The Hot Zone: Black Death Returns to Madagascar
sat in a helicopter as it banked around and down toward a clearing in the center of Beranimbo, a village of 80 or so palm-thatched huts tucked away in the emerald mountains of Madagascar’s Northern Highlands. My pilot, a blocky German expat named Gerd, had already made one attempt to touch down the shaky single-engine copter, but he’d aborted the landing after the rotor blades kicked up enough dust to cause a brownout.
A few hours earlier, when we’d set out for Beranimbo—a three-hour journey from the Malagasy capital of Antananarivo—Gerd had seemed excited. He doesn’t normally get jobs like this, typically making his money flying film crews around the countryside to shoot B-roll for ecotourism documentaries, usually about lemurs. “You want me to do a pass?” he asked, and before I could find out what he meant, we were swooping low through the hills. My stomach lurched upward; from this altitude we could see the spiny forest vegetation, tall ravenala trees, and great gaping wounds in the countryside, scars of systematic deforestation.
We were there because, in the fall of 2013, Beranimbo had been an epicenter of a black plague outbreak that resulted in nearly 600 cases and more than 90 deaths across the country. Madagascar reports the most instances of the disease in the world. Depending on which century you’re talking about, it’s perhaps best known as the plague—a scourge generally associated with the Middle Ages, when rats, fleas, and poor hygiene resulted in the deaths of between 75 and 200 million people. The disease remains an enduring threat in third-world nations; public-health watchdogs report up to 2,000 cases a year.
In the 1930s, the rise of antibiotics dampened and then nearly extinguished the clinical threat of the disease, at least in the developed world, and it lost its status as a global killer. But for years, epidemiologists have warned that Madagascar is particularly vulnerable to widespread rural and urban contagion. I wanted to find out just how dangerous this medieval disease is in the 21st century, and why it persists in this corner of the world. That search led me to Beranimbo.
When we arrived, Gerd’s nervousness was apparent. “This may be too dangerous,” he muttered into his headset intercom as he tried to land the helicopter. Gerd’s concern wasn’t for his own safety, but rather the security of 200 people gathered around the makeshift landing pad below. Any one of them could have easily lost an eyeball to a pebble or twig whipped upward into the air. Helicopters are rare in Beranimbo and always attract attention, as they usually carry aid workers from the Red Cross. When we finally found a suitable spot to land, villagers ran from the dusty complex of huts to greet us.
On the ground, I was introduced to the village elder, a thin old man in a light jacket and safari hat. To celebrate our arrival, he had organized the slaughter of a zebu, a type of domestic cattle with a large, camel-like hump, for a celebratory lunch. “The sacrifice of the zebu marks our friendship,” he told me. “I can’t express enough our happiness. Enjoy it with all our gratitude.” The animal’s neck was cut, and I was taken to meet Rasoa Marozafy, a 59-year-old father of seven who’s spent his life in the village. Rasoa is a plague survivor, and part of the reason I’d come to this place.
Continue

The Hot Zone: Black Death Returns to Madagascar

sat in a helicopter as it banked around and down toward a clearing in the center of Beranimbo, a village of 80 or so palm-thatched huts tucked away in the emerald mountains of Madagascar’s Northern Highlands. My pilot, a blocky German expat named Gerd, had already made one attempt to touch down the shaky single-engine copter, but he’d aborted the landing after the rotor blades kicked up enough dust to cause a brownout.

A few hours earlier, when we’d set out for Beranimbo—a three-hour journey from the Malagasy capital of Antananarivo—Gerd had seemed excited. He doesn’t normally get jobs like this, typically making his money flying film crews around the countryside to shoot B-roll for ecotourism documentaries, usually about lemurs. “You want me to do a pass?” he asked, and before I could find out what he meant, we were swooping low through the hills. My stomach lurched upward; from this altitude we could see the spiny forest vegetation, tall ravenala trees, and great gaping wounds in the countryside, scars of systematic deforestation.

We were there because, in the fall of 2013, Beranimbo had been an epicenter of a black plague outbreak that resulted in nearly 600 cases and more than 90 deaths across the country. Madagascar reports the most instances of the disease in the world. Depending on which century you’re talking about, it’s perhaps best known as the plague—a scourge generally associated with the Middle Ages, when rats, fleas, and poor hygiene resulted in the deaths of between 75 and 200 million people. The disease remains an enduring threat in third-world nations; public-health watchdogs report up to 2,000 cases a year.

In the 1930s, the rise of antibiotics dampened and then nearly extinguished the clinical threat of the disease, at least in the developed world, and it lost its status as a global killer. But for years, epidemiologists have warned that Madagascar is particularly vulnerable to widespread rural and urban contagion. I wanted to find out just how dangerous this medieval disease is in the 21st century, and why it persists in this corner of the world. That search led me to Beranimbo.

When we arrived, Gerd’s nervousness was apparent. “This may be too dangerous,” he muttered into his headset intercom as he tried to land the helicopter. Gerd’s concern wasn’t for his own safety, but rather the security of 200 people gathered around the makeshift landing pad below. Any one of them could have easily lost an eyeball to a pebble or twig whipped upward into the air. Helicopters are rare in Beranimbo and always attract attention, as they usually carry aid workers from the Red Cross. When we finally found a suitable spot to land, villagers ran from the dusty complex of huts to greet us.

On the ground, I was introduced to the village elder, a thin old man in a light jacket and safari hat. To celebrate our arrival, he had organized the slaughter of a zebu, a type of domestic cattle with a large, camel-like hump, for a celebratory lunch. “The sacrifice of the zebu marks our friendship,” he told me. “I can’t express enough our happiness. Enjoy it with all our gratitude.” The animal’s neck was cut, and I was taken to meet Rasoa Marozafy, a 59-year-old father of seven who’s spent his life in the village. Rasoa is a plague survivor, and part of the reason I’d come to this place.

Continue

The VICE Guide to Amsterdam 2014
The Dutch capital is a compact museum city being sunk into its canals by rich Americans staring at Rembrandts and the revolving cast of perverts and drug addicts who infest the red light district. Here’s how to not be awful in Amsterdam.
Jump to sections by using the index below:
– WHERE TO PARTY– WHAT’S THE DEAL WITH DRUGS?– POLITICS, PROTESTS, AND JUST HOW RACIST IS EVERYONE HERE?   Screw in the Park but Don’t Wear Soccer Cleats | Protests? What Protests? |Immigration– WHERE TO EAT– WHAT DO LOCALS EAT?– LGBT AMSTERDAM– WHERE TO DRINK– WHERE TO STAY– WHERE TO HANG OUT WHEN YOU’RE SOBER– HOW TO AVOID GETTING RIPPED OFF AND BEATEN UP– HOW NOT TO BE A SHITTY TOURIST– PEOPLE AND PLACES TO AVOID– TIPPING AND HANDY PHRASES– A YOUTUBE PLAYLIST OF QUESTIONABLE LOCAL MUSIC– VICE CITY MAP

The VICE Guide to Amsterdam 2014

The Dutch capital is a compact museum city being sunk into its canals by rich Americans staring at Rembrandts and the revolving cast of perverts and drug addicts who infest the red light district. Here’s how to not be awful in Amsterdam.

Jump to sections by using the index below:

– WHERE TO PARTY
– WHAT’S THE DEAL WITH DRUGS?
– POLITICS, PROTESTS, AND JUST HOW RACIST IS EVERYONE HERE?
   Screw in the Park but Don’t Wear Soccer Cleats | Protests? What Protests? |Immigration
– WHERE TO EAT
– WHAT DO LOCALS EAT?
– LGBT AMSTERDAM
– WHERE TO DRINK
– WHERE TO STAY
– WHERE TO HANG OUT WHEN YOU’RE SOBER
– HOW TO AVOID GETTING RIPPED OFF AND BEATEN UP
– HOW NOT TO BE A SHITTY TOURIST
– PEOPLE AND PLACES TO AVOID
– TIPPING AND HANDY PHRASES
– A YOUTUBE PLAYLIST OF QUESTIONABLE LOCAL MUSIC
– VICE CITY MAP

The VICE Guide to Glasgow 2014
Edinburgh might have the castle, the parliament, the Japanese tourists, the neo-classical architecture, and the advantageously low murder rate, but Glasgow has all the fun. Scotland’s largest city is pretty drunk, yes, but we also punch above our weight culturally, with a dynamic music scene, one of the world’s most iconic art schools, and some of the best pubs and clubs in Britain. So taps aff ya dafties, ‘cos here we fucking go.
Jump to sections by using the index below.
– WHERE TO PARTY– WHAT’S THE DEAL WITH DRUGS?– POLITICS, PROTESTS AND JUST HOW RACIST IS EVERYONE HERE?   Self-Important Sectarian Bigots | Glaswegian Authority Issues | Immigration– WHERE TO EAT– WHAT DO LOCALS EAT?– WHERE TO DRINK– WHERE TO STAY– LGBT GLASGOW– WHERE TO HANG OUT WHEN YOU’RE SOBER– HOW TO AVOID GETTING RIPPED OFF AND BEATEN UP– HOW NOT TO BE A SHITTY TOURIST– PEOPLE AND PLACES TO AVOID– TIPPING AND HANDY PHRASES– A YOUTUBE PLAYLIST OF QUESTIONABLE LOCAL MUSIC– VICE CITY MAP

The VICE Guide to Glasgow 2014

Edinburgh might have the castle, the parliament, the Japanese tourists, the neo-classical architecture, and the advantageously low murder rate, but Glasgow has all the fun. Scotland’s largest city is pretty drunk, yes, but we also punch above our weight culturally, with a dynamic music scene, one of the world’s most iconic art schools, and some of the best pubs and clubs in Britain. So taps aff ya dafties, ‘cos here we fucking go.

Jump to sections by using the index below.

– WHERE TO PARTY
– WHAT’S THE DEAL WITH DRUGS?
– POLITICS, PROTESTS AND JUST HOW RACIST IS EVERYONE HERE?
   Self-Important Sectarian Bigots | Glaswegian Authority Issues Immigration
– WHERE TO EAT
– WHAT DO LOCALS EAT?
– WHERE TO DRINK
– WHERE TO STAY
– LGBT GLASGOW
– WHERE TO HANG OUT WHEN YOU’RE SOBER
– HOW TO AVOID GETTING RIPPED OFF AND BEATEN UP
– HOW NOT TO BE A SHITTY TOURIST
– PEOPLE AND PLACES TO AVOID
– TIPPING AND HANDY PHRASES
– A YOUTUBE PLAYLIST OF QUESTIONABLE LOCAL MUSIC
– VICE CITY MAP

The VICE Guide to Berlin 2014
The German capital is one of the planet’s great party cities, where your every dream and darkest desire has been turned into a three-story nightclub with a merciless door policy. Sadly, everybody in the world knows this, so the only thing worse than the stupid fucking lines outside the clubs are the infuriating tourists within them. Here’s how to avoid pissing off the locals and convince everyone that you’re ein Berliner.
Jump to sections by using the index below:
– WHERE TO PARTY– WHAT’S THE DEAL WITH DRUGS?– POLITICS, PROTESTS AND JUST HOW RACIST IS EVERYONE HERE?   Legacy of the Squatters | May Day, Refugee Strikes and Neo-Nazis | Berlin’s Immigrants– WHERE TO EAT– WHAT DO LOCALS EAT?– WHERE TO DRINK– WHERE TO STAY– LGBT BERLIN– WHERE TO HANG OUT WHEN YOU’RE SOBER– HOW TO AVOID GETTING RIPPED OFF AND BEATEN UP– HOW NOT TO BE A SHITTY TOURIST– PEOPLE AND PLACES TO AVOID– TIPPING AND HANDY PHRASES– A YOUTUBE PLAYLIST OF QUESTIONABLE LOCAL MUSIC– VICE CITY MAP

The VICE Guide to Berlin 2014

The German capital is one of the planet’s great party cities, where your every dream and darkest desire has been turned into a three-story nightclub with a merciless door policy. Sadly, everybody in the world knows this, so the only thing worse than the stupid fucking lines outside the clubs are the infuriating tourists within them. Here’s how to avoid pissing off the locals and convince everyone that you’re ein Berliner.

Jump to sections by using the index below:

– WHERE TO PARTY
– WHAT’S THE DEAL WITH DRUGS?
– POLITICS, PROTESTS AND JUST HOW RACIST IS EVERYONE HERE?
   Legacy of the Squatters | May Day, Refugee Strikes and Neo-Nazis | Berlin’s Immigrants
– WHERE TO EAT
– WHAT DO LOCALS EAT?
– WHERE TO DRINK
– WHERE TO STAY
– LGBT BERLIN
– WHERE TO HANG OUT WHEN YOU’RE SOBER
– HOW TO AVOID GETTING RIPPED OFF AND BEATEN UP
– HOW NOT TO BE A SHITTY TOURIST
– PEOPLE AND PLACES TO AVOID
– TIPPING AND HANDY PHRASES
– A YOUTUBE PLAYLIST OF QUESTIONABLE LOCAL MUSIC
– VICE CITY MAP

The VICE Guide to Paris 2014
The three-day strikes might be a thing of the past, but some things endure in the French capital: The techno DJs are still pricks, the waiters are still rude and the big nightclubs still suck. The best of Paris is hidden from view, whether it’s drag queen vogueing parties or raves in the suburbs. So read our guide and figure out the most efficient way of having fun in this place.
Jump to sections by using the index below:
– WHERE TO PARTY– WHAT’S THE DEAL WITH DRUGS?– POLITICS, PROTESTS AND JUST HOW RACIST IS EVERYONE HERE?– WHERE TO EAT– WHAT DO LOCALS EAT?– WHERE TO DRINK– WHERE TO STAY– LGBT PARIS– WHERE TO HANG OUT WHEN YOU’RE SOBER– HOW TO AVOID GETTING RIPPED OFF AND BEATEN UP– HOW NOT TO BE A SHITTY TOURIST– PEOPLE AND PLACES TO AVOID– TIPPING AND HANDY PHRASES– A YOUTUBE PLAYLIST OF QUESTIONABLE LOCAL MUSIC– VICE CITY MAP

The VICE Guide to Paris 2014

The three-day strikes might be a thing of the past, but some things endure in the French capital: The techno DJs are still pricks, the waiters are still rude and the big nightclubs still suck. The best of Paris is hidden from view, whether it’s drag queen vogueing parties or raves in the suburbs. So read our guide and figure out the most efficient way of having fun in this place.

Jump to sections by using the index below:

– WHERE TO PARTY
– WHAT’S THE DEAL WITH DRUGS?
– POLITICS, PROTESTS AND JUST HOW RACIST IS EVERYONE HERE?
– WHERE TO EAT
– WHAT DO LOCALS EAT?
– WHERE TO DRINK
– WHERE TO STAY
– LGBT PARIS
– WHERE TO HANG OUT WHEN YOU’RE SOBER
– HOW TO AVOID GETTING RIPPED OFF AND BEATEN UP
– HOW NOT TO BE A SHITTY TOURIST
– PEOPLE AND PLACES TO AVOID
– TIPPING AND HANDY PHRASES
– A YOUTUBE PLAYLIST OF QUESTIONABLE LOCAL MUSIC
– VICE CITY MAP

The Uptight Traveler’s Guide to Portland, Oregon
The constant, crushing judgement I feel for every living person and non-sentient being I encounter is an anchor that weighs me down and prevents me from experiencing true joy. But just because mama can’t experience true joy doesn’t mean she can’t have a good time not doin’ it! (For the purposes of this paragraph I, and possibly you, are mama.) Mama recently found herself a tourist in the socialist paradise that is Portland, Oregon. She’s heard it’s a nice town. She believes it’s a nice town. Said judgement, however, rendered her unable to fully appreciate its charms. If you’re anything like mama (and, dear reader, I pray you are), this guide should help the Rose City’s organic medicine go down.
Get Your Non-Drinking Business Done During the Day
Most non-alcohol dispensing businesses close at or around 6PM, giving the city’s residents ample time to practice with their noise rock bands, make crafts (crafts are considered currency to Portlanders, in the same way “ideas” are currency to San Franciscans) or ironically play video poker. If you want to do anything but get blotto once the sun sets, you’ll be shit out of luck. Plan accordingly.
Purchase Cutesy Shit
Portland is essentially an Etsy store people live inside of. Embrace the twee and buy your estranged spouse the bacon-scented candle and mustache-shaped wine opener you know will repair your damaged relationship.
Pretend to Enjoy Bitter Beer
Portlanders love craft beers—the darker, the better. Part of being a craft beer connoisseur is convincing yourself that the more bitter a beer, the better it is. You may wonder why your face contorts into a pained grimace every time you take a sip of that local IPA. Ignore those logical feelings and prepare your body for one of the worst hangovers it will ever experience.
NOTE: If you feel like consuming a beverage that won’t make you build character, a mere $3 can net you a tall boy of shitty American macrobrew. Tell your friends it’s an ironic choice, all the while knowing in your heart of hearts you’re drinking it because you want to consume something that doesn’t taste like coffee grinds.
Continue

The Uptight Traveler’s Guide to Portland, Oregon

The constant, crushing judgement I feel for every living person and non-sentient being I encounter is an anchor that weighs me down and prevents me from experiencing true joy. But just because mama can’t experience true joy doesn’t mean she can’t have a good time not doin’ it! (For the purposes of this paragraph I, and possibly you, are mama.) Mama recently found herself a tourist in the socialist paradise that is Portland, Oregon. She’s heard it’s a nice town. She believes it’s a nice town. Said judgement, however, rendered her unable to fully appreciate its charms. If you’re anything like mama (and, dear reader, I pray you are), this guide should help the Rose City’s organic medicine go down.

Get Your Non-Drinking Business Done During the Day

Most non-alcohol dispensing businesses close at or around 6PM, giving the city’s residents ample time to practice with their noise rock bands, make crafts (crafts are considered currency to Portlanders, in the same way “ideas” are currency to San Franciscans) or ironically play video poker. If you want to do anything but get blotto once the sun sets, you’ll be shit out of luck. Plan accordingly.

Purchase Cutesy Shit

Portland is essentially an Etsy store people live inside of. Embrace the twee and buy your estranged spouse the bacon-scented candle and mustache-shaped wine opener you know will repair your damaged relationship.

Pretend to Enjoy Bitter Beer

Portlanders love craft beers—the darker, the better. Part of being a craft beer connoisseur is convincing yourself that the more bitter a beer, the better it is. You may wonder why your face contorts into a pained grimace every time you take a sip of that local IPA. Ignore those logical feelings and prepare your body for one of the worst hangovers it will ever experience.

NOTE: If you feel like consuming a beverage that won’t make you build character, a mere $3 can net you a tall boy of shitty American macrobrew. Tell your friends it’s an ironic choice, all the while knowing in your heart of hearts you’re drinking it because you want to consume something that doesn’t taste like coffee grinds.

Continue

"I once saw the Alamo in Texas while high on LSD. It was dirty and boring, but I had a good time and laughed a lot. I wish I had a tab of acid now because this place is dirtier than the Alamo and almost as boring. I know it’s the oldest man-made thing I’ve ever seen, but I just don’t give a shit."
—Scot Sothern describes his 1983 visit to Egypt

"I once saw the Alamo in Texas while high on LSD. It was dirty and boring, but I had a good time and laughed a lot. I wish I had a tab of acid now because this place is dirtier than the Alamo and almost as boring. I know it’s the oldest man-made thing I’ve ever seen, but I just don’t give a shit."

—Scot Sothern describes his 1983 visit to Egypt

motherboardtv:

Motherboard and the Urgency Network Want to Send You to Space

Motherboard seriously wants to send you to space. We can’t believe it either, but it’s real. 

motherboardtv:

Motherboard and the Urgency Network Want to Send You to Space

Motherboard seriously wants to send you to space. We can’t believe it either, but it’s real. 

A Visit to the Town of Yolo, California
There’s a town in Northern California, about 25 minutes outside of Sacramento called Yolo. Last weekend, while driving to Reno, I took a detour to visit. 

Yolo is located in Yolo County. According to the 2010 US Census, it has a population of 452.

It is home to the Yolo Community Center—a center for the Yolo community to gather. According to a sign in the window, it’s also available to rent for Yolo weddings and other Yolo events. 

There is a Yolo County Library. Which is home to First 5 Yolo, a daycare service for Yolo under-5s. A Yolo County Library fax service is also available, for sending faxes from Yolo. 

There were signs asking for you to vote for Janene Beronio. She’s attempting to become a judge for the Superior Court of Yolo. A title Lil Jon has probably given himself at some point. 

Liquor is also available in Yolo. From a store that has a sign which reads “Liquor Yolo.” I spoke to the owner, and he said that, though he sometimes has people coming in to ask for it, he has no plans to make any kind of Yolo merchandise. He also admitted that he wasn’t totally sure what Yolo meant, but, knew “there was a song about it or something.”
Continue

A Visit to the Town of Yolo, California

There’s a town in Northern California, about 25 minutes outside of Sacramento called Yolo. Last weekend, while driving to Reno, I took a detour to visit. 

Yolo is located in Yolo County. According to the 2010 US Census, it has a population of 452.

It is home to the Yolo Community Center—a center for the Yolo community to gather. According to a sign in the window, it’s also available to rent for Yolo weddings and other Yolo events. 

There is a Yolo County Library. Which is home to First 5 Yolo, a daycare service for Yolo under-5s. A Yolo County Library fax service is also available, for sending faxes from Yolo. 

There were signs asking for you to vote for Janene Beronio. She’s attempting to become a judge for the Superior Court of Yolo. A title Lil Jon has probably given himself at some point. 

Liquor is also available in Yolo. From a store that has a sign which reads “Liquor Yolo.” I spoke to the owner, and he said that, though he sometimes has people coming in to ask for it, he has no plans to make any kind of Yolo merchandise. He also admitted that he wasn’t totally sure what Yolo meant, but, knew “there was a song about it or something.”

Continue

A Visit to Moscow’s Brain Institute, Where Stalin’s Brain Is Kept in a Jar
On April 14, 1930, the Russian poet Vladimir Mayakovsky committed suicide in his Moscow apartment. His closest friends, including the writer Yuri Olesha, rushed to the flat when they heard the terrible news.
As they sat in silence in the living room, a cracking sound suddenly emitted from the bedroom where Mayakovsky’s body lay.
“Only wood, it seemed, could be chopped like that,” Olesha later wrote. Someone was cutting through the wall with an axe. Moments later, a doctor in a white lab coat ran by carrying a washbasin.
Inside it was the poet’s brain.
The doctor told Mayakovsky’s friends that the brain was unusually large—more than 3.75 pounds—before loading it into a car and driving away.
Mayakovsky’s brain was taken to a brick building called the Brain Institute, which was founded by the Bolsheviks in 1928 as part of the effort to canonize Lenin. Lenin’s brain joined those of other proclaimed geniuses in a “Pantheon of Brains,” which displayed the Soviet Union’s finest minds in glass cases. The institute went on to dissect the brains of dozens of famous Soviets, including those of Sergei Eisenstein, Maxim Gorky, and Joseph Stalin. The brain-cataloging continued all the way until 1989, when the fall of the USSR put an end to this peculiar experiment.
Since then, the Institute remains open, but few reporters, Russian or foreign, have been allowed to visit. In recent years, the Institute has been trying to distance itself from the past and adopt a new reputation for modern neurological research—and catching a glimpse of Lenin’s brain in pieces might make its newfound credibility a hard sell. To my delight, however, as part of their effort to show the world how legitimate they’ve become, the Institute let me inside.
Continue

A Visit to Moscow’s Brain Institute, Where Stalin’s Brain Is Kept in a Jar

On April 14, 1930, the Russian poet Vladimir Mayakovsky committed suicide in his Moscow apartment. His closest friends, including the writer Yuri Olesha, rushed to the flat when they heard the terrible news.

As they sat in silence in the living room, a cracking sound suddenly emitted from the bedroom where Mayakovsky’s body lay.

“Only wood, it seemed, could be chopped like that,” Olesha later wrote. Someone was cutting through the wall with an axe. Moments later, a doctor in a white lab coat ran by carrying a washbasin.

Inside it was the poet’s brain.

The doctor told Mayakovsky’s friends that the brain was unusually large—more than 3.75 pounds—before loading it into a car and driving away.

Mayakovsky’s brain was taken to a brick building called the Brain Institute, which was founded by the Bolsheviks in 1928 as part of the effort to canonize Lenin. Lenin’s brain joined those of other proclaimed geniuses in a “Pantheon of Brains,” which displayed the Soviet Union’s finest minds in glass cases. The institute went on to dissect the brains of dozens of famous Soviets, including those of Sergei Eisenstein, Maxim Gorky, and Joseph Stalin. The brain-cataloging continued all the way until 1989, when the fall of the USSR put an end to this peculiar experiment.

Since then, the Institute remains open, but few reporters, Russian or foreign, have been allowed to visit. In recent years, the Institute has been trying to distance itself from the past and adopt a new reputation for modern neurological research—and catching a glimpse of Lenin’s brain in pieces might make its newfound credibility a hard sellTo my delight, however, as part of their effort to show the world how legitimate they’ve become, the Institute let me inside.

Continue

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