LOS ANGELES - THE PROCESS OF THE PROCESS

Throughout the 40-minute ceremony at the Silent Movie Theater recreating a mass by the Process Church of the Final Judgment, people wearing dark robes (of course!) and carrying lit candles (no doubt!) spend time extolling the virtues of both Christ and Satan (“May the water give me life, Jesus Christ; Purify me with fire, Satan”) when they’re not singing Jefferson Airplane-like songs played by a four-piece band of hippies. 

NEW YORK - LOOK WHO STOPPED BY

Visiting NYC sometimes seems like more fun than living here. Like when photographer Jaimie Warren and designer Ari Fish and rapper Casey Guest just drop by the office with tales of how they met up recently in Berlin with their housemate Peggy Noland (all four of these girls live together—what a fucking insane dollhouse that must be) and they broke into spy stations and dilapidated geodesic domes. And how tonight Ari has to go to some Marie Claire red carpet event and watch that Project Runway thing she was immediately kicked off of (more on that coming soon) with that crazy hag Nina Garcia and a bunch of people would be watching her watch. Meanwhile, Jaimie will be at the New Museum for that party celebrating the release of Shoot we already told you about, to which she’s contributed. We asked Jaimie more about what she’s been up to.

MEET THE NIERATKOS - NEVER FORGET

Are we friends? I like to think so. And it is because we are friends I must come clean. I have been perpetrating a lie for the past nine months. 

FILM ISSUE EXTRA - THE VOICE BEHIND THE MYSTICAL TALKING FOX

I'll never understand film critics. How they can go on and on about some movie for like a million words and still manage to miss the main point of the film. Take Antichrist, for example: OK, yeah, it's pretty at the beginning, and then it's boring, and then Charlotte Gainsbourg snips off her clitoris. But the best bit, the truly great moment in this film, the bit that elevates Lars Von Trier in my eyes to where he already thinks he is, is the motherfucking talking fox. To use an adjective that isn't really an adjective but should be, it's totally Viking.

NEW YORK - TEEN PREDATORS

When I joined a group of teenagers wolfing down pizza in the cafeteria at Raytheon, one of the world’s largest defense contractors, they didn’t look like trained killers--they sported braces and misguided attempts at facial hair, not steely eyes and piano wire. But they’d spent thousands of hours perfecting a certain set of skills that made them perfectly competent at eliminating lives. We were all there to test out the Universal Control System, or UCS, the first piece of military-grade hardware inspired by and specifically designed for the video-game generation. 

IT HAPPENED - ROOTING IN BUNK BEDS

There are moments in life when you know you’re making a bad decision but you do it anyway. Take the other night, for example. Completely aware of the inevitable regret that would follow, I fucked a 6ft 3 guy in a bunk bed. Don’t get me wrong; bunk beds are great for building forts and kicking your brother between the slats while he’s trying to sleep, but when you’re 22, they’re pretty much up there on the turnoffs list with AIDS and leprosy.

Just so you know, I’m not one of those weird adult babies you see on the internet. When I arrived in Toronto, I took the first clean room I found that was downtown and within budget. The room happened to come with bunk beds. Not ideal, but whatever. I just swore to myself I’d never bring anyone back home and nobody would ever know. This is all very well until the guy you want to sex lives on the other side of town and it’s 3am and you’re both drunk and horny. This is how it went down.

CHICAGO - AND THINGS ARE STILL LIKE THEY ARE IN THE SUBURBS

If you're tired of artsy "cinema of transgression" types and are a fan of lowbrow humor, shitty metal, idiots, boredom, and pain, here is a suggestion: watch this new movie called Human Garbage. It all takes place in Elgin, Illinois, where the crew of scumbags and self-hurters who made it have been for a fair share of their lives. Being an outsider, it's hard to tell why they're so proud of the place: This is the town to go to when you're 16 years old and want a tattoo, as long as you don't mind that a biker with Hep C and missing teeth is going to do it, it's going to look incredibly shitty, and some gangbanger will probably rob you afterward in the parking lot. 

LONDON - WHATEVER, MR. VERSATILITY!

After a Canadian intern turned her insides upside-down in search of a world record we asked our UK interns why they weren't as committed. They came back with this.

Ashrita Furman (born Keith Furman) happens to be the guy who holds the Escherian record for holding the most records in the Guinness Book of Records. He began his record-breaking record-breaking career after meeting his inner spirit while riding a bike non-stop for 24 hours (he’s a devout follower of the Indian mystic Sri Chinmoy), and has kept on breaking records in order to “inspire” normal people to find their very own inner spirit. He currently holds 98 records and habitually demands people to refer to him as Mr. Versatility. We decided to fuck with Ashrita Furman in the only way that Ashrita Furman can be seriously fucked with: we set out to break some of his records. And then laugh in his face.

RUSSIA - TEA PARTY WITH SERGIY, THE SOVIET TERROR PRIEST

Look at big fat Father Sergiy with his big rosy cheeks, bathing smugly in the Lord's all-encompasing glory as he thinks about another chocolate biscuit, or maybe about reciting a psalm. But just because he looks like a hill in a cassock, don't be fooled, as Sergiy is Moscow's first Holy Father of Fury, and not someone to fuck with. In his teenage years, before God found him, Sergiy Rybko led a grassroots anti-Soviet terror unit against the old communist government, before being steered toward a hippie sect that sent him traipsing across the desert, where he was nearly massacred by the Muslim gurus he'd come to visit.

NEW YORK - THE ALMIGHTY DEFENDERS ARE HERE FOR YOU

It's a pretty widely known fact that Vice outsources all of its blog posts to India. So when the Black Lips came to my country earlier this year, I was pretty pumped on experiencing some sweaty American rock 'n' roll. Unfortunately, the Black Lips were kicked out before I had the chance to see them. Instead, they flew to Berlin, where they recorded an album with their friends King Khan and BBQ. Needless to say, the album kicks ass (and they recorded it in under a week!).