DIE
Bath Salts in the Wound
Few places were as primed for the plague of bath salts as the Southeast neighborhood of Roanoke, Virginia. Before long, buyers swarmed the tobacco stores that carried it. Salt users would show up at a retailer five or six times a day. The lines were...
Have Animals Declared War On Us?
For millennia, humans have been wreaking havoc on animals. And now it appears that animals are striking back. So, I interviewed James Donahue, who believes the uptick in animal attacks is an omen to the "end of days."
Twenty-Four Straight Hours of College Basketball Destroyed My Mind
An endless parade of crimson-lipped cheerleaders and reptilian coaches began to bleed together, and all the games merged into a single, massive, all-consuming monstrosity of competition whose sole purpose was to wear me down. Here, in the cruel light...
I Went to Syria to Learn How to Be a Journalist
Sunil Patel had never been published before he decided to go to Syria in August 2012 to become a war correspondent. It was a foolish idea for sure, and he almost died several times during his trip, but we still think his story was worth the risk.
Komplaint Dept. - A Date With Death on the Golden Gate Bridge
It was 75 years ago, today, that Harold Wobber stopped at about the midpoint of the bridge, took off his jacket and vest, reportedly said, "This is where I get off," and hopped from the railing. Since then approximately 1,558 people have jumped from...
Coke Sex for Teen Sluts
Sometimes when a dick is inside me I can’t help but think about my family. I know that sounds totally gross, but I don’t mean it in, like, an incestuous way. My dad never fucked me or anything. I think it has more to do with guilt, you know, or I’m...
I Was a Corporate Tobacco Peddler
You know that reoccurring dream you get where you feel so heavy and you’re trying to move or run but you’re not getting anywhere? And you scream for help, but your voice doesn’t make a sound? And everything is dark? That’s what it was like working at...
How Would You Like to Die?
New Yorkers have some pretty sick death fantasies. Personally, I'd like to be trampled by turtles.