Dos & Don'ts. Vice Magazine

      In their spare time, the assistant managers of mobile-phone warehouses stand in car parks wearing jeans designed for 12-year-old girls and making gang signs that mean “free talk time on nights and weekends”.

      “Look, I ain’t gonna make it into work today. My dick exploded.”

      Oh good. Looks like the pictures finally came back from my future honeymoon.

      Heroin hasn’t done much for aviation or particle physics lately, but the field of avant-garde hat design is deeply in its debt.

      Ah, the independent spirit of the true Parisian male who wears nappies underneath leggings, starts drinking pastis at 8 AM, and never plans on working or making his 1950s bathroom bigger than a matchbox despite the fact that he has a wife and three kids who all live with him, the youngest of which is 28.

      Doesn’t he look like the giant baby from old Bugs Bunny cartoons? You just want to dab his mouth with one of those scarves then hoist him over your shoulder and say, “Wuh-oh, who made a wittle mess of his food? Who made a wittle mess? Oh, da bad wittle baby made a mess, dat’s who!”