedIn," she says. "That's good, very good. We can't hire anyone these days without a LinkedIn profile." You're killing this. Could you be any more prepared? (That's a reference to popular Matthew Parrish character Charnler Bing, from the show with the couch.)

"Wow, a university degree?" She raises her eyebrows, blazer-level impressed, and makes some notes on her pad. "English language and literature? You might be over-qualified..." You hold back on telling her about your minor in Roman history, lest she be overwhelmed. In a gesture of extreme interest, your future boss Leans In. She looks over your extracurriculars, tutting thoughtfully as she pictures the contributions such a talented amateur canoeist might make in a corporate setting.

The interview is zipping along nicely when you hit a snag. "It says here you stopped taking science in 10th grade," the boss says, flipping through her detailed notes. "Why'd you shut that door?" You don't have a good answer. You should have continued taking science, and you know it. "Mostly, I'm just eager to learn, and ready to do whatever you need. I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty, and I work well independently and as part of a team," you say, with a poise and intelligence suggestive of a person who could have easily passed grade eleven science if only they'd applied themselves. The interviewer smiles.

"Well, of course you can have the job. All we're ever looking for is a motivated self-starter who's willing to take initiative," she says. Normally, your twentysomething hands would be straining at the fingertips to avoid tweeting your good news, but even the sweet allure of Tweeter can't pull you away from the joy you feel at this new position. "It's a competitive salary, with full benefits, obviously, and a pension, and full-time hours. You know, a job! That's what a job is."

A quick handshake and a signed contract (which you read in its entirety), and your new status as an employed person is secure. You're heading out into the sunshineputting your headphones in before you're even out the door, naturallywhen the boss lady's voice stops you in the hall. "Hey kid," she says. "I think you'll be needing this." She takes off her blazer and throws it to you. "See you Monday," she says. "Wear that scarf your mother got you, it looks so good with your hair."

Follow Monica on Twitter and buy I Can't Believe It's Not Better here.

This article originally appeared on VICE US

They set out west from the Sonoran Desert in the dead of night. The college guys, armed with cash, crammed into a car after a party and drove six hours until morning, when they reached a strip mall doctor's office in a suburb of Los Angeles.

It was two weeks before Christmas in 2009, and April Rovero noticed her 21-year-old son Joey had withdrawn 430 in cash from his bank account. He had told her about his impromptu trip to LA, and she decided to wait until he came home for winter break to ask about the money. But the Arizona State University senior never came home.

He died of a lethal combination of alcohol, Oxycodone, and Xanax on December 18, 2009a day before he was supposed to fly to his parents' house in Northern California, and nine days after he drove with friends to visit Dr. Hsiu-Ying "Lisa" Tseng, the Rowland Heights, California physician who prescribed him the painkillers.

"Parents send their kids off to school like we did," April Rovero said. "We sent him off and look at what we got: a dead child. The environment and the culture there absolutely contributed to what happened to him."

Joey Rovero's use of prescription painkillers was not unique to his fraternity party scene, nor was he the only one of Tseng's patients who died that year. There was also Vu Nguyen and Steven Ogle, both Southern California men who were in their 20s when they fatally overdosed on painkillers prescribed by Tseng, a general practitioner.

Tseng has pleaded not guilty to second-degree murder charges related to the three deathsan exceptional case that went to trial in Los Angeles County at the end of August and could drag on through mid-October. She is the first physician in the stateand one of few in the countryto be charged with murder simply for writing prescriptions.

The case comes four years into a nationwide epidemic of prescription overdose deaths. Prescription opioid-related deaths rose more than 300 percent between 1999 and 2011, and have since outpaced car accidents as the leading cause of injury death, according to data from the Centers for Disease and Control. The numbers have prompted an aggressive response by the Obama administration, which earlier this year proposed investing $133 (120) million toward opioid overdose prevention efforts ranging from data collection to treatment programs.

As federal and state officials look for ways to fight the opioid scourge, Tseng's trial has become a flashpoint in the national push to better regulate pharmaceuticals and reduce overdose deaths. And it represents a major shift in the way government is prosecuting drug cases.

Related: How Big Pharma Hooked America on Legal Heroin

"The national policy is turning away from just the users and starting to look at the doctors," said Tracey Helton, a San Francisco-based addiction counselor and former heroin user who was featured in the 1999 HBO documentary Black Tar Heroin: The Dark End of the Street. A cult figure in some drug circles, Helton traces her opioid addiction back to the Vicodin she was prescribed after getting her wisdom teeth pulled as a teenager.

"I'm sure it's an effort between all of these agencies to try to get this doctor as a test casebecause it's a really, really good one," said Helton, who is now a 45-year-old mother of three. "The money to be made here, I mean, she must've made hundreds of thousands of dollars a month. She had to have."

Tseng, who has spent three years in jail awaiting trial, was arrested in 2012 after undercover federal agents paid several visits to Tseng's practice and found it alarmingly simple to obtain a prescription after just a fleeting consultation. According to the Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA), Tseng wrote an average of 25 prescriptions a daya total of more than 27,000 between 2007 and 2010. A 2010 Los Angeles Times investigation linked those prescriptions to the drug overdose deaths of at least eight people, including Rovero, Nguyen, and Ogle. In addition to second-degree murder, Tseng has also been charged with 21 felony counts related to writing prescriptions for people who didn't legitimately need the drugs.

"We can't start charging people with first-degree murder, or whatever murder it is, when it's an overdose that happens ten miles away." Dr. Nathan Kuemmerl

Her trial follows a similar case in Florida, where a doctor was charged tried for first-degree murder in the prescription drug overdose death of 24-year-old Joseph Bartolucci. The doctor, Gerald Klein, was acquitted of the murder charge by a Palm Beach County court on September 16, but is expected to be sentenced to prison for illegally selling Xanax to another patient.

The millionaire owner of the pain clinic where Klein worked did not get off so easy. Jeffrey George, who operated several Florida pain clinics with his twin brother Chris, pleaded guilty in 2011 to second-degree murder in Bartolucci's death, and is now serving a 15.5-year sentence under a plea deal. Chris George is also in prison, following the FBI's 2010 raid on the brothers' clinics, the largest of Florida's notorious "pill mills" at the time. An FBI investigation following the crackdown found that 53 patients of the Georges' clinics had died of overdoses.

Other high-profile cases involving similar charges have resulted in even more lax sentences. In 2013, Conrad Murray, the Los Angeles doctor convicted of involuntary manslaughter in the 2009 overdose death of Michael Jackson, was released after serving two years of his four-year jail sentence. And earlier this year, psychiatrist Khristine Eroshevich escaped jail time in a case related to the 2007 overdose death of Anna Nicole Smith. Instead, a Los Angeles County judge reduced the conviction to a misdemeanor, slapping Eroshevich with a 90 fine and a year of probation.

The Other Side of Addiction: VICE investigates the troubling for-profit addiction treatment industry:

Whether it's a celebrity coping with fame or a college student facing finals, nearly two million Americans either depend on or abuse opioids, according to the American Society of Addiction Medicine. Helton said she sympathizes with addicts who see doctor-prescribed painkillers as a safer, cleaner way to get high. "Heroin has all this stigma attached to it. You usually have to go to a shady part of town and deal with a bunch of fucking assholes," she said. "There's so many prescriptions out there, and if there's no stigma really attached to taking an opioid, people seek those out."

Outside of her job at a health clinic, Helton serves as an advocate for addicts, moderating a Reddit community of drug users who frequently seek advice and education. With Tseng's case, she says the challenge of holding someone accountable for an overdose is particularly complex. "It's like, 'I have a drug problem. Can you help me be safer in some way?'" she explained. "But on the other hand, it's like, why are we making it so readily available?"

"There's a whole generation of kids that are dying from overdoses. And the parents are like, 'I never knew.'" Tracey Helton

But Dr. Nathan Kuemmerle, a psychiatrist based in San Diego, says the legal consequences of Tseng's case could do more harm than good. "I think that she deserves to get some kind of punishment, but I think that the idea of murder charges is horrendous," he said. "We can't start charging people with first-degree murder or whatever murder it is when it's an overdose that happens ten miles away."

Kuemmerle insists that Tseng's patients "were goal-oriented. It's not like they didn't know that opiates were addictive, so to completely mitigate any of their responsibility is ridiculous."

Watch on VICE News: Back from the Brink, Heroin's Antidote

Kuemmerle is himself a recovering methamphetamine addict, better known among DEA agents as "Fame Monster." The National Geographic show Drugs Inc. nicknamed him Doc Hollywood for his reputation as a willing prescriber. In 2010, Kuemmerle was arrested after a federal probe not unlike the one launched by undercover agents in Tseng's office around the same time. Like Tseng, Kuemmerle was accused of running a "pill mill" trafficking large numbers of pharmaceutical drugs to make a buck. But unlike Tseng, he was not charged in connection with the death of any of his patients.

Kuemmerle maintains that OxyContin prescriptions comprised less than 1 percent of his practice, which is why he believes he isn't in jail today. Instead, he mostly prescribed Adderall. When one of his patients began peddling the tiny orange pills on Craiglist in 2009, the feds traced the supply back to Kuemmerle, who was described in court records as California's most prolific prescriber of Adderall. In 2009, according to the criminal complaint, Kuemmerle wrote more prescriptions for the stimulant than any other doctor in the state.

He pleaded guilty to felony drug dealing charges related to prescribing Adderall. Despite its prevalenceabout a third of college students use Adderall recreationally, according to one recent studythe ADHD medication is classified as a Schedule II drug, alongside methamphetamine, cocaine, and yes, OxyContin. According to the US Attorney's office in California, undercover agents who visited Kuemmerle at his clinic were prescribed Adderall or Xanax in exchange for cashone officer received prescriptions for both drugs for 135 in one appointment that lasted less than ten minutes.

Read: In a World of Opiate Addicts, the Internet Plays Doctor and Therapist

And yet Kuemmerle had his license reinstated by the Medical Board of California in 2013. He's now a practicing psychiatrist at a physician's group in San Diego. But since his arrest, life hasn't been easy for the recovering addict. In fact, he says the past five years have been something of a nightmare.

"They tried to make it out in the media like, 'Oh yeah, they just let him go and he's writing scrips again," Kuemmerle told me, cackling wildly at the thought. "Heck no. Heck no!" he exclaimed, detailing the terms of his continued probation: supervision by a board-certified psychiatrist, a series of medical ethics courses, and drug tests conducted randomly up to six times a month at his own expense, which he said sometimes comes out to 625 a month. Not to mention, he added, there was the "absolutely brutal" five-day exam he had to retake to get his license back after a federally-mandated six-month stint in a "cockroach-infested" rehab where he claims the conditions were worse than prison.

"There are more and more people being impacted there are more and more people being impacted and that includes the leaders of our country."

Grief can be a powerful motivator for Rovero and her army of dozens of parents who have lost children to prescription drugs. Next month, she said, she'll be joining the third-annual FedUp! rally to push for federal action to combat opioid addiction at the National Mall in Washington, DC. But for now, she's spending her days in a downtown Los Angeles courtroom, hanging onto every word in the prosecution's case against Tseng, the woman who prescribed her son painkillers.

No matter the verdict, there's no prescription to relieve Rovero's own pain. "You learn how to cope with the death of a child but you don't get over it," she says. "You will never get over it."

Follow Jennifer Swann on Twitter.

A chest binder. Photo via Underworks.com

An Ottawa sex shop that was penalized for selling a chest binder to a trans teen has sparked calls for a review of the city's "outdated" adult entertainment bylaw.

Venus Envy on Bank Street was fined $260 this week for selling a chest binderan undergarment that compresses breasts to the chestto a trans boy. It wouldn't be illegal but for the fact that Venus Envy is considered an adult entertainment store from which minors are banned.

Still, owner Shelley Taylor said plenty of teens come into the store, usually accompanied by parents.

"If youth come in and they're mature and respectful and they're buying something for their sexual health, we don't even stop to think of it," she told VICE, noting this is the first time the shop has been written up for this offense.

In light of backlash sparked by media reports, Taylor said the fine against Venus Envy has been waived.

The city is also looking to relax its rules around adult entertainment establishments.

"The bylaw was drafted 30 years ago at a time when corner stores were one of the few places where people could access erotica," Councillor Catherine McKenney told the Ottawa Citizen.

Taylor is hopeful the bylaw will be amended in council next spring. In the meantime, she's planning on pulling porn from her shelves. Without it, she said Venus Envy can be open to all ages.

Taylor believes hers is the only store in Ottawa that sells chest binders and gaffsunderwear for those undergoing MTF transitions.

"It's really affirming for them to have an appearance that aligns with that identity," she said.

Follow Manisha Krishnan on Twitter.

A graduating class from Gina's Team, an inmate reentry program for female prisoners in Arizona. Photo courtesy Sue Ellen Allen

Sue Ellen Allen went toprison when she was 57 years old. She and her husband were convicted of securities fraud, and she served seven years at the Perryville prison in Goodyear, Arizona, near Phoenix.

"I went in as an anomaly," Allen toldme over the phone. "I was a 57-year-old, well-educated white woman, and Iwas struggling through stage three breast cancer."

On the day Allen surrendered, guards requiredher to strip for a full-body inspection.

"I folded my black gabardine slacks andpink knit sweater, then complied with the guard's order," sherecalled. Allen started from the top, first opening her mouth widely sothe guard could see that she wasn't hiding any drugs. Then she leaned forwardto show behind her ears. She had lost her hair to chemotherapy, which made theguard's order to "move your hair to the side" irrelevant.Another guard told her that just because she had cancer, she wasn't going toget any special treatment. Allen went through the rest of the motions,spreading her toes, showing her the bottom of her feet, then squatting andcoughing three times.

Within a few months of settling in to theprison, her roommate, Gina, died. "She suffered from leukemia and yet the systemrefused to treat her appropriately, or even give her a blood test," Allentold me.

Gina's death had a profound influence on Allen. Soon after she died, Allen approached a deputy warden and requested permission to host whatshe called a "breast cancer walk."

"The warden looked at me as if I'd askedfor champagne and caviar, but she eventually authorized the event," Allensaid.

With permission, Allen set out to work, organizing other woman in the camp. They decorated the yard with pink paper andpeople actually signed up, generating sponsorship pledges from family andfriends to raise money for each mile walked.

"That breast cancer walk was the first ofits kind in the state of Arizona's prison system," Allen said. "Sincethen, it's spread to different yards and it has raised tens of thousands ofdollars to assist in the fight against breast cancer."

Allen went on to use her time in prison to fightagainst what she saw as routine degradation. Instead of feeling like a victim,she chose to apply her education and experience in ways that might empower thewomen serving time alongside of her. She even designed a curriculum to teachlife skills.

"Most of the women who served time had toendure daily doses of humiliation," Allen said. "Repeatedly, staffmembers would tell the women that no one cared. Prison officials don't wantothers to know what goes on in there, but prison life degrades people in waysthat influence them forever." Her description reminded me of everything I'd experienced during 26 years of incarceration in federal prisons of everysecurity level.

Watch the VICE HBO documentary on America's incarceration system, featuring President Barack Obama's first-ever visit to a federal prison:

Upon her release, Allen kept up her passion of working to empower women. She became the cofounder of Gina's Team, a nonprofit organization dedicated to improving outcomes forwomen who experience imprisonment. The organization's motto: "Education,not incarceration, is the cheapest form of crime prevention."

"I wanted to do something to help thosewomen, because no one else seemed to understand or care," she said.Through Gina's Team, Allen said she providesdirect services to more than 1,000 people each year in different facilities.She has partnered with community leaders to teach skills based on the ATHENA Leadership Model and works to help womenthrough their imprisonment and upon release.

After being confined, female inmateslike mengenerally transition to halfway houses. There, they are required topay fees that block many from ever being able to build lives of stability;subsistence payments amount to more than $100 per week, and the paymentsmake it next to impossible to accumulate the savingsnecessary to pay for deposits on housing. When they, like all felons, reveal theirfelony convictions on applications for apartments or jobs, thewomen encounter immediate resistance, if not total rejection.

"I was lucky because I found passion inprison," Allen said. "I want to help women and girls in prisonbecause the women are the foundation of the family."

By working with thousands ofincarcerated women, Allen has become acutely aware of their problems. She described a homeless man as being the only individual who couldexpress empathy to her after her release. He approached her asking for change, and when she told him thatshe'd just been released from prison, the man threw up his arms andsaid, "Welcome home."

With an annual budget of less than 30,000, Allen and the other volunteers at Gina's Team bring guest speakers to teach thewomen skills they'll need to overcome the challenges that await them insociety. Through those classes, Gina's Team vets the participants and thenmatches them with prospective employers. The employers have an opportunity toreview the women's resumes and interview them before they are released from the system. Gina's Team strives to open employment opportunities so that when these women walk out of prison, they have a job secured.

The longer people are exposed to America's "corrections" system, the less likely those people become to live in societysuccessfully. That's why people like Sue Ellen Allen and me work to bring about prison andsentencing reforms.

Follow Michael Santos on Twitter and check out his website here.

Look at Anna Haifisch's art and comics at her site and Twitter.

Still via Barcroft TV

This article originally appeared on VICE US

Read: Talking to a Guy Who Found Peace Through Self-Amputation

By her account, Jewel Shuping had always wanted to be blind. The 30-year-old from North Carolina spent years "blindsimming," or pretending to be blind, by wearing dark glasses and using a cane. As a child, she'd stare into the sun, hoping to cause damage to her eyes; by the time she was 20, she'd taught herself braille.

So when Shuping found a psychologist who agreed to help her fulfill her goal, she jumped at the chance. In an interview with Barcroft TV, Shuping claims the psychologist administered numbing eyedrops before adding a couple of drops of drain cleaner to each eye, damaging them irreparably.

It took six months for her sight to fully deteriorate; eventually, one of her eyes had to be removed. Shuping has been blind ever since.

Shuping has body integrity identity disorder, a controversial condition in which able-bodied people believe they are meant to be disabled. Shuping believes "this is the way I was supposed to be born," and has identified with the blind community since childhood. There is no cure for body integrity identity disorder, and the practice of helping a person intentionally disable herself is ethically contentious. For her part, Shuping says, "I went blind on purpose, but I don't feel it was a choice."

Follow Arielle Pardes on Twitter.

Photo via Flickr user Raquel Baranow

The campaign for the Canadian federal election is in full swing with the election taking place this month. The leader of the conservative party, Stephen Harper was asked about his stance on marijuana at a weekend campaign event and he gave this measured response:

"Tobacco is a product that does a lot of damage. Marijuana is infinitely worse and it's something that we do not want to encourage."

He then doubled down his comments, referring to "overwhelming and growing scientific and medical evidence about the bad long-term effects of marijuana."

People who are anal about things like science might be tempted to point out that this claim is essentially baseless. In terms of metrics, cigarettes cause much more harm to Canadians than marijuana, accounting for 30,000-40,000 deaths per year (weed has not been directly linked to death). And speaking of metrics, a fact checker could argue that because there are plenty of measurable ways to determine the negative impacts of weed versus cigarettes, the comparison is technically finite, contrary to what the PM suggests.

But we're not here to nitpick. When you discount trivial factors like illness and addiction and look at things that really matteravoiding the munchies and the convenience of not having to roll anythingHarper is totally on point. The following list proves that weed is definitively, "infinitely" worse than tobacco.

It won't get you laid

Unlike far better vices such as smoking and drinking alcohol, weed is a terrible social lubricant. Even non-smokers can see that, at parties, the smoke pit is an easy place to pick up. There are fewer people, and they tend to be chill, so you have better odds of striking up a conversation. Conversely, you're unlikely to emerge from the depths of a THC-induced haze with anything witty or particularly charming to say, if you manage to form words at all. At a shitty-movie-viewing party with a crush, I once became so trapped in my own head that I agonized for 15-20 minutes over each sarcastic comment I wanted to make about Piranha 3Da film in which a man's penis gets bitten off by a fish. Finally, one my pals called me out. "What the hell is wrong with you? You haven't said a word in two hours," he asked. It's a situation that could've easily been avoided had I taken Harper's advice and swapped the bong for Benson & Hedges.

You waste money on things you won't remember

A few years back, Lauryn Hill did a comeback tour during the Rock the Bells hip-hop festival. The lineup also included Wu-Tang Clan and a Tribe Called Quest, so my friend and I flew from Vancouver to San Francisco to watch it. As soon as we got to the venue, we smoked two blunts and ate a brownie each. Before the openers were through, we had passed out hard. A stranger sitting nearby tried shaking us awakehe'd overheard us joking earlier about how moronic it would be if we came all this way and missed Lauryn Hill. I remember looking at him, confused and glassy-eyed, shrugging and going right back to sleep.

Effectively, we spent $600 (530) each to take a four-hour nap. I wish I could say this was a one-off, but I've slept through plenty of other shows baked and basically don't remember the plots of any movies I watched between 2005-2010. Nicotine, on the other hand, acts as a stimulant. Like a gift that keeps on giving, it can keep you awake for hours and has even been linked to chronic sleep disorders.

Dealers are annoying

"Be there in 15," he says, and an hour later you're still loitering inside the entrance of the bank, where the ATM machines and sleeping homeless people are, because it's cold as balls outside and his silver SUV is nowhere in sight. If you're lucky, you can text your guy exactly what you want, but chances are you've had at least one asshole that demands the use of code words like "yoghurt" (it means an eighth, apparently). Because people asking for "yoghurt" in the middle of the night is not at all suspect. You finally see his extremely late ass and, even though you're pissed, you're forced to play nice because he is your only hope of getting high. Then he hands over the stuff in a goddamn napkin ensuring that everything in your bag will reek. You arrive at home fairly confident that, even if he's your friend, he probably just ripped you off. Bottom line: Even the nicest dealers are a solid downgrade from the average 7-Eleven.

Too many fucking strains

After years of self-medicating with weed, you might come into contact with a dealer whose wares are a bit more lavish than the napkin-wrapped variety. He's the kind of dude who doesn't get out of bed for less than a half ounce and insists you exclusively use a third-party messaging app like Signal to contact him. (He still takes approximately four times as long as he was supposed to even though he has no real jobthis is never going to change, sorry.) You're finally coming closing in on your precious herb when he presents you with your options: "Now I have some of that Blue Tuna Crush, Dark Forest, or Ice Bomb, but it really depends on if you're looking for a sativa or an indica. They're all different prices, of course." As you try to puzzle out to yourself whether this dreadlocked, Birkenstock-wearing man is talking about Pokmon moves or cannabis strains, you probably are wishing that you only had to decide between regular, king size, or menthol.

There's no quality control

If you ever found a stem or a seed in your cigarette, admit it, you would be fucking pissed. But for some reason, in the world of selling and purchasing weed, this is something that happens more than occasionallyat least when you try to pick up a dime in your hometown before gorging on Thanksgiving dinner. After figuring out that your old pot dealer went to jail for selling meth, you call up your best friend's little brother who was in middle school last you knew; he pulls up in a rusted Toyota Corolla and charges you $20 instead of $10 for seedy, stale, under-count shake. At least with cigarettes, the only time the price increases is when the fucking government mandates it.

Paranoia

Fuck, it's 10 AM and my apartment building neighbors are going to think I'm an absolute degenerate if any of them wait for the elevator with me, you think to yourself after making the poor decision to wake and bake on a weekday. You try to convince yourself that you're just being paranoid but your bloodshot red eyes and the odor emanating from youa mix of skunk and french fry oilisn't helping. Smelling like an ashtray first thing in the morning after your morning Canadian Classic? Totally normal, pedestrian behavior.

All of this is worse than lung cancer.

Follow Manisha Krishnan and Allison Elkin on Twitter.

Photo courtesy of Dannidaniels.com

For Danni Daniels, being one of the more recognizable alternativetrans porn stars has its ups and downs. "I had a fan come up to me inDisney World, with his kids in his arms, telling me he loved my work," she told me. "It took me a while to start being mean tosome of my fans. I would sign a bunch ofstuff and be overly nice and then they'd be like, 'Can we pop in the bathroomreal quick and you can show me your shit?' And it's like, 'No! But do youhave $5,000 in your pocket? Then,sure, I'll whip it out right now and beat you with it.'"

While many trans porn stars fit into a more heteronormativegender representation, Danni stands over six feet tall, sports an androgynousshaved side part, and is covered in tattoos. In 2013, she collaborated with Peaches. Danni played the part of a nurse, pushing the musician across thestage in a wheelchair, in the rock-opera-cum-feature-film, Peaches Does Herself.

Through her willingness to craft an image that runs counterto the dominant paradigms of porn, Danni has managed toshape a career over the past six years in which she has complete control. This is rare in an industry where trans women are underpaid and often pushed to participate in intense andviolent sex acts in order to maintain an audience. Choosing to forgo themainstream, Danni has never been penetrated on film and has built two successful websites (both NSFW), where she creates herscenes and chooses the people oras is the case with one particularly memorable scene called "Pumpkin Fucker"squashes she works with.

Last month I spoke with Danni over the phone about how working in porn helped her understand her sexuality and gender identity. I wanted to talk to Danni because I find it empoweringevenas a cisgendered womanto see a woman with tits and a nine-inch dick,penetrating all of these submissive men. Her work is disruptive and risky in an industry where itseems like everything has already been seen and done.

VICE:How did you get started in the porn industry?
DanniDaniels: When I was 16 or 17, I started doing modeling, editorialstuff. I was in Vogue and a lot ofbig fashion magazines, but then I started getting tattooed and transitioningand both those things were conflicting with my modeling agency. I was gainingweight and my agency was saying, "You're getting fat, you're getting tooalternative, we can't book you for this." When you're on transitional hormones,you're on enough hormones for a pregnant woman with twins. Because of that, Iwas starving all the time and pissed off. For someone to tell me to stopeating so much, it was like, "If you get between me and my food, I will killyou." So I left.

I started working behind the scenes in theater. When the Broadwayshow I was working on was about to end its run, I started having panic attacks.My mentor also had a panic disorder, and she really helped me learn how to dealwith anxiety. But then, right when the show closed, she went through my pursewithout my knowledge, stole my Xanax, and downed the whole bottle of it andkilled herself. So the person who helped me find my place was now gone.

I had offers to go into the adult industry before that,but at that point, I just wanted to do something that would be liberating andget me out of New York. Also, I had a real fear of flying and traveling. When Ifeel that way, I always want to just do the thing that scares me. It ended upturning into a six-year, glorified, homeless adventure.

My sexuality is a very private and very intimate thingfor me. I tell people what you see on camera is an act. It would be likewalking up to Robert Downey, Jr. and saying, 'Oh my God, you're Iron Man.' Danni Daniels

In yourmore recent work, you are topping cisgendered men. Was that always the case? Did you ever have sex with cisgendered women or trans men and women on camera?
I used porn as a way to discover my sexuality and where Ifell on the spectrum. I've always been a sexual person, but the adult filmindustry really helped me clarify what I wanted in life. I exposed myself to asmuch as possibleall genders, all sexualities, any time something new came up,that was exciting for me. But I now know that I'm a straight, trans woman. Ineed dick in my life.

A lotof people do.
But when you go outside your sexuality in the adult filmindustry, you need to train your body to work as a tool. I would say pornhelped me center myself and work through other issues that weren't evenrelated, just because I was able to apply such a level of control to my mindand body. And being in a professional setting where I was able to be withpeople who had the same mindset of this being work allowed me to have anonjudgmental space for my sexuality.

But my sexuality is far different from the sexuality Iportray on camera, almost a stark contrast to what is seen on film. Mysexuality is a very private and very intimate thing for me. I tell people whatyou see on camera is an actenjoy it, but it isn't me. It would be like walkingup to Robert Downey, Jr. and saying, "Oh my God, you're Iron Man." It's like,no.

I had tits and a dick and was tattooed and alternative,and I could come over and over again on camera.Danni Daniels

So whenyou are working with people you aren't interested in, how do you stay hard? Doyou take Viagra?
When I started filming one on one with another woman withoutanother male involved, there was no way I could stay hard without someassistance. But my first three years in the industry, I refused to take erectiledrugs. Because I would see these guys who would go from Viagra to Cialis tomixing Viagra and Cialis, and then they'd go right to injecting drugs intotheir penises because their bodies would get used to the less powerful drugs.

Didhaving a penis feel like it conflicted with or fit with your gender identity?
Walking into the porn industry with a nine-inch dick wasgold. It gave me confidence and made it so that I didn't have to work reallyhard. I just had to show up, get naked, and I was praised for it. I had titsand a dick and was tattooed and alternative, and I could come over and overagain on camera. So I was a niche within a niche within a niche, and it allowedme to be more creative and more picky and selective with what I did and who Iworked with.

When you are seen as a submissive on camera, theproduction company treats you as a submissive in life. They start thinking, You are just a hole, and you're going to take whatever we give you. Danni Daniels

Did yousee cisgendered women and transwomen with vulvas getting treated differently?
Oh yeah. If you are a submissive genetic woman or submissivetrans, you get treated like shit. You get treated like an object. I can't tellyou how many people offered me tons of money to be passive. They were like,"We'll give you $10,000 (9,000) grand to be passive." I'd have done it for $50,000 (45,000). Istill will. If someone were to call me and say, "I'll give you $50,000 grand todestroy you on camera," I'd be like, "Where do I sign?"

So ifyou were submissive just once, would your value in the industry drop?
Yeah, that would be the end of my career. Because then Iwould be treated differently. That's when I would be getting the calls wherethey would say they could only pay me half of what I requested. When you areseen as a submissive on camera, the production company treats you as asubmissive in life. They start thinking, You are just a hole, and you're goingto take whatever we give you.

Is thattrue for submissive men?
With submissive men, it's a different animal, because thereis a line out the goddamn door of men who are applying for submission. I'mtalking hundreds a day. So they get paid nothing just because so many men wantto do it.

If someone were to call me and say, 'I'll give you $50,000 to destroy you on camera,' I'd be like, 'Where do I sign?' Danni Daniels

How doyou maintain a separation between your porn sexuality and your privatesexuality?
I identify as a trans woman and my partner accepts andtreats me as a trans woman. But there are so many guys out there who will starta relationship with a trans woman under the pretense of wanting to treat themas a woman. But later on down the line, they will weasel their way into being asub. I can't even count how many times this scenario has played out. And a lotof trans women don't know what they want until it happens to them. A lot oftimes it really screws with their head, like, "What am I, and what does thismean for my life and my sexuality?"

And this would happen to me, especially because everyone whoI was with would eventually find my videos and want are closetedhomosexuals who think this is the safe route to exploring their homosexualitywithout being homosexual. Trans women, we've been objectified and hurt so muchin relationships that we are judgmental and guarded.

But I knew what it would mean emotionally when I met theright guyand he's here, smiling at me right now. I would study a lot ofheterosexual relationships and take notes off of that, and I also know someolder trans women who were in very successful and happy relationships. I knew Icouldn't predict when it would happen. But it has happened to me and it'samazing and everything that people say about being in loveit's clichd, butall those songs on the radio make sense now. And I love my life and wouldn'ttrade it for anything.

Watch: An Interview with Rashida Jones About Her Porn Documentary, 'Hot Girls Wanted':

How hasthe industry changed since you started working in it?
It's become really convoluted and taken away a lot of thefreedoms that would make you comfortable. There's so many forms to fill out nowand everything is taxed, so you don't get paid in cash anymore and you have toreport everything.

But more than that, porn shoots used to just have Viagra onset. They'd order bulk from Mexico, and it would just be there. But not now,because it's a prescription drug and you can get heart palpitations, etc. If youhave any problems as a porn star, you could sue the fuck out of them, so theindustry got scared of being liable and stopped providing them.

Having Viagra is the same thing as having Xanax in my purse,or an inhaler, or an EpiPen. I know that it's there. It's like a safetyblanket, and if something goes wrong, I can fix it.

So the last major scene I did, I didn't have any erectile drugsand it was with a woman I was not attracted to. It was a last-minutesubstitution, and it was so terrible. She farted in my mouth. And the wholething just made me want to take a break for a while.

Whatkinds of projects do you do now?
I still do my thing with my site and my company, and I lovethem. It's mostly solo stuff, not scenes.

Anddoes that feel good because you are controlling it?
Oh yeah, it relaxes you completely. It's like, It's mine, it's my baby, people are stillpaying for it. And it's also making it more exclusive. It's driving trafficto me, and I'm getting all the profits, as opposed to it being directed throughthree or four other companies. And I really only do solo scenes when I want to.I don't feel obligated to, which is great. It allows me to produce material Ireally want to produce and just be proud of putting my name on everything thatI do.

Follow Amy on Twitter.

This article first appeared on MUNCHIES.

I am such a Foodie. Ever since I can remember, I've always loved putting edible things into my mouth and chewing them, then swallowing and digesting them. I'm salivating just thinking about it.

Check out my blog if you don't believe me. That's where I document my extraordinary journey as a Foodie, and where you'll see photos of all different kinds of food inside my mouth.

People sometimes tell me they can't make out what they're looking at. Well, I'll tell you what you're looking atthe early stages of my body metabolizing sustenance into nutrients, that's what.

A big part of being a Foodie is knowing how to get food into your mouth. A non-Foodie would probably just scream out "Fork!" right now and be done with it. Don't get me wrong, I use forks. I love forks. But I also might decide to go with a spoon depending on how liquidy the food is, or chopsticks depending on how Asian-y it is, or hands depending on how banana-y it is.

I try to not be one of those Foodies who judges other people for not knowing the things I know, but when I see someone trying to eat a sandwich with a ladle, it's hard.

People have accused me of jumping on the Foodie bandwagon. They're like, "I never heard you talk about napkins before they became a thing." Yeah, I'll admit to being a little influenced by all the hype. I'm human. But truthfully, napkins have been a major part of my Foodie regimen for years now, I just haven't felt the need to brag about it.

Foodie poseurs are coming out of the woodwork these days talking a big game about the nuances of food and how they can totally pinpoint when something they're eating is sweet or salty or even hot or cold. But you can totally hear in their voices that it's all guesswork. Crunchy? Really? Because that looks a hell of a lot like a yogurt, so let's cut the Foodie act, shall we?

I'm well aware that being a foodie comes with a responsibility to share my knowledge with others. That's why I feel compelled to write restaurant reviews on the Internet. Here's a quote from a recent review I wrote for a local place near my house. "Mmmmm."

When I'm not writing about food, one of my favorite Foodie things to do is head over to the farmer's market on a Saturday and jam my tote with as much beautiful local farm crap as it can hold, then walk home and throw it all right into the garbage. All of it. I call that Support and Release. Just my little way of illustrating that a Foodie's responsibility is far greater than simply eating.

In the end, being a Foodie is more than just a word on your Facebook profile or the way you pronounce prosciutto. It's also a word on your Twitter profile and the way you pronounce Doritos.

This article originally appeared on Broadly.

Photo by Lee Avison via Stocksy

It might be time to scrub your Twitter feed of all "kill all fuckbois" references, because it turns out that what you tweet can come back to haunt you. Bahar Mustafa, a 28-year-old university diversity officer from London, has been summonsed to court to face two charges of malicious communications after allegedly tweeting the hashtag #killallwhitemen.

Mustafa will appear in court on November 5 to face the two charges, the Guardian reports. The first is sending a communication conveying a threatening message between November 10, 2014 and May 31 of this year, and the second consists of sending an offensive, indecent, obscene, or menacing message via a public network between those same dates.

A Metropolitan Police spokesperson told Broadly that the summons follows a complaint made on May 7. "It was investigated by Lewisham Police. We interviewed, under caution ," Ching said, citing a Freedom of Information Act request. "By 2012, this had reached almost 5000 reports, leading to 653 charges. So there is clearly an increasing trend of the police having to deal with such matters."

In short, maybe you should #deletealltweets while you still can.

Read More: England's Most Outrageous College Feminist Facebook Group
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It was literally impossible to find any photographic evidence that fashion assistants exist so here are some photos of models backstage at a fashion show. Photo via Flickr

This article originally appeared on VICE France

Fashion Week is a jungle, where there is only one law: The survival of the fittest. Fashion assistants are the opposite of that. Almost invisible but necessary, these people consciously decide to put their self-respect aside in the hopes of oneday becoming a carbon copy of their boss. Despite theconstant psychological and physical torture they are subjected to, the amount of respect they have for their guru has no limits.

To better understand what motivates these human beingsto voluntarily submit to other human beings, I got in touch with some fashion assistants I know and asked them to share their experiences of working in fashion.

Of course, none of the people I interviewed agreed to disclose their identity or that of their bosses, so all names have been changed. I don't want anyone to get "fired and banned from the industry for life."

Photo via Flickr

Alice, 26 years old, fashion assistant to a world-famous stylist

"I started working as a fashion assistant when I was about 20. I mostly worked for free. That is how it is in fashion nobody gets paid at thebeginning. I always knew that it would be difficult, but I was motivated anddetermined to succeed. My job is assisting a famous stylist, helping them choose each season's trends and create stories and looks for magazine editorials.

That makes Fashion Week a race. You have to follow the stylist you're working for everywhere, memorise all thelooks, see them again after and select the important pieces. You have to be their brain. The trick is to make friends with their personal driver they can literally save your life. If the driver likes you, they will help you get to every show on time, bring you anything you might have forgotten, even get you a bite to eat it's easy to starve yourself during fashion week, as you don't ever get one free moment.

When you work on a shoot, you are the one responsible for 70 percent of the workload. Sourcing the pieces,preparing the looks, calling PRs who after a while also become your best friends, dressing the models or celebrities, cleaning the studio... everything! You're constantly under pressure.

Once, on a Friday night, my boss changed all the themes that had been chosen for a shoot taking place the next day. I had tocall in favours from all my PR friends, beg and shout and run to create new looks from scratch. Of course I didn't sleep a wink all night. I almost cried when a PR could not get me a specific dressfrom a great couture house out of our selection. If you fail, you're fired. What you can never forget is that you have a job everyone wants, so you are totally replaceable.

This job is an addictive nightmare. My relationship with my boss can largely be likened to Stockholm syndrome. I just can't say 'no' to anything they ask, no matter how absurd the demand is. Another stylist I used to work for when I started, used to get me to reply to her boyfriend's sexts.

It's not all horrific though: In the same way that relationship is abusive, it can also become really sweet and personal. Each time I've fell sick, my bosses have been really protective and considerate. Once, oneof them even bought me some Paracetamol because I had a fever. I tell myself thatthey aren't cruel, they are just people who know what they want. I accept all this because my goal is to be a star stylist, just like them."

Watch our documentary Fashion Week Internationale: Rio Fashion Week

Sbastien, 23 years old, assistant designer

"I have been passionate about fashion since I was 10 years old. In a way, I live forfashion. When I was 20, I started to work with some relatively known stylists for Frenchand British magazines. I was only paid 100 euros per month, so I decided totry and get a job at a couture house to make a better living.

I started as the second assistant of the designer to sum it upit was like being the assistant of the assistant. I spent my time payingbills, buying Coke Zero, picking up laundry, walking the designer's dog, buying pens, sharpening pencils, changing flowers and making Italian coffee (he only drank Italian coffee). Basically, I did everything but design.

I would not even see the designer, let alone the clothes. No, actually, I did see the clothes during fittings before the shows, where my responsibilities included picking up needles from the floor andfolding the pieces.

During the shows, everybody is stressed out and tired. Butyou cannot let it show in front of the designer. They need to be calm and you need todo everything in your power to allow their genius to manifest itself.

Of course, there are no working hours. During the shows, I get to work by 7AM and never leave before 11PM sometimes it's way after 2AM. I never complain: secretly, the whole ordeal gives me a little pleasure.

There is somethingvery exciting about working for big couture houses, close to influential fashionfigures. Especially during fashion week season it might be tiring but it's also an extremely creative time. I actually love working in fashion."

Photo via Flickr

Juliette, 25 years, assistant to a world-famous

"It's a dog's job. The first time thefamous stylist I currently assist saw me, she didn't talk to me. The secondtime, we had a coffee to talk about what was coming next. I really wanted to workfor her. I admired her taste and her work. She told me: "I have to warn you, I am not like everyone else. I am really strict. I have no patience for lazy people and I expect a lot. Do you still want to work for me?" Obviously, I said 'yes'.

The main part of my job is to prepare for shoots. Sometimes, I am asked to create a story with pieces that don't evenexist: I call up PRs and they don't know what I am talking about. The worst time is the day before the shoot. She usually hasn't done anything to involve herself in the process and suddenly comes to me with all sorts of remarks and tricky questions just to show that she's theboss. If I don't respond in a clever way, she can cut me down in an instant. But at the end of the day, I respect her because she's talented. I knowthat it will be thanks to her that I will be able to create a great contact network for myself and succeed. Plus, she often lets me take care of the shoes and accessories, which I think is nice.

We have a very particular relationship. She often asks for my advice but at the same time I can never overstep my place as her assistant. I've noticed that the people who have power in the world of fashion, those who arerespected and admired, are often like children. They always need to be comforted,they have whims and they can not stay alone for long.

It could be worse. When you work for a magazine,you're stuck between your evil fashion editor boss and the rest of the manipulative, jealous assistants who only dream about one thing: you failing. At least where I am, I am on my own."

Illustration by Wren McDonald

When you're walking through an airport, sweaty and tired and sore and worried about the debt you're racking up by spending hundreds of dollars to go to yet another fucking destination wedding, occasionally you'll catch a glimpse of someone like Brian Kelly. The former Wall Street worker is one of those incredibly put-together people who never seem fazed by jet lag or a delay or one of the other hassles that inevitably come with air travel. And there's a reason he looks so sanguine: His latest tripwith stops in Ghana, Rwanda, and South Africacost him $5.60 (5.90).

Online, Kelly is known as the Points Guy, the proprietor of a blog dedicated to teaching people how to manipulate credit card perks and frequent flyer miles to score free or nearly free trips. He's a pioneer of a larger community of so-called "travel hackers," many of whom game the system like card-counters at a casino. But Kelly just uses common sense and aboveboard methods that you don't have to be Rain Man to understand. (He earns his a living by way of ads for credit cards on his website, but says he doesn't take any freebies from advertisers.) As such, he's treated like a celebrity in the travel and consumer advocacy blogospheres. His French bulldog, Miles, even has his own Instagram.

On MUNCHIES: Why Some Mexican Wine Smells Like Raw Meat

All of this is impressive to me, because as saddled with student loans and other debt as I am, I really, really can't afford out-of-country jaunts. The concept of getting something for nothing is intoxicating, as is the idea that I could come out ahead in an interaction with a credit card company, so I rode with him on his way from JFK Airport to his apartment in Midtown Manhattan to pick his brain; he told me that I could get a free ticket to Europe in a matter of mere months.

VICE: How did you get started learning about points?
Brian Kelly: In the 90s, I was like 13 years old and always good on the computer. And my dad was a consultant, so he was always traveling and had no idea how to even use a computer. So I would charge him and book all of the flights on Velocity the year it opened. We started to get all these points, and he didn't know how to use them. And so I booked a trip to the Cayman Islands when I was like 13 and it was like free, and we were like, "What the fuck?" It sucked that my dad had to travel so much, but we were a family of six, middle-class outside of Philly, and all of a sudden we were taking trips to the Caribbean for the price of going to the Jersey Shore.

Related: Which Grad School Degrees Aren't a Complete Waste of Money?

Then I went to college, the University of Pittsburgh, and I studied abroad. I was going to a couple of conferences and went abroad twice, and all of sudden I had, like, gold status. So then it was like, "Holy shit, I'm a college student with negative income and I'm getting upgraded on every flight I take. There's something really interesting going on here."

Watch: Investigating Transgender Health Access in Canada

So when did you get into the community of people who do this?
Around 2005 is when I discovered the subculture. This was the travel hacking community before it was really called "travel hacking." We were just frequent flyer mile enthusiasts. I didn't start blogging until 2010, and there were a couple of other blogs at the time, but I was the first one to do it from New York. I worked on Wall Street at the time doing recruiting on college campuses... I was traveling around the US basically trying to convince So it's aligning your lifestyle with the right card. Plus, that card gives you 40,000 points just for getting it, although you have to spend $3,000 (2,650) in three months. And the fee of $95 (83) is waived the first year. So it's really just a no-brainer. Those 40,000 points, in my opinion, are worth about $800 (700). You're almost at a ticket to Europe just from getting the card.

I never thought I made enough money to get a card with an annual fee. Am I making a mistake?
I think that's a really, really big point. And a lot of people in your position will say, "Fuck it. No annual fee. That's the most important." But cheap is expensive. These no-annual-fee cards are bullshit for the most part. In the case of the Sapphire, you're getting 40,000 points. Even if you just redeem those for flights, that's worth $500 (440). And the fee's waived. So you've got more than five years of the annual fee paid for in just the value of the sign-up bonus, plus you're getting really good perks along the way. That being said, there are cards out there with $450 (400) annual fees like AmEx Platinum and Citi Prestige, but those cards can also be a no-brainer. You just need to know how to maximize those benefits.

What else should I look for in a card?
Points and perks. So if you travel, the perks can be gigantic. Even with an airline card. Say you fly Delta all the time and gives you a free bag for you and a guest, if you travel twice per year, that pays your annual fee. So if you're traveling a lot and checking bags, it's a no-brainer. And you don't have to spend anything on the card. I have a bunch of credit cards that collect dust in a drawer because they have perks. The Hyatt credit card, for example, gives you a free night every year, and it's $75 (65). So I get a free $250 (220) night and it's $75. I'll do that every time.

I don't think I'm ever going to have twenty-plus cards like you, but if I want to have two, what should be the second one?
The second best card, I would say, is the Starwood Preferred Guest. It's actually a hotel program, but they have an AmEx where you earn one point for everything. Its hotel program allows you to transfer to 34 different airlines. The crazy thing is with Starwood Points, for every 20,000 points you transfer to an airline, you get 25,000 airlines miles. When you think about this, you're getting a built-in 1.25 airline miles per dollar spent, which is 25 percent better than the airline cards themselves.

And then plus you can redeem the points for hotels, and they now have an amazing thing called SPG Moments. A lot of hyper-travelers I know, when they use their points, they don't wanna use them for another fucking trip. So Starwood has brilliantly built out this program with VIP boxes at the US Open, at MSG, etc. So for 30,000 points you can get VIP box seats for a Knicks game. Basically travel and dining I put on the Sapphire because I'm getting double, but for everything elseclothing, and purchases where I'm not gonna get a bonus, I put on the Starwood. Across the blogosphere, Starwood points are the most valuable.

People are really, really good at this and there are tons of blogs like yours now. Are credit card companies just going to start hiring you guys away to make it harder for folks to cash in? Do you see these loopholesfor lack of a better wordclosing soon?
Points and miles are multibillion-dollar industries. The credit card companies use these miles and points to get people to get credit cards, which is very difficult to do. Most people don't want to get a credit card, so you've got to incentivize people, and you can't give them cash, because then there's tax. Frequent flyer miles are a way to kick back your best customers and avoid taxes. The companies buy billions of dollars of miles from the airlines. In fact, AmEx bailed Delta out of bankruptcy by buying miles from them.

It's like an unregulated, international currency.
It is. But when people ask, "Is this gonna blow up soon?" It's like, no. Because everyonethe credit card companies, the airlinesare making money.

Follow Allie Conti on Twitter.

Screencap from the film Valrie

This article originally appeared on VICE US

Few people have heard of the film Deux femmes en or, a sexploitation film made in 1970, but to this day it's sold more tickets than any other Quebec film. The film is also hailed as one of the first films to discuss the idea of modern Quebec in an international contextthe very next year saw the debut of Montreal's Festival du nouveau cinema, the 2015 edition of which kicked off this week. The plot centers on the titular "Women in Gold" who, tired of their boring lives as housewives, use sex and ingenuity to find international fame. By the end of the film, a Broadway play about their experiences is being staged in New York.

Emerging at a threshold of changing culture and a growing sense of independence in the Canadian province, the film and others like it are forever intertwined with a burgeoning sense of Quebec identity. The so-called "distinct culture" of the province hinging, in part, on some beautiful women taking off their clothes.

Before 1960, Quebec was under the control of the Catholic Church, but at the dawn of that new decade, the province swiftly embraced secularism. Suddenly freed from their docile Catholicism, a liberated population wanted their own culture. Speaking with Paul Landriau, a Masters student in film at Universit de Montreal, told VICE that people "wanted to look Quebecois, eat Quebecois, and read Quebecois." This was matched with a shift in North America, as the hippie culture flourished and free love reigned.

The very first "film de fesses" (ass film) made in Quebec, Valrie, was released on May 2, 1969. While Quebec audiences had already seen women bare it all in films from Europe, they felt a sense of ownership and pride about seeing one of their own onscreen. The tagline for the film read "Dshabiller la petite qubcoise" (undress the little Quebecoise), signaling that this was no ordinary t&a film. As the director Denis Heroux put it, "I've broken a tabooundressing a woman in front of a camera. Not a Swedish or Parisian girl, but a Qubec girl." This was not just a softcore porn film, but a story of emancipation.

Valrie holds up todayit has that retro vibe but also an electric energy. In her first screen role, Danielle Ouimet shines as the title character. The music and the almost constantly moving camera gives the film a kinetic power and masks some clumsy acting and the low budget. The film's first shot is a nude Valerie, making herself up before the camera, smoking cigarettes, sitting in her darkened dorm room at the convent. A nun watches her from a crack in the doorway, outraged, mirroring the old guard of Catholic morality. This sets the tone for a film full of gratuitous scenes of undress, topless dancing, psychedelic lesbianism, and prostitutionone which strays pretty far from being a generic blue movie. The film also showcases Montreal strongly: Many seminal scenes take place on Mt. Royal and in various haunts familiar to nearly any Montrealer, even today. Mirroring the experiences of the province itself, the story follows Valrie as she breaks away from the Church and learns to survive in an unfamiliar but exciting secular world.

The opening scene in 'Valrie'

Valrie satisfied a strong desire from Quebec to consume local culture. The film's takeover arrived precisely at the right time economically as well: Just one year before it was released, a government funding body Socit de dveloppement de l'industrie cinmatographique Canadienne (SDICC, which would eventually become Telefilm Canada) was launched. Unlike the National Film Board funding which had both cultural and artistic ambitions, the SDICC was motivated by profit. Starting in late 1968 the first wave of commercial Quebec cinema was released, and Valrie was at the forefront.

Unlike older national cinema industries that emerged in the earlier part of the 20th century, commercial cinema in Quebec really exploded during the only period in North American history where porn films were commercially viable. While the trend started in the early 1960s with the so-called nudie-cutie films (which skirted obscenity laws by posing as educational documentaries about nudist colonies), by the early 1970s hardcore pornography was making waves in movie theaters across the country. Deep Throat grossed over $100 million dollars (though the exact amount is disputed) and several pornos were able to crack the top ten box office during the early part of the decade. Exploitation cinema is implicitly radical as it exists in defiance to the mainstream and Hollywood. For Quebec audiences to embrace sexploitation was to reject traditional and respectable film.

Valrie is representative of the life and norms of Quebec culture, which up to this point, was rarely seen onscreen. But, most crucially, it does so with a sense of youthful abrasion that contradicts the conventions of mainstream cinema. By using a film that features nudity and sexuality so brazenly, even in the Hollywood post-code era, Valrie contradicts the self-imposed rules of conventional filmmaking. There are no films like this coming out of Hollywood, and even in the counterculture of independent cinema few were as well made and as self-empowering as Valrie. This kind of moral defiance is not just in opposition to mainstream cinema, however, but an old way of thinking that was being squashed out of the province.

While Valrie initiated this new kind of cinema, Deux femmes en or would revolutionize it. The film's opening credits featured a song from popular Quebec artist Robert Charlebois, which was basically the equivalent of Elvis Presley singing the title song of Deep Throat. The storyline was to the point: two bored housewives hungry for sex begin a series of affairs with the delivery men they regularly call into their apartments.

Along with Robert Charlebois, the film would feature a parade of well-known stars from Quebec popular culture (including future prime minister, Pierre Elliott Trudeau). This was not a fringe film that rose to the top, but a viable and popular commercial prospect that was embraced by the artistic community as well as the audience. Deux femmes en or would sell over two million tickets, a number still unmatched today. The only film to come close is Sraphin: un homme et son pch in 2002, selling 1.3 million tickets.

Read on Broadly: Where Are The Women Who Want to Booze And Screw on Camera

The success of these films inspired a number of other sexploitation films. In most cases, the film's popularity among Quebec audiences is more political than any of the form or content. One exception was the filmmaker Gilles Carle, who saw his career take off during this era. With films like La mort d'un bcheron (1973), La vraie nature de Bernadette (1972), and La tte de Normande St-Onge (1973), he would bridge the gap between exploitation and arthouse. Carle, who died in 2009, described his work as "social fables, allegorical tales rather than films of social protest." La Vraie Nature de Bernadette, in particular, was a harsh indictment on the double standards of the Church. In the film, Bernadette is generous emotionally and sexually, and rather than return their respect, the men run her drywhile condemning her for her "loose" behavior. The film radically equates Bernadette with the saint of the same name suggesting a dark history of the Church's exploitation of women.

The era of softcore porn dominating Quebec screens was relatively short lived and by 1975 had mostly run its course. This was not only the birth of a commercial cinema in Quebec but an important turning point in identity. Like it's avant-garde heroines seeking to escape their oppressive past, the citizens of Quebec latched onto these images of women undressing as icons for their own cultural rebirth.

This article was originally featured on VICE Brazil

September in Brazil saw the second Gaymada Interdrag Championship which is basically a dodgeball competition where most of the players are in drag. The event took place in the city of Belo Horizonte and attracted about 2000 attendees. Teams included 'Pokmonas' (which in Portuguese slang means 'gay Pokemons'), "TransUrsos" .

We went along to take some photos and stayed for all the fun we had in the face of prejudice, intolerance and homophobia.