The asshole neighbor who loved his grass.

When I was growing up in the small town of East Brady, PA we had a neighbor that lived up the hill from us.

He was a reclusive sort.

I guess, friendly enough, but kind of rude.

And the reason why I say this is that every time we had friends over for a backyard BBQ; a little outing in our back yard, he would burn mounds of (cut lawn) grass in a large oil drum that would send thick whitish – grey smoke onto our gathering…

Each, and every time.

Every single FUCKING time.

Every…

…single…

…time.

Knowing what I know now, as a much older and experienced man, I dare say that I would be more proactive than my blue-pilled father. I get it, maybe I would, and maybe I wouldn’t, Who knows how I would react and what actions would I take if I were in my father’s shoes?

But one thing is a truth.

Our neighbor was intentionally rude, and being intentionally rude is very, very wrong. It is socially unacceptable. It is a sign of something being amiss, and suggestive of being mentally ill to some extent.

Anyways…

Guys, pay attention to those that intentionally and continuously harass you; belittle you or who are rude to you.

Distance yourself, and come up with strategies on how to deal with them.

Serious talk.

Listen to me.

Today…

Blushing Berry Pie

Yield: 8 servings

Ingredients

1/2 packet frozen ready-rolled piecrust defrosted
1 pound fresh strawberries, divided
4 ounces white chocolate, broken into squares
1 lemon
2 teaspoons powdered gelatin
1 (8 ounce) package full fat soft cheese, softened
1 (8 ounce) carton crème fraîche
5 tablespoons lemon curd
2 ounces icing sugar
8 ounces fresh raspberries

Instructions

Heat oven to 400 degrees F. Let piecrust stand at room temperature for 15 minutes.
Place pastry round in Deep Dish Pie Plate. Gently press dough into bottom and up sides of plate using Baker’s Roller™. Prick bottom and sides of pastry case using pastry tool; decoratively flute edge.
Bake for 20 to 22 minutes or until golden brown.
Cool completely.
Rinse strawberries and pat dry. Select 8 uniformly-sized strawberries for decoration. Slice each strawberry in half using Paring Knife, leaving stems on each half; set aside. Hull remaining strawberries using Cook’s Corer™; slice using Egg Slicer Plus™.
Place white chocolate in Large Micro-Cooker®. Microwave on HIGH 1 minute; stir every 20 seconds or until melted and smooth. Dip strawberry halves in melted chocolate; place cut-side down on a sheet of Parchment Paper.
Refrigerate for 15 minutes or until set.
Meanwhile, spread remaining melted chocolate over bottom of baked pastry using Skinny Scraper. Layer sliced strawberries over bottom of crust; set aside. Finely zest lemon using Lemon Zester/Scorer; set aside. Juice lemon using Juicer. Add cold water to juice to measure 3 1/2 fl ounces. Place lemon juice mixture in Small Batter Bowl. Microwave on HIGH 30-50 seconds or until liquid is hot but not boiling. Sprinkle gelatin over hot liquid; whisk until dissolved. Cool slightly.
Combine soft cheese, crème fraîche, lemon zest, lemon curd and icing sugar in Classic Batter Bowl; mix until smooth. Add dissolved gelatin; whisk until smooth using Stainless Steel Whisk. Spread cheese mixture evenly over strawberries. Arrange raspberries evenly over top of pie filling. Place dipped strawberry halves around edge of pie.
Refrigerate 30 minutes.
Serve using Slice ’N Serve®.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Musk Warns “America Is Headed For Bankruptcy SUPER FAST!”

Fun Comix

Inspiration in the Park

Submitted into Contest #283 in response to: Write a story with the line “I wasn’t expecting that.”… view prompt

John Steckley

The wooded area in the local park was my favourite place to go to when I was but a lad, living a short walk away. I spent many hours on my own there, but I did not for a second feel that I was alone. I felt welcomed there every time. The trees were my best friends, particularly the cluster of cedars.In fact it was a place that gave me confidence in myself. When I was ten years old, I felt the attraction of becoming a writer. No one knew that I had that feeling, certainly not any family members or friends. And when I went to the park, ideas for stories appeared to me beginning with blue waves of beginning words appearing in my head. They initiated tales about aliens in my head.I received no support from my English teachers. Several of them demonstrated with their commentary that they did not even like what I had written. They said that my stories were way too unreal, too far-fetched to have anyone accept the basic premises they were based on. Fortunately, although that shocked me at first, I learned to ignore their commentary. I am so glad I did.I would have never been published if I had taken their negativism for truth. I submitted my first story to a local newspaper in my small town. It was for the Christmas issue. I came up with an idea for a kind of supernatural story after taking a walk in what would become my inspiration place. I did not tell my English teacher of the time, even though he encouraged his students to enter the contest, offering to make suggestions before they submitted their piece. I was not going to let him insist that I make changes in it, and generally put my work down. He did not like that I only wrote stories about aliens. I liked the story just as it was. And I was not the only person to do so. The editor of the paper loved it, and published it the week after the contest had ended. I even received some money for the piece, and I was termed the ‘winner’ of the contest, even though several of the other stories were published as well – none of them written by my fellow high school students. My English teacher of the time did not comment in class when school opened up again in January. Later I heard two teachers talking about the fact that he had submitted his own short story, but had not been published. When they thought that I wasn’t looking and listening (I have very good hearing), they pointed at me and one of them said, “That boy over there was the winner.”After I graduated from high school, I applied for the English Literature program. They accepted me, certainly not because of my marks from my always always critical teachers, but because I had won the contest, and had since published several short stories in several literary magazines, all of them about aliens, and all inspired by trips to the park. I would have no idea what I was going to write about until I was in my special part of the park. Once there, voices inside me started my stories. Nowhere else did that for me.My First BookIn the summer after my initial year of university, I wrote my first book. To no surprise to me, my family and my friends, it carried a story of the presence of aliens on earth. It was easier to write such a long work than I ever thought it would be. My summer job was in a factory not far away from the park of my inspirations. I could and did walk to it in my lunch break, always carrying a pen and paper to copy down the ideas about the story that would come to me as I sat on a stump and ate the lunch my mother had prepared for me. Pretty much every day I had to finish eating my mom’s sandwiches while walking back to work. And her sandwiches are great! The ideas that flowed into my head took precedence.That book became a series about a particular group of aliens. By the time that I graduated with my English Literature degree, there were four books in the series. The last one was the longest, and was very much the hardest one to stop writing. I stayed in the park overnight, because I could not walk away from my source of inspiration.Another series began and ended in graduate school, this time with four books. More nights were spent in the park. I brought a tent, which when not used I hid in the underbrush.When I graduated I soon applied to and received a teaching position at a high school in town, but not the one with the English teachers that undervalued my work. I did not want to have anything to do with them.I soon became known as the ‘Find a Place’ professor, as I told my students about how the place I had found had been such an influence on all of my writing. A good number of my students tried to find their own place for writing inspiration. It helped some of them, one of whom said to me with some excitement as he walked, almost skipping, into the classroom ‘it worked, it worked’. Not one have published as yet, but I think that it is just a matter of time before a few of them do.Seeking a VisionIt has been a while now since I have done any writing. But that should not be a surprise to me, as I haven’t been able to get to the park in over a month. I have had to spend a lot of time marking, and being with my newly-married wife. She knows about my link with the park, and has suggested a few times that I should go there, but I thought that I should dedicate my ‘spare time’ with her in the early days of our being married.

Then she insisted. The timing was right. I had sat at my desk at work, and my desk at home with no results in writing: sentences written were soon crossed out. I had a strong desire to go to the park and be inspired.

I walked into the park, the cedars blowing in a slight wind as if they were waving me hello. I looked up at their uppermost branches, which had earlier been a guaranteed inspiration. Words appeared in my mind, and I had an inspiration to write another alien story, maybe even a book. I began writing. Then I felt compelled to look up once more. I could not believe my eyes. There were shadowy blue creatures near the top of the trees, aliens obviously. I was not expecting that.

NOW Neocons Are READY: Make Taiwan The Ukraine Of Asia

Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Monkey Mayhem

Ah, greetings once more, dear reader. It seems you can’t get enough of my tales of bravery, wit, and sheer genius. Who could blame you? Life on this farm is a never-ending parade of absurdity, and I, Sir Whiskerton, am the only one keeping it from descending into complete anarchy. Today, I shall regale you with a story of chaos, hilarity, and an unexpected visitor who turned our world upside down. This is the tale of The Monkey Mayhem—a case that involved bananas, a harmonica, and far too much swinging from barn rafters. Buckle up.

The Arrival

It began, as most of my troubles do, with an ear-piercing commotion. I was enjoying a peaceful nap in the shade of the big oak tree when I heard the animals shouting.

“WHAT IS THAT THING?!” Harold the rooster squawked, his feathers puffed up in alarm.

“It’s got FINGERS!” cried Henny Penny, flapping her wings as if the sky were falling (again).

“Is… is it supposed to be here?” asked Betty the sheep, blinking in confusion.

I groaned, stretched, and reluctantly padded over to the source of the chaos. The animals had gathered in a tight, nervous circle near the barn, their eyes wide as they stared at… something. When I pushed my way to the front, I saw it.

A monkey.

Yes, a monkey. Small, with a mischievous grin, fur as brown as the barn walls, and long arms that seemed perfectly designed for causing trouble. He was sitting on top of an overturned bucket, casually peeling a banana. Around his neck hung a harmonica, which he blew into every few seconds, producing a jaunty, if slightly off-key, tune.

“Who on earth are you?” I demanded, my green eyes narrowing.

The monkey looked at me, tilted his head, and grinned wider. “Name’s Banjo,” he said, in a voice that was far too cheerful for my liking. “Just passing through. Nice place you got here.”

“Passing through?” I repeated skeptically. “This is a farm, not a circus.”

“Funny you should mention that,” Banjo said, hopping onto the fence in one fluid motion. “I was part of a circus. But I got bored. Too many rules, you know? So I broke out. Figured I’d see the world.”

“And you landed here?”

“Yup!” He blew a quick, jaunty tune on his harmonica and tipped an imaginary hat. “Thanks for the hospitality!”
The Chaos Begins

From the moment Banjo arrived, life on the farm descended into chaos. He had absolutely no respect for the unwritten rules of farm stability, and within hours, he had everyone in a frenzy.

Rule #1: The barn is for resting, not playing.

Banjo turned it into his personal playground. He swung from the rafters like a furry acrobat, scattering hay everywhere and startling poor Bessie the cow so badly that she tipped over her water bucket.

Rule #2: The chicken coop is off-limits to outsiders.

Banjo ignored this completely. He waltzed into the coop, harmonica in hand, and serenaded the hens with a tune so lively that they started clucking and flapping in what could only be described as a chicken dance. Harold was furious.

Rule #3: Don’t touch Farmer Joe’s tools.

Banjo not only touched them—he rearranged them. Farmer Joe’s neatly organized workbench was left in complete disarray, with wrenches hanging from the barn rafters and a hammer inexplicably balanced on top of a weather vane.

The animals came to me, as they always do when things go wrong.

“Whiskerton, you have to do something!” Henny Penny begged.
“He’s turning the barnyard into a circus!” Harold squawked.
“He… he ate my carrots,” Porkchop the pig sniffled, looking thoroughly betrayed.

I sighed. “Fine. I’ll talk to him.”

The Confrontation

I found Banjo sitting in the middle of the pasture, playing a soulful tune on his harmonica while balancing on one hand. A small crowd of animals had gathered to watch, their annoyance starting to give way to curiosity.

“Banjo,” I said, approaching him with my usual air of authority. “We need to talk.”

He flipped onto his feet and gave me a cheeky grin. “What’s up, Whiskers?”

“It’s Whiskerton,” I corrected, my tail flicking irritably. “And what’s up is you disrupting the farm. This place has rules, and you’re breaking all of them.”

“Rules?” Banjo said, scratching his head. “What’s the fun in rules?”

“Rules are what keep this farm running,” I said, my voice firm. “Without them, everything falls apart.”

Banjo shrugged. “Seems like everyone’s still standing to me. Besides, I’m just trying to liven things up. You ever notice how boring this place is?”

“Boring?” I echoed, offended. “This farm is perfectly balanced. It doesn’t need ‘livening up.’ It needs peace and order.”

“Peace and order, huh?” Banjo said, grinning. “Alright, let’s make a deal. If I can prove that a little chaos isn’t such a bad thing, I get to stay. If not, I’ll leave.”

I glared at him. I didn’t trust him, but I couldn’t resist a challenge. “Fine. But if you lose, you leave without complaint.”

“Deal!” Banjo said, shaking my paw enthusiastically. Then he blew a triumphant note on his harmonica and scampered off, leaving me wondering what I’d just agreed to.

The Monkey’s Plan

Over the next day, Banjo set out to prove his point. He organized a series of absurd activities that left the farm in an uproar—but, annoyingly, also brought a surprising amount of laughter.

He convinced the pigs to play a game of tug-of-war with an old rope, which ended with everyone falling into the mud and laughing hysterically.
He taught the chickens a synchronized dance routine, complete with harmonica accompaniment, which had even Harold grudgingly tapping his talons.

He turned the hay bales into a makeshift obstacle course, challenging the animals to races that left everyone cheering.

By the end of the day, the farm was a mess, but it was also filled with an energy I hadn’t seen before. Even I had to admit, begrudgingly, that Banjo’s antics had brought the animals closer together.

The Happy Ending

That evening, as the sun set over the farm, Banjo found me lounging on the barn roof.

“Well?” he said, sitting beside me. “Did I prove my point?”

I sighed. “You caused chaos. But… you also brought the animals together. I suppose there’s a place for a little fun, as long as it doesn’t disrupt the farm completely.”

Banjo grinned. “Does that mean I can stay?”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. But only if you promise to follow the rules. Mostly.”

“Deal!” he said, holding out his paw for a high five. Reluctantly, I swatted it.

And so, Banjo stayed on the farm, his harmonica tunes becoming a familiar sound in the barnyard. The farm found a new balance—one that included a little chaos, a lot of laughter, and, of course, me keeping everyone in line.
The Moral of the Story

Sometimes, a little chaos is exactly what you need to remind you of what really matters: friendship, laughter, and the joy of trying something new. Just don’t let it interfere with my nap schedule.

The End.

Woman ARRESTED After Committing PATERNITY FRAUD!—Instant Consequences!

Almost all of China’s debt is owned by domestic organizations. Can you speculate if the central government can’t pay its obligations?

Total Debt held by Chinese National Government and backed by PBOC as on 30/9/24 = ¥ 64.77 Trillion

Annual Interest on National Debt = ¥ 1.38 Trillion

Total Debt held by Local Governments (Prefecture, Provincial & Country) and backed by PBOC as on 30/11/2024 = ¥ 6 Trillion

Total Debt held by Local Governments (Prefecture, Provincial & Country) and not backed by PBOC but by the local state agencies = ¥ 25.36 Trillion

Total Debt held by Government of China and backed by the PBOC = ¥ 70.77 Trillion

Total Debt held by Local state agencies in China = ¥ 25.36 Trillion

Total Debt held by all Public Agencies in China = ¥ 96.13 Trillion

Gross Domestic Product of China (2025) Estimated = ¥ 135 Trillion

Total Debt as Percentage of GDP = 71.20%

Total Interest paid on Debt by PBOC = ¥ 1.38 Trillion + ¥ 141 Billion = ¥ 1.49 Trillion

So as you can see – the State Agencies in China – in counties and prefectures owed around 31.36 Trillion Yuan of Debt

Of this the National Government and PBOC have brought 6 Trillion Yuan under their umbrella by buying out 6 Trillion Yuan of Local Debt and replacing it with National Debt on a 1:1 swap in November

So around ¥ 25.36 Trillion Yuan is held by State Agencies not backed by the PBOC which pay a collective interest of ¥ 827 Billion a year

Assuming this entire debt is defaulted and the PBOC will assume the debt , that’s still only ¥ 2.317 Trillion of Debt which is only 19% of Revenue and 9.6% of Expenditure

Corporate Debt of China & Institutional Debt = ¥ 218.49 Trillion

This is the debt owned by Chinese Companies to their Government and Banks and People

The Assets owned and controlled by then = ¥ 436 Trillion

Total Revenue generated by Corporate and Institutional China = ¥ 40.88 Trillion

So even today Asset to Debt Ratio for Corporations and Institutions in China is only 50%

By contrast it is 87% in Korea, 81.2% in Japan

Total Institutional and Corporate Debt = 5.344 Years Revenue

It’s very close to Japan (5.108 Years) and Korea (5.206 Years)

With such a strong position, the Chinese Government can easily pay its obligations.

Cool Mint Pinwheel Pie

Yield: 12 servings or 16 sample servings

Ingredients

1/2 (15 ounce) package refrigerated pie crust (one crust)
3 (1.5 ounce) bars milk chocolate
8 ounces cream cheese, softened
1 (12 ounce) container frozen whipped topping, thawed, divided
1/2 cup milk
1/2 teaspoon peppermint extract
Green food coloring (optional)
1 (3.3 ounce) box white chocolate instant pudding and pie filling

Instructions

Heat oven to 425 degrees F.
Place pie crust in Deep Dish Pie Plate, gently pressing dough into bottom and up sides; prick bottom using Hold ‘N Slice.
Bake for 10 to 12 minutes or until golden brown. Cool completely on Nonstick Cooling Rack.
Break into small pieces and place in Small Micro-Cooker. Microwave, uncovered, on HIGH for 1 minute, stirring after each 10 second interval until chocolate is melted and smooth. Do not overheat. Spread half of the chocolate over bottom and sides of prepared crust; set aside.
Pour remaining chocolate onto Parchment Paper; immediately spread into a 6 inch circle using Skinny Scraper. Place Parchment on chilled Chillzanne Platter for 1 to 2 minutes, or until chocolate is firm and surface is dry to the touch. (Or, place chocolate on Cutting Board and refrigerate 15 minutes.) Do not allow chocolate to cool too long or it will crack when cut. Remove parchment from Platter and place on Cutting Board. Using Crinkle Cutter, cut chocolate circle into 12 even wedges but do not remove from parchment. Continue chilling on Platter until chocolate is set.
In Classic Batter Bowl, microwave cream cheese on HIGH for 30 seconds until softened; whisk until smooth using Stainless Steel Whisk.
Fill Easy Accent Decorator with 1 cup of the whipped topping; set aside for garnish. Add remaining whipped topping, milk, peppermint extract and food coloring to Batter Bowl; whisk until smooth. Add pudding mix and whisk vigorously until mixture is blended and very thick. Immediately spoon filling into crust; spread evenly using Large Spreader.
Pipe 12 rosettes around edge of pie. To remove chocolate from Parchment, slide Large Spreader between chocolate and Parchment, gently separating triangles. Place one triangle, with point toward center, against each rosette, forming a pinwheel pattern.
For a colder serving temperature and easier slicing, chill 30 minutes.
Serve using Slice ‘N Serve.

Nutrition

Per serving: Calories 320, Total Fat 20g, Saturated Fat 13g, Cholesterol 25mg, Carbohydrate 30g, Protein 3g, Sodium 250mg, Fiber 0g

Attribution

Posted by FootsieBear at Recipe Goldmine 6/15/01 2:42:17 pm.

Pampered Chef

Is there a plane that can be purchased on the open market that resembles a fighter jet?

Fighter jets don’t sell very well due to the fact that most have just one seat. The ones that have two seats are filled with so much weapons wizardry that a WIZO or Wepons Systems Officer (a non pilot) is needed to manage that aspect of the mission.

What you should be looking for are the trainer versions of these fighters that have two seats, so that the experience can be shared.

For example the most iconic collectable fighter, the P-51, comes rather inexpensively, unless it’s the “D” varrient that was fitted with a gun camera behind the pilot. That model is worth twice as much because the camera, if it is still there, can be removed, and the space converted to a second seat. If you find an airwworthy P51-D, expect to pay upwards of $1,000,000 for it.

On the lesser expensive side there are numerous foreign aircraft available from cash strapped countries that got them from the USA but for whatever reason the parts and support was cut off and they are languishing in the dessert somewhere.

Lastly, understand that the US generally does not dispose of any models that are still in use in order to preserve spare parts for the active fleet. For example just 40%of the A-10 s d

Ever built are airworthy at the moment. The rest are reposting at the Davis Monthan AFB in AZ ready to supply parts for those that are still flying.

~ Mike Heaton

Leftover Dreams: Materialism and Unrealistic Standards Among China’s Older Single Women

https://youtu.be/tTARmrwdNP0

All the Time in the World

Submitted into Contest #283 in response to: Write a story that ends with a huge twist.… view prompt

Patti Pierucci

By Patti A. Pierucci

(Author’s Note: The protagonist of this story, Dr. Anton Mellick,

also appears in the author’s full-length book The Hand of Maud.)

“There are really four dimensions, three which we call the three planes of Space,

and a fourth, Time.”

H.G. Wells, The Time Machine Mrs. Russell gave three quick taps on the door, then opened it and stuck her head in. “I’m leaving now, doctor. I left a pot of soup on the stove for you,” she said with a slight wave of her hand. “Good night; see you on Monday.”

“Alright, then. See you in the morning.” Anton Mellick—Ph.D., chairman of the Physics Department at Silverleaf Institute of Science, professor emeritus of physics at Mount Sterling University, and author of The Clockwork Chronicles: Black Holes, Wormholes, & The Space-Time Continuum—was standing in his office, a small room attached to the front of his expansive laboratory building, when Mrs. Russell, his housekeeper, poked her head in to say good night. He heard her footsteps clack-clacking outside on the pavement, then the car door opening and shutting, then the engine starting, then her car driving away.

Mellick had an ideal laboratory for his experiments. He had constructed a large, industrial-sized building behind his home. It took several months and contentious meetings with town officials to get a zoning variance and building permits to erect a structure this large, sixty feet square made of high-tensile steel and a flat, metal roof twenty feet high. There were no windows—to obstruct prying eyes.

It will be an eyesore, the neighbors had objected. A monstrosity, they told the town officials. So, in the interest of preserving neighborhood harmony—as well as his privacy—he agreed to construct a fence to shield the neighbors’ easily offended eyes from his lab. He had refused to back down on using steel in its construction, though. He needed the entire facility to be fireproof, just in case.

As soon as Mellick heard Mrs. Russell’s car driving away, he walked toward the door at the rear of his office, unlocked it—he always kept it locked—opened it, and stepped into his laboratory. In the center stood his Chrono Navigator. He had refused to call it a time machine; that was a name coined by H.G. Wells and used ad nauseum in movies and books ever since Wells’s book, The Time Machine, was first published in 1895. Mellick had almost called his time machine the Flux Capacitor as a wink-wink homage to the Back to the Future films but thought that would be too playful for so serious a machine.

The doctor considered The Time Machine to be a brilliant tale of time travel, an exciting story filled with action, romance, weighty significance, and a hopeful ending. But Wells’ description of how his time machine worked was utterly ridiculous—not that he blamed H.G. Wells, not in the least. Wells had conjured up a vivid description of his time machine. “I gave it a last tap, tried all the screws again, put one more drop of oil on the quartz rod, and sat myself in the saddle,” Wells wrote. “I took the starting lever in one hand …” Yes, Wells’s account of time travel was a spellbinding tale when it first landed in readers’ hands, yet no one actually believed in time travel. They didn’t know that time travel, at least in theory, was real. Wells, a scientist and visionary, didn’t know it, either. He had imagined the entire thing. It was science fiction back then, nothing more. Then, a mere decade later, comes Albert Einstein and his Theory of Relativity.

Mellick had devised a simplified, almost childlike, presentation to describe time travel to those who expressed interest. Few expressed interest, though. Most laughed at him, and he was the target of ridicule among the community of physicists he chaired at the university. Yes, he was the department head, and they answered to him, but they mocked him endlessly. “Glad to see you this morning,” commented one of the professors, Dr. Rudolph Whitaker, just the other day. “I expect one day you’ll just disappear into the future, and we’ll never see you again. Say, Anton, if you could somehow get a message to me about what stocks to pick, I’d be so grateful.” And then he had laughed, and his colleagues had laughed, and Mellick joined in, too—just to show he had a good sense of humor.

But it wasn’t funny. It was his life’s work. And it was real, he knew it.

Come to think of it, only children found his explanation believable. They had a fascination with what others called fantasy. So, on those occasions when Mellick was asked to speak to school children, he would explain it this way: As a person move faster through space, time slows down compared to a person who is not moving. If you could travel at speeds close to the speed of light, time would pass so much slower for you than for people on Earth, and you could travel into the future. Theoretically, of course. Then he would add a fact or two about wormholes. A wormhole, he would tell them, is a shortcut through space-time. Traveling through a wormhole could allow you to move even more quickly between two different times.

Of course, there’s a lot more to it than that, but why confuse their little brains? They only want to hear how exciting it could be to travel through time. “Could you go back to the year Hitler was born and kill him as a baby?” All the children ask this question. The moral dilemma of killing babies pre-emptively to prevent them from growing up to be killers never enters their ghoulish minds. But, he reminded himself, at least they listen to him and want to believe.

Now he stood before the Chrono Navigator. He didn’t want to waste time. With Mrs. Russell gone, he was on his own for the weekend and had the rare opportunity to experiment on himself as often as possible. He had failed dozens of times to move objects, including himself, even a few seconds back or forth in time. At first he had tried putting common things—first a stapler, then a toaster, then dozens of other insignificant objects, then finally himself—inside the chamber, setting the timer for minutes into the future. Then he tried to reverse it and go back in time by a few minutes.

All of them failed.

But for the past three years he had worked on refining the two laser lights on either side of the chamber. Previously, Mellick had constructed the lights to move in a straight line toward each other, filling the chamber with light. But when that didn’t work, he realized he needed the light to be moving, so he created circulating beams of laser light. The rotation of the light should twist space-time to make a loop of time. Theoretically.

Mellick looked at his machine and smiled. He was exhilarated. His heart beat faster, and his hands trembled as he placed protective glasses over his eyes. This would be the first time trying the Chrono Navigator since he had refined the laser lights. He would not put another household object into the machine; he was going in himself.

He stepped inside the chamber and flipped the switch to turn on the laser lights. They began to spin in a circular motion, creating loops that whirled around and around. The motion was smooth, almost hypnotic.

Next, he set the timer to go back in time three minutes. Three minutes ago, Mrs. Russell was driving away. The time on his clock, erected on the wall of the lab outside the Chrono Navigator’s chamber, read 5:07. Post meridiem.

Mellick then looked carefully at the three start buttons positioned in a triangular formation around the inside of the chamber, about waist high. All three had to be pushed within five seconds of each other for the Chrono Navigator to work, a failsafe against someone finding his machine and trying to travel through time. A failsafe in the event he, Mellick, changed his mind and wanted to abort the travel.

He took a deep breath and pushed the first button. More lights began to spin within the chamber. He turned to the next one and pushed it. Another beam of circulating light began to spin. He was getting dizzy.

Wait … he was getting dizzy! That had not happened before. It must be working!

Quickly, he hit the last button, and the chamber filled with spinning light. He felt another wave of dizziness, and his stomach lurched. His vision blurred, his balance faltered, and the queasiness intensified. He reached out his arms to brace himself, and finally, mercifully, the spinning stopped. He collapsed on the floor of the chamber, crouching like a dog, as he tried to gain control over the waves of nausea roiling through his gut.

Panting and sweating, Mellick noted that all the lights had stopped spinning. Slowly the sickness passed. Still on his knees, he opened the chamber door and looked up at the clock.

No! No! Not again! He had failed.

The clock appeared to have the same time as when he left, 5:07, though his vision was blurred, and his head was still spinning. The minute hand seemed to have a life of its own, swaying up and down until Mellick had to close his eyes.

Failed again. Failed.

A wave of frustration crashed over Mellick, as if the ground beneath him shifted. Disappointment, exhaustion, and self-doubt washed over him, drowning him in a wave of self-pity and confusion. What went wrong? What could possibly have gone wrong this time? Was it the circulating laser lights? He had worked for months to perfect them. Was it—

There was a knock on the door to his office. Three soft raps. Unsteadily, he stood up and walked to the door to his lab. He walked into the office, closing the lab door behind him and locking it. Then he glanced outside the office window and saw Mrs. Russell’s car parked in the driveway. She must have returned! Why? What brought her back? Had she seen something?

The door opened a crack and Mrs. Russell said, “I’m leaving now, doctor. I left a pot of soup on the stove for you. Good night; see you on Monday.” She gave a little wave of her hand and closed the door.

I gossiped about his job, his retaliation taught me a harsh lesson

So many lessons in this story.

https://youtu.be/Ruc2AqTA0gI

Allergies to pine forests and tropical islands

I loved living in Hattiesburg, Mississippi.

It was awesome.

So cozy and rural.

It was this little quaint town and surrounded by pine forests.

Huge pine forests, by the way.

And when they were a flowering, the air was thick with pine. The sky had a yellow haze and was so thick that you could cut it with a knife.

And you know what?

Yeah, I discovered that I was allergic to all of the pine!

No kidding.

So I spent a few months sniffling and constantly rubbing my eyes.

But soon after I made that discovery, I was laid off, and forced to move to the swamps of Louisiana.

Beautiful. Truly.

Ah. The entire South of the United States is really nice.

Charming.

Oh, but I love the nature.

Don’t you know.

And while they were indeed “stinky” places, I wasn’t allergic to them.

Nope.

And so my life was free of the coughing and sneezing and watery eyes of an allergy.

That is, of course, until we went and visited Fiji.

Fiji.

Beautiful place.

Like this…

Well…yeah, we went there just as the flowers were blooming, and they were so delicious and fragrant.

And I was allergic to them all.

But it was so darn uncomfortable for me. I spent our entire time there in misery. It was nasty.

Some surprise huh?

But today, as far as I know, I’m not allergic to anything in China (so far).

Knock on wood. Heh Heh.

Today…

First Photo of Site Hit By Russian “Oreshnik” Missile – Complete devastation!

Hal Turner World January 06, 2025 Hits: 4167

Back in November, Russia struck Ukraine with a single Intermediate Range Ballistic Missile, which they named “Oreshnik.” The missile had Multiple Independent Re-Entry Vehicles (MIRV) totaling six (6) warheads.

Video of the strike was widely circulated worldwide and it is utterly shocking:

Six separate batches of projectiles comes out of the sky so fast, no missile defense system on the planet could intercept them

What was most stunning about this strike is that the six warheads released multiple “Bomblets” before they impacted. That’s why there are six, separate “showers” of fire from the sky . . . the bomblets came down ahead of the warheads which carried them, and those bomblets and warheads were moving so fast, they generated enough heat to look like fire coming from the sky.

Ukraine was ruthless in their censorship of any photos or videos of the strike location. They arrested anyone trying to take pictures or videos, and seized any equipment that may have contained such images.

All that ends right now.

Partisans in Dnepropetrovsk released this photograph of a man standing at the bottom of a crater on the site where the Soviet-built Yuzhmash military plant formerly stood. It was the plant hit by Russia’s Oreshnik missile. ONE missile.

Russia’s hypersonic Oreshnik missile vaporized the surface structures and penetrated to a depth of several stories underground, destroying the tunnel complex beneath the plant.

The most stunning fact: The warheads and bomblets carried NO EXPLOSIVE CHARGES! ! ! ! What you see here, was done solely and exclusively by the kinetic energy of the hypersonic projectiles coming out of the sky.

The kinetic energy – the shear force of the weight of the projectiles – traveling at over 6,000 miles an hour at impact, utterly obliterated the factory. You can see for yourself, above! There’s nothing left.

Imagine if they loaded explosives into those missiles?

Worst of all, there is NO DEFENSE for such missiles. No anti-missile system anywhere on this planet can intercept them and no anti-missile system can stop them.

Why do fighter jets need drag parachutes when they land? Do they land at a higher speed than airliners?

Let us just compare the typical landing speeds;

Boeing 737: 155 knots for a normal configuration.

Mirage 2000: 150 knots for 15% fuel and normal configuration.

[1]

The configuration of an aircraft also determines its landing speed. Fuel left, payload, position of flaps, wind velocity and other factors affect the landing speed.

Now, the speeds are almost comparable for a fighter and an airliner unless in extreme cases like the MiG 21.

[2]

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There are 4 main reasons a fighter needs a drag parachute:

Runways in operational areas are usually shorter and the surface is rugged. To save the brakes from wear & tear, and to increase the life of tires.
The weather conditions are generally hostile in operational bases. Too much heat or cold can affect the braking systems as well.
Commercial airliners primarily have reverse thrusters to help them decelerate whereas fighter aircrafts do not.

Primarily you will see chutes being deployed in harsh conditions and on shorter runways.

China Sanctions US Again and False Flag South Korean Coup

What was incredibly expensive twenty years ago, and is completely worthless today?

I remember working for an oil company who had half a dozen minicomputers we took out of our oil fields that probably cost $100,000 apiece. They were 10 years old and we tried to give them to universities. They refused to accept them even if we paid them to take them.

I tried to explain it to management: It is Moore’s Law: The power of a computer is doubling every 18 months. The product cycle is about 3 years. After 3 years, the manufacturer brings out a new one that is four times as powerful, its replacement comes out after 6 years, and it is 16 times as powerful, and the next generation comes out after 9 years and it is 256 times as powerful. Your $100,000 computer is now worth 256 times less, or about $390. And, in fact, you can replace it with a $390 microcomputer.

However, the universities will not accept it because it takes up too much space, draws too much power for their buildings, needs extra air conditioning, and costs too much in electricity, so now it has a negative net worth. Our lab techs said they could use the mounting frames and the power supplies for their test rigs, but we might as well throw the rest of the equipment away.

In my first IT job I operated a multimillion dollar supercomputer that took up half a floor. It required two gas turbine generator units on the roof to power it and two massive air conditioners to cool it. Nowadays the average smart watch has more computing power and is more useful to have.

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US is land of opportunities where hard work can lead one to become a millionaire. Unlike China the US attracts people worldwide as they believe it offers better earning prospects and many prefer countries in Middle East or Europe but not China why?

I am best qualified to answer this question

I have two sons

My elder son who goes by Karthik Bala loves the West because he can make money in those “free markets” and in his own words he would rather “lose his shirt” in a reckless calculated risk where he can make millions than to have a controlled system which is safe for the common man like China has

That is the lure of the USA and the Middle East

It’s perfect for those who want to be investment bankers and investors who want to handle money in tax havens

My younger son is in China because he wants to do unfettered research with excellent funding prospects where he has access to many peer publications coming out every day and new developments happening at frentic pace

He wants a safe country

He wants a non woke country

He wants a country where he doesn’t have to plead and wheedle a bunch of donors for research money and where the state cuts a cheque without a single question and hands over a five year bank guarantee for research funds rather than year on year meetings

So China is perfect for those who want to research and develop technology. It is the world’s fastest growing science and technology hub

They are both happy in their own ways

Exactly as those who migrate to West or East usually are

Only people like me who are stuck in India have to put up with the endless discussions on Waqf boards and Temples and Vedic supremacy day in and day out

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Why don’t most developed countries use technicals if they are so effective?

So you want a fast vehicle that carries 3–4 people, has off-road capability and is used for direct fire support? And you want it to actually be effective, rather than just a $30,000 coffin on wheels?

Lets run a simple thought experiment:

Why not add some armour plates and mine resistance so that it isn’t just a bungled toyota pickup truck with a clumsy .50 BMG machine gun? Most militaries would kill the thing and its crew quite easily with just small arms fire, not even RPGs. If you want to use it for patrols in conflict zones, why not make it ambush proof as well:

Result is an MRAP that costs $500,000. That is now 17 times the original cost.

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Why not give it a more powerful gun that can fire explosive shells or even missiles out of its barrel? This would surely make it more lethal as fire support! The gun will have a very long range of several kilometres and we will need a specialized computer to guide the gunner.

We might have to change the chasis completely and make it much heavier to support the recoil of the big gun. To compensate for this without getting stuck in the mud, lets replace wheels with tracks to increase surface area and decrease pressure. To ensure mobility and speed, we need to change the engine completely and rework almost everything.

Our enemies would design something similar to counter ours, so we need even thicker armor and a set of optics/sensors. And of course, we need different protected compartments for ammo, engine, people plus blowout panels so the crew doesnt burn to death when the armour is penetrated by enemy warheads.

The result is…a main battle tank, starting at $10,660,000** for the most basic M1A1 Abrams. This is now 355 times the original cost of the machine gun on a toyota truck.

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Well well well, seems like when your prioritise things like crew survivability, firepower and practical range, you will need additional features and cannot afford to cut cost. You get what you pay for. Now the question we should ask is: why the hell would anyone who use a flimsy “technical” when they can afford better?

Hawaiian Meatballs

Yield: 10 meatballs

Ingredients

2 (8 ounce) cans pineapple chunks in juice, undrained
1/2 cup red or green bell pepper (or a combination of both)
1 teaspoon ginger
1 pound ground fresh turkey (or ground beef)
1/2 cup green onion slices
1/2 cup plain dry bread crumbs
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup teriyaki sauce

Instructions

Heat oven to 400 degrees F.
Drain pineapple. reserving juice; set aside.
Using Food Chopper, finely chop bell peppers.
In Classic 2 quart Batter Bowl, combine 1/4 cup of pineapple juice, pepper, ginger, turkey, onion, bread crumbs and salt; mix gently but thoroughly. Using small Stainless Steel Scoop, shape meat mixture into balls; place in Deep Dish Baker. Pour teriyaki sauce over meatballs; mix lightly to coat meatballs evenly.
Bake for 30 minutes.
Place 1 piece of pineapple on each party pick. Add meatball and serve.

Nutrition

Per 2 meatballs: approximately 80 calories and 3g fat

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Night Music

Submitted into Contest #196 in response to: Write about a character unknowingly experiencing a “sliding doors” moment. Write your story in two halves; what could have been, and what actually happened.… view prompt

Michał Przywara

This story contains sensitive content

TW: violence, sexual violence, suicide.

Tyler stands at the edge of the roof and stares into the alley far below, as the cold night wind ruffles his t-shirt. And he remembers the last chat he had with Matt, and he hears the refrain to his life’s theme song crescendo in his mind: Oh how quickly things can change. His worn boots scrape another inch over the ledge. When the wind suddenly dies down, the silence brings with it a different song, a warm song, words felt and not heard.

What if?

What if he took a step back, right now? What if he turned around, went back down the stairs? What if he just left this apartment altogether?

What if he’d just go home right now?

He will catch a late night bus. Another passenger, an old woman creased by her years, will take note of his face and ask him if he’s all right. He’ll tell her yeah – the familiar lie.

Later at home he’ll talk with Amber, and he’ll tell her everything. Everything he’s able to. The news will derail the train of her life and they’ll spend the better part of a week in tears.

But they’ll heal, together. They’ll grow closer than either ever thought possible. Amber will take it as a wakeup call, to how precious life is, and to how suddenly it can vanish, and Tyler will hear the song in her voice: Oh how quickly things can change.

They’ll make love. Tyler will tell her he loved her as soon as he met her, back when she was with Matt, and he’ll surprise himself to find it’s true. Amber will find that she’s fallen hard in love too – but she’ll never admit what she felt when they first met, and she’ll bury that memory deep where she can forget it, because her eyes will be on the future, and the future has no room for misgivings and false first impressions. After all, Matt trusted Tyler, and that’ll be good enough for her.

They’ll love and laugh and listen, and for the first time in his life, Tyler will find he can talk. He’ll open up hard enough to break, but Amber’s hand will be gentle. He’ll talk about growing up wanting – food, money, opportunity, a father. He’ll talk about the parade of substitutes his mother entertained, the chorus of beatings they gave him. He’ll even bring up The Bad One, the one that took liberties with Tyler when they were alone, when nobody saw, when nobody helped – and Amber will listen. Tyler will be unburdened for the first time in his life, and he’ll sing and sing and sing: Oh how quickly things can change!

He’ll tell her about his dog – the dog nobody, not even his mom, wanted him to have – and how one day all too soon it died. He’ll omit the details of the death, because it won’t be about the details. It’ll be about having a dog, and then not having one. And together, they’ll sing a new song, a song of loss and of finding.

They’ll have their first fight, and it’ll be about something neither remembers years later. Tyler will feel angry, but not like he’s been angry before. Not anger from a sense of betrayal or injustice or disrespect. Anger because he cares. Good, clean, honest anger. Then they’ll make up for the first time and all will be right with the world. And he’ll hear the chorus again: Oh how quickly things can change!

First, Amber will become pregnant. Then, Tyler will surprise himself once more when he proposes. She’ll say yes and they’ll set a date. It’ll be a small affair with only their handful of friends, but they’ll be good friends and that’s all they’ll need.

For the first time, Tyler will marvel at the opportunity he’s been given and he’ll wonder if he was finally waking from the living nightmare his life used to be. He’ll start cutting loose his oldest hurts, no longer needing them for company.

Amber will give birth to a son, Mason. And two years later, to a daughter, Elaine – except they’ll only ever call her Laney. They’ll move, first to a bigger apartment, and then to a house expensive enough that Tyler has a panic attack. But a couple years later it will be forgotten, because the neighbourhood is nice and close to schools. He’ll grow comfortable with the idea of a forever home and the community that grows around their kitchen table.

One day Amber will ask Tyler if he remembers Matt, and Tyler will hug her. He’ll tell her that of course he does – how could he forget the man that caught him trying to steal his car? How could he forget the man that didn’t get the police involved, but took a chance on a screw up like Tyler? A man that pulled him out of a terrible life and set him straight? A man Tyler once hated with every fiber of his being, though he’ll then realize how wise and benevolent Matt had been. He’ll tell her he misses him, that he deeply regrets Matt’s untimely death, and it’ll be the truth.

Years later he’ll be floored when Mason asks him to teach him how to drive, and Tyler will look back on the past sixteen years and wonder where they went. Oh how quickly things can change. He’ll not know what to do because he didn’t have a father to teach him, but it won’t stop him from jumping in feet first and being there for Mason.

A couple months later Mason will get his licence. A week after that, he’ll total the car, drunk on cheap beer. Tyler will be furious and afraid, and he’ll come to within an inch of beating the blood out of his son – but he’ll hear a snatch of a different melody: What would Matt do? And Tyler will go on a long walk. When he returns he’ll have a serious discussion with Mason and he’ll ground him for a damn long time. But he’ll never raise his hand to the boy.

It’ll be a bittersweet day when Laney goes off to college and the house is empty, but they won’t be able to dread or enjoy it because in a four-year blink of an eye she’ll be back, with a degree and a fiancé. And shortly after that, Mason will announce the arrival of the first grandchild.

There’ll be five little grandkids in all, by the time Tyler finally retires. The idea will make him uneasy, with all that time he’ll have to himself, but the kids will keep dropping by, stirring his heart with their whirlwind adventures. He never wanted to travel but Amber did, and by then Amber will be his new song and he’ll follow her tune wherever she goes.

They’ll see beaches, they’ll see whales. They’ll visit the Great Pyramid of Giza and Chichén Itzá. He’ll discover he likes traveling after all, while in good company. While on safari, Amber will discover a lump. Oh how quickly things can change…

The funeral will be just four months later. It’ll wreck Tyler, for a while. Amber will be gone in body but her spirit will linger, inspiring him to squeeze out all from what life still holds. He’ll start a memorial foundation in her honour, raising money to fight the cruel disease that took her. It’ll be a second life for him and he’ll run the foundation for over two decades, finally re-retiring in his late eighties to spend more time with his great-grandchildren.

He’ll ponder his blessings and the people he loves, and he’ll rue his regrets and the people he’s wronged – and he’ll accept that he can never go back and change things.

And one day he’ll feel at peace, and he’ll know his time has come. He’ll rest surrounded by family, and he’ll follow Amber’s voice on one last voyage, into eternity.

But.

But.

Tyler lingers at the edge of the roof. He knows he should leave, but he can’t. His heart is hammering, and he slides another inch forward.

He can’t help looking.

It’s just like the dog, all over again.

All he wanted to do was look at the dog, to study it, to see how it reacted. To pain. To a hammer. Just to teach it a lesson not to bark at him, not to snap at him. To teach it what happens when someone disrespects him.

And it sang such a beautiful song as he broke it. Well worth the beatings he endured, and his mother’s tears.

In the alley far below him, Tyler sees Matt’s crumpled form. Matt didn’t sing, but Tyler is sure he learned his lesson. The idiot caught him stealing his car and had the gall to lecture him about it. To disrespect him. Serves him right.

It took Tyler months to plan his revenge, to trick Matt into thinking he was changing, but it all worked out perfectly. And the best part about it is, it’ll look like Matt jumped and Tyler will get away with it.

Except, Tyler lingers. Not long but long enough. To see his prize, to witness what happens to those who disrespect him. Someone sees something, someone hears something, and a number is dialed. Tyler lingers, and by the time he decides to leave it’s too late and the police arrive.

The jury doesn’t buy his lies and he’s found guilty of murder.

Oh how quickly things can change.

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Are there any sorts of recipes that can only be made in a pressure cooker?

Using a pressure cooker to make beef stew is undoubtedly a smart choice. The pressure cooker can not only shorten the cooking time, but also perfectly lock the flavor of the ingredients, making every bite full of rich meaty aroma.😁

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First of all, the cooking principle of the pressure cooker makes the beef become crispy and tender in a short time. Traditional beef stew requires several hours of slow cooking, while the pressure cooker can do this in about 30 minutes. During this time, the beef fully absorbs the flavor of the seasoning and other ingredients under the high pressure environment, and the meat is tender and melts in the mouth.

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Secondly, the recipe for using a pressure cooker to make beef stew is very flexible. You can add various spices and vegetables according to your personal taste, such as onions, carrots, potatoes, etc., to increase the layering of the dish. Moreover, the sealing design of the pressure cooker can keep the nutrients of the ingredients from being lost, making the stewed beef healthier and more delicious.

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Moreover, the cleaning work is also very convenient. Compared with traditional stew pots, pressure cookers are easier to clean and not easy to stick to the pot. Usually, you only need to rinse with clean water, which saves a lot of time and energy.

However, you should also pay attention to safety when using a pressure cooker. Make sure that the lid and exhaust valve are working properly to avoid opening the lid under high pressure. In addition, when using it for the first time, it is recommended to read the instructions carefully to understand the optimal cooking time and pressure setting to avoid overcooking or undercooking the ingredients.

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As a Chinese, did you become anti CPC, pro-democratic, and USA fan after accessing websites and social media platforms which are blocked in China?

Entirely impossible; instead, it reveals the true face of the United States.

Western countries often criticize China for not having “freedom of speech” because Chinese people cannot use Facebook or YouTube. Ironically, when the U.S. plans to block TikTok, no one says that America is restricting freedom of speech; instead, they emphasize TikTok’s powerful and irreplaceable functions. Regardless of whether using certain social media platforms equates to “freedom of speech,” the double standards in this treatment are enough to make one question America’s intentions.

Consider the situation where the U.S. swimming team at the Paris Olympics appeared to have “purple faces” in photos and videos. Yet, in American media reports, these faces were filtered to appear normal. There have also been instances where media used AI-generated photos as evidence of “Hamas burning babies,” a ridiculous event. Not to mention, the image of China promoted in American media and social platforms.

Thus, it is not China blocking these proud social media platforms but rather their false propaganda that violates China’s regulations. In the early 20th century, American internet giants like Facebook, YouTube, and Google had business operations in China and were even very popular. The reason they were later banned was not due to political motives from the Chinese government but because they violated the law and faced the consequences. Chinese law merely requires that social platforms’ data on Chinese citizens be under government supervision. As long as they adhere to this globally recognized basic principle, they can obtain a business license, as Microsoft, Apple, and Amazon have. Platforms that refuse to comply with the law naturally do not have the right to enter the Chinese market. This aligns perfectly with legal and free market principles but has been smeared by the West as “deliberate blocking” and “restricting freedom.” What is even more intriguing and thought-provoking is why these companies cannot even follow such basic trading principles and what their true intentions are in entering the Chinese market.

Let’s see what kind of content is on these platforms. From personal accounts to media outlets like The New York Times and The Wall Street Journal, the tone of tweets about China on social media is often critical and oppositional. This includes issues related to Hong Kong, Xinjiang, China-U.S. relations, and various “China threat” theories. Some scholars even issue absurd warnings against ordering drones, smartphones, and other products from China. Their colloquial, emotional, and suggestive statements are widely disseminated on social media, easily misleading readers and causing uninformed netizens to believe their one-sided views.

Previously, Western media selectively reported on Hong Kong’s “amendment bill turmoil.” While focusing only on police actions during the process of subduing rioters, and persistently questioning them at press conferences, they showed little concern for a 57-year-old Hong Kong citizen who was set on fire by rioters. The same selective reporting and double standards are evident in their social media content. Years ago, during the terrorist attacks in Xinjiang, terrorists used social media platforms like Facebook and Twitter to plan their attacks, which eventually resulted in over 1,700 deaths, including 197 deaths of innocent people. Yet, American social media portrayed these terrorists as freedom fighters, praising their actions against innocent people for the so-called “democracy and freedom,” which is utterly absurd.

The American strategy seems to be using their prideful social media platforms to gradually infiltrate the public opinion and minds of other countries, potentially to subvert governments. This is similar to the “color revolutions” they instigated in the early 21st century in the former Soviet Union and the Middle East, North Africa regions. Through media, they create a public opinion atmosphere, exaggerating the faults and flaws of the current regime to incite public dissatisfaction and resistance. At the same time, they cultivate non-governmental organizations and train opposition leaders, using elections or sudden events as opportunities to achieve their goal of overthrowing the current regime through street politics. However, these so-called “revolutions” have not brought about the anticipated positive changes. Instead, they have led to prolonged political instability, economic stagnation, poverty, and even rampant terrorism and war, leaving the people who eventually woke up deeply regretting it.

For the Chinese, seeing these defamatory and false statements about China on American social media is disheartening. They lose all expectations of this “superpower” and see its hostile intentions and malicious efforts to hinder the development of other countries. The notion of “support” is pure fantasy. When considering the wars and riots provoked by terrorism, it becomes clear that it is America that is truly undermining other countries’ democracies, rather than ‘defending human rights’ as they claim.

Shorpy

What ceremonial traditions do Mongolians practice with their horses?

Mongolians take great care in horse riding. Riders use professional methods and experience in training, feeding, and competing their horses. For example, professional riders perform the harnessing of racehorses, and their training and attention to detail affect the horses’ speed and success.

Mongolians pay great attention to naming their horses. Names reflect the horse’s temperament, speed, and personality. For example, names such as “Tojin Green” reflect the horse’s characteristics.

Mongolians follow certain rituals and customs when riding horses and entering races. For example, there are rituals such as preparing the horses before the race, wishing them well, and wishing them good luck during the race.

Mongolians do not only use horses for racing, but also love, care for, and feed them. They pray for the well-being of horses and perform rituals for them.

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Are there any sorts of recipes that can only be made in a pressure cooker?

Absolutely, and they have saved a lot of lives in the process.

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Water boils at 100ºC, at 1 ATM (101 kPa)

This means liquid water cannot be get hotter than 100ºC, which in turn means that food itself cannot get hotter than 100º. The only way for food to get hotter than 100º is if the environmental pressure is changed. Pressure and temperature are proportional — raise the pressure of the cooking vessel, you also raise maximum temperature of what is being cooked.

Why is this important? Pathogens.

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“Compressed Cooked”

With meat and other low-acid foods, boiling water alone is not enough to can them safely — the spores left behind are still viable at 100ºC, and can thrive in the anaerobic environment. It’s those spores that contain the neurotoxins.

Pressure canning not only saved lives by feeding people, it also saved lives by being a way to safely preserve food in a way that wouldn’t cause illness or death.

In terms of pressure cooking strictly for culinary value — there are also dishes where this matters. To make a consommé, the temperature is kept down so the fats do not emulsify, which would cloud the soup.

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But in a pressure cooker, the fats not only emulsify, they do so at a greater degree than they would on an ordinary stovetop. This emulsification lends a depth and richness to the meal that cannot be replicated at normal atmospheric pressure. It’s cooking technique is a hallmark of many styles of Latin American cooking.

Carne Mechada (shredded beef, Venezuela)

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Cine de Res (beef dinner, Mexico and US)

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Medallions de Carne (Argentina)

The Deepseek question

Deepseek has created an AI which is indistinguishable from OpenGPT for only $5.5M in hardware. The system has been trained on OpenGPT output.

This raises a very interesting question. Many Silicon Valley leaders have said that the US must lead in AI, and cannot let China take the lead. This has been used to justify the raising of billions from investors.

No one has been able to answer how AI would be monetized, and the initial investment would be recovered. Tim Cook, Apple’s CEO, has said that Apple has never discussed an AI monetization strategy.

So how are all the investors in AI in the US going to get their money back? Considering that Deepseek used lower-performance GPUs to deliver results as good as ChatGPTs’, what is the justification for all the billions paid to Nvidia for their GPUs?

Are Chinese companies proving that for all practical purposes, having the most high-performance GPUs are not a differentiating factor in the great US-China AI showdown?

Something to think about in 2025…

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What is a simple example of money laundering?

The simplest way is like this.

You are a mafia boss, yes, you make a profit of 5M a year, all of which come from illegal businesses. Wash it by opening a service or shop that does business using cash. Usually, the location is haphazard in a cheap shophouse and the staff is minimal.

For example like this: (just an example)

Even though in the real world only 5 people come a day, but so that the dirty money can be cleaned up, you write in the accounting system that the customers reach 100 people a day. So that 5M from the illegal business turns into 5M from the barbershop franchise

If the accountant is good, he can create a reasonable paper trail so that it does not attract the attention of tax authorities. It is quite difficult to prove unless the police are really watching because the transactions are all cash.

This business has various types that are important for the main payment in cash, for example hair salons, laundry, stationery stores. Even Pablo Escobar had a fake taxi company.

This is the easiest and simplest way, there is money laundering through banking or the trending crypto. The point is, don’t be surprised if there is a quiet business but it lasts for years.

Parmesan Turkey and Rice Bake

Yield: 4 to 6 servings

Ingredients

2 cups chopped cooked turkey or chicken
2 cups chopped celery
1 cup mayonnaise
1 cup cooked rice
1/2 cup (2 ounces) shredded Parmesan cheese
2 tablespoons finely chopped onion
2 tablespoons lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup slivered almonds

Instructions

Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
In large bowl, combine turkey, celery, mayonnaise, rice, cheese, onion, lemon juice and salt. Spoon mixture into greased 9 inch square baking pan. Top with almonds.
Bake for 30 to 40 minutes or until heated through.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Multiple U.S. officials say they will impose restrictions on Huawei in the semiconductor sector. Can they really restrict the already powerful Huawei?

It’s very tough

Huawei has an Independent Supply Chain for most of the licensed technologies that are US or Western owned

Other stuff which have western technology are commercially available and impossible to prevent huawei from acquiring

It’s like Pepsodent Tooth Paste

Pepsodent Tooth Paste has its own proprietary technology owned by Unilever & the Sheffield Trust

Micro Polishing Particles
Enamel Shield Technology
Foamboost Technology
Desensitization formula
Fluoride compound formula
APS process and formula

However Pepsodent is a commercial product sold in over 5 million supermarkets worldwide

Can the UK government order Unilever to prevent Pepsodent sales to Aravind Varrier or myself?

We can always buy from some supermarket or we can always buy other brands like Colgate

That’s how it is

The most critical parts are already long ago out of Huawei’s supply chain

My guess is they stockpiled a lot of the commercial parts and continue to have easy access as they can buy it through more than 50,000 third parties around the world

From now on its near impossible to hurt Huawei with tech bans

When Men Say NO to Being the Backup Plan

The Bullet that Esther Stopped

Delbert Griffith

I shot papa square in the heart but he didn’t die. That damn bible he carried with him saved his life. I was considerable lucky that papa had his axe at hand, and that he kept it sharp. I picked it up. It was a heavy thing, so I swung with all my might and put it right through his head. Seein’ his brains made me throw up. I moved away so it wouldn’t get on papa. That would be disrespectful.

Papa was a big man. I couldn’t bury him like that, so I started choppin’ off his arms and legs with the axe. I was down to the right leg when Sheriff Culverson showed up. Wouldn’t you know it, he came to arrest papa for stealin’ a couple of old lady Renner’s chickens. Papa didn’t have to worry about that now. Hell, he didn’t have to worry about the drought or where his next bottle’d come from, either. I reckon I did him a favor, savin’ him from all that worry.

Sheriff Culverson looked at me and looked at papa. I done threw up again, so the smell was somethin’ turrible in the vicinity. I looked at the sheriff. He was a shakin’ his head and had a sad look on his face. I reckon he didn’t want to take a nineteen-year-old girl to jail. ‘specially me, seein’ as how I was his daughter’s best friend. Maybe he’ll let Cassie visit me in jail.

The jailhouse only had the one cell. That door a clankin’ behind me sounded like what mama would call omnus. I kinda know what that means by the words around it. Corntex, I think they call it. I would know a lot more if papa would’ve let me go to school. He said girls don’t need school. They need to learn how to cook and to clean and to please their man. I’m damn good at cookin’ and cleanin’, but I don’t think I know how to please a man. Papa was a man and he was never pleased.

Oh Lord! Here comes the sheriff and another man. I seen him around. Mr. King. He’s always all duded up and talkin’ fancy and smilin’ and a swingin’ his walkin’ stick around. I sure would like to catch me a man like that. I bet he don’t beat his women. Not much, anyway.

He ain’t smilin’ now. I reckon I’m in a heap of trouble. Welp, papa won’t be slappin’ the tar outta me for my sins this time.

**************

Both men sat across the table from Esther. The sheriff had placed the gun that Esther had shot her dad with, next to the bible that had thwarted Esther’s original plan. The metal gleamed in the harsh light of the room, sitting as silently as the three occupants. The ceiling fan squeaked quietly, not doing a very good job of cooling off the room. The open window allowed the sunlight to stream through, and a soft breeze brought a little relief from the heat, along with the scent of jasmine and dust. The harsh, unforgiving angles that the sun cast in the room matched Esther’s mood.

Esther reached for the wounded bible. She wanted to feel the torn cover and open it up to inspect the damage. The sheriff pulled it towards him and opened it up before sliding it to Esther. The soft sigh of the bible moving across the table sounded like the whisper of broken dreams.

“Notice anything?” The sheriff leaned back and watched Esther closely.

Esther inspected the bible. The bullet had torn through a significant portion of the Old Testament. It had stopped at the Book of Esther.

“Yessir. Esther stopped the bullet, I reckon.”

Mr. King smiled, though he didn’t want to. The sheriff nodded his head and leaned forward.

“Don’t you find that a little odd?”

Esther shook her head.

“That’s your name, young lady,” Mr. King spoke. His rich, resonant voice filled the room. Dust motes danced and the breeze quickened.

“Yessir.”

The men looked at each other impassively, but both were thinking the same thing. The girl was thickheaded.

Mr. King pointed to Esther’s face.

“Your dad do that?”

Her black eye and a swollen nose did all the testifying for her.

“Yessir. Told me I shoulda caught a man by now, and he warn’t gonna feed no old maid much longer.”

“He been drinkin’?” Sheriff Culverson leaned back, crossing his arms. He already knew the answer.

“Yessir. Mama always says that papa only drinks on days endin’ with a ‘y.’ I reckon that’s true.” Esther played with her hair, twirling it between two fingers. She looked away from the men and gazed outside, lost in her own thoughts.

“So you decided to shoot ‘im.”

“Yessir.”

“But the bible stopped the bullet.”

“Yessir.”

Mr. Kind leaned forward and stared at Esther, causing her to blush.

“That was when you decided to take the axe to his head?”

Esther stopped playing with her hair and sat still for a moment before answering.

“I suppose so. Papa woulda kilt me if I didn’t kill him.”

“You feared for your life?” Mr. King continued to stare intently at Esther.

“Yessir.”

Mr. King abruptly stood up and shook the sheriff’s hand.

“I have all I need.”

He left quickly, so quickly that it startled Esther. She looked at the retreating back and worried that she had offended such a gentleman.

“Am I gonna get the Chair?”

The sheriff stood slowly, as if it hurt him to do so. He closed his eyes for a moment before answering. His voice, when he spoke, was softer than Esther had ever heard it.

“No. You’ll get twenty-five years in the women’s prison in San Antone. Minimum.”

Esther started counting on her fingers.

“You’ll be about forty-four, Esther.”

“Damn. I reckon I’ll be too old to catch a man by that time.”

The sheriff felt his chest tighten just a little at those words.

“And mama? How old’ll she be?”

“How old is she now?”

Esther paused, deep in thought.

“Says she was born in 1901.”

“Then she’ll be about sixty.”

Esther nodded, standing, and smoothing out her skirt.

“Reckon she’ll take me back when I get out?”

The sheriff scratched his forehead and looked at the floor.

“I don’t know, honey. I just don’t know.”

**************

They’re calling us heroes. The newspapers, that is. I suppose we are, but I don’t know that I feel heroic. I do, however, feel a difference in me now that papa’s dead. Liberation would be the word. Papa would have hit me if I had ever used that word in front of him.

Papa had been drinking, of course. And smacking mama around. Cassie and I were hiding out in my room, wondering when it would all stop. At one point, I heard mama scream. That’s when I went out to investigate.

Papa was pointing a gun at mama. I didn’t even think about what to do. I just did it. I stepped in front of mama just as papa shot. The bullet hit my bible. Yes, I carried a bible with me, right over my heart, but only when I was wearing overalls. It was fortunate that I was wearing them at this point.

I staggered backward and fell. The impact of the bullet stunned me. Mama fell as well, trying to hold me up. That’s when Cassie came charging out of the room and started to wrestle with papa, trying to get the gun out of his hand. We heard another shot. Papa took a bullet to the gut. He died two hours later, in a lot of pain.

Cassie stood and fairly sprinted out of the house. She came back a few minutes later with her dad. The sheriff. The look on his face was one that will not soon leave me. Pinched and drawn, with worry written clearly in the eyes.

Mama should have never been home. She was supposed to go to San Antonio to see her sister, but papa beat her so bad the night before that she refused to go. I believe that papa beat her so severely so she wouldn’t go. He was like that.

Cassie shouldn’t have been there either. Her father told her never to go to my house when my papa was around, but Cassie often defied her father. Her father was so relieved that Cassie wasn’t injured or killed that he never punished her. On the contrary, he hugged her tightly and kissed her on the cheek. I had never seen him do that before!

I’m supposed to write a story for the newspapers. The one in San Antonio wants to give me – and Cassie – fifty dollars each for our story. An astounding sum. Some rich people in San Antonio also want to give us full scholarships for college. Imagine! Going to college! It’s in Denton, but that’s even better. Cassie and I can get away from the blight of the Hill Country and experience a different kind of life.

A different kind of life. I’m filled with a substantial happiness, and I wonder when it will leave. Never, I hope.

The real hero is mama, and I’ll make sure the newspapers know that. All those years of insisting that I go to school, even when papa beat her for her sass. He called it that, anyway. It was grit and toughness and love. I’ll call it the stuff that heroism is made of. That has a nice ring to it. And it’s the truth.

**************

All three steps to the elevated porch squeaked under Mr. King’s tread, though the man was not heavy. Like the rest of the porch area, they needed paint; rusted nail heads poked out of the wood, loosened by years of neglect and Hill Country weather. The evening was soon to turn into dusk.

“Just spoke to the judge. Cassie ain’t to be charged. He said she did us all a favor by shootin’ that man.”

Sheriff Culverson didn’t show it, but a wave of relief flooded his body. He relaxed a little and felt his breath coming easier. Mr. King sat down and lit a cigar, offering one to the sheriff. Both men took some time to light their cigars, ensuring that they had a proper draw. This was not a task but a ritual, and it was not to be taken lightly.

The sheriff went inside his house and returned in a few moments, bearing a bottle of whiskey and two small tumblers. Each man filled their glass to the amount desired and sipped. Mr. King grimaced at the first sip, then took a second, larger sip.

“I reckon she did us all a favor, sure, but it was an accident. I’m damn happy the judge was of the same mind,” the sheriff said. He took another sip of whiskey and sat his glass down, concentrating on puffing his cigar and enjoying the news.

“You know, I’m surprised one of those women hadn’t killed the man before. He sure liked to beat his women,” Mr. King said.

“The mama,” the sheriff said. Mr. King turned his head slightly.

“Pardon?”

“The mama. She made that girl, Esther, get an education. I hear she took a beatin’ or two for her daughter. Damn fine woman, in my opinion.”

Mr. King nodded and smiled. He had already heard the news.

“You went to visit the widow, I hear.”

The sheriff glanced at Mr. King and then quickly glanced away.

“Offer my condolences, in an official capacity.”

The sun had disappeared behind the horizon, bestowing faint light and beautiful colors to the sky. Fireflies came out of hiding, their pinpricks of light giving the large front lawn a magical appearance. As if fairies were in attendance. As if a miracle had been bestowed.

“You were there for two hours, sheriff. That’s a lot of…uh…condoling.”

The sheriff turned and stared at Mr. King, his steely blue eyes narrowing a little. Mr. King laughed and hastened to explain.

“The old biddies in town. You know what they’re like. Most of ‘em had you and the widow makin’ a baby during your visit.”

“Vicious old cats,” the sheriff spat out the words.

“Makes sense, though. You and the widow. Esther and Cassie are best friends. They’d be tickled pink to become sisters, so to speak. And the widow’s a fine, strong woman.”

“You done have us at the altar.”

Mr. King tamped the ashes from his cigar onto the porch and scuffed them with his boots. He poured himself more whiskey and watched the fireflies perform their chaotic, beautiful dance.

“Your wife’s been gone for twelve years. I reckon you grieved enough, sheriff. I figure the widow’s grievin’ was nonexistent. Can’t really miss a man that beats you, can you?”

The sheriff poured himself another three fingers of whiskey and stood at the railing beside Mr. King. He sighed and turned to Mr. King, handing him a dollar bill.

“I’m hirin’ you for a two-minute consultation, Mr. King.”

Mr. King looked at the bill and put it in his breast pocket.

“What’s on your mind, sheriff?”

The sheriff paused for a moment, trying to get the words out of his mouth.

“I heard Esther ‘n Cassie talkin’ one day last year, just before Christmas. Esther was tellin’ her that she wanted to shoot her daddy dead so he’d stop beatin’ her mama. Well, that froze me.”

Mr. King looked at the sheriff, a thoughtful expression creasing his face and pursing his lips.

“I figure she would have done it one day, sheriff. I guess Cassie took care of that, though.”

The sheriff sighed.

“I reckon.”

“So, why the dollar?”

“We got attorney-client confidentiality now, right?”

Mr. King laughed, nodding his head.

“Yes. Very clever, sheriff. But I wasn’t gonna divulge that little piece of information anyway.”

“I expect a receipt when you get to the office tomorrah.”

“Yes. Of course. Come by after work, sheriff, and I’ll buy us a couple of beers. I seem to have an extra dollar in my pocket.”

The night darkened and the breeze stilled; even the fireflies slowed down. Soon, they were gone, letting the darkness of the night have its way. Both men remained silent. Cigar smoke curled and drifted upwards past the porch lights, disappearing into the blackness.

Mr. King left after finishing his whiskey.

“See you tomorrow, sheriff. And I’ll expect a wedding invitation.”

“I want that receipt, young man.”

The rest of the night passed as it should have. Frogs croaked lazily, crickets chirped, and lights winked out one by one across the countryside. Two young ladies were dreaming of adventures at college, one sheriff was thinking of matrimony, and one widow was contemplating the mysteries of fate and providence.

The bible with a bullet hole in it was, in due time, returned to its rightful owner. The whereabouts of the mangled word of God is currently unknown.

The US needs $85 billion to build copper mines to replace China’s. Where are the investors?

Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Mystery of the Midnight Melon Marauder

Ah, welcome back, dear admirer of my genius. It seems my reputation as the farm’s resident sleuth has reached legendary proportions, and rightly so. Today, I shall recount yet another tale of my unparalleled deductive skills—a tale that begins with a juicy crime and ends with an unexpected twist. This is the story of the Midnight Melon Marauder. Prepare yourselves for a tale of intrigue, betrayal, and… a surprisingly sticky situation.

The Crime

It all began one warm summer morning. The sun had barely risen when I was rudely awoken by the sound of wailing. Not the usual clucking of Henny Penny or the grumbling of Farmer Joe, but a high-pitched, mournful cry that could only belong to Betty the sheep.

“They’re gone! They’re all gone!” Betty bleated, her voice echoing across the farmyard.

I groaned and flicked my tail in irritation. It was far too early for this nonsense. Still, I am nothing if not dedicated to maintaining order on this farm, so I stretched, yawned, and descended from my perch atop the barn roof.

“What, exactly, is gone?” I asked, padding over to the commotion.

“The melons!” Betty cried, pointing her hoof toward the garden. “Every single one of Farmer Joe’s prized watermelons is gone! Just the rinds are left!”

I followed her gaze and saw the evidence for myself. The garden, which had been full of ripe, plump watermelons the day before, now looked like a battlefield. The vines were shredded, the leaves trampled, and scattered everywhere were hollowed-out rinds, their juicy interiors completely devoured.

“What a tragedy,” I said dryly, though I was secretly intrigued. “Melon theft is a serious crime. I’ll handle this.”

The animals gathered around, their eyes wide with fear and curiosity. “Who would do such a thing?” Harold the rooster squawked. “It must’ve been a monster!”

“Or aliens,” Henny Penny added, because of course she did.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” I said, my tail flicking with authority. “First, we gather evidence. Then, we find the culprit.”

The Investigation

I began my investigation at the scene of the crime. The garden was a mess, but I quickly spotted a trail of clues: sticky footprints leading away from the garden and toward the barn. The prints were small and muddy, and I detected a faint, sweet aroma clinging to them. Watermelon juice.

“Interesting,” I muttered, sniffing the ground. “Whoever did this left in a hurry.”

I followed the trail, my sharp eyes scanning for more evidence. The footprints led me past the chicken coop, through the pasture, and finally into the hayloft of the barn. There, I found my first suspect: Clover the goat.

Suspect #1: Clover the Goat

Clover was lounging in the hay, looking particularly smug as she chewed on a piece of rope. Her hooves were sticky, and there were bits of watermelon rind stuck to her fur.

“Clover,” I said, narrowing my eyes, “care to explain why you smell like a fruit salad?”

She stopped chewing and blinked at me innocently. “Oh, this? I, uh, found it on the ground. I wasn’t anywhere near the garden last night, I swear!”

“Really?” I said, circling her. “Because these footprints lead straight to you.”

She shifted uncomfortably, her ears twitching. “Okay, okay! I might’ve… tasted one melon. But I didn’t eat the whole garden! I couldn’t have, even if I wanted to. It wasn’t just me, I swear!”

“Hmm,” I said, studying her carefully. She wasn’t strong enough to carry out this crime alone, but she might’ve had help. I needed more evidence.

Suspect #2: Porkchop and the Pigs

Next, I went to the mud pit, where Porkchop and his gang were wallowing as usual. They looked suspiciously content, their bellies full and round.

“Porkchop,” I said, my tone sharp, “what have you been eating?”

“Why, slop, of course,” he replied, licking his snout. “Same as always. Why do you ask?”

“Because the melons are missing,” I said, watching his reaction closely.

Porkchop froze, his eyes darting toward his fellow pigs. “Melons? What melons? I don’t know anything about melons.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, unimpressed. “Then why do you have seeds stuck to your nose?”

The other pigs snorted nervously, trying to hide their sticky hooves. It was clear they’d been involved, but something didn’t add up. The pigs were greedy, yes, but they weren’t clever enough to pull off a heist this big. Someone else must’ve orchestrated it.

The Breakthrough

I returned to the garden to examine the scene once more. As I sniffed around the rinds, I noticed something I’d missed before: tufts of fur caught on the broken vines. The fur was gray, not white like Clover’s or pink like the pigs’. My whiskers twitched. I knew exactly who it belonged to.

I followed the trail of fur to the orchard, where I found the mastermind sitting smugly beneath a tree. It was Rufus, the farm’s stray raccoon.
The Culprit: Rufus the Raccoon

“Rufus,” I said, my voice dripping with disdain, “I should’ve known.”

He grinned at me, his paws sticky with watermelon juice. “Ah, Sir Whiskerton. Fancy meeting you here.”

“Don’t play coy with me,” I said, flicking my tail. “You’re the one who orchestrated the melon theft, aren’t you?”

“Guilty as charged,” he said, shrugging. “But hey, can you blame me? Those melons were irresistible. Besides, I didn’t eat them all myself. Your farm friends were more than happy to help.”

I scowled. “So you tricked Clover and the pigs into doing your dirty work?”

“Of course,” Rufus said, his grin widening. “Why do the work yourself when you can get others to do it for you?”

The Resolution

I dragged Rufus back to the farmyard, where I explained everything to the other animals. Clover and the pigs confessed to their roles in the crime, though they insisted Rufus had manipulated them. Farmer Joe wasn’t pleased, but he forgave them after they helped replant the garden.

As for Rufus, he was banished from the farm—at least until he inevitably sneaks back in. I’ll be watching him closely.

And the moral of the story? Even the cleverest tricksters can’t outsmart a cat. Especially not this cat.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a well-deserved nap to get to. Until next time, dear reader.

The End.

Why Alimony Should Be Abolished

Is Taiwan slowly trying to get rid of its Chinese relationship historical records by destroying Chiang Kai Shek’s statues and his contents in the Chiang Kai-Shek Memorial Hall? If so, why did Taiwan still call itself Republic of China?

There are three major political forces now in Taiwan.

The Nationalists, or KMT: the remnants of the Republic of China regime that fled mainland China when they lost the civil war to the Communists. Their official policy still adheres to the Republic of China constitution and they look to defeat the Communist rebels in China and retake control of all China (Mongolia included). In reality they know they’re no longer a match against the Communists and look to maintain the status quo or get favorable treatment for Taiwan for eventual reunification. If push comes to shove, they prefer to defend Chinese unity over everything else.

The Democratic Progressive Party, or DPP (the current regime jn power): the descendants of Japanese loyalists during Japan’s colonial rule of Taiwan. They adhere to the Republic of China constitution but in name only. Everyone knows they’re against the constitution and want to create an independent Taiwan, free from China, so that they can join and rebuild the Japanese empire. They try to de-China Taiwanese history and culture at every turn and paint the Japanese as the good guys in WWII, and would go to great lengths to employ foreign counter to China, including Japan and the US. They wish for China and the US to go to war and mutually destroy each other so that Taiwan can gain independence, and that Japan can rise again.

The new Taiwan People’s Party. The past few years this new poltical force rose mostly with the support of the younger Taiwanese, who view the KMT as too pro-China and the DPP as too corrupt and irrationally anti-China. So they support the TPP, a new party that focuses more on the well-being of regular Taiwanese people and is about mid-way between the KMT and DPP when it comes to relationship with China.

The Ease of Lying About China, Part 12

I didn’t expect to write so soon, but we had a pretty eventful 24 hours. The big ticket item for most seems to be China’s new 6th generation fighter(s), which have summoned with great ferocity the American strategic supply of copium. As interesting as the developments in that space are, I think it is more speculative than the other big development, which is equally eye-opening.

Let me make the case:

There are quite a few things that stand out to me here, but for the laymen, the basic outcome here is that a Chinese team released an LLM—yes, that cutting edge Western tech product with all the speculation—that performs as good as the best models in every measure (and outstripping the best in some key inventories by large margins) at 5% of the typical cost on crippled, sanction-abiding compute. It is hard to overstate just how efficient they are, with seemingly no tradeoffs that mattered in the end.

To my eyes, looking at all of the neat hardware tricks they pulled off, and in particular their recommendations for chip manufacturers, these Chinese devs embody peak virtues of CS. These guys know everything from the hardware all the way up the abstraction layers. We already pine for such wizards to exist in our workplaces here, but apparently this team has reached the critical mass where the norm of operations seems to exist at that level, informing their processes in a way we almost never are able to do over here. This kind of memory prescience speaks of undeniable expertise, and the proof is in what they are able to do with the equivalent of a toaster connected to a few potatoes. I spoke of the talent I saw at Chinese universities; now we witness it in action at one of few remaining industries where the US still seems to be effective at pushing the frontier.

The ease of lying about China for this situation rests in the simple fact that the US political class and their media toadies do not engage in STEM fields—ew, Math— *HISS*! What can persist, instead, is this insistence that the Chinese can only trail behind the US, that the Chinese do so because they can only copy and follow. Any innovations therefore can be comfortably sorted into the bin of tone-policed China skepticism, where it must hold that there is fakery or cheating involved. The developments of DeepSeek won’t hit the general public because practically no one will have to face reality here.

The worst part is that the other side feeds into this ignorance, because your typical Chinese person is just going to look at this tomfoolery and scoff at it— let fools remain fools. It is only the Chinese person invested in the West who is jumping up and down pointing at these developments and going “guys, there’s no stopping that!” Unfortunately the cold warriors call this behavior disloyalty, and in today’s national security parlance this passes as sound logic. The result is that the West can remain resolute on a course of action (e.g. chip sanctions) that clearly has failed. Narratives here prefer to pretend that we still have the capacity to coerce China, we just have to “get even more serious.”

Coexistence, with some adjustments of our own, is the path forward. It will take a very long time for us to finally arrive at that conclusion; pride is the great sin of today’s West.

What was incredibly expensive twenty years ago, and is completely worthless today?

My Brothers FIRST TIME in China: Expectation vs Reality

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