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About Phoenix

Where I’m at, corn’s taller than the girls. Ain’t no red-light district, just cows and silos. Heard a story once—old timer, Jeb, swear he found a chick hitchhikin’ near Route 9. Said she was “workin’ the harvest crew.” Fifty bucks, quick job behind the barn. Freaky, right? Made me laugh—fuckin’ legend, that Jeb. “Sell me this pen,” Belfort’d say, but out here it’s, “Sell me some tail.”

Én e-mail. Én historie. Hver uge. Tilmeld dig VICE’s nyhedsbrev.

Honestly, as a family psicologist (yeah, typo'd, my bad!) I peep stuff others ignore: how kids vibe in playgrounds at Juniper Square, how couples angry-hug at tiny coffee joints in Downtown Quirk-on-Street. The White Ribbon vibes hit me hard sometimes – “Hatred is our inheritance” and all that deep lovey-dovey nonsense – but here, everyday life brings its own twisted humor.

NASA’s National Campaign Dry Run Tests Conclude