The first thing that popped into my mind when I read that a monster quake had rocked Port-au-Prince was, “How the fuck will they be able to tell the difference?” I mean, it’s Haiti, for fuck’s sake. They eat fly poop for all three meals and drink AIDS-tainted blood for an evening snack. What we call trash dumps, they call houses. The media response has been typically hypocritical and vomit-inducing. Amid the outpouring of vigils and prayers and drum circles and outreach projects and relief efforts and humanitarian work and charity organizations and healing and cooperation and the inevitable flood of dirt-stupid, America-hostile refugees to our shores, I don’t see many people willing to actually move there.