Since President Obama's Thursday night announcement regarding humanitarian aid drops and his authorization of "targeted airstrikes" on Iraq, CNN reports U.S. fighter jets and drones "have repeatedly bombed" ISIS artillery units and convoy as they approach the Kurdish capital of Erbil.

From CNN:

Two U.S. F/A 18 fighters first struck an ISIS artillery unit outside of Irbil, dropping two 500-pound laser-guided bombs about 6:45 a.m. ET Friday, Pentagon spokesman Navy Rear Adm. John Kirby said.

Later, a drone targeted an ISIS mortar position, Kirby said. When ISIS fighters returned to the site a short time later, the drone struck the target again, he said.

That was followed a short time later by a second round of airstrikes, carried out by four U.S. fighter jets, which targeted an ISIS convoy of seven vehicles and another mortar position, Kirby said.

The F/A 18s made two passes, dropping a total of eight laser-guided bombs, he said.

Obama confirmed this morning, just before boarding Marine One for Martha's Vineyard, that these strikes have so far been successful in destroying ISIS (U.S.-made weapons) arms and equipment. But don't hold your breath for a "Mission Accomplished" moment, stand down with your peace flags; Obama continues to impress that this does not mean war.

In an expansive, hour-long interview with New York Times columnist Thomas Friedman, he asserted that the United States had no intention of "being the Iraqi air force." He explained that the embattled Kurdish region is exemplar—"They used that time well, and the Kurdish region is functional the way we would like to see. It is tolerant of other sects and other religions in a way that we would like to see elsewhere."—and worthy of protection, but that otherwise this is not the United States', nor our military's, war to win:

"We will be your partners, but we are not going to do it for you. We're not sending a bunch of U.S. troops back on the ground to keep a lid on things. You're going to have to show us that you are willing and ready to try and maintain a unified Iraqi government that is based on compromise. That you are willing to continue to build a nonsectarian, functional security force that is answerable to a civilian government. ... We do have a strategic interest in pushing back ISIL. We're not going to let them create some caliphate through Syria and Iraq, but we can only do that if we know that we've got partners on the ground who are capable of filling the void."

You can read more about Friedman's talk with Obama here, or the Times' subsequent coverage of the Times' columnists column here.

[Photo Credit: AP Images]

Idris Elba, actor and noted handsome man, had the world in a tizzy this week when it was speculated that he might have a dong the size of a meatball sub. On Twitter this morning, Elba revealed that his meatballs were actually part of a mic wire and nothing more.

The good news is i got a shit load of followers. The bad news is, that is a mic wire. #egowentintospaceshipmodethough

— Idris Elba (@idriselba) August 9, 2014

Though disappointment rang out through lands far and wide, there is always a bright side: the perfect hashtag #egowentintospaceshipmodethough is available to be used liberally.

Previously in Is This a Dick Or What, Gawker's premiere dick-speculation service, we discuss Dirty Bird.

[Image via Wenn]

The sight of the campground brings back memories of South African shantytowns—hundreds of multicolor tents crammed side by side like overlapping teeth, makeshift doormats made of cardboard and plastic, trash everywhere. Only we're in Saugerties in upstate New York and the majority of the people here are white. And middle class. This bourgeois shantytown isn't a way of life; it's a weekend getaway.

It's the first night of the inaugural Hudson Project, a three-day music and arts festival on Winston Farm—a grassy 800-acre venue that prides itself on having hosted Woodstock '94, the chaotic, mud-covered music festival held to commemorate the 25th anniversary of the original Woodstock festival of 1969. More days of "peace and love."

I took the train from Penn Station with two college friends. They were dressed in short shorts and tank tops with colorful bracelets and necklaces, big camping backpacks strapped to their scrawny backs. I wore black leggings and a black and white crop top, and I dragged a large black trash bag filled with a change of clothes, two vibrators, and 1.75 liters of Bacardi rum and cranberry juice in a plastic bottle.

* * *

Using two mini flashlights we pitch our tent in the dark, between a teepee and a canopy. A girl wearing face paint with an arrow seemingly piercing her skull—the arrowhead on one side, the feather on the other—approaches us. She opens her hands, holding what I'm told is acid. She reaches into her panties and takes out more. Gives it to us for $40.

"This will tell you who you really are," she says.

I wonder what she means by this. What will I come to know? Am I really about to discover my true self while tripping on a muddy farm in a town I can barely pronounce?

We split the tab three ways the next morning, slip it under our tongues (that is the ideal way to do it according to Google), and wait for it to kick in. We smoke a joint and leave the tent around noon.

"I can't explain it," my friend says, "but I'm definitely more than high."

The world is three-dimensional now. Nothing's straight, only slanted. I see lights and hear music differently, as if I'd been blind and deaf until this moment.

I don't recall exactly what happens next. I remember being in front of a stage, dancing with my eyes closed—as if trying to keep hold of a fleeting dream. I'm wearing clashing patterns and swimming goggles on top of my head. I've left my bra in the tent next to my inhibitions. I close my eyes tighter. Raise my arms. Try to live in the moment. I'm swaying in hypnotic submission, surrendering to the EDM. The drugs. Dancing as if I'm home in front of the mirror and no one is watching. Then I remember that I'm surrounded by thousands of other people—misfits in bathing suits and body paint, Halloween costumes and glitter, tie-dye everything. I open my eyes to see if anyone's watching. No eyes on me. Everyone's having a party of their own.

We are all together—and all alone.

* * *

For a while, the music feeds my hunger. I try to prolong the moment—by dancing harder, by focusing on the music harder, by smoking and drinking harder. I try to stop thinking about the mud under my feet and the $7 pizza slices and the sign on the shower that reads "$6 for 1, $10 for 2." I try to forget that we are all doing this by choice.

But it's temporary. After a while the smoke clears and the lights go out. The world's no longer slanted. We're moving in the same spot, not going anywhere, mud hardening like concrete under our feet. Did I really pay more than $300 for this?

I close my eyes again. I'm tired of thinking. Overthinking. I keep wondering if my expectations are too high. Today. Every day. If I should be more enchanted by the banality and bullshit and the glitz of capitalism, if there'll ever be a way for me to see the world through unbroken rose-colored glass.

They—the sociologists and generational theorists and Pew enthusiasts—say that Generation Y as a whole needs to lower its expectations. That we need to accept "the new normal" in our everlasting-Recession era: chronic job-hopping and economic instability, high unemployment and debt, the bootleg remnants of the splintered American Dream (in other words, the longtime realities of America's poor, black, and disenfranchised). Despite the decades-long unrealistic expectations we've been spoon-fed by Disney, our parents, and society, they urge us to accept things as they are. To learn to stomach delaying the leap into adulthood: making 40 the new 20, putting off marriage and children, moving back in with our parents, embracing downward mobility. To come to terms with the reality that a lot of us will be swapping home ownership and white picket fences and red doors for renting paint-peeling apartments and half of two-family homes—if we ever make it out of our parents'.

My thoughts are suspended when a group of girls warns us to watch our shit. We're told that more than 20 tents have been robbed on our campsite—the tents slashed, money, drugs, cell phones, and car keys taken.

"I can't believe people here would do that," a girl who looks barely 18 says. "We're supposed to be fucking loving and peaceful."

* * *

The next day we each pop a molly, allegedly our generation's drug of choice. I read there's a defining drug for every decade. Pot and psychedelics in the '60s and '70s, crack and cocaine in the '80s, heroin in the '90s, and us Millennials, we have ecstasy. Usually in powder and capsule form. The stimulants cause euphoric highs and heighten your sense of community and connection to the people and music around you. A disillusioning way to bring the simultaneously hyper-connected and disconnected closer. Another lost beat generation's quick fix for an internal bleed.

We are in front of one of the smaller stages listening to a jazz band from New Orleans when we start rolling on the molly. I try to live in the moment again. In between checking to make sure that my stomach looks flat underneath my cheetah-print top and that my lips aren't chapped. Do I look fat? Are my lips white? Am I saying this out loud? Can they hear me?

I check my face with my iPhone camera. I don't look my best, but nobody does. I grab our water bottle of rum and cranberry juice (which we succeeded in getting past security along with other contraband) and start to move my arms and hips again. I'm half-dancing in the present, knowing that this moment—these moments—can't be separated from what is to come and what came before. Am I not capable of happiness? It was reality that brought me—us—here, and it's the thought of Monday morning (and the days to follow) that keeps us out in the rain. Am I really the only one thinking this?

After the band leaves the stage I meet a girl in a tie-dye sports bra and tie-dye—or were they black?—yoga pants who matches her boyfriend (who admits that he hasn't showered in four days). She says she works 10 hours a day and that the festival is her "break from reality." How I saw it initially.

We all talk and dance. She Hula-Hoops for a while. My friends freestyle in a cypher with a group of racially ambiguous twenty-somethings. It rains harder. No one around me complains. They just drink more, keep free-styling and beat-boxing.

It's all a sign of the times. A time of disappointment and hope. The era of Obama. Maybe if I close my eyes again, this time harder, like everyone else I will forget about the high unemployment rates and underemployment and student loan debt and the fact that most of what I won't remember will be captured and displayed in Facebook and Instagram photographs.

The girl in tie-dye teaches my friend Hula-Hoop tricks. Chest-hooping and knees-to-waist. I stare at my friend's bare stomach. Her waist beads become an extension of her body, staying in place with every swivel of her hips. My eyes keep wandering back to the beads. I can't see the beauty without seeing the history. Without thinking about the fact that African waist beads—which have become a popular accessory in the U.S., a fashion statement, girls and women buying them on sites like Etsy, wearing them under and over their clothing—date back to ancient Egypt. They were worn underneath clothing as a symbol of womanhood, sexuality, and fertility. The meaning of the colors and different shapes of the beads varied by tribe and message, not skin tone and outfit.

Like a bunch of other festival revelers, the tie-dye-wearing Hula-Hooper and her crew share their knowledge and drugs. Along with joints they pass on compliments about how beautiful our skin is and how mesmerized they are by our hairstyles and the fact that we know the words to "white songs." They can't really be black, can they? I imagine them thinking. You can tell by their tone that they consider themselves sincere, generous even. The backwards generosity maybe an upshot of the electronic dance music credo, PLUR—Peace Love Unity Respect. I can't help but question if it's kindness or if they don't even see us.

My friend dubs it "black privilege." It's her glass half-full way of looking at racism, at least for the weekend. Instead of playing the race card or getting all angryblackwoman, we should just relish the moment, that for once in our lives we're benefiting from bigotry. Like a slave praising massah for leftover scraps and holey shoes. Am I supposed to say thank you? Should I just believe white people when they claim they aren't racist as a preface for saying something racist, like introducing us as "my black friend" or complimenting how articulate we are? I don't think there are enough psychedelics in this too-big world for me to ever consider microaggressions good-natured banter.

* * *

Saturday night the festival headliner Kendrick Lamar appears on stage underneath the circus tent. He's 5 feet, 6 inches tall and dressed in an oversized white t-shirt and baggy jeans. He's rapping about Compton and poetic justice and I'm thinking about Jimi Hendrix. Rocking out in his black military jacket with gold braids, performing his distorted rendition of "The Star-Spangled Banner" on a screeching electric guitar. A performance that would become emblematic not only of Woodstock but of the entire 1960s. Rock journalist Al Aronowitz of the New York Post wrote that it was "the most electrifying moment of Woodstock" and "probably the single greatest moment of the sixties."

We come down off our acid so we light another blunt while Kendrick performs songs from his 2012 album, good kid, m.A.A.d. city. I nod my head and rap along for a while. Until the THC wears off. Then I'm standing still. Thinking. Again. Is Kendrick Lamar our Jimi Hendrix? Is this our version of crying for freedom? Are we today's counterculture? I watch the crowd—all the white people in designer thrift-store clothes and American Apparel bohemian chic rapping along to "Backseat Freestyle." In unison they shout, with their arms pumping up and down, "Martin had a dream. Martin had a dream. Kendrick have a dream."

I try not to laugh. Or to think about the thousands of pale Millennial hippies rapping about Dr. King's dream. Yet I can't help but wonder if they know that he also says "One hundred years later, the Negro still is not free." I question if they care that this still holds true. My friend passes me the joint. I try to inhale until I can no longer hear white people screaming "nigga" along with Kendrick. I wonder why I can't be more like them. Their drugs must be stronger.

Jasmine Salters is a budding essayist and PhD candidate at UPenn working on her first collection of essays. She uses black feminism and the personal essay to draw outside the lines of academia and give voice to those at the margin. Tweet her at @blkgirlwithapen.

[Illustration by Tara Jacoby]

Earlier this week, author Douglas Preston—from his quaint-but-internet-connected summer shack on the coast of Maine—posted a letter imploring his readers to write Amazon's chief executive Jeff Bezos and demand that he stop taking books as hostages in its on-going negotiations with Hachette Book Group. Some 900 other authors, including the likes of Stephen King and Donna Tartt, have joined him in his call to action. Together they call themselves Authors United, and they've taken out a full-page ad in Sunday's New York Times to get their message out.

Now Amazon has drafted an epistolary army of their own: Readers United. On Friday night, in a letter that likens their services to the "radical invention" of the affordable paperback book, the company called upon their loyal customers to contact Hachette CEO Michael Pitsch, noting his so-called "illegal collusion," to plead, "Please stop working so hard to overcharge for ebooks [sic]." The announcement argues that cheap e-books are the future, and George Orwell, champion of cheap books for all, would probably have wanted it this way.

Except actually, maybe George Orwell wouldn't have. As the New York Times' Bits Blog points out, the Orwell quote The Amazon Book Team cites to make its argument—"The famous author George Orwell came out publicly and said about the new paperback format, if 'publishers had any sense, they would combine against them and suppress them.'"—was actually taken woefully out of context:

Here is what the writer said in the New English Weekly on March 5, 1936: "The Penguin Books are splendid value for sixpence, so splendid that if the other publishers had any sense they would combine against them and suppress them."

Get it? He liked them.

What's more, he would have hated Amazon and the toll they might have taken on his livelihood:

But Orwell then went on to undermine Amazon's argument much more effectively than Hachette ever has. "It is of course a great mistake to imagine that cheap books are good for the book trade," he wrote. "Actually it is just the other way about … The cheaper books become, the less money is spent on books."

And really, the only way to ensure a booming business is to write and sell better books:

"If our book consumption remains as low as it has been," he wrote, "at least let us admit that it is because reading is a less exciting pastime than going to the dogs, the pictures or the pub, and not because books, whether bought or borrowed, are too expensive."

There are 117 results for "George Orwell" on Amazon at the moment, and many of those titles are free on Kindle; perhaps the Books Team should start reading?

[Photo Credit: AP]

Kim Kardashian, successful businesswoman, will soon have another reason to be making deposits at the bank, and it's not because of her viral hit video game. The money-minded celebrity has inked a deal with Rizzoli for a hardcover book made up of hundreds of her selfies.

The book is called Selfish and it's 352 pages of the entrepreneur's personal and private photo archives, which she frequently catalogs on her Instagram. But don't take my word for it—here's the pitch from Rizzoli:

For the first time in print, this book presents some of Kim's favorite selfies in one volume—from her favorite throwback images to current ultra-sexy glam shots—and provides readers with a behind-the-scenes look into this larger-than-life star.

The hardcover edition will release in April of 2015, and thought it might seem like an item one could not put a price on, it will be available for $19.95, or the price of two large pizzas and a bottle of Pepsi at the local pizza parlor. You can pre-order Selfish through Amazon, however, and receive a four-dollar discount, making room for cheesy sticks.

Kardashian, as Rizzoli puts it, is widely thought of as "a trailblazer of the selfie movement," just like your coffee table will soon be thought of as the trailblazer of tasteful coffee table book displays that do not feature Rothko.

[h/t The FADER]

After years of scouring the internet and the skies in search of proof, and after years of denying their existence, this Gawker shill is finally ready to come clean and produce all of the evidence that proves, once and for all, that chemtrails exist.

The chemtrail conspiracy theory, if you don't know, states that the long trails of condensed water vapor (called "contrails") that follow behind high-flying aircraft are really chemicals being sprayed by the government to make us sick and control the weather.

Since belief in the conspiracy is growing in both online circles and even local governments, here's a handy list of all the scientific proof that confirms chemtrails exist:

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

[Top image taken by the author at National Airport]

You can follow the shill-author on Twitter or send him an email.

What did Sean Hannity whisper in Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu's ear during their post-interview slow dance? He's still not telling—and he doesn't much like your guessing, either. This morning the Fox News personality took some time to respond personally to a few of the many Twitter users who took yesterday's teasing Tweet as an opportunity to troll.

Now we can at least say with certainty that one thing Hannity did not whisper in Bibi's ear is: "That's a pretty small cock you have there."

“@AlexKeatonYo: pic.twitter.com/VDC0LPntEt” "That's a pretty small cock you have there" ?”

You are a sick twisted pervert.

— Sean Hannity (@seanhannity) August 9, 2014

So what sweet nothing did he whisper? Us "dumb liberal asses" probably don't want to know anyway:

“@AlexKeatonYo: “ pic.twitter.com/VDC0LPntEt” That's a pretty small cock you have there

If I told your dumb liberal ass the truth u would flip

— Sean Hannity (@seanhannity) August 9, 2014

“@chump_dick: *snowballs bibi's cum back into his ear* @seanhannity”

You really are a chump and a dumb one at that

— Sean Hannity (@seanhannity) August 9, 2014

“@Zubaandaraz: @seanhannity last night, I gave you an STD?”

U need to stop projecting

— Sean Hannity (@seanhannity) August 9, 2014

He's also, apparently, still stewing over his recent spat with Russell Brand:

@rustyrockets Russell Brand druggie who dresses like Bin Laden day after 9-11. Rusty needs an education on terrorism. A Dumb D list actor

— Sean Hannity (@seanhannity) August 9, 2014

[Photo Credit: AP, h/t Mediaite]

According the Agence France-Presse, 44 people are dead and 11 are injured after a tour bus fell over the side of a cliff Saturday morning in Tibet.

A nine-year-old Florida boy, who successfully held off a nine-foot, four-hundred-pound alligator while swimming in a lake, is recovering in the hospital from the run-in, but not without a prize by his bedside: the tooth of the gator who tried to break him.

James Barney Jr. was attacked by the gator in Saint Cloud, Fla. on Thursday. Barney was swimming in the lake when he felt something brush against him. He reacted by mercilessly beating the hell out of the beast.

Via ABC News:

"I just immediately hit it and I let it go a little so I pry its jaw open," James Barney Jr. said.

[...]

"First I thought someone was just playing with me and I didn't know what happened. I reached down to go grab it and I felt its jaw, I felt its teeth," Barney said.

The boy came out of the scuffle with over thirty bite marks into his body, but was given the alligator's tooth as a reward, a tooth he should like to wear on a necklace as proof of men's dominion over the animal kingdom.

The gator is still on the loose, but the lake is now closed to swimmers until the boy takes his reward: that tooth.

Barney escaped with only minor alligator bites and a memorable souvenir, the animal's tooth.

"I want to put it on a necklace so that I can tell all my friends," he said.

[Image via AP]

On Friday, a Northern Virginia medical examiner determined the cause of James S. Brady's death to be "a gunshot wound and its health consequences" and the manner of death a homicide—some 33 years in the making.

The former White House press secretary and gun-control advocate, who died earlier this week at the age of 73, miraculously survived a gunshot wound to the head during the 1981 assassination attempt on his boss President Ronald Reagan. But he did not escape entirely unscathed: he was often wheelchair-bound, and was reported to have suffered short-term memory impairment, slurred speech, and constant pain.

The shooter, John Hinckley Jr., was famously found not guilty by reason of insanity, as he had cited his infatuation with Jodie Foster and a deadly desire to impress her as his motive. And according to the AP, it is unlikely he'll see any charges at all this time around:

"I think it (the medical examiner's ruling) will mean nothing," long-time Hinckley attorney Barry Levine told The Associated Press. "No prosecutors will bring such a case. The notion that this could be a successful prosecution is far-fetched. There is no legal basis to pursue this."

Death certificates are complicated.

[Image via AP]

A man who participated in an anti-crime, police-sponsored doughnut-eating contest in North Carolina on Wednesday was arrested only a day later, officers say, when they realized he had been wanted in two suspected break-ins.

Police officials in Elizabeth City, N.C. arrested 24-year-old Bradley Hardison immediately following his sweet success in the anti-crime doughnut eating contest. Hardison put back eight doughnuts in two minutes, beating out police officers and firemen alike, but the win couldn't stop officers from recognizing his face. The police department had reportedly been looking for Hardison for months in connection to two break-in cases.

The suspect remains in jail, where his victory may now seem bittersweet.

[Image via Shutterstock]

Former NASCAR champion Tony Stewart will compete in today's Sprint Cup race at Watkins Glen, according to the AP. The race comes less than 24 hours after he was involved in an incident resulting in the death of sprint car driver Kevin Ward, Jr., last night. UPDATE

UPDATE: Zipadelli, Stewart's race team manager, just changed course at a NASCAR press conference. Stewart will not be racing today at Watkins Glen.

From @StewartHaasRcng's VP of Competition: Tony Stewart will not race today at @WGI.

@ReganSmith will drive the No. 14 car.

— NASCAR (@NASCAR) August 10, 2014

The rest of the original story follows below.

Stewart's race team manager Greg Zipadelli called today's race "business as usual," the AP reported.

For those just waking up to the news involving Stewart and wondering what's going on, 20-year-old fellow sprint car driver Kevin Ward, Jr., was killed in an incident last night involving Stewart at a dirt track race in upstate New York. After a shunt involving both Ward and Stewart that left the former's tire flat, Ward got out of his car to confront Stewart on the track.

When Stewart approached Ward, he appeared to gun the engine, forcing his rear tires sideways and into Ward. Ward was dragged underneath the race car, before being thrown approximately 50 yards.

Ward was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital.

Stewart, who won the NASCAR Sprint Cup series championship in 2002, 2005, 2011, and the Indy Racing League championship in 1997, has reportedly been fully cooperative with investigators, and has yet to be charged with any crime.

UPDATE: It appears as if the NASCAR organization has no problem with Stewart racing today as well:

Says #nascar spokesman: nothing series has learned would preclude stewart from racing at @wgi today

— brant james (@brantjames) August 10, 2014

Photo credit: Getty Images

The AP reports that Palestinian negotiators have accepted an Egyptian proposal for a 72-hour cease-fire with Israel.

Israeli negotiators left talks earlier this week, after the conclusion of an earlier 72-hour cease-fire, saying they refused to "negotiate under fire." Today's truce hopes to allow space for the resumption of negotiations for a long-term cease-fire. The AP reports that there was no immediate Israeli response.

A Palestinian negotiator told the AP, "We are here to look for an agreement. We cannot have an agreement without talks, so we accepted an Egyptian proposal to have a cease-fire for 72 hours in order to resume the talks."

[image via AP]

An Iranian passenger plane crashed shortly after takeoff early Sunday morning, killing 39 and leaving 9 injured, according to Iranian officials.

It's believed that the plane, a 52-passenger Iran-140 operated by Sepahan Air, was en route from the Mehrabad Airport in Tehran to the eastern city of Tabas when it's tail struck the cables of an electricity tower and burst into flames. The tail, which was torn from the fuselage, was found mangled but mostly intact nearby the crash site. There are also rumors that engine failure might be to blame. An eyewitness told the AP that, "There was no smoke or anything. It was absolutely sound and in good condition."

One official, citing a similar accident, expressed pointed concern regarding the plane's maintenance. "Lawmakers visited the production site of the plane and expressed concern about its (safety)," IRNA quoted him as saying. "This company should have not been allowed to operate the plane to avoid such a bitter incident."

Iran has suffered a rash of plane crashes, perhaps a result of international sanctions that have made it difficult to tend to their aging fleet:

Iranian airlines, including those run by the state, are chronically strapped for cash, and maintenance has suffered, experts say. U.S. sanctions prevent Iran from updating its American aircraft and make it difficult to get European spare parts or planes. The country has come to rely on Russian aircraft, many of them Soviet-era planes that are harder to get parts for since the Soviet Union's fall.

[Photo via AP]

The outraged community of Ferguson, Missouri, demands answers after a police officer's fatal shooting of a teenager on Saturday.

Witnesses told KMOV that unarmed 18-year-old Michael Brown had his hands in the air when he was shot several times by a Ferguson police officer. A spokesman with the St. Louis County Police Department, which is currently investigating the shooting, confirmed to the AP that a Ferguson police officer shot Brown, but did not give the reason for, or any other details surrounding, the shooting. The officer has been placed on administrative leave.

Dorian Johnson, a friend of Brown's, told KMOV that he was with him at the time of the incident:

"He (the officer) shot again and once my friend felt that shot, he turned around and put his hands in the air. ... He started to get down and the officer still approached with his weapon drawn and fired several more shots."

After the shooting, hundreds of Ferguson residents reportedly took to the street to protest. From CNN:

At the peak of the spontaneous street protest, up to 1,000 people turned up, some very angry, [Police Chief Thomas] Jackson said.

"We had what probably bordered on riot conditions," he said.

Officers heard gunfire at the protests, and it took them hours to secure the scene for county homicide detectives to get evidence safely before removing Brown's body, according to Jackson.

The St. Louis County NAACP is launching their own investigation into the shooting, according to CNN. Local chapter President Esther Haywood released a statement saying:

"We plan to do everything within our power to ensure that the Ferguson Police Department as well as the St. Louis County Police Department releases all details pertinent to the shooting. We strongly encourage residents to stay away from the crime scene so that no additional citizens are injured."

Update 12:35 p.m.: Police Department Chief Jon Belmar confirmed at a news conference that all shell casings collected at the scene were from the officer's gun, and that a medical examiner would determine how many times Brown was shot. He notes "it was more than just a couple."

Update 11:39 a.m.: CNN reports that St. Louis County Police Department Chief Jon Belmar said that before being fatally shot, Brown "pushed a police officer back into the car, where he physically assaulted the police officer" and attempted to take his weapon. This account obviously presents a vastly different situation than the multiple witness accounts that reported Brown had his hands in the air during the shooting.

[image via AP]

Amidst news that big storms had passed over Hawaii, the state's governor, Neil Abercrombie, lost his bid for re-election, drawing the curtains on nearly four decades in elected office.

His fellow Democrat and former underdog State Sen. David Ige overcame a number of odds—including an endorsement from Barack Obama for the incumbent, and having been vastly outspent during his campaign—to defeat Abercrombie by 35 percentage points with 99 percent of precincts reporting. Ige said that his unlikely win "proves that people power can be money power, especially in Hawaii."

In his concession speech, Abercrombie recalled his time in office, pledged his support Mr. Ige going forward, and reiterated his love for the Aloha State.

"Every waking breath that I've taken, every thought that I've had before I slept, was for Hawaii. Whatever faults I had, one of them has never been a failure to give all that I can every day," he said. "Hawaii is everything to me."

Abercrombie is the first incumbent governor in Hawaii's history to lose in his party's primary, as well as the first sitting governor to lose his seat this year. It's thought that his recent appointment of Brian Schatz to Senate instead of Rep. Colleen Hanabusa, against the deathbed-wishes of beloved late senator Daniel Inouye, may have contributed to his waning popularity. Schatz and Hanabusa's race, a special election to fill the remainder of Inouye's term through 2016, has been deemed too close to call.

[Image via AP]

While Mariah Carey sings sweetly in the background, an adorable little baby is driven crazy by the presence of a remote control.

A simple pleasure in a complicated nightmare of a world.

[h/t TastefullyOffensive]

Dominique Ansel, New York City's famous Cronut inventor, has a new creation that's causing many to ask: is this a dick or what?

According to GrubStreet, the peanut butter-stuffed pretzel is purportedly "shaped like a lobster tail" and goes on sale today at Dominique Ansel's Soho bakery. The pretzel was unveiled on an episode of Good Morning America:

Drum roll please! The latest creation by the Cronut mastermind is.... A pretzel lobster tail! Yum! pic.twitter.com/3TY4pwNHvG

— Good Morning America (@GMA) August 7, 2014

Good morning, indeed!

The Daily Beast's Tim Teeman called the pastry "extremely phallic," and reports that, when asked, many of his coworkers agreed with his assessment:

"It's a penis." "That is totally a penis." "Eww, yes, penis." "Is he serious? That's a penis." The only dissenting colleague said, "It reminds me of the head of a pharaoh."

The Huffington Post put it plainly: "Dominique Ansel, the face behind the cronut empire, has come up with a new stuffed soft pretzel that looks exactly like a penis." E! Online even got in on the speculation, noting, "It also looks kind of like a penis with three testicles."

So what do you think—is this a dick, or what?

(It's a dick.)

Previously in dick mysteries:

• Is this a dick or what?
• Is this a dick or what?
  
• Is this a dick or what?
  
• Is this a dick or what?
  

[image via Twitter]

We've just received word of an update in the ongoing SoulCycle-based feud between actresses Tia Mowry and Charlize Theron: an unnamed source spoke to E! News regarding the claim that Theron attempted to have Mowry banned from SoulCycle forever, saying, "this is totally fabricated and completely not true." More as this story develops.

Where were you when you first heard word that there might be an Ebola case in New York? Eric Silverman, a 27-year-old Brooklyn grad student who was admitted to Mount Sinai with a high fever and gastrointestinal symptoms, was in his hospital bed texting and watching CNN.

"Is that me they are talking about?" he asked a nurse. Yes, yes they were.

"It was surreal," Silverman recalls, in an interview with the New York Daily News about his 72 hours in quarantine. "Even my friends didn't believe me when I told them I was the mystery patient. They thought I was joking."

Case in point, this series of text messages he claims to have sent to a buddy, Zak, from his isolation room. Possibly being infected by Ebola is "not that amazing, kinda annoying," he says.

Eric: I have something crazy to tell you.

Zak: Hahaha something so crazy that you couldn't wait until noon to share? Are you patient zero at Mount Sinai? I know you were the one to have contracted Ebola…

Eric: Yeah that's me.

Zak: Haha, tough break, my man. Well you had a pretty good run. Not great, but pretty good.

Eric: Thanks, buddy.

Zak: Haha. What do you have to tell me, though? I mean, it couldn't wait till after 8:30 so it has to be amazing.

Eric: I just told you. It's not that amazing, kinda annoying.

Zak: Wait, what? Holy sh—. Are you ok? What's going on? What are they saying? O jeez, Eric- I'm so sorry. Are they saying that your ok?

Eric: Yeah I'll be okay. Just a precaution. I had a bad fever and diarrhea and so they freaked out when I said I was just in SL (Sierra Leone)

Zak: How are you feeling now?

Eric: Better, just the same symptoms tho. Obv keep this on the dl don't want my name getting out.

Obv keep this on the dl don't want my name getting out.

Zak: Are you in the hospital?

Eric: I'm in a glass box.

Zak: You're quarantined? How much longer do they need you for observation? I'm going to assume I can't visit, huh? Haha

Eric: Yes only spacesuits are allowed inside They should know today My blood work is now in Atlanta.

Zak: That's totally surreal. What a bizarre experience that must be. How are you holding up? How many days have you been there?

Eric: Since Sunday night. That's pretty funny that you guessed it right off the bat.

Zak: Haha…for the past couple of days The Guardian has been running stories on your case. I would read them and joke with K that it must be you. Of course, I would have never in a million years thought that you were the mystery patient. Besides having no human contact outside of men in spacesuits, are you feeling ok?

Eric: Yeah, just sleeping a lot and watching boring TV, not much else to do…

Zak: Well when you get out we'll go out to a big dinner. Or, at the very least, an evening of NBA JAM.

Eric: Haha ok thanks, You might know before me if you're watching CNN.

On Wednesday afternoon he was given the good news that his tests had come back negative. "When Dr. Powell and the hospital president, David Reich, both walked into my room not wearing hazmat suits, I knew then I was clear!" Silverman says. "This was definitely an experience."

Meanwhile, the experience in African hospitals is much different . . .

[Image via AP]