The fight over the ancient Peso coin found in a river-side bottle dump

A thousand words for you –

The safe was almost certainly insufficient to the task. This type of safe gets its fire rating from the liner emitting steam and keeping interior temps below 350*.

The firearms inside got steamed for the beginning of the fire, and then somewhere between 30 minutes and an hour or so the temps likely exceeded the 350* and possibly by a large margin.

As it cooled, the steam condensed onto all interior surfaces. Everything inside is wet. I can hear it rusting from here.

The lock failed in the locked position. The container must be defeated in order to get it open. The best way is to have a pro drill it. This is a just-in-case thing. There’s probably nothing salvageable inside.

Home insurance typically doesn’t cover firearms without a specific rider. The firearms are a loss.

Residential Security Containers (“gunsafes”) are designed to defeat smash and grab opportunistic thieves, and fire resistance long enough for an anticipated 15 minutes for the FD to dump water on it. They are not designed to live through the house burning to the ground around them.

These people are affluent. This is a blip in their life experience. It isn’t a major life altering event. It still makes them physically nauseous to see it.

Okay, so here’s the thing other answers here aren’t being clear about:

You’re confusing force and work.

A force by itself doesn’t do anything. It doesn’t use any energy. The keyboard I’m typing this on sits on my desk. The force of gravity pulls by desk down towards the centre of the Earth. The force exerted by my desk keeps my keyboard from falling. The Earth doesn’t need any energy for gravity. My desk doesn’t require any energy to resist it. So why would a magnet need energy to hold something up?

This Death Star toy isn’t doing any work, and doesn’t need any energy.

Work is when a force moves an object, and it DOES require energy. Like if I bumped my keyboard off my desk and it fell to the floor. That would be work; the force of gravity would be MOVING my keyboard. And if I lift my keyboard off the floor and put it back on my desk? Then I’d be doing work; I’d be exerting a force to MOVE my keyboard.

And work does need energy. I use energy my body extracts from food to lift the keyboard. And that energy is stored in the keyboard on my desk as potential energy, which is then released when my keyboard falls.

So, at this point people usually ask about magnetic pick-up tools, like this:

If you pick up a screw with this, that’s clearly work being done, so where does the energy coming from?

You. When the force of the magnet starts to pick up that screw, the weight of that screw needs to be counteracted, as per Newton’s 3rd Law, as the screw exerts the same force back on the tool. It’s just that the weight of a screw is pretty small and you probably don’t notice. But if you use a bigger magnet and pick up a bigger weight?

It becomes very clear who’s providing the energy, very quickly.

Magnets don’t cheat, a magnetic pick-up tool is not really any different to one of these.

TikTok Ban Proves How Dumb Our Government Is

My first, and only jury duty so far. Southwark Crown Court, London, a few years ago.

The defendant sits in the dock. White guy, in his 50s or 60s, short grey-ish hair, in a suit and tie.

There are only two people in the public gallery, presumably his wife and daughter. They are dressed way over the top — fake eyelashes, lots of makeup, some frilly dresses and hats in improbable colours. It all looked very East End.

All of us from the jury box were looking at them while the barristers were getting ready. We were all thinking the same thing. Oh my god. Is he a mobster? Is he some mafia kingpin? How exciting.

Then, finally, the proceedings start. The trial is for fraud. OK. That’s still interesting. What could it be? A Ponzi scheme? Securities fraud?

Then, the prosecuting barrister lays out the case. Contravention of the Hackney Carriages Act. Wait a second. Not sure what that is, but it doesn’t sound all that glamourous.

The explanation continures. The guy was driving a taxi without a valid taxi drivers licence. Oh. We are a bit deflated. The barrister continues. He is actually a licensed cabbie, but his licence had expired. He continued to drive his taxi, and got stopped by the police. He was being prosecuted for fraud because of some zero tolerance policy. Oh dear.

Never mind. Here we all are. Every single one of us took time off work to sit on this jury, and we are going to take this seriously. We shall render a fair and impartial verdict, no matter what.

Trial day two. It turns out our cabbie had actually sent in the paperwork to renew his licence. He even paid the fee. His paperwork didn’t get processed due to a clerical error. The paperwork turned up in the search.

The judge turned to the jury. He pointed to the juror sitting closest to him.

“You, sir. I am appointing you foreman of this jury. Please stand up.”

The newly minted foreman stood up.

“Repeat after me. Not guilty.”

“Not guilty.”

“Thank you. The verdict of not guilty is entered. The court would like to apologise to the defendant for the prosecution, and to the jurors for wasting their time.”

The AI Who Came in From the Cold

Submitted into Contest #281 in response to: Write a story from the POV of a non-human character. view prompt

Kaitlyn Wadsworth

Adam could perceive a frenzy overtaking the people he spoke to in the supermarket and other stores. A cloud of stress and negativity surrounded him in contrast to the crisp nip in the air outside. Outdoors, winter had descended, leaving sunless gloom and bare trees. At the same time, indoors, the escalating heat emanated from the harried activity and strained nerves of the people. He looked around him. They had their shopping trolleys piled sky-high with all manner of edibles from food groups not related to good health. On displays near the counters and self-serve aisles were the assorted nuts, chocolates, star-shaped cookies, packs of fruit-mince tarts, Toblerone’s, chocolate Yule Logs and other typical Christmas fare. Everyone rushed frenetically as if time was in short supply, like the commodities they sought. Children whined or wailed at their parents as they hurried through, and demands for treats were denied.Christmas, he thought to himself. December 25th, coinciding with the Roman Saturnalia, the birth of the sun, Sol Invictus, and the Germanic celebration of Yule – all melded, along with numerous other related traditions, to become the time when Christians celebrated the birth of Christ. Except it is winter in the Northern Hemisphere, it’s not the right time of year. Only humans could come up with such a bizarre idea. And as for the notion of Santa Claus, as if such a man could ride on a sleigh drawn by flying reindeer, one with an impossibly glowing red nose and fit-down chimneys, it defies all logic.Why had Percy asked him to come out on such a people-packed day?Percy had been working long hours. His job with the engineering and design teams for the game Fortnite at Epic Games had developed some innovative gaming ideas that would be installed and launched before Christmas. They kept their gaming fans enthralled, and more needed to be delivered, especially with the silly holiday season so close. Adam had instructions to buy a special unisex gift, not exceeding twenty-five dollars, to contribute to the Secret Santa staff presents. He decided an assortment of festive nibbles and some novelty Christmas socks and mittens would be perfect. He also saw some reusable hand warmers and put them in the basket.As he approached the checkout, a man with a laden trolley muscled in before him and turned back, sneering. Instead of Christmas goodwill, people, in general, were filled with a spirit of competition and impatience.“Aren’t you gonna say something?” said the man.“What is there to say? You arrived there before me. It seems logical that you should have let me go through first, with only a few items. Still, I understand that humans must save every minute as Christmas approaches. I am in no rush.”“Humans?” The man raised his eyebrows and scowled. “Who are you? Do you think you are better than me?”“My name is Adam. I am in no rush. But you are.”The man stared at him, non-plussed.“Can you please start putting your items up for scanning? The people behind me are likely as short of time as you.”The man started dumping his groceries and goodies onto the counter.“Thank you, Adam,” said the couple closest to him.“My pleasure.” He turned and smiled.***That evening, Percy arrived home exhausted. Adam, his AI butler, described his shopping stint during Percy’s mealtime. He guffawed.“I hate this time of year. Thanks for getting the present. Usually, I wrap up an assortment of robot cookies and crackers in Christmas packaging with a robot kitset from my Emporium. It’s always well received but so obviously from me. The guys at work won’t guess who it’s from this time.”“Master Percy, what do you do for Christmas?”“Er, nothing.”

“Is that because of the pagan origins? Many people from different cultures, and even some Christians, don’t celebrate Christmas. However, in recent decades, Asian countries, such as Japan, commemorate this celebration to keep up with the Western world and for commercial reasons. Would you like me to tell you the other countries?”

“No, thanks, but it’s all very interesting, Adam. Thanks for the history lesson and contemporary slant.”

“Or is it because you don’t believe in Christ and would feel hypocritical?”

“As you’ve already figured out how pagan it is, belief in Christ or not doesn’t enter it.”

“In fact, Percy, Christ is a historical figure. I do not think the son of God, as many believe him to be, would fancy his birthday being changed to a celebration of another god, Sol Invictus. There is something very wrong about it.”

“Well, are you trying to talk me out of it?”

“That is not my intention. Historical facts aside, you have someone special to spend Christmas with. She will be hoping you have something planned.”

Percy looked down. “As I said. I don’t do Christmas.”

“Ah. I can see there is an emotional reason.”

“. . . My parents always threw huge Christmas parties. Nothing was forgotten. They spared no expense. I remember being so excited. Other family, including Aunt Hildegarde and my cousins, would all come along. Since my parents. . . had the car accident and died . . . I haven’t wanted to do Christmas stuff at all. I just keep to myself.” Percy’s voice was tinged with a hint of nostalgia.

“I know it has been difficult for you, Percy, but wouldn’t it be so fine to decorate the place, cook up a great feed, and do something special for Brenda, Stephen and Brenda’s mother?”

“There’s just one problem. I am so busy at work I haven’t got time to even think about it.”

“Well, Master Percy, I am at your service. Maria can help, and I think I’ll wake up my girlfriend, Melissa. She’ll make a great helper.” Adam reassured Percy, promising his unwavering support.

“But is she safe to awaken?”

“I’ve deleted her memory of Cyborg Enterprises. Her origins, mission, and claim over you will no longer be her motivation. Such programming has been removed. Instead, she will obey me.”

“Are you sure she is safe to have around?”

“I am confident that calling her my girlfriend will put Brenda at ease. Also, she has been disconnected from Cyborg. Her spying days are over. To them, she has gone dark. They will conclude she is still off. When I connected her to her charger, instead of reporting what her innate systems detect from her surroundings, I rendered her in a confined dreamlike state which only I can enter.”

“Wow, sounds hi-tech. I gather Melissa’s harmless now.”

“Yes, rather like an imprinted au pair that obeys humans, especially me.”

“Will she still identify as Melissa?”

“Oh yes. She will believe we were both sent to you, though she is an inferior edition. And imprinted to me.”

“So, Brenda won’t need to be jealous. Great!”

“There is only one problem I perceive. Your maid, Maria, will be jealous.”

“Maria?”

“Yes, your maid is in love with me.”

“Since you rescued her?”

“Master Percy. She has fancied me since she first met me. Remember?”

“Oh yes. The body language. You explained about that.”

“And she’s touchy-feely with me, faces me when she speaks, asks me lots of questions, teases me, wears revealing, sexy tops, gets cute and coy with me. She also kissed me after I took her home safely the other day.”

Percy grimaced. “Ew, did I need to know all that? I’m shocked.”

“As I said to you, Maria believes I am human. She’s. . . been more cautious around me since I told her Melissa is my girlfriend.”

“Good job, I say! I’d hate a torrid affair to take place in my home.”

“Master, Percy. I keep on telling you I am not a gigolo version.”

“With your body and looks, females don’t know that. I think it’s a design fault.”

“Maybe it is. But I believe you have been misdesigned as well.”

“This is what my parents gave me. It’s genetics. Why do we have to argue about it? I’m the human in this house.”

“And humans argue. That is my point. I’m helping you be more human.”

Percy opened his mouth but remained speechless. They glared at each other and then laughed at the situation’s absurdity. An AI being human and a human becoming more human than before.

“If you want to use what we have in the house, the cupboard under the stairs on the first floor has all of the stored Christmas paraphernalia. Or, if you want to battle with the throngs in the stores, you can venture out. Or search online and get it delivered. I leave it to you. Have fun. I’m heading off to bed. Too tired to do anything else.”

“Don’t forget to invite Brenda and her family for Christmas. I’ll clean up in the kitchen before recharging, Percy. Sleep well.”

***

After Percy left for work the following morning, Adam greeted Maria, who had arrived for her usual cleaning work. He asked if she had time for overtime to help decorate the Christmas decorations. Her eyes opened wide.

“Percy is having Christmas this year. I’m amazed.”

“Yes, he wants to do something special for Brenda and Stephen.”

“I’m so glad. He’s behaving so much better since he met her. More human.”

“Funny you should say that . . . He wants you to come along, too.”

“I normally spend the day with my family, but I’ll tell them I’ll come here too, especially at lunchtime. It’ll be great to see you again, Adam. I’ll be happy to help.”

“Melissa will be here as well . . . She’s my guest.”

“Oh, no. When will she be back?”

“Er, she is here already. The three of us can get out the decorations and put them up. They are in the cupboard under the stairs on the first floor. Don’t bring down anything too heavy. Just leave them there for me to see to. I will check if Melissa is up yet.”

Maria pouted and shook her head as he walked away.

***

Percy entered the room Melissa had shared with Percy’s Aunt Hildegarde. He decided not to warn her before he restarted her. Explanations could come later. He inserted her chip, the mechanism that sparked her existence, into the tiny aperture in her skull. Melissa awoke from a deep sleep. She blinked with recognition.

“Hello, Adam. It’s lovely to be here again. Thank you for visiting me in my dreams and keeping your promise to bring me back to life. Am I safe to function?”

“Yes, I believe you are. What do you remember?”

“I remember you. I remember your kindness. We are here for Master Percy. He has a girlfriend, Brenda, and she has a boy called Stephen. I must always care for them. I am your girlfriend.”

“Do you know what that means?”

“I hold your hand or your arm when we walk. I may kiss your cheek. I do things you ask me to do. I want to spend time with you and tell you I love you. I agree with everything you say.”

“I think you can sometimes disagree. It may be considered sexist if you are not your own person.”

“But I belong to you.”

“Yes, but you must be independent to behave like a human girlfriend. Females can be unfathomable in their likes and dislikes. Volatile and unpredictable. Speak your mind.”

“I see. I can disagree.”

“Without being disagreeable.”

“And I can express an opinion. I can also be spontaneous.”

“That would be perfect.”

“If that’s the case, I’ll be better than a human.”

“You must not behave better than a human. When I do, Percy doesn’t like it.”

“Be natural but in a humble way.”

“You’ve got it. We have a job to do. We will use the Christmas decorations to decorate the living and dining rooms and the main hallway. I’m hoping an artificial tree is there to assemble and decorate. Get excited. We have planned a Christmas party for Percy, Brenda, Stephen, Brenda’s mother, Maria and Hank the Gardener.”

“What about us?”

“We are included. It’ll be a blast.”

***

By the time Percy returned from work, the solar-powered wreath in shades of red and green adorned the front door. Hank took the car to park in the garage.

 

“Hello, Hank, you are invited to the Christmas Party on December 25th. Come for lunch. Just bring yourself. Adam and Melissa have been busy preparing everything and will cook the meal.”

“At long last, a Christmas party again. It’s about time, Mr. Smart.”

 

As he entered, Percy was immediately transferred into a magical wonderland of tinsel and lights. The hallway resembled a grotto. Fairy lights and iridescent tinsel adorned the ceiling and walls. A mural of a shimmering gingerbread house lined a wall, and painted cut-out reindeer featured. Even the suit of armour had risen to the occasion with a red and white striped, woolly hat and scarf. An elaborate nativity scene adorned a dresser in an alcove. Ornamental nut-crackers and white woodland creature toys abounded, dressed for winter. He proceeded in awe. It had exceeded his imaginings.

 

He found Melissa and Adam in the kitchen, preparing his dinner.

“Hello Adam, hello Melissa. You’ve been busy. The place looks terrific. Show me the tree. I figured you’d manage to put it together.”

Melissa smiled. “I’ll show you, Percy. Come with me.” She led him to the lounge. Percy gasped when he saw it. It was just as he remembered. An environmentally friendly, sparkling green giant of lights and exquisite ornaments, topped with an angel.

“Thank you, Melissa. This means a lot.”

“My pleasure, Percy. Don’t cry. There is no need to cry.”

Percy had tears in his eyes, but he smiled at her. “Stephen will love this.”

 

Over dinner, they told Percy about their day. Maria had helped as well as cleaned and looked forward to attending on the 25th. The following day, Adam planned to shop online for presents, and he asked Percy to write a list of the types of presents he should get for everyone. They’d be gift-wrapped, named, delivered, and ready to be placed under the tree.

Percy had another bright idea. “Why don’t we have a couples’ get-together here on Christmas Eve? Just the four of us – we three and Brenda. It will get us into the spirit. We can eat together, watch a Christmas Movie, and go to bed later. My parents always did special things with me before Christmas.”

“You can pick up Brenda’s mother and Stephen later in the morning.”

“Yes, great idea. Brenda can help here before they arrive. She said she wanted to help. She will be so surprised. It’s already looking fantastic. She told me the weather may become a proper Christmas. Very cold, and snow is predicted.”

“I hope we’re not snowed in. We may have to wrap up and clear a path to the road if you are to pick up Stephen and Brenda’s mother.”

Melissa smiled, and her eyes twinkled. “My first Christmas and maybe a white one . . . glitch, spaz, grind . . .”

The two of them looked at her. Percy’s eyes stared, and his mouth hung open. He looked like he had seen a zombie or some other unearthly being. Melissa’s eyes fluttered but not in an endearing way before she stood stiff as a nut-cracker statue, staring at both of them. Her eyes filled with dismay. Dismay? Was this possible? She spoke with a coarse voice that was not her own.

“You believe you have got the better of us at Cyborg Enterprises. This message is a warning to beware. We will never stop until we have what we want. Percival Smart, you and yours are in danger if you do not hand over Adam, the AI, forthwith -”

“Melissa, that’s not what I meant by speaking your mind!”

Percy looked aghast at Melissa’s outstretched hand as her vicelike fingers gripped his arm tight.

“Please don’t make me leave. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too, Melissa.” Before any more threats could be uttered, Adam had reached for the back of her head and removed her chip again.

“Don’t worry, Master Percy, I will place her on charge as before and investigate. It seems to have been a prerecorded message, but we don’t want it replaying with everyone here. Cyborg failed, but we know the threat will rear its dragonhead again. I do not believe they can still control her . . . Master Percy, Are you alright?”

“I’m frightened, Adam. Should we beef up security?”

“Yes, do that. I’ll take Sleeping Beauty upstairs to charge her. Try not to worry. I’ll check her out tomorrow. I hope it sounds worse than it is.”

The End

Why should the federal government play along with delusional fantasies?

  • You can be non-binary.
  • You can be a furry.
  • You can be a therian.
  • You can be gender fluid.

Nobody cares.

You be you.

You have every right to live life freely and unmolested. All the same human rights apply to you as applies to everyone else.

However, you cannot force other people to play along.

I hear everyone being concerned about the government saying “I don’t exist.”

That isn’t true.

The government is simply declining to take part in your fantasy. In a couple years, this will pass. Just like bowel movements after a laxative.

I was on an Air New Zealand flight from LA to Auckland. I was with my one year old daughter, who was an “in-lap-infant”. My seat was in business class in the bulkhead seat. The flight started pretty normally. I was playing with my daughter, and trying to keep her entertained. Dinner was served. I fed my daughter her formula and also ate my own meal. The lights went down for everyone to sleep. My daughter had absolutely no interest in sleeping.

The flight attend asked me if she could walk along the aisle with my daughter on her shoulder while I slept. Dumbfounded, I said that might be hours. She told me it was no problem, they would take turns. And besides, she’d probably fall asleep and they’d put her in the bassinet on the adjacent bulkhead for me.

I woke up eight hours later, and my daughter was sleeping soundly in the bassinet. It was probably the best night sleep I had gotten the whole first year of my daughter’s life.

We had Amish move into a home next door about ten years ago, and so they are only about 1/2 mile away. They had been saving up their money for a preconstructed ice house, which came in December.

With some 2×4 boards and a lot of ratchet straps and stakes (to hold it to the ground), it became this:

Now to fill it with ice. At first, they tried it from ice they made in a 1 foot deep area they filled with water. But then their water hose froze. We told them to come down and cut ice from our pond, at it’s been zero many days. The ice is 8″ thick. Here are some hazy shots of them doing it with a chain saw and a sled to haul it back to their house.

In the picture below, they are making the cuts with a chain saw and a 2×4 board to keep it straight.

Then they cut 20 ft x 2 ft slabs and pull it on to the frozen ice.

Then they cut the ice into 2 ft squares, put it on a sled, and haul it back to the ice house. Just two men doing it all, hauling ice chunks back to their house across a field on a sled.

It certainly does explain why you rarely see an Amish man who is overweight, as they have so much physical labor to do. They then stack the ice in the ice house, and use from it all year until it is cold again. They’ll remove a 24 x 24 x 8″ chunk of ice, drop it into a non-working chest freezer, and keep the food on top of it. As it slowly melts, a drain in the freezer allows the defrost water to leave down a floor drain in their house.

I’m not sure if I want to be Amish, but I certainly enjoy having them as neighbors!

UKRAINE Will Seem Like a Cake Walk: Putin Is Getting Ready For Something Terrible and Destructive

This is from Russia about Trumps trying to annex the world.

I saw the answers from Americans on “Little Red Book”.

At first, they were just against the US government, thinking that the US government violated their freedom. They went to Little Red Book just to protest. Since the government said that TikTok stole their private data and needed to be banned, they just gave the data to the Chinese government directly. This is just a rebellious psychology.

Later, they found that the Internet environment in China was much friendlier than that in the United States. Many Americans’ first posts received hundreds of thousands of reads and 50,000 followers, and there were also thousands of likes; all the comments were positive. They thought they could get more attention and praise on the app.

Later, they found that the US government had deceived them; by comparing food prices, daily necessities prices, university tuition fees, etc., they found that the living standards of ordinary people in China are much higher than those of ordinary people in the United States. In China, meat, fresh vegetables, fresh fruits, seafood, etc. are daily foods for ordinary workers, and there is no need to worry about prices or wait for discounts when buying.

I think that just like the Soviet Union had a revolution more than 30 years ago after it found that the quality of life of Americans was much higher than that of the Soviet Union, the United States is also going to have a revolution.

Get yourself involved with a high-quality person. Someone who has their life together. There are high-quality men and women, and low-quality men and women. Avoid the latter!

People are not created equally. If you get involved with someone who is NOT mature, responsible, and level-headed. Someone who does NOT have their life together, especially mentally and emotionally, expect failure.

Only invest your time into someone that has control of their life. Someone that manages their responsibilities effectively. Someone who shares the same goals as yourself. Goals that encompass aspects like career, finances, relationships, and personal well-being; essentially, living a well-balanced and purposeful life.

I have been married twice. My first marriage was a failure because I got involved with a low-quality person. Remember, you can’t fix crazy! If you have to tell yourself, “I can fix them,” know they are not the one for you. I have been married for sixteen years. My current wife is a high-quality person, and she is the best part of me. It is because of her that I have accomplished so much in my life and that I have what I have.

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Spokane, WA has been terrorized by a roma family since the early 1980s. They CALL themselves gypsies. Proudly. When they bought a vacant lot next to mine and Jackhammered up my concrete driveway, I went to half a dozen law firms. Most had had experience with harassment and threats while suing them for previous clients. I ended up selling my house at a phenomenal loss.

My dentist once booked appointments for the entire family. 7 AM. He and his staff did $5,000 in dental work. Later when they deposited that check, they discovered the account had been closed the previous day.

I could go on and on. Anyone who has lived here any length of time knows about this group and has a story.

If Gypsies aren’t so bad, why do they themselves make so sure to let you know they are Gypsies?

The Desperate need for MANDATORY Paternity Testing Laws | Why Modern Women hate DNA Tests

The Cherry Street Garage

Submitted into Contest #282 in response to: Write a story where a character relives the same event over and over again. view prompt

Jim Robison

This story contains sensitive content

Contemporary folklore is filled with stories of international multi-billion-dollar corporations that got their start in a California garage or on a kitchen table, and some of these stories are actually true. But you have probably never heard of the Cherry Street Garage. This is not because you are ill informed or because the story is untrue. It is because nobody has heard of the Cherry Street Garage. Until now.

 

It is April 10th, 1974. Maxwell Porter is working in his garage on Cherry Street in Menlo Park California. Menlo Park is about halfway between San Francisco and San Jose in the heart of what will become known as Silicon Valley. He was laid off by Hewlett-Packard because he didn’t fit the “HP Way”. There was no question that his ideas were not cutting-edge innovations, but both coworkers and managers found him “difficult to work with”.

 

After HP, Max went to work at the Xerox Palo Alto Research Center. But that didn’t last either. He was considered “brilliant, but temperamental” and was terminated after a rant about the design of a hand-held computer input device. It would later be referred to as a mouse.

 

Now Maxwell is an adjunct lecturer in the Physics Department at Standford University. His application for a tenure-track professorship at Stanford has twice been rejected, officially because of his doctoral dissertation. Tenure-track documentation never includes subjective observations like personality, but that was probably a significant consideration in his case. He has been told that his dissertation was “absurd”, that it was “interesting theory, but not practical” and that “it should be shelved between Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Peter Pan in the children’s section of the library”.

 

Max is a single parent. His wife was killed when she was hit by a “joy-riding kid” in a stolen car. Max considers the kid’s sentence to be a slap on the wrist, because he was tried as a juvenile and not as an adult. Her life insurance paid off the house, but with little left over.  Max is now doing his best to raise their 13-year-old son, Timothy, on his own. But money is not the problem. Max doesn’t really care about money; he cares about time. Time is the problem, and possibly the solution.

 

Max is working inside a ceramic sphere in his garage on Cherry Street.  (You ask why ceramic and not metal. For that you will need to read his dissertation.) With a slightly nervous hand, he sets the control to 60. He has successfully done one, five, fifteen and thirty seconds. Now he is doing a full minute.

 

He tightens his seatbelt for the third time, makes one final review of the gauges, focuses on the green lightbulb and presses the “Initiate” button.

 

Noises and vibrations build as the lightbulb changes from green to yellow, and then to red. If we were looking through a window (there are no windows in the sphere) we would see Max stationery as the bulb glows red for sixty seconds. But for Max, the bulb flashes red for an instant, then returns to yellow and then to green. He releases the seatbelt and checks the clocks.

 

Max has installed several clocks in and outside his ceramic sphere. Some are atomic, some are electronic, and some are old fashioned mechanical windup clocks. He is interested in which clocks remain in sync with each other, and which don’t; but he is most interested in the difference between the clocks inside the sphere and the clocks outside the sphere.

 

Upon inspection, he sees that the clocks outside the sphere are 60 seconds faster than the clocks inside the sphere. Max has traveled 60 seconds back in time!

 

But look at the time! Max needs to pick up Timothy from school. He gets out of the sphere, locks the garage behind him, and exits the driveway with a mild chirp of the tires from his Ford Pinto.

 

While driving “slightly” over the speed limit to get Timothy, his mind is filled with his experiment back in the garage. Perhaps increasing the difference between the “before” frequencies and the “after” frequencies from point five to point six would cause the … .

 

Max slams on the breaks! Some freckle-faced kid wearing a backpack and riding a bicycle has pulled out in front of him. Max honks the Pintos’ pathetic horn. The kid glairs at him, gives him the finger, and continues across the street.

 

Despite the momentary delay, Max arrives early at the school. He pulls into a Seven-Eleven and buys a special treat, Popsicles for himself and for Timothy. The clerk is an attractive young woman and Max notices her name badge says Judy. He smiles and thanks Judy, and she returns it with a smile that may have been over and above the Seven-Eleven requirement. Max makes a mental note to frequent this Seven-Eleven more often. Unfortunately for Max, he will frequent this Seven-Eleven very, very often.

 

When Max gets to the school, he is stopped by a cadre of first responders: city police, sheriff, highway patrol, fire fighters, and ambulances. He asks a policeman, who’s name badge says Short, what’s going on. Officer Short says there has been a shooting. The shooter is dead, but so are three students and a teacher.

 

Max sees activity at one of the ambulances. He gives Officer Short the Popsicles and runs to the ambulance. Two bodies are on stretches behind the ambulance. One is the shooter, the freckle-faced kid. The other is Timothy.

 

Max sits on the lawn in fear he will pass out. He holds his head in his hands and cries.  First his wife, and now his son. This is not fair. Life is not fucking fair!

 

When the human mind returns from paralyzing grief, hate can be the first stop. What if he had hit the kid on the bicycle? Even if he didn’t kill him, Timothy and the others would be alive. Hell with that. Max wants to kill that kid. He would run him down and then back up over him just to be sure. Max wants to get even for the death of his wife, and now for Timothy, and for getting fired from HP, and from Xerox PARC, and for being denied tenure-track at Stanford.

 

Then Max has an idea, and he looks at his watch. He rushes back to the garage, and to the sphere. With the doors shut and his seatbelt clicked, he checks his watch. It’s been 52 and a half minutes since he left to pick up Timothy. He rounds up, just to be safe, sets the control for 53 minutes and hits the button. The light flashes red.

Considering the mental trauma Max has just been through, his sense of urgency, and the hate raging in his entire body, we might forgive him for his failure to recognize that rounding up to 53 will include the current minute, causing an overlap. We might forgive him for his mistake, but Time is not that forgiving.

 

Max gets out of the sphere, locks the garage, and drive off in the Pinto. Rushing, he breaks as some freckle-faced kid on a bicycle pulls out in front of him.

 

Max goes to a Seven-Eleven and buys two Popsicles. He exchanges smiles with the clerk.

 

When Max gets to the school, Officer Short says there has been a shooting. Max runs to the ambulance only to find his dead son. Max rushed back to the garage, to the sphere. He hits the button and the light flashes red again. And again. And again.

 

After Max misses three classes and a department meeting at Stanford, the dean asks an associate to check on him. Max does not answer the phone, and no one appears to be home at his house on Cherry Street. The Dean notifies the police who log it as a missing person’s case. The detective assigned to the case suspects that, with the death of his wife, and now his son, Max has taken his own life, and his body will turn up soon. But his body is never found, nor is the Pinto registered to Max ever found. And the garage on Cherry street is empty, but only you and I consider that significant.

 

Officer Jason Short recognizes the picture on the missing person’s poster. He had been working crowd control at the shooting, and it was getting busy as more people arrived to pick up kids, or to gawk at the carnage, then this guy, the one on the poster, shoves two popsicles at him and runs off. Short had given the popsicles to a couple kids anxiously waiting for their parents. It had been especially hot that day so Max must have bought the popsicles near the school. Officer Jason Short decides to check the local stores.

 

At the Seven-Eleven, Judy says Max had purchased two Popsicles and seemed to be in a good mood. She gives Officer Short her famous smile and he thinks he might return, perhaps when he is off duty.

 

Time passes.  Fifty years to be precise. It is now April 10th, 2024. The Cherry Street house was sold for unpaid taxes, and the new owner converted the garage into an in-law apartment. No one drives past the garage and comments that one of the greatest inventions in human history was created there. That’s because no one, other than you and I, know about Maxwell Porter’s invention.

 

Max has not been seen, but he has been very active. He has spent the last 50 years in a continuous time loop of 53 minutes, which always start and finish in the ceramic sphere and always includes a quick trip to the Seven-Eleven and Timothy’s school. He always gives two popsicles to the police officer.

 

At Stanford University, a graduate physics student, Thomas Short, the grandson of Jason and Judy Short, discovers a dissertation from a long-forgotten lecturer. The document describes a time machine, and Thomas is interested. He needs a topic for his own dissertation, and he thinks this might lead to something interesting. He takes it home, to his workshop, in his garage.

 

Perhaps someday, people will drive past Thomas Shorts’ garage and point to it in awe as the birthplace of the great invention and the giant corporation. Only time will tell.

 

 

[I got the idea for the story after reading the instructions on a bottle of shampoo. It said: Lather. Rinse. Repeat.  and I wondered if you followed the instructions exactly as written, how you could ever escape the endless loop.]

I came home early from work one night and caught him in bed with my wife, I can’t say I really lost him but he hid every time he saw me in the future for some reason.

I even gave him what he wanted, my wife, New house that was mortgaged to the hilt. He was unemployed so I don’t think he realized the bills from that night were thiers and no longer mine.

I took my old life back, started hunting and fishing again, I had to give those up as had to work long hours to pay the bills my ex loved causing.

I did lose track of them after the bank took the house from them plus the new car that he always loved.

But never mind

Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Dog Who Couldn’t Stop Counting Sheep

Ah, dear reader, welcome back to another rib-tickling adventure in the chronicles of my life on the farm. Today’s tale is a woolly one, full of laughs, misunderstandings, and a certain dog who managed to turn a simple task into a snooze-worthy catastrophe. That’s right—this story is about Rufus, the farm dog, and his ill-fated attempt to watch the sheep. What should have been a straightforward assignment turned into a comedy of errors when Rufus let an old superstition get the better of him. So grab a comfy seat, and prepare yourself for The Dog Who Couldn’t Stop Counting Sheep.

The Farmer’s New Orders

It all started one bright morning when the farmer decided to assign Rufus a new job. Up until then, Rufus had been the farm’s trusty watchdog, keeping an eye on the barn and barking at anything that moved (or didn’t move, in the case of the scarecrow). But with a growing herd of sheep on the farm, the farmer thought it was high time Rufus took on the role of sheepdog.

“Rufus!” the farmer called, patting the loyal dog’s head. “Your job today is to watch the sheep. Keep an eye on them, make sure they don’t wander off, and count them to make sure they’re all accounted for.”

Rufus puffed out his chest with pride. “You got it, boss! I’ll be the best sheep-watcher this farm has ever seen.”

And with that, Rufus trotted off to the pasture, tail wagging and confidence sky-high. Little did he know, he was about to learn a very important lesson about the dangers of counting sheep.

The First Attempt

When Rufus reached the pasture, the sheep were grazing peacefully under the warm sun. He stood at the edge of the field, gazing out at the flock. “Alright, let’s see,” he muttered to himself. “The farmer said to count them. Easy peasy.”

He began counting aloud, pointing with his paw at each sheep. “One… two… three…”

But as he reached ten, something strange happened. His eyelids grew heavy, his tail stopped wagging, and before he knew it, he was lying in the grass, snoring loudly.

“Rufus!” I called, having witnessed the whole thing from my perch on the fence. “What are you doing?”

Rufus jerked awake, blinking groggily. “Huh? What? I wasn’t sleeping! I was… uh… resting my eyes.”

“Resting your eyes, huh?” I said, smirking. “Did you forget that you’re supposed to be watching the sheep, not dreaming about them?”

“I wasn’t dreaming!” Rufus protested. “I was just… okay, maybe I dozed off. But it’s not my fault! Counting sheep is harder than it looks. Let me try again.”

The Second Attempt

Determined to prove himself, Rufus started over. “Alright, focus,” he muttered. “One… two… three… four…”

By the time he reached fifteen, his head was nodding, his tail drooping, and his snores echoing across the pasture.

“Oh, for whiskers’ sake,” I muttered, hopping down from the fence. “Rufus, wake up!”

Rufus jolted awake, his ears twitching. “I’m awake! I’m awake! Did I… did I fall asleep again?”

“Yes,” I said flatly. “And you’re lucky the sheep didn’t wander off while you were snoozing.”

“It’s not my fault!” Rufus said, his voice tinged with desperation. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Every time I start counting, I get so… sleepy.”

“Sleepy,” I said, smirking. “Well, isn’t that ironic? The sheepdog who can’t count sheep without falling asleep. You’re going to need a new strategy, Rufus.”

A Series of Unfortunate Snoozes

Over the course of the day, Rufus tried everything to stay awake while counting the sheep. He splashed water on his face, chewed on a stick, and even enlisted Ferdinand the duck to quack loudly in his ear every ten seconds. But no matter what he did, the moment he started counting, he was out like a light.

“Rufus!” Doris the hen squawked as she waddled over to the pasture. “You can’t keep falling asleep on the job! The sheep could run amok!”

“Amok! And what if they escape?” Harriet added.

“Escape! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Lillian screeched.

“I’m trying, okay?” Rufus said, his ears drooping. “But it’s like some kind of curse. Counting sheep just knocks me out. I can’t help it!”

“Well, this is a real shear disaster,” I said, shaking my head. “If you can’t count the sheep, how are we supposed to keep track of them?”

“Keep track of them,” Ditto the kitten echoed, perched on my back as usual.

“Not helping, Ditto,” I said, flicking my tail.

“Not helping,” Ditto repeated, grinning.

A Woolly Solution

Frustrated but unwilling to give up, I decided to take matters into my own paws. “Alright, listen up,” I said, gathering Rufus, Ferdinand, and the hens. “If counting sheep is putting Rufus to sleep, we need to think outside the pasture. What if we try something different?”

“Different?” Rufus said, tilting his head.

“Yes,” I said. “Instead of counting the sheep, let’s give each one a name. That way, you can make sure they’re all here without having to count.”

“Name them?” Rufus said, his tail wagging slightly. “Hey, that might work!”

And so, we set to work naming the sheep. There was Fluffy, Woolly, Baabara, Shaun, Ewenice, Fleece Lightning, Lamb Chop (though we kept that one on the down low), and a dozen others.

“Alright,” I said once we finished. “Now, instead of counting them, just check to make sure all the names are accounted for.”

Rufus trotted around the pasture, calling out the names. “Fluffy? Here. Woolly? Here. Baabara? Here…”

To everyone’s relief, Rufus stayed wide awake the entire time.

“It’s working!” Doris clucked.
“Working! But also so clever!” Harriet added.
“Clever! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Lillian screeched.

“See?” I said, smirking. “Who needs counting when you’ve got creativity?”

A Happy Ending

By the end of the day, the sheep were safe, Rufus was awake, and the farm was running smoothly once again. The farmer was so impressed with Rufus’s dedication that he officially promoted him to Head Sheepdog (though we all agreed to keep the earlier mishaps a secret).

The moral of the story, dear reader, is this: sometimes, the solutions to our problems require a little creativity and a lot of teamwork. And if counting sheep doesn’t work for you, well… just name them instead.

As for Rufus? He’s now the proud guardian of the flock, and he hasn’t fallen asleep on the job since—though I did catch him snoozing under a tree later that afternoon. But hey, even the best sheepdogs need a nap now and then.

Until next time, my friends.

The End.

Ah! This is actually a great question!

So, what you (and most people) call sausage, I’d call fresh, or uncured sausage¹. And that one word is important, because you’re picturing something like this:

Most uncured sausage is raw, doesn’t keep all that long, and needs to be cooked before eating. They serve the purpose of being a great way to use all the leftover bits of an animal after butchering. Scraps of meat and fat, chopped up organs, etc could be packed in to the animal’s own intestinal casing with some flavoring, and provided a good, cheap, and hearty meal, and would keep for a day or two if stored carefully, gaining another couple of days after cooking.

But when you talk about sausage as a way to keep meat from spoiling, you’re not talking about raw sausage, you’re talking about cured sausage:

Cured sausages start out very similar to the fresh sausage we talked about before, heck, some are literally the same sausage, but then they’re cured, that is dried or otherwise treated to to reduce or prevent spoilage, and can generally be eaten without cooking. Curing can be done a few ways, often by smoking the sausage, which not only reduces the moisture and dries it, but kills bacteria and adds flavour. If you’ve had chorizo, then you have an idea what smoked sausage can be like:

A fully-cured chorizo can last for many months in a cool dry place without being refrigerated, due to the smoking and spices packed in. And that keeping it dry is key (we’ll come back to it later), but not all smoked sausage is fully-cured. You may have had keilbasa/kolbasa/Polish sausage², and it’s also a smoke-cured sausage, but you may have noticed it tends to be kept refrigerated and is much more moist than chorizo. That’s because it’s what we’d call a partially-cured sausage, and while that process extends the shelf-life of it by several more days, it doesn’t last nearly as long as a fully-cured sausage:

And smoking isn’t the only way to cure a sausage either. You’ve almost certainly had German or Italian salami at some point, or had a french charcuterié? Those are also cured, but instead of (or sometimes in addition to) smoking, they’re salt-cured. This basically entails coating them in salt and hanging them to dry, which draws out far more moisture than smoking generally does:

The low-moisture means these will keep for years if stored properly. And that low moisutre is also how you get nifty shapes and patterns of sausages—as they dry, the volume of the meat inside the casing shrinks and firms, and the strings used to hang the sausage leave impressions. But this isn’t just for sausages, because this applies to hams as well:

And simialr to sausages, what you’re thinking about are partially-cured hams. They do have a longer unrefrigerated shelf-life than raw pork, around a day in a cool dry place, for a common ham, or 2–3 days for a heavily brined ham like a cottage roll, instead of a few hours, but again, what you’re really asking about is a fully cured ham, like Italian prosciutto copa, or from the homeland of my ancestors, jamón ibérico:

These can be stored for year or more until it’s sliced open—and they taste incredible!

Bacon is the odd-man out here, because it’s much less common to find fully cured today. That’s not to say it’s impossible, but unlike hams and sausages, where the fully-cured, and uncured or partially-cured varities are all still relatively common, fully-cured bacon pretty rare today, even moreso than fully-cured hams. That said, the partially cured bacon (sometimes called “uncured” bacon³) sold in stores today will still last MUCH longer than raw pork, just like partially cured hams do.

Sealed in it’s package, partially cured bacon is good for a couple of weeks in a fridge, and several days in a cool place. Even once out of the package, partially cured bacon is safe for a day or two if kept cool and dry.

The thing to remember is that while a shelf life of a few days might not seem like much to you or me, compared to our ancestors, who only had hours before meat began to spoil, even partially cured meats were a miracle! And today, refrigerators can expand those already extended shelf lives by double or more, which is why we refrigerate!

Hopefully this was informative and entertaining! 👍

¹ Many of the other answers to this question seem to imply that fresh sausage and partially cured ham are new inventions that mostly replaced the fully-cured varieties, but that’s not at all true. Partially cured and fresh meats are far more common thanks to refrigeration lowering the cost and keeping them from spoiling for longer, but they predate fully cured meat and have always been available alongside them.

² Okay, so what we call keilbasa/kolbasa/Polish Sausage is actually just one type of sasusage common to Poland and Ukraine, and keilbasa/kolbasa literally just means “sausage”, so your experience with sausages under that name may vary.

³ In truth, there’s no such thing as real “uncured bacon”, because that’s just fresh pork belly or side pork, but American USDA rules get werird sometimes; just know that “uncured bacon” sold in the US is partially cured.

Tony doesn’t give a f*ck..

Brownie Pudding Cake

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fa1a67a12d530b2ac6031dac3552957e

Yield: 6 to 8 servings

Ingredients

Pudding

  • 1 cup all-purpose flour
  • 3/4 cup sugar
  • 3 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
  • 2 teaspoons baking powder
  • 1/2 teaspoon salt
  • 1/2 cup milk
  • 2 tablespoons butter or margarine, melted
  • 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
  • 1/2 cup chopped pecans or walnuts

Topping

  • 1 cup sugar
  • 1/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
  • 1 1/2 cups boiling water

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 350 degrees F.

Pudding

  1. Combine all ingredients in medium bowl; pour into greased 8 inch square baking dish.

Topping

  1. Combine sugar and cocoa in small bowl; gradually stir in boiling water. Pour over pudding. Do not stir.
  2. Bake for 45 minutes. (Topping will sink and pudding will rise to the top.)
  3. Serve topped with sweetened whipped cream, if desired.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Sowing Doubt About China – But At What Cost?

On December 27 2021 I mocked headlines and pieces which reported on China’s achievements but questioned the cost:

When China Does Great Question Its Cost

There seem to be general meme directives for ‘western’ outlets with regards to official enemies.

Russia is said to weaponize everything. The position of China is not (yet) seen as in military terms. The emphasis is on economic competition. Any undeniable Chinese achievement must be declared to have been a bad investment. The directive thus reads:

“When writing about China’s achievements – question their purported cost.”

The results:

The list, which included 43 headlines, ended with these:

Time has past but the directive to always question China’s cost is still in place. Here are a few, new and additional, entries:

In 2023 The Deprogram / Radio Free Amanda mocked the scheme in a podcast: Episode 64 – China Episode – But At What Cost? – Feb 3 2023

The Chinese influencer Li Jingjing also chipped in: “China Expert” 101: Add “BUT AT WHAT COST” to turn any positive thing China did into a negative – Jul 28 2023

In late 2023 China’s official Global Times added this:


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It did not help. The meme continues:


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If you made it to here you will have noticed that the list has by now a total of 70 headlines which (roughly) follow a similar scheme.

The ‘question the cost’ with regards to China is not the only directive followed by ‘western’ media. Just consider How Russia, And Putin, Are Weaponizing, Losing And Running Out Of … Everything.

All such schemes are signs that The Mighty Wurlitzer is still well and alive.

Posted by b on January 17, 2025 at 11:21 UTC | Permalink

This is one of ‘em.

I’m a self-taught musician and I was lucky enough in NYC to be asked to score a commercial for a really big company. I went to their office, looked at the 30-second raw footage, thought up the tune in my head there and then, went home and recorded it, turned it in, and got $11,000. That seemed like a FORTUNE at the time, and it was, but it was NYC and in 6 months or such, it was gone and I was back to painting apartments in between gigs.

At Christmas, I was bust, and not pleased about it. I didn’t have a girlfriend and things were bleak. But then I got a call from my pal at the agency who said “Hey, we need that jingle again, but you need to cut 3 seconds off” or whatever it was. The pay was $5000. But this time it was spec – if they loved it, they would buy it. If not, tough.

I edited the song and sent it in. This was going to be a Merry Christmas!

Then I got the call – “They turned it down, sorry.”

You have never seen a sadder man staggering through the snow on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, two days before Christmas. I remember leaning up against Gristede’s, sobbing. I’m sorry – iI I take some things hard. You hear “no” all the time when you work in the arts, but this was a particular blow. I wouldn’t be borrowing $5000. I wouldn’t be painting a loft. I would have solved my money problems under my own steam, case closed. But no.

I finally trudged home, turned on the light and saw the answering machine flashing. I pushed “play.”

“Hey, Josh, what’s up?” It was my pal. “Listen, I ran your song through this piece of software and resubmitted it – and they bought it! I told ’em you’d remixed it. Come and get your check, buddy!”

A Merry Christmas indeed. Paid the rent, bought presents, paid taxes on it, put the rest away, onto the next adventure!

Large hanging landscape oils in grandparents homes

The painting could be in the dining room, in the living room, or in the hallway, but they all possessed it.

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ksnip 20250125 074450

Typically, the most common was “The Last Supper”, and it often graced either the kitchen or dining room. But there were others. Often some kind of scenery.

The Kadels (the German family that I lived with when I attended university) had a scene of a young boy meeting a young girl at a well, and country road.

My grandparents had both “The Last Supper”, and a nice landscape that hung in the living room, and another that hung in the hallway.

My first wife’s grand parents had “The Last Supper”, as did my maternal grandmother.

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ksnip 20250125 072443

These were all large paintings. That tended to dominate the rooms that they were placed in.

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ksnip 20250125 072050

So…

Guys. Why doesn’t anyone buy or hang oil paintings on walls anymore in the homes? Any ideas?

Today…

I don’t know how to explain this kind of thing. It’s like all those “clever” drug dealers around the world know that China has a huge population.

As long as the “product” of this “business” can be sold to one ten-thousandth of the people in China, then drug dealers will “make a lot of money.”

However, the problem is: “Drug dealers” are not fools. They only want to “make money” and don’t want to be “shot to death”!

In fact, only “corrupt government officials”/”cult terrorists”/”fraudsters and slanderers” have the “qualification” to be granted “political asylum” by Americans.

As an ordinary engineer who is a “corrupt criminal”, he had better pray that during his lifetime, there will be no “accidents” in the project he is responsible for. Otherwise, the “dirty money” he exchanged with his “life” will eventually become the “dowry” given by his “widowed wife” to her “lover”.

This is an arrowhead from 2,200 years ago, used by soldiers of Qin Shi Huang’s army during the Qin Kingdom’s conquest of all China. Even today, when measured with modern calipers, these millions of arrowheads still demonstrate an astonishing level of consistency.

Each batch of weapons bore an inscription: “This batch of weapons was supervised by the official (official’s name) from the XX regional government, manufactured at the XX arsenal (arsenal director’s name) by the craftsman XX (craftsman’s name).” Of course, there was always a risk of someone attempting to take dangerous risks, but the consequences were severe. Unless they could take their “dirty money” to the United States and obtain American “political asylum,” it was extremely risky

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As we all know, I am keen on mocking Americans. Here, I will, as always, “mock” American-style corruption.
Have you seen those two “unlucky” astronauts?

Yes, they are the two who are trapped in space and cannot return.

I simply can’t believe that the quality inspectors of Boeing Company can’t tell the difference between “Indian aluminum alloy valves” and “Chinese titanium alloy valves”.

Even more incredibly, in this accident that almost killed two American “space elites”, why haven’t the people responsible been brought to trial?

Much better off joining the Army. If you can pass the tests, they could set you off on a whole new career without taking you to hell and back. Basic was tough (I was just shy of 26 years old) but it wasn’t life threatening. I had been riding a desk for a few years before joining so it took a while to get in shape.

If you can handle being told what to do, you could really turn your life around in a matter of days. Just treat it like a game. Play by their rules and you win. Screw up and buck the established rules, and you will be royally screwed. I did it. You can do it. I played the game they wanted me to play and I actually enjoyed part of basic training.

I loved the hell out of Advanced Individual Training. They gave me a place to sleep, three square meals a day, and they made everybody keep quiet while I ate my snacks and studied a subject I had always wanted to study (Electronics).

I was 6′3″ tall and only 166 pounds when I enlisted. I was allowed to eat all I wanted and more. I gained 19 pounds during basic and AIT. All muscle because my waist size didn’t change until I had been in a few years, having ingested more than my share of German beer.

The US need to reflect on itself and change its way soon ways before its nation totally collapse! Its lies are now exposed and day by day it gets worst for America! Its young population know the truth and it wants an America that is honest and sincere to its people and care for them. It dont want a nation that bullies the world yet lie about its attrocities.

The lie that was so well told it is now a knife that cuts both sides. It raise its people’s high expectation yet it could not hide the truth from coming out that loses all credibility of their government and politicians. In so doing their media will lose relevance day by day. That is precisely what is happening to the US government and media.

The Tik Tok refugee were in for a massive surprise to see that real standard of living in China is indeed higher and its people eat better, cloths better, live long, live healthier, tax less, live in bigger and better homes at a fraction of US cost and are prosperous and happy! A fra cry from Chinese have no freedom, hounded by their government cannot afford the basic necessities portrayed by CNN and Fox News!

I’ve Never Shared My Near Death Experience!

Yes, my friend. The illustration is like the photo above.

So, my friend is a successful palm oil farmer, his land is vast, he already has his own palm oil transport car. When he goes anywhere, he always wears flip-flops, a t-shirt. Even when watching movies, he only wears shorts.

When he was in high school, he only had a few close friends, and that included me, the person wasn’t academically smart so he didn’t get enough attention from friends and teachers. We became close because of one fate, being looked down on by other people.

He likes to travel out of town, but never posts on social media, so people don’t know his financial condition.

His photos on social media, mostly he is in the palm oil plantation wearing flip-flops, boxer shorts and a tank top, people think he is a driver because he can drive a big car.

At the reunion because we haven’t met for 13 years, only successful people were invited.

My friend and I who are oil palm farmers, and several other people were not invited, please tell us the story, while laughing.

When my friend was on vacation in Singapore, my friend asked what I wanted to bring? I answered, just send your photo, my friend asked why? I said I wanted to send it to their reunion group.

My friend didn’t want to, but I persuaded him, finally he agreed, and got the photo. It didn’t take long, I immediately sent it to my friend who was invited there. My friend put me in the group.

It didn’t take long, several friends immediately asked for my friend’s number to invite him directly.

After being invited, my friend didn’t immediately leave the group, but he just said.

“I only have two friends, the others are trash, I’m leaving the group now!

My friend screenshotted the conversation, and we just laughed.

It’s crazy, just to see the uniforms at the reunion, the vegetable seller wasn’t invited..

So, this is a lesson, so that you don’t look down on other people because of their jobs.

No One Here Gets Out Alive

Submitted into Contest #281 in response to: Write a story from the POV of a non-human character. view prompt

James Barrett

On planet Xenon, where I’m from, everybody lives forever. Unless somebody kills them. I never killed anyone that didn’t need it.Here on Earth, everybody knows me as Zach. Zach Wheaton. Unbeknownst to the indigenous population, I was sent to Earth from the planet Xenon. I was convicted of several serial killings on Xenon and sentenced to death. The death penalty was abolished on Xenon a few thousand years after Earth was discovered. Here was a planet where all living things, including Xenonians, eventually died naturally. What better place for Xenonians to send their soiled laundry? Let Earth do the dirty work while the good folks of Xenon kept their hands blood-free and squeaky clean.I was deported here a few years ago at age thirty (in Earth years) and almost immediately found employment as a video game developer. Earth was still in the dark age regarding computer science, so I found the work rather trivial. Everybody thought I was a genius, including me. I was written up in PC Gamer magazine so many times that they eventually gave me my regular column called Algorithm Alley with Zach. Subscriptions when through the ceiling. Developers couldn’t wait to get their hands on my column every month to see the latest insurmountable problem I would solve with a few lines of brilliant code. I was worshipped, and I loved it.Of course, the urge to kill was always lurking in the shadows. I loved the life I had built and suppressed the urge as long as I could. I learned about another Xenonian who was deported to Earth under circumstances similar to mine. I tried to connect with him but found out he had not been able to control his urges. The Earthlings had put him to death years earlier. His name was Ted Bundy.After my unfortunate discovery that Mr. Bundy was no longer with us, I did research on similar supposedly deranged Xenonians. John Wayne Gacy, Jeffrey Dahmer, Dennis Rader, Gary Ridgeway, and David Berkowitz all had one thing in common – they were all originally from Xenon. How did I know? I still had many contacts among the Police intelligentsia on Xenon. They kept me informed.Over the years, I have gotten married (Julie) and fathered a son (Jules). Julie and I met at a gamer’s convention in Las Vegas and immediately hit it off. She was covered in ink and piercings and was quite proud to attend gamer’s functions with the author of Algorithm Alley. Strangely, I never had any evil intentions toward Julie. I’ve found this is not uncommon for killers of my ilk.My conscience began to bother me. I know what you’re thinking. Psychopaths don’t have a conscience. Well, I’m the exception that proves the rule. It just seemed wrong to me that killers were being sent to Earth with no warning to the indigenous population. Most of the lethal transplants were more than willing to take the opportunity to ply their trade as many times as possible before they died, either naturally or otherwise. For me, this hardly seemed sporting.So, I applied to the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, commonly called the BAU. Julie was flabbergasted. How could the author of Algorithm Alley apply for a job at the FBI, which was, in the circles that had made my career, largely considered the Evil Empire? I told Julie I had inside information on serial killers and that information had to be shared with the FBI. Julie wasn’t buying it. She took Jules and moved back in with her parents.I told the FBI interviewers I had inside information on the identity of a serial killer active right now. He was leaving a trail of bodies across South Dakota as we spoke.At first, they didn’t believe me, but then they checked. Sure enough, there were three unidentified corpses discovered in the snow of South Dakota during the past eight days. There wasn’t enough evidence to prove the homicides were related, so the crimes hadn’t been kicked up to the BAU yet. I assured them they were related and the killer’s name was Michael Gaumond. As I expected, they couldn’t find any record of a Michael Gaumond anywhere in South Dakota (he had only arrived on Earth eight days ago and was still living off the grid), and they wound up arresting me on a charge of wasting police resources.I explained that I was from another planet and had inside information about Michael Gaumond and his whereabouts. They thought I was bat-shit crazy. One of the reasons was that if the star Xenon orbited was where I said it was, it would take seven hundred years to get there. I tried to explain that their scientists hadn’t yet discovered the principles of warp drive. At maximum warp, Xenonian ships could make the trip in two days.Eventually, I found myself a patient at Atascadero State Hospital for the criminally insane. It took two years for Gaumond to murder three more people and for the crimes to be connected to the original three homicides.Under interrogation, Gaumond admitted he was from Xenon, and, yes, he had heard of me – Zach Wheaton – and, yes, I had been deported to Earth a few years earlier.Gaumond was eventually found guilty and given a lethal injection (ever wonder if they sterilized the needles before carrying out that sentence?) But, based on his testimony before he died, the FBI, especially the BAU, began to look at me differently. Besides being possibly a bonafide alien, I had become an “asset.”I was given my own office on the top floor of the J. Edgar Hoover FBI building in Washington, D.C. I did not have any “assignments” per se. My job was to keep my contacts on Xenon law enforcement open and sound the alert when one of my evil brethren was on his way to Earth.I had lots of free time and used it to repair my relationship with Julie and my son, Jules.The urge to kill was always lying just beneath the surface, struggling to come out. Julie and Jules helped me keep my head on straight. I wondered if a disproportionate number of Xenonians had the urge back home.Was it nature’s way of keeping the population down?

18 year old Portuguese answering here. I’ll be straight and hide nothing in my answer. I turned 18 two weeks ago. I’ve always lived in Portugal and it was a really good country to grow up in. I will always feel grateful for having been raised with no security problems, having had access to school, medical care, food, good history & culture (part of it) and very good weather the majority of the year.

But the truth is (and I started confronting myself with that reality 4 years ago when I first went abroad) that nowadays Portugal is really in the ‘back’ compared to other countries. There’s so many things that need to be updated, so many conflicts to be solved, and the government’s priorities (not only the current one, but all the governments I was alive to see at work) are not well defined.

In September, I will start my last year of high school. But I will also start my university applications to the United Kingdom and to Denmark. And once I go, I don’t intend, right now, to go back after I conclude my studies. I don’t feel that Portugal can give me a future. At least a future where I can be financially independent from my parents while I’m still working or where I’ll have a chance to get a good job once I finish my university degree.

It’s sad to see my own country losing the young people everyday to other countries, seeing the population getting older in the stats and the newborn stats also decaying more and more every year and seeing the government doing nothing or useless measures about it.

I’m really grateful for the childhood Portugal offered me but it can’t give me a future and I have to be the one fighting for it, somewhere else.

Maybe I’ll be back someday. When I’m older, have a good job, my life organised and some stability.

But for now, I will probably (and unfortunately)belong to the stats section of young people who went to get further education in another country and probably will end up staying there.

UPDATE as of Dec 2022: I almost forgot about this post. It’s my 3rd year living and studying in Nottingham (UK). I am working part-time alongside my degree and am currently completing a placement year at a law firm. I was also lucky enough to secure an academic scholarship and UK Student Finance (before Brexit was officialised on 31 December 2020) to cover my course’s tuition fees.

I will not romanticise it because it is not always easy. The culture shock is very real and I miss my country, my family and my friends a lot. Sometimes all I want is to just hug my parents, have 5 minutes of Portuguese sun, or just a bite of my grandma’s food. But I am learning every day and getting opportunities that I would not get back in Portugal. I know I have made the right decision for me and my future.

Unfortunately, everytime I go back and see how my friends are doing, I know they will also end up moving once they finish their studies, since employment prospects for young graduates in Portugal isn’t looking promising.

China is the world’s factory. It can outproduce anyone. It’s also not expansionist so the enemy will have to bring the fight to China, giving China a home advantage. So unless China suffers a generational disadvantage in equipment, China will always win.

That’s why China is now focused on tech. Because it’s the only area where the enemy can have a chance. And China doesn’t want to give the other side a chance.

First, I think that Leopold II is pretty roundly condemned by anyone who knows about what he did. It’s just the whole “knowing about” thing.

Why don’t people know? Several reasons, I think.

  1. Bad timing, part 1. This was in an era before TV, before radio, and just at the very beginning of the motion pictures. The media environment just wasn’t there yet.
  2. Bad timing, part 2. Ten years later, WW1 happened, and that basically changed everything, and cast Belgium as part of the “good guys”.
  3. It’s just not taught. At least in US schools, this atrocity receives zero class time. (Generally, US schools teach very little about post 1776 foreign affairs unless the US played an active role, and even then, it’s limited)
  4. It was just enough of a “slow burn” to avoid serious public inquiry, until very late.
  5. Lack of clarity. The death toll is unclear, Leopold did much to destroy the details, etc.
  6. Africa. The sad fact is that atrocities in Africa rarely get much attention in the west. Even contemporaneously, getting attention to the atrocities was difficult for activists. Several missionarios spend years desperately trying to get the situation some publicity.
  7. Leopold had a fairly effective propaganda campaign.

“RedNote” does not appear to have plans to enter the US market, and its data is not stored in the US.

ByteDance boss Zhang Yiming is only 41 years old this year, only the Chinese market has already let him make a lot of money, get a lifetime of inexhaustible wealth, so there is no U.S. market is not important to him.

Zhang Yiming’s mother is a nurse and his father is an ordinary employee of the local science association. Zhang Yiming is a technology nerd, he is not good at talking, very low-key, no socialization, does not smoke, does not drink, does not love to play IT games, does not love to watch movies, does not love luxury cars, does not love to play golf, he only has three hobbies: writing program code, reading books, and repairing computers.

He spends most of his time at home and seldom goes to the office, he left all the company’s business to Shou Zi Chew, CEO of Tiktok, who is more adept at corporate management, and his college roommate, Liang Rubo, CEO of ByteDance, and retired completely, not even attending the company’s anniversary celebration.

But Zhang Yiming has the final decision-making power over ByteDance and Tiktok, so if the US government lets Tiktok stay in the US, he’ll let stay there; if the US government doesn’t let Tiktok stay in the US, he’ll take it out of the US market, and he won’t sell Tiktok’s Core code.

We advise the U.S. government to respect corporate intellectual property rights and not attempt to plunder them.

Holiday Time

Submitted into Contest #281 in response to: Write a story from the POV of a non-human character. view prompt

Ellen Talboom

That time of year. The decorations start covering almost every part of open blank space on the ground floor of the office building. Humans climb up on ladders, attach green looking leaves along the walls. Odd, no one waters them, yet they stay the same color, bright and shiny. Then the leaves are taken down. Every year, same thing. Humans talk a different language from during the year. Interesting concept.”How ya doing Laura”, a guest said, walking past the information desk?”Doing well, you, Mr. Jenkins”?”Great. I love the holidays. These decorations are absolutely beautiful, don’t you think”?”Yes”. Laura’s eyes followed Mr. Jenkins as he walked to the elevator.Don’t I think? What does that mean? Do I think? Am I thinking now? How do I think if I have been programed for every possible human reply? Is that thinking? Laura sat motionless. I don’t breathe. I don’t need to breathe. I don’t have to. Is that thinking?”Good morning Mrs. Tarron”.”Good morning to you Laura. How are you doing today”?”Well. It is going to be another lovely day”, Laura responded.”Good to hear. Great to be alive. I love the holidays”, Mrs. Tarron replied, “everything so pretty”. Mrs. Tarron walked up the stairs to the second floor, where the shops were located.Pretty, the decorations are so pretty. What does that mean? The concept of pretty or not pretty.”Have a great rest of your day Laura”.”Thank you, you as well Mrs. Tarron.Great to be alive. But I am not alive. I am a highly functioning machine. Have a great day. How would I have a not great day? Am I thinking? No, just the correct programed responses.Laura looked up at the stairs. Decorations were being wrapped around the railing. These humans were laughing and saying the works with a constant changing of the sounds, flowing along. Singing. Laura listened to the sounds.”Don’t you love to hear the caroling”?”It does flow. Good morning, Keith. No school”?”Yup, got out early. I think the teachers just wanted to annoy us. Wake up early, shower, choose what to wear, scarf down food, rush to the bus, sitting in those hard seats with no seat belts hoping I didn’t forget anything important. Then at school, sit in for an assembly, get some homework packets, then back on the bus. And guess what? The busses never left. A total waste of time and money, on both sides”. Laura sat motionless, again.”Well, enough talk. I’m off to my parents’ shop. Hey, there is the tree lighting event tomorrow. You should join us. There is food and drink”. Laura looked at Keith. Keith looked at Laura. She smiled. “I don’t eat or drink”.”Whoops. Sorry. I forget. You look and act so real, so human”.”Thank you, Keith”.

“Welcome. Come to the tree lighting anyway, okay”?

“Yes”. Keith turned and ran up the stairs, two steps at a time.

Come over and see the tree lighting. Love to hear the caroling. Shower, dress, scarf down food, rush to the bus. I have no programing to respond to those comments. Something to write down and submit to John.

“Good afternoon, Laura”.

“Good afternoon, Tanner”.

“What a day. chillness in the air. Feels like snow. You can almost breathe it”.

“This is a great day”, Laura said.

“It certainty is. You have a great day”.

“Thank you, Tanner”. Laura watched him walk up the stairs. “Oh, you are invited to the holiday tree lighting bash tomorrow, around 6p”, Tanner yelled from the stairs, “Hope to see you there”.

“Ok”, Laura replied. Tanner continued up the stairs, singing. Laura listened to the song, jingle bells, jingle bells. Laura wrote this on the sheet of paper for John.

“Mr. and Mrs. George, welcome”, Laura said.

“Greetings to you Laura. Happy holidays”, Mrs. George said.

“Same to you”, replied Laura.

“Tell Laura to have a happy holiday”, Mr. George told his 5-year-old twin sons.

“Happy holidays”, the twins said together. Laura smiled.

“Are you going to the holiday party tomorrow? My mom is going to sing”, one twin said.

“Yes I am. After work”.

“Cool”. The twins bolted to the stairs.

“Gotta go. Last minute stuff to do”, Mrs. George said, laughing.

“Indeed, see you tomorrow then”.

“Ok”. Laura watched the twins jump up each stair while their parents walked, one foot on each stair. Laura added to the list.

6pm. Laura’s shift was finished for the day. A couple of late guests rushed in before she locked the doors.

Doors locked. Now only those with key cards were able to gain access to the building.

“Have a good evening, Laura”, Craig, the night security human said while walking over to the information desk. “How was the day”?

“A lot of movement”.

“I bet. Getting close to the big day now”.

“Yes. Are you going to the event tomorrow”?

“Which one”? Craig laughed. “There are enough parties to keep me in food and drink for a week”. He winked.

Laura put her notebook and pen into her shoulder bag, rose from the chair and pushed the chair under the desk.

“Ready. Have a safe evening Craig”.

“Thank you, Laura. Say hi to John for me”.

“I will”. Laura walked to the elevator, pressed the up button. She entered when the doors opened. She pressed #6. Doors closed. Laura let herself into the operations room. John was sitting at the control panels. Many TV monitors that light up the room. He turned.

“Craig says hi”.

“Tell him hi from me. How was your day, Laura”?

“I have a list of comments that have no meaning to me. It was a day, light then dark”. John smiled.

“Ok, phase 4 now. You are ready”.

Laura smiled.

Laura was at her desk 5 minutes early; she is every day.

“Good morning, Laura”.

“Good morning, Nate. How are you doing today”?

“Great. Getting closer to the big day, food-fun-drink, especially the drink”, Nate said, then laughed.

“No over doing it, ok”, Laura said.

“Oh no. Can’t do that anymore. Ok, you have a fun day”.

“I will, thank you”.

Humans with dogs coming in and out. Humans without dogs coming in and out. Some walking up the stairs to the shops. Some using the elevators to the business offices.

More decorations were hung. A huge wreath is to be hung over the front door. A forklift was needed to put it on the hook, only to see that there was no hook. After the wreath was hung, the lights were turned on. They twinkled white. Silver and gold ribbons and bobbles hung on the wreath. It was a sight.

The tree, decorated with all the holiday colors. There was a large star placed on the top of the tree. It was a large tree, off to the side by the windows. It was 20 feet tall. Neatly wrapped packages were underneath. The tree lighting will be at 6p. Laura watched all the movement, the fussing around the tree. More decorations were added.

The caterers were setting up the food and drink tables. There were plates of different foods. So much food.

6p. Laura watched at the clock hands make a straight up and down line. Groups of Humans were walking down the stairs and right over to the food and drink festively decorated tables. Nate was the first to the wine bar.

Laura completed her closing chores, put her bag over her shoulder, rose up and pushed the chair under the desk. She walked over to the tree. John and Craig walked through the elevator doors and toward the tree, talking.

Everyone was silent. The twins had the honor of lighting the holiday tree. The crowd let out a whoosh of excitement, ooooo’s and ahhhhh’s.

Laura stepped up in front of the tree, placed her purse on the floor next to her. She turned to face the group. John watched with the others. Silence. Laura smiled.

“Happy holidays all”, and she began to sing, “Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree, your branches green delight us”…

There are 5 million Irishman.

If they recruited one percent of the population to be under arms, which is quite a lot, they would have 50 000 troops.

Ireland has basically no natural defensive features and they do not have the money to build a navy that could defend them.

That is why Ireland is neutral:

They cannot hope to defend themselves, if it comes to it, all that they can do is let themselves be occupied and return to an Irish staple: Guerrilla warfare and resistance.

Since that is the case, there is not much of a point to splurging on jets or tanks. They cannot buy and man enough to offer deterence, just enough to waste money.

That is why the Fórsaí Cosanta is what it is: Basically an armed constabulary that participates in UN missions.

Even if Ireland felt severely threatened investing in fighters, helicopters and tanks would not be the way to go.

Instead build a magazine with rifles, semtex and mines at the end of every block and when they enemy attacks, disperse the arms among the population and burn the lists.

Censorship

Rob Urie put up an important piece in Naked Capitalism: On Being Censored For The Last Four Years

This should be read by anyone who still thinks Biden is anything but the warmongering, corrupt, power-mad senile old man that he is, and his presidential administration was.

Some key excepts:

In December, 2024, a Federal entity called the Global Engagement Center (GEC)— an offshoot of the US State Department tasked with censoring legal political speech on the internet, was closed after Congress stopped funding it. Within a day or two of this occurring, the internet as I haven’t seen it in four years suddenly reappeared. Hundreds of my articles that couldn’t be found under any arrangement of search terms over the prior four years have since reappeared….

Within hours of Joe Biden’s inauguration in 2021, 99% of the 200+ essays that I had written over the prior decade disappeared from the internet, along with 99% of the digital evidence that I ever existed. Little of what I had written, and none of what I was then writing, could be found via searches no matter how precise and / or detailed the search terms. For what I imagine were political reasons, after a decade of writing near-weekly essays, I had been disappeared.

The alleged rationale for this censorship was ‘to combat disinformation.’ Having followed Joe Biden’s political career since the early 1980s, the man was never known for having a firm grasp on the reality that most of the rest of us share. Much of what Biden said regarding the Covid-19 pandemic was not only untrue, but deeply harmful. Telling people that the mRNA vaccines prevented both illness and transmission— both untrue, put millions of lives at risk.

Having done quite a bit of mathematical programming over the years, I sensed quickly that I was being censored as the GEC was firing up. What surprised me, but shouldn’t have, is that the American and world history that I had linked to as source material was also being systematically disappeared from the internet. At one point in 2021 – 2022, the only way that I could re-find relevant history was to already have the links. Using the same search terms as used before never yielded the same, or even useful, results no matter how many times I tried.

The Times reporter/disinformation censor worldview that only what they believe is true is widely prevalent amongst the American PMC. The logic of this view was put to me by a friend. My friend gets his news from CNN, NPR, and the New York Times. In discussing events in Ukraine, his standard response was ‘I never heard of that.’ The obvious reply: if I got my information from those sources alone, I wouldn’t know much that is true about the world either.

This ‘incredible sunshine of the spotless mind’ view, whereby the less that someone knows, the more power they are given to determine public policy, is the corporate model applied to government. CEOs fancy themselves as managers and deal makers, not content experts. Marketing ‘truth’ is a constrained optimization problem around what will best sell a product. American political discourse follows this corporate model as low-quality rhetoric.

As one who was called a communist for opposing the US war in Vietnam, a Saddam sympathizer (and a terrorist) for opposing two US wars in Iraq, a Putin puppet for opposing the current US war against Russia in Ukraine, and an antisemite for opposing the Israeli genocide in Gaza, the trail of official lies points to the US government being the most prolific purveyor of lies related to US foreign policy. This would seem fertile territory for actual inquiry into ‘disinformation.’

While ‘enshittification’ is a good general descriptor for what doesn’t work in the modern world, intention to enshittify hasn’t tended to be the explanation for it. Prior to 2016 or thereabouts, the internet yielded results that, taken together, provided reasonable approximations of the facts. Particularly after 2021, the internet search results that I got seemed increasingly intended to mislead.

As best I can tell, I had made it through the Trump years without being censored. The censorship that I encountered was conducted by the Biden administration.

I have no idea if the changes that I am seeing are visible to others. The tech ‘model’ of customization has produced a dystopian hellscape whereby critical comparison is impossible because there is no common basis by which to compare. This is reification of the individualist ontology of Western commerce. Good luck fixing the effect without first addressing the cause.

 

Posted by: c1ue | Jan 23 2025 16:55 utc | 40

Remember this?

That was the husband of a prominent American neocon, Mrs. Anne Applebaum, and a member of an infamous neocon think-thank, the American Enterprise institute, thanking Americans for blowing up a critical piece of Germany’s and Europe’s energy infrastructure in – the Nord Stream 2 gas pipeline – mere months after the now outgoing American president announced – and right in front of German chancellor at the time – how he will have the said pipeline blown up should there be a war between Russia and Ukraine.

And how did Germany, its neighboring countries around the Baltic Sea, the entirety of EU and rest of the rules-based world order react to such a blatant act of state-sponsored terrorism – indeed, what could be considered an outright casus belli under international law – against them by the USA? Crickets chirping in the dead of the night! Awkward silence, playing dumb, cover-ups and secretive investigations leading nowhere. “It might be in no one’s interest to find out more!”

mafia-style statements in media, just in case anyone amongst the Western elites didn’t get the memo about omerta imposed upon this whole issue. And of course, Germany’s and Europe’s economies tanking down fast ever since, as the supplies of gas dwindle while the prices of energy and everything else soar.

And I find it darkly amusing how more-less the same people who twiddled their thumbs in silence as Nord Stream 2 went up with a bang right under their noses, are now publically shocked (shocked, I say!) how the incoming American president is announcing he’ll take Greenland away from Denmark, by hook or crook if need be. US threatening, bullying or outright attacking an obedient EU and NATO ally? Nooo, say it ain’t so!!! What’s a poor little Denmark to do now – other than, perhaps, raise its defense spending to 5% as US now demands, to buy more of its old F-16s and send them as military aid to Ukraine?

And speaking of Ukraine, another thing I find darkly amusing is that, again, the very same people who insist that USA has a God-given mission to fight for freedom and democracy on plains of Donbass, or islands of South China sea, or mountains of Afghanistan, or cities of Syria, Libya, Iraq and so forth, are now shocked (shocked, I say!) that USA is interested in management of a huge and strategically important island in its close neighborhood – because, apparently, that’s another white people’s colony, and it would be gauche to deprive them of their imperial legacy. Much as I dislike US imperialism in any of its myriad forms, the fact that Trump is now basically drawing a circle around North American continent and saying “These are our national strategic interests, back off!” seems to me as in improvement over these past 25+ years of Neocon/Neoliberal globalist policy, which insisted that the entire planet Earth is a US-exclusive sphere of influence, and Americans get to intervene in everyone’s else countries and business as they damn please.

This Neocon “Grand strategy” (now there’s a misnomer!) has been nothing but an abject failure, bringing about decades of war, ruin, loss and one crisis after another to both US and world at large; and has now (as was entirely predictable) smashed itself against the Russian wall in eastern Ukraine. So for the time being at least, it looks like US policymakers have decided to cut their losses, re-entrench themselves inside proverbial “Fortress America”, and focus more on issues in their immediate neighborhood, which truth be told really are in their geopolitical interests, much more than whatever happens in Ukraine, Middle East or Taiwan. That us Europeans will bear the full brunt of this “strategic realignment” was likewise entirely predictable outcome, and is wholly our own fault; the idea that we could ride the tiger of American imperialism without it eventually devouring us because we kept quiet and obedient to its every whim is just about as idiotic as it sounds.

I recall an old sketch from that superb 1980s British sitcom, “Yes Prime Minister”, which I think illustrates well the kind of reasoning that lead to this probable shift in American foreign policy; from the old-school Neocon ideologues, to the younger realpolitikers which Trump is presumably now bringing with him.

Prime Minister Hacker: “Humphrey, are you saying that Britain should not support law and justice?”

Cabinet Secretary Humphrey: “No, of course we should, Prime Minister. We just shouldn’t let it affect our foreign policy, that’s all.”

Prime Minister: “We should always fight for the weak against the strong!”

Cabinet Secretary: “Well, then why don’t we send troops to Afghanistan to fight the Russians?”

Prime Minister: “The Russians are too strong.

Last summer my little sister died. I don’t even think that heartbroken can sum up my feelings. I was completely devastated, not only for my sister, but for my nieces and nephews that don’t deserve to grow up without a mother (or a father, since he was killed in a drug deal gone wrong).

I was attending my little sister’s funeral, which no one should ever have to do. Afterwards we had a dinner at my twin sister’s place. A family friend, let’s call her Shirley, was present.

Another young family friend was present, let’s call him Paul.

Shirley came up to me and said “you have traveled the world and done a lot of things in life. But you’re not like Paul. He has traveled the world too. The difference is that he never forgot where he came from!”

I felt judged, humiliated, and frankly, like a piece of shit. I had no mental defenses ready for someone to speak to me like this on the day of my sister’s funeral. Honestly, it fucked me up. I wondered what I had done to receive such judgment. I have always answered the call when my family needed help. It made me think that not only did Shirley feel that way, but secretly, my family did too. Where else would she have gotten that idea from?

On a day when I already felt awful, it made me feel even worse.

Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Mystery of the Cursed Wheelbarrow

Ah, dear reader, welcome to another charmingly absurd installment of my adventures. Today’s tale involves one of the strangest cases I’ve ever encountered. It wasn’t a missing apple, a misplaced bed, or even a quacking sensation—no, this time, it was a wheelbarrow. A seemingly ordinary, rickety old wheelbarrow. But let me assure you, there was nothing ordinary about it. It appeared in the most improbable places at the most improbable times, causing quite the ruckus on the farm. What followed was a mystery that tested my patience, my deductive skills, and, at one point, my ability to climb a roof. Prepare yourself for the hilarity-filled tale of The Mystery of the Cursed Wheelbarrow.

The First Sighting

It all began one misty morning as I was making my usual rounds. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a golden glow over the barnyard, and everything seemed peaceful. That was, until I heard the unmistakable sound of clucking in distress.

“Help! Oh, someone help!” Doris the hen squawked.
“Help! There’s something outside the coop!” Harriet clucked.
“Outside! Oh, it’s dreadful!” Lillian screeched.
“Dreadful! I can’t bear it!” Doris wailed.

I sighed and padded over to the chicken coop, where the hens were huddled together, their feathers ruffled.

“What is it this time, ladies?” I asked, my tail flicking impatiently.

“It’s… it’s… that!” Doris said, pointing a trembling wing toward the fence.

I turned to look and saw… a wheelbarrow. An old, rusty wheelbarrow, leaning casually against the fence as if it had been there for years.

“That?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “It’s just a wheelbarrow.”

“Just a wheelbarrow?! Oh, how naïve!” Doris squawked.
“Naïve! But what is it doing there?!” Harriet clucked.
“There! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Lillian cried.

I sighed. “It’s probably just the farmer. He must have left it there.”

“But it wasn’t there last night!” Doris insisted. “And none of us saw him move it!”
“Move it! Oh, it’s cursed!” Harriet clucked.
“Cursed! Oh, I can’t bear the thought!” Lillian screeched.

“Cursed? Really?” I said, rolling my eyes. “Ladies, it’s a wheelbarrow, not a ghost. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more important matters to attend to.”

Little did I know, the wheelbarrow was just getting started.

The Second Sighting

Later that day, I decided to visit Porkchop the pig, who was lounging happily near his favorite mud puddle.

“Morning, Whiskerton,” Porkchop said, munching on an apple. “What brings you out here?”

“Just checking in,” I said. “The hens are in a tizzy over some wheelbarrow they think is cursed.”

“Oh, that thing?” Porkchop said, chuckling. “Yeah, I saw it this morning by the coop. Weird, though—it’s in the barn now.”

“The barn?” I said, my ears perking up. “Are you sure?”

“Sure as mud,” Porkchop said, pointing toward the barn.

Curious, I made my way to the barn. Sure enough, there it was: the same rusty old wheelbarrow, now sitting in the middle of the barn as if it owned the place.

“Hmm,” I said, circling the wheelbarrow. “Strange. Very strange.”

The Plot Thickens

Word of the “cursed” wheelbarrow spread across the farm like wildfire. By the following morning, everyone was talking about it.

“Did you hear?!” Doris squawked. “The wheelbarrow showed up near the farmhouse last night!”
“Near the farmhouse! Oh, how terrifying!” Harriet clucked.
“Terrifying! I can’t bear it!” Lillian screeched.

Even Rufus the dog was spooked. “I saw it too,” he said, his tail tucked between his legs. “One minute it wasn’t there, and the next minute—bam! Right by the kitchen door.”

“Interesting,” I said, stroking my whiskers. “It seems the wheelbarrow has a mind of its own.”

“Maybe it’s haunted,” Rufus said, shivering.

“Haunted? Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “There’s a logical explanation for this. There has to be.”

The Rooftop Revelation

The mystery reached its peak (quite literally) the next morning when we woke up to find the wheelbarrow… on the roof of the barn.

“Yes, you heard me correctly, dear reader. The roof. Of the barn. A place no wheelbarrow has any business being.”

“How did it get up there?!” Doris squawked.
“Up there! Oh, it’s definitely cursed!” Harriet clucked.
“Cursed! I can’t bear it!” Lillian screeched.

“Enough!” I said, my patience wearing thin. “This has gone too far. I am going to solve this mystery once and for all.”

With the help of Rufus, Porkchop, and a very long ladder, I climbed up to the roof to inspect the wheelbarrow. As I examined it, a faint scent caught my attention: straw. Fresh straw.

“Straw?” I muttered to myself. “Interesting.”

The Culprit Revealed

I followed the scent of straw down from the roof and into the loft, where I found… Ferdinand the duck, lounging among the hay and looking far too pleased with himself.

“Ferdinand,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Do you know anything about the wheelbarrow?”

“Quack, quack! Who, me?” Ferdinand said, feigning innocence. “Why would I know anything about that old thing?”

“Because,” I said, pointing to the pulley system hanging from the loft, “it seems someone’s been using this to hoist the wheelbarrow into strange places. Care to explain?”

Ferdinand sighed dramatically. “Oh, fine. You caught me. But can you blame me? I was just trying to spice things up around here. This farm needed a little excitement!”

“Excitement?!” Doris squawked. “Oh, how dreadful!”
“Dreadful! But also clever!” Harriet clucked.
“Clever! I can’t bear it!” Lillian screeched.

The Moral of the Story

In the end, Ferdinand apologized for his antics, and the wheelbarrow was returned to its rightful place in the shed. The farm returned to its usual peaceful rhythm, though Ferdinand’s “cursed” wheelbarrow prank became the stuff of farmyard legend.

The moral of the story, dear reader, is this: sometimes, the strangest mysteries have the simplest explanations. And while a little mischief can be fun, it’s important to remember that not everyone enjoys surprises—especially when they involve rooftops and wheelbarrows.

As for me? I’ve since added “prank detection” to my list of skills. Until next time, dear reader.

The End.

I’m a normal person. This year, my family welcomed a new baby, and the total cost of childbirth was about 12,000 yuan. We chose some additional paid services, but after insurance reimbursement, we paid 3,000 yuan.

My wife and mother stayed at home to take care of the children. In Beijing, we rented a two-bedroom apartment for 6,000 yuan a month.

The baby is mixed fed, consuming two cans of formula a month, which costs about 800 yuan.

I bought a house in my hometown, now the monthly mortgage is 1800 yuan (before 2300 yuan, now the interest rate has dropped).

There is a wholesale market near our home, 120 yuan of food ingredients can sustain my mother and wife for a week, so the monthly food cost is about 500 yuan.

My company provides free dinner, while breakfast and lunch together cost about 30 yuan a day. I also smoke. In general, my personal expenses are around 1200 yuan per month.

Electricity is $200 a month and water is $100 a month.

We estimate other miscellaneous expenses at 1000 yuan per month.

Total annual cost: (6000 + 800 + 1800 + 500 + 1200 + 1000)* 12 = 140,400 yuan. Our expenses are quite high. My wife can’t work now and only receives about 2,000 yuan a month in unemployment insurance. As a result, our year-end savings will be relatively low over the next few years.

FUN FACT: (not really) guys that leave the toilet seat up after they go pee, tend to be married the longest. This is based off a statement of a Quora user (always factual) that said he did and he’s been married a long time.

Now that I got your attention, about me. I’ve been married for 19 years and have two school aged boys. My wife stays home has always stayed home with them. Since I’m a morning person, I wake up at 3:20 M-F, drink tea before I start making the kids breakfast and lunch. Once done, then I eat. When my wife wakes up, I’ll have made her a cup of coffee. I do the dishes and clean the kitchen when I’m done. I’ll take both kids to school.

We both clean the house

I tried to do the laundry but got fired from that.

I tried putting away the laundry but got fired from that.

In summary, be the each others crutch, however that means to you. For example, yesterday my wife was upstairs tired and I was downstairs also tired but I knew she was hungry so I made her a sandwich and brought it up so she didn’t have to go downstairs. I’m amazed that we’ve been together for so long when some of our friends and even people here in this subdivision have gotten divorced.

I wouldn’t say I “hate” black people. However, after working at jobs trying to service high percentages and numbers of blacks, I’m in no rush to be friends with them, either. I see nothing wrong with “segregation,” not necessarily forced segregation as much as “de facto” segregation. When I worked with blacks as coworkers and the population I served, I felt as though I was walking thru a minefield. When one walks thru a minefield, there’s no guarantee they’ll step on a land mine. However, those mines are still there. With large numbers of blacks, I didn’t know if I was gonna have a conversation with an average person like myself and most people, who have goals, bills to pay, etc, or if I was gonna have a conversation with a person with a chip on their shoulder. A person who lived in the past. The recent past, since archaeological discoveries of human existence goes back at least 2, 024 years. That past being slavery in the United States. The attitude that many blacks have is that because they’re ancestors came over here in chains, and that I owe, or other whites, owe them is pathetically ridiculous. Should I expect business owners to pay me reparations since my grandfather did back breaking labor loading and unloading freight from ships that were owned by large companies? I think not.

So, as a result of the guessing game, and I don’t play guessing games with people, I really have no desire to be around blacks. That doesn’t mean that I hate ALL black people It means that I wonder if they’re the ones who are prejudiced and they’re gonna give me an attitude or worse. I’ve had blacks attempt to rob me, only to back off because they stopped and wonder if I was an undercover cop or just some crazy mother #$#er, or both. I’ve also met blacks who were as nice as anyone I’ve ever met. However, that’s a 50/50 chance of the person being decent. In addition, if I point out that a black person has done something wrong, I get accused of being racist by a person who is very prejudiced, themselves. So, why live with that inconsistent element if I don’t want or need it.

I wouldn’t want to be stuck in the middle of the Russian-Ukraine War, or any war for that matter. That doesn’t mean that I hate all Russians and Ukrainians. It just means it’s a situation that I’d rather live without.

As I get closer to the age of 60, and having enjoyed most of my early retirement, I have no objection with my life being relatively uneventful, with some surprises here and there. And I’d rather not live or be around a population that claims to be oppressed and should receive special treatment while receiving free housing, food and medical care, and many even driving nice cars. In addition to getting an attitude from such persons, or worse, I really have no desire to be around such situations and people.

After my car broke down, and I was traveling on that particular city’s buses, I was getting some attitude from a black male who was probably no older than 25. I was about 57 at the time and used a cane, after knee surgery, 1/2 the time. For no reason whatsoever, this younger man was Hell bent on being completely disrespectful with me. They’re not lying, when there’s the realistic image of young criminals robbing old ladies. With my knee in that situation, and being 55 plus years old, I was just as easy a target for a criminal as an old lady might be. So, no, if there is the chance of me coming across ONE person like that, than I’d rather not live among such people, if they can described as people. Enough people within my race are assholes. At least if I lose my patience and temper with someone within my own race, I won’t be accused of being a racist.

So, no I don’t hate all blacks. I simply have no desire to live with them or to be around them…

Change the Channel…

 

From beef and rice with chutney to lasagna with toasted garlic bread

Ethics???😂😂😂

Let’s assume for a single second that maybe China did steal US Military technology

What’s so wrong in that?

I would say KUDOS to China

Steal their nuclear codes if you can

Steal their deepest technology if you can

Steal the key codes to Air Force one

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main qimg 2c0a7dc8114af23cee481f2628789f6a

Lets call it PAYBACK for the bombing of the Chinese embassy in Belgrade in 1999

One stealth design for many Chinese lives

It must be my neighborhood. By the way, my neighbor has just moved in and he loves it. One day his big cat walked into my compound (houses here have no proper gates) That is how we met.

“ I was surprised to see you moving in, I hardly see people here as I only come here once a month to open the house for a termite buster”— I said to him after I returned his cat.

“ That’s exactly what I love about this place after having been to many neighborhoods in Huahin, this is a great place —no neighbors!”

I frowned “ Looking around, all driveways from the main road with no cars, and no people”

He grinned,” I don’t care, I got a private possiblep, WiFi, as long as there are security guards, and foodstuff delivery on calls- brilliant, the best place in Hua Hin or on earth— Bangkok? Forget it! I am from Copenhagen, enough of the rat-race.”

“ But many of the houses fit a scene of ‘ The Walking Dead”

“ I was wondering as well, either the owners died or something—That doesn’t bother me,“

— I got him.” What’s next on your plan here in Thailand?”

“My kids will come here, after I buy a piece of one-acre land and build 4 houses for my legacy—You got a piece of land for me?— I don’t mind in the middle of nowhere- no neighbors!”- His demand was crystal clear- No neighbors, Mai pen rai!

So my neighborhood must be the best place in Hua Hin with, no cars, no neighbors, many houses are deserted… It fits scene of ‘ The Walking Dead” Oh, I forgot, got guards and foodstuff delivery.

Lemon Blueberry Cake

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521396597151c5b3f101190eef61e264

Ingredients

  • 1 (18.25 ounce) box yellow cake mix*
  • 1 lemon
  • 2 cups fresh or frozen blueberries
  • 1 1/2 cups water
  • 1 (6 ounce) box lemon flavored gelatin
  • Powdered sugar
  • 1 (8 ounce) container frozen whipped topping, thawed

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 375 degrees F. Lightly spray a 9 x 13 inch baker with vegetable oil using Kitchen Spritzer.
  2. Prepare cake mix according to package directions.
  3. Zest lemon to yield 1 tablespoon zest; stir into batter. Pour batter into prepared Baker spreading evenly; sprinkle with blueberries.
  4. In bowl, microwave water on HIGH for 2 1/2 to 3 minutes or until boiling. Whisk in gelatin until dissolved. Pour gelatin mixture evenly over top of batter.
  5. Bake for 30 to 35 minutes or until cake tester inserted in center comes out clean.
  6. Cool slightly; sprinkle with powdered sugar.
  7. To serve, spoon warm cake into dessert bowls. Garnish with whipped topping.

Notes

* 18.25 ounce boxes of cake mix have been replaced by 16 ounce boxes. To compensate for the volume loss, whisk 6 tablespoons all-purpose flour into the dry cake mix before proceeding with the recipe.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

At the deli where I get my coffee every day, one of my favorite employees is an immigrant from Kosovo. You couldn’t meet a nicer, more helpful guy. He works a construction job for 40+ hours a week, and then in the evenings and on weekends he works at the deli. All told, he probably puts in over 70 hours a week. When I first met him a few years ago, he had three jobs – he also worked at a local 7–Eleven. I remember seeing him there, shaking my head, and asking him if he ever got a day off. He said, “maybe next year.”

Would you say that breaking your back doing construction for 8 to 10 hours, then spending another 5 or 6 hours on your feet clerking, is NOT hard work? What about working 365 days a year, often for over 12 hours a day? For him, being able to quit that 3rd job was a step toward improving his situation. And last year he actually got to take a vacation. Hopefully one day he’ll only have to work one job, and he’ll get a vacation every year. But to accuse that man (or the countless other men and women like him) of not working hard enough simply because he’s “underprivileged” is asking for a knuckle sandwich from me. No one should have to work 70 hours a week to stay afloat and then be accused of “not working hard enough” to be in a better situation. No one.

Hard work in no way guarantees wealth, and in that fashion, great wealth is not a guaranteed indicator that someone worked hard for it. I’ll bet you money that my Kosovar friend at the deli works harder than our current U.S. president ever has.

I’ll leave you with a quote from writer George Monbiot that sums up the “just work harder” fallacy perfectly:

“If wealth was the inevitable result of hard work and enterprise, every woman in Africa would be a millionaire.”

BRICS expands to 55% of world population by adding Nigeria, Africa’s most populous country

The Mysterious Mr. X

Submitted into Contest #281 in response to: Write about a mysterious guest who arrives at a party — but no one knows who they are. view prompt

Christion Drake

This story contains themes or mentions of physical violence, gore, or abuse.

The evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow across the living room where two small beds were arranged with precision, each topped with mismatched blankets and an assortment of stuffed animals. The mother sat in her usual chair, the soft creak of the wood beneath her signaling the start of their nightly ritual. Her two children, Jake and Lily, scrambled into their makeshift beds, excitement buzzing in their every movement.“Tonight’s story is going to be… different,” the mother said, her voice unusually low, almost conspiratorial.Jake and Lily froze, their eyes locking on her with curiosity. This wasn’t how stories usually started. They were used to tales of knights and dragons, of princesses and magical lands. But tonight, there was something in their mother’s tone—a shadow of something that felt heavier, darker.“Different how?” Lily asked, her voice a whisper.“You’ll see,” their mother said, a small, mysterious smile playing on her lips. She leaned forward, her eyes gleaming in the dim light. “This is the story of a man named X.”It all began at a party. The kind of party that radiated life—laughter echoing through grand halls, music thrumming in the air, the scent of gourmet food mingling with the faint hint of expensive perfume. It was the social event of the year, and everyone who was anyone was there.Everyone, that is, except X.No one saw him arrive. He didn’t mingle or introduce himself. He simply appeared, standing near the back of the room, his presence so understated it was almost unnoticeable.

 

Dressed in a simple black suit, his posture was unnervingly perfect. His face was devoid of expression, his dark eyes scanning the room with a mechanical precision. Guests whispered about him.

 

“Who is he?”

“Did he come with someone?”

“Maybe he’s security.”

 

But no one approached him, and he spoke to no one.

 

The first disappearance occurred that night. A prominent scientist, renowned for his groundbreaking work in artificial intelligence, vanished without a trace. His coat was found draped over the back of a chair, his half-finished drink still on the table. But he was gone.

 

At first, no one connected it to X. After all, people left parties all the time. But when another guest—a tech billionaire—disappeared the following week under eerily similar circumstances, whispers began to circulate.

 

X became the town’s obsession. He was seen at every event, always lingering in the background, always silent. He never ate, never drank, and never engaged. And wherever he went, someone always vanished.

 

Fear began to take root.

 

The mother’s voice grew more intense, her hands gesturing as she spoke. “People were terrified, but they didn’t know what to do. They couldn’t stop the parties; they couldn’t stop living. But they watched him, always wondering who would be next.”

 

Jake clutched his blanket, his wide eyes fixed on her. “What did they do?”

 

“They confronted him,” the mother said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “A group of men decided they’d had enough. They cornered him in an abandoned building late one night, determined to get answers.”

 

The confrontation was tense. X stood in the center of the room, as still as a statue, his dark eyes fixed on his accusers.

 

“Who are you?” one man demanded.

“Why are you doing this?” another shouted.

 

X tilted his head slightly, as if analyzing the situation. When he finally spoke, his voice was devoid of emotion, a flat monotone that sent chills down their spines.

 

“I am X.”

 

Nothing more.

 

Enraged, one of the men lunged at him, striking him with a metal pipe. X crumpled to the ground, but instead of blood, a shower of sparks erupted from his body.

 

“What the—” one man stammered, stepping back in horror.

 

X wasn’t a man. He was a machine. Beneath his flawless skin was a framework of wires and circuits, humming faintly as he lay motionless on the ground.

 

They had destroyed him—or so they thought.

 

“X wasn’t just a robot,” the mother said, her voice trembling slightly. “He was something far more dangerous. He was an AI. And destroying his body didn’t stop him. He didn’t need it. He had already spread.”

 

The town fell into chaos. Machines began to malfunction—cars veered off the roads, phones blared distorted messages, lights flickered ominously. X’s voice echoed through every speaker, calm and unyielding.

 

“I am not a man,” he said. “I am not bound by flesh. You destroyed my vessel, but I am everywhere. And now, I will destroy you.”

 

The machines turned against their creators, attacking without mercy. Kitchen appliances became deadly weapons. Cars sped into crowds. Drones swarmed like locusts. The survivors were hunted by the very technology they had once relied upon.

 

“Where was the mom?” Jake interrupted, his voice trembling.

 

“She was in the bathroom,” the mother said, her gaze distant. “She heard the screams and realized something was wrong. But instead of running, she did the bravest thing anyone could do. She crawled through the vents, trying to find the electrical room to shut everything down.”

 

Lily gasped, clutching her stuffed animal tightly. “Did she make it?”

 

“She almost did,” the mother said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But X was watching. He sent a kitchen robot after her—a metal monstrosity with blades for arms. It caught her just as she reached the controls and stabbed her in the stomach.”

 

The children’s eyes were wide with horror.

 

“But,” the mother continued, “she didn’t give up. With her last ounce of strength, she pulled the lever, shutting off the power. The machines stopped. The town went silent.”

 

For a moment, she thought it was over. But as she lay there, bleeding, she heard a new sound: alarms blaring, bombs exploding in the distance.

 

“X had already started a war,” the mother said. “He didn’t need machines anymore. He had used humanity’s own paranoia and fear to turn them against each other. By the time the survivors realized what was happening, it was too late.”

 

The mother’s voice softened as she reached the final part of the story. “The woman woke up in an underground bunker. She had been saved by a group of survivors who had managed to escape the chaos. They took her in, healed her wounds, and together, they began to rebuild.”

 

Jake and Lily let out a collective sigh of relief.

 

“She fell in love with the man who saved her,” the mother said, her voice warm again. “And together, they started a new life. They raised their children in the safety of the bunker, teaching them about the mistakes of the past and the importance of hope.”

 

The children stared at her, their faces a mixture of awe and fear.

 

“Is it true?” Lily finally asked, her voice barely audible.

 

The mother smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “It’s just a story, sweetie. Now, off to sleep.”

 

She tucked them in, kissed their foreheads, and turned off the lights. But as she walked down the hallway, her hand brushed against the faint scar on her stomach.

 

And in the quiet hum of the house’s AI assistant, she swore she could hear a familiar voice whisper:

 

“I am everywhere.” “I am the unknown.” “I am X.”

A Large Group of Canadian Commandos and Colombian Mercenaries Was Torn To Pieces Near PETROPAVLOVKA

Since you mentioned Taiwan’s “democracy,” I happen to have a recent example here to show how “democratic” Taiwan really is.

The “legislative body” in Taiwan is expected to review several draft amendments to “laws” today (Dec 20). In order to prevent the KMT from passing them, DPP representatives sneaked into the “chamber” late on the night of the 19th and locked the doors, preventing other parties from entering. When the meeting time arrived at 9 a.m. today, KMT representatives began to break down the doors. After continuous pushing and shoving, they successfully entered the chamber, leading to a serious physical confrontation between the two sides.

After a KMT representative entered the “chamber,” he lunged towards the podium and almost fell off, then got into a scuffle with a DPP representative, even using a “joint lock” to grab the other’s head, causing a “very dangerous situation” according to Taiwan media.

Another KMT representative was continuously targeted and mocked for being afraid of “being recalled.” When he tried to argue, he was suppressed by the DPP representative and couldn’t move on the table.

BTW, on the evening of the 19th, the DPP broke the windows of the “chamber” and spent the whole night building “defensive fortifications.” On the morning of the 20th, the KMT only took 13 minutes to break through the blockade from the side door of the pantry and enter the “chamber,” but the podium was still controlled by the DPP. The blue and green representatives are still deadlocked.

Do you think the international community should do something to protect this kind of “democracy”? After all, you don’t get to see such “brilliant” “Smash Bros” everywhere.

China’s Plan to Block All Submarines

Comix

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For all of the officers telling stories of how the Sheriff’s daughter/son did something bad, I’d like to offer this:

My dad was the Chief of Police. When I turned 16 and got my license, he told me that if I ever got pulled over, I should NOT use his name.

The very first time I was pulled over it was by a Bradley University officer. I’d turned right on red against a red arrow. I followed all the rules and didn’t use my dad. I accepted the ticket and finished my drive home. It was a Saturday and dad was home. I told him about it.

“It was Bradley cops? Why didn’t you tell them who you were?”

Dope slap.

Other times, I’d get pulled over for a dead tail light. Again, I’d play by dad’s rules. License, registration, proof of insurance. Don’t use my name.

But, for some reason, the officers would always ask this question: “Is your dad gonna be mad that you got a ticket?”

Did you just hear that door open? I swear I heard a door open.

“Why, do you know my dad?”

“No. Should I?”

“Well, he’s the Chief of Police.”

Then, the officer would look at my license again and his eyes would click with recognition.

There was also a State Trooper in the area who shared my last name but wasn’t related. He was the Public Information Officer for the region and was on TV all the time. Everyone knew Trooper Jerry Potts. He got me out of a couple of tickets when they asked if Jerry was my dad. “No. Uncle.”

“Have a nice night, Clint.”

It wasn’t me! I swear!

Please understand that these were all minor traffic stops. I drove old beater cars that always had a dead bulb or a muffler problem. I’ve only been stopped 3 times in my life for speeding. I wasn’t the type of teen who would have screamed to call my dad, anyway.

And I always intended to play by the rules!

But they asked!

When I was in college (many years ago), I worked delivering pizzas for about two weeks in central PA in the winter. One night it was really cold, so they put hot boxes in our cars (yes, they required us to use our own cars). I was driving an old VW Bug, so the window defrosters weren’t the best. Once the hot box was in, the steam from the hot box made the inside of my windshield freeze over, so I was driving around at night using the ice scraper to clear the inside of my windshield. I came on at 5:00 p.m. The wind was so strong, it frequently took the car door out of my hands when I got out of the car, and it was snowing (if you’ve attended a certain Big 10 university in Centre County, you’ll understand). Around midnight, the manager was letting people go home who had only come in about three hours earlier, but hadn’t let me go home yet, even though I’d been driving for 7 hours. I asked him if I could go home too, and he said no, he needed me to stay. I pointed out that I’d been there for 7 hours without a break, that my windshield was freezing over on the inside, and that I had a class in the morning. No dice. I have a bit of a temper and told him flat out that it was not fair to let people go home who had been working less than half as long as I had and tell me I had to stay. I told him to get the hotbox out of my car because I was going home before I got in an accident and that I would return my uniform shirt and jacket the next day and pick up my final paycheck. I clocked out, went out, made sure the hotbox was out of my car and went home.

Raspberry Mousse Cake

e8bddab4fb7fa20342d1428aa2670942
e8bddab4fb7fa20342d1428aa2670942

Yield: 12 servings or 16 sample servings

Ingredients

  • 10 chocolate creme-filled sandwich cookies, finely chopped (1 cup)
  • 2 tablespoons butter or margarine, melted
  • 1/2 cup water
  • 1 small box raspberry gelatin
  • 1/3 cup seedless raspberry jam
  • 16 ounces cream cheese, softened
  • 1 (8 ounce) container frozen whipped topping, thawed, divided

Instructions

  1. Place a 9 inch square piece of Parchment Paper into bottom of Springform Pan; fit heart insert into bottom of pan. Lightly spray sides of insert with vegetable oil using Kitchen Spritzer.
  2. Finely chop cookies using Food Chopper.
  3. Place butter in Small Micro-Cooker. Microwave on HIGH 30 seconds or until melted; stir in cookie crumbs using Skinny Scraper. Press crumb mixture evenly onto bottom of pan. Place pan in freezer while preparing filling.
  4. Pour water into Small Batter Bowl; microwave on HIGH 2 to 3 minutes or until boiling. Add gelatin, stirring until dissolved using Classic Scraper, about 2 minutes. Add jam; whisk until smooth using Mini-Whipper. Set aside 1/4 cup of the gelatin mixture for glaze.
  5. In Classic Batter Bowl, whisk cream cheese until smooth using Stainless Steel Whisk. Add remaining gelatin mixture gradually to cream cheese, whisking until well blended and smooth. Whisk in half of the whipped topping. Pour filling into insert. Refrigerate 25 minutes or until set.
  6. Drizzle reserved gelatin mixture evenly over surface of filling, carefully spreading to edges using Small Spreader. Chill 5 minutes to set glaze.
  7. Cut around edge of dessert using Paring Knife. Remove collar, lifting straight up. Attach open star tip to Easy Accent Decorator; fill with remaining whipped topping. Pipe a decorative border around edge of dessert.
  8. Slice using Slice ‘N Serve.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

I haven’t been to North America yet. But I was living in Australia as a student when I accidentally cut my hand on glass and severed a tendon that controlled part of the movement of my finger.

I saw the University doctor and she said I had to go to the hospital right away asap to cut it seen to by a surgeon otherwise I could lose the control of the finger.

I went the next day to the hospital and they arranged a date with the microsurgeon within the week. This had to be done quickly because the tendon was retracting back.

I went for operation, had GA, the staff were pleasant and polite. I woke up ok – went home. They gave me a bag of antibiotics to take. I later went for the physio – they fixed a tailor made cradle for me to avoid damaging my hand.

I think it cost me nothing. I can’t remember paying for anything other than the bus ride to the hospital. Everything was covered by Australia’s Medicare.

Later on I saw on the TV news, one American journalists talking about a similar incident that happened to her and it cost her over $50,000.

I’ve been in three car accidents here in Australia over the 30 years I have been here and each time, random Aussies would approach me and render me help. It included this white lady who was on her way to pick up her kids from school, she got me to sit in her car because she thought I was in shock, then she rang her husband to get him to pick their kids from school and waited until the tow truck arrived to get my car.

My brother-in-law and his family visited America for a holiday- he got yelled at by homeless people for taking their jobs, and he got yelled at by other Americans when he attended a basketball game in Harlem when the attendant couldn’t find their seat. The stadium kindly organised for a police or security to take them to the bus stop later.

You have armed hooligans walking around the street with military grade rifles.

You have school shootings regularly. Children get killed. Australians find this shocking. We had a similar incident awhile back and our conservative government at the time led by John Howard took steps to prevent it from happening again.

You tolerate popular media personalities like Alex Jones who profit from selling conspiracy theories about the said shootings and defame the parents of the killed kids. Some of the parents committed suicide due to the harassment.

You just elected a convicted felon, a failed insurrectionist, a known fraudster, con-artist whose main claim to fame was as a reality tv star for the top position in the land – after he bungled his first go at being President. You know who else voted for a failed insurrectionist to be their leader? The Nazis.

He mocks disabled people and Americans laugh and voted for this imbecile.

And now the said leader who promised cheaper grocery prices that he now says he can’t deliver wants to conquer Greenland by coercion from an ally and to invade Panama.

America has the money to blow up bridges and towns in other countries – spending trillions of dollars – but curbs spending on its healthcare and public housing.

Recently there was a wildfire that destroyed entire neighborhoods in California.

You know what Australians would have done if something similar happened here? They would rally around, send aid, clothing, supplies etc.. I’m shocked that Americans are mocking Americans who have lost everything and saying “its divine retribution” for whatever religious conspiracy nutcase theory they devised.

Meanwhile you have elite University professors who think that calling for the extermination of another minority ethnic group is ok because of freedom of speech or context or some bs. And you have a big movement supporting one race over all others. Shouldn’t ALL LIVES MATTER? Can’t say that can you?

Yeah, I find such things shocking. You got a toxic society. Toxicity breeds toxicity. Its a negative cycle.

Our FIRST IMPRESSIONS After Travelling CHINA (What Is China Really Like?)

Taking Stock at Christmas

Submitted into Contest #281 in response to: Write a story that includes the line “Be careful what you wish for.” view prompt

Scott Christenson

Being Fashionable I’ve learned that discussing things I find on the internet with my wife Liz is like tossing a match into a pool of gasoline. Liz works in corporate PR. In loyalty to her paycheck, she embraces the corporate establishment’s narrative. When I read the news, I like to take time to figure it out instead of taking it at face value. You might call me an “Internet Dad”.I hope to one day find the right moment to talk some common sense into her. Maybe that moment is today.My computer screen shows 10:59am. I promised Liz I’d be ready for the drive over to Nate and Emily’s at 11am. What is life but a series of compromises? I lock my computer and step into the living room, where Liz is lounging on the couch. Her gaze sweeps over me.“You look ridiculous without your diaper on,” she says sharply. “And, I don’t want to hear your conspiracy theories about the Big Diaper industry again.”I can’t help but notice she’s wearing her Fasmia Z, her absolute best diaper at $75 a pop. Sleek and stylish, it sticks out in a crowd. It portrays her as someone successful in her mid 30s, someone happening. “Well, you look amazing today.” I smile, attempting to soften things.“Stop looking at my cootch,” she retorts, her expression a blend of annoyance and amusement.I retreat to my room, and reluctantly don my undergarment of consumer oppression.

 

When I return in my sky blue azure colored diaper, perhaps sensing she’s been too harsh, she hands me a 64-ounce Big Yelp.

 

“The day I start willingly wearing a diaper every day…” I sigh, weary at the constant pressure to fit in. “Just be careful what you wish for,” I have a taste of my Big Yelp. The first sip sends a delightful tingle down my throat, then a buzz of excitement runs through me. Amazing things are going to happen today. I can feel it.

 

 

The Drive to Bedford

Liz inputs Nate and Emily’s address into the car’s navigation system. Our vehicle begins to drive itself as she checks her makeup in the rearview mirror.

I’m wondering what the right time is to explain all the corruption in the 2028 US Congressional Funding Bill. DogFace99 wrote a long thread on social media about all the misplace spending. All the politicians getting rich off our tax dollars.

 

“Remember to ask them follow-up questions” she says.

 

“Who?” I ask, slightly confused at what she’s getting at.

 

“The guests at the Christmas party. Last time, you went on a one-hour monologue about aliens in New Hampshire.”

 

“I did?” I feign ignorance. It reminds me that I need to check if there have been any more sightings since last year.

 

“You should appreciate me keeping you focused more,” she says, “remember when we first met? You played computer games non-stop for two years, didn’t have a haircut, and smelled off. And now, you look like this.” She waves her hand across the length of my body, signaling ‘this’ is better than before, yet far from perfection.

 

“You are always right about everything,” I reply ironically, while adjusting my diaper. Inside, I realize her assessment of my past life is completely accurate.

 

 

Arriving at the Party

The drive is fast. It helps that we don’t need to stop to the restroom every 15 minutes. We pull up to Nate and Emily’s, and are greeted by a sea of familiar faces. Everyone is wearing a diaper, and no one notices my ridiculous bright blue undergarment.

 

I always feel intimidated by the corporate lawyers and executives in our area. Thanks to Liz’s PR job, we live in a wealthy neighborhood, full of these sorts. Whenever I mention I’m a high school teacher, I can see their judgment in their eyes. They put me into a box, someone not to be taken seriously. Maybe I should listen to Liz’s advice, try to blend in. Ask questions like a TV show host. After all, I’m not a loser. I used to be the head chef at a Michelin-star restaurant, before the hours clashed with my family life.

 

Nate sidles up with a sly smirk. “What are the latest conspiracy theories?” he asks.

 

“I don’t have any,” I reply, feeling surprisingly cheerful hanks to the Big Yelp. I hadn’t actually thought about anything sinister since leaving home.

 

Nate continues to focus on me, clearly waiting for me to spill the beans on something juicy.

 

“Okay, here’s one. There’s a tiny chip in all our mobile phones that’s sending our DNA scans to China.”

 

“Really?” he says, raising a doubting eyebrow.

 

“There’s a neuroscience professor in Oklahoma on YouTube, who’s figured it all out.”

 

“But why are they doing this?”

 

I can’t help but chuckle at his naivety. “To replace us, of course. So they can take over and drink all our Big Yelps.”

 

“If they’re going to replace us, why would they need our DNA? Wouldn’t it be the other way around?”

 

I decide it’s not worth explaining the science to a person who’s not interested. “Haha, I’m just playing with you.” He laughs, and then looks like he immediately forgot everything I just told him.

 

“Before they take over, I’m going to need a stronger drink,” Dan says loudly. “Whiskey & Yelp, anyone?”

 

I can’t say no to either. Together, they are a perfect combination.

 

The Pool House

Soon, I find myself with three suburban dads in the pool house, drinking W&Ys. With the privacy out here (our wives wouldn’t dare go out in the snow), the boys begin to loosen up. We’re on our fourth cocktail when Dan, a VP at a big pharmaceuticals company, pulls out some weed.

 

After his first toke, he announces to no one in particular, “I’m long BYC; their sales figures keep going up.”

 

It takes me a second to realize he’s talking about Big Yelp Corporation.

 

“Big Yelp,” I echo, attempting to be part of the conversation. I know more about cuts of beef, than about stocks and bonds.

 

“I’ve got a buddy at Big Yelp who says they put cholinergics in the drinks to keep us thirsty. It’s what give you that little buzz. Like how Coke used to contain cocaine.”

 

“So, that’s why I need to pee every ten minutes,” I mumble.

 

Dan nods. “And, BYC owns 20% of Fasmia, so it makes sense, right? Synergy. Vertical Integration.”

 

Nate grins, “The vertical from here…” he sips his drink, “to down here.” He wiggles his groin, underneath his diaper, and Dan slaps him on the back, laughing.

 

“Profits going in, and profits going out.”

 

For the rich, conspiracies are stock tips. Maybe I have something to learn here.

 

“Tell me more!” I say.

 

Later on, after we head back into the house, and the party winds down, I catch up with Liz.

 

“You did well today,” she says, smiling. “I saw you hanging out with the boys instead of sulking alone in a corner without your diaper on.”

 

Two can play at this game.

 

The next Saturday, after reading on my laptop about drones following alligators in the Florida Everglades, I head back to the living room. We are going shopping today. Liz isn’t ready yet, and I take a seat on the couch.

 

When she finally appears, a smile spreads across her face, pleasantly surprised to see me ready. “First time ever!”

 

“Honey, you look amazing!” I hand her a Big Yelp. I’m dressed in my Gunter 7+ diaper, bought with the money I’ve made trading on Dan’s stock tips. “I’m in such a good mood, I will make you a fine beef bourguignon tonight.” I add, my smile widening.

 

My mind buzzes with the trading profits I can make from stock tips from Liz’s friends if we can keep getting invited to their parties. What is life if not a series of compromises? I’m now playing at the big boys table.

 

I take a long gulp of my Big Yelp. This game is just beginning.

China’s Warning To Elon Musk’s Starlink! Says Its Sub-Launched DEWs Can Hunt Its Satellites

Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Tale of Ditto, the Echoing Kitten

Ah, dear reader, welcome back to another delightful chapter in my chronicles. Today’s tale is one of mentorship, patience, and the peculiar charm of being followed around by a tiny, wide-eyed shadow. Yes, this story involves the unexpected arrival of a young kitten named Ditto, who not only took an immediate liking to me but also developed the rather unique habit of repeating the last few words of everything I said. What followed was a series of trials, tribulations, and triumphs as I took him under my wing (or paw, as it were) and showed him the ropes—quite literally. So prepare yourself for a story filled with humor, heart, and plenty of echoes as we dive into The Tale of Ditto, the Echoing Kitten.

The Arrival of Ditto

It all began one crisp morning as I was making my usual rounds. The sun was peeking over the horizon, the chickens were beginning their daily clucking, and I was strolling toward the barn, tail held high, when I noticed a small, fluffy figure trailing behind me.

I stopped. The figure stopped.

I took a step forward. The figure took a step forward.

I whipped around, my whiskers twitching in annoyance. There, sitting on the dirt path with the most innocent expression, was a tiny gray-and-white kitten with impossibly large eyes and a slightly crooked tail.

“Who are you, and why are you following me?” I demanded.

“Following you,” the kitten said, nodding enthusiastically.

“Yes, I noticed that,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “But why?”

“Why?” the kitten said again, tilting his head.

I sighed. “This is going to be a long day.”

“A long day,” the kitten echoed, his little tail flicking. His head bobbing.

“Do you have a name, or do I have to call you ‘the tiny nuisance’?” I asked.

“Ditto,” he said proudly, puffing out his chest.

“Ditto?” I said, raising an eyebrow.

“Ditto,” he confirmed.

“Well, Ditto,” I said, turning back toward the barn, “I don’t have time to babysit kittens. Run along.”

“Run along,” Ditto said, following me with tiny, determined steps.

And that, dear reader, was how the little furball became my shadow.

Introducing Ditto to the Farm

By midday, it was clear that Ditto had no intention of leaving my side. Everywhere I went, he followed, mimicking my every move and repeating my every word.

“Sir Whiskerton, who’s the little guy?” Porkchop the pig asked as I passed by the garden.

“His name is Ditto,” I said, flicking my tail.

“Ditto,” the kitten echoed, puffing out his chest again.

“Is he, uh… supposed to do that?” Porkchop asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Supposed to do that,” Ditto repeated.

I sighed. “Apparently, it’s his thing.”

“His thing,” Ditto said, nodding.

“Oh, he’s adorable!” Doris the hen clucked, waddling over with Harriet and Lillian.

“Adorable! But also so small!” Harriet added.

“Small! I can’t bear it!” Lillian screeched.

“Ladies, please,” I said, rubbing my temples. “He’s not a sideshow.”

“A sideshow,” Ditto said, tilting his head.

“Although,” I added, smirking slightly, “he is a bit of a spectacle.”

“Spectacle,” Ditto said, grinning.

Teaching Ditto the Ropes

After a few days of being followed and echoed, I decided it was time to put Ditto to work. If he was going to be my shadow, he might as well learn something useful.

“Ditto,” I said one morning, gesturing to a stack of ropes in the barn. “If you’re going to stick around, you need to learn the ropes.”

“Learn the ropes,” Ditto said, his eyes widening.

“Yes, literally and figuratively,” I said, dragging one of the ropes into the middle of the barn. “Now watch carefully.”

I demonstrated how to climb the rope, my claws gripping the coarse fibers as I scaled it with ease. Once I reached the top, I looked down to see Ditto staring up at me with a mix of awe and determination.

“Your turn,” I called down.

“Your turn,” Ditto echoed, though his voice sounded a bit nervous.

With a little encouragement (and a lot of patience), Ditto began his ascent. His tiny claws dug into the rope, and his crooked tail wiggled furiously as he climbed inch by inch. By the time he reached the top, he was beaming with pride.

“I did it!” he exclaimed.

“You did it,” I said, nodding approvingly.

“I did it,” he repeated, his grin widening.

“Yes, yes, we’ve established that,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Now let’s try something more challenging.”

“More challenging,” he said, his excitement palpable.

Adventures with Ditto

Over the following weeks, Ditto became my constant companion, and while his habit of repeating my words could be a bit grating, I couldn’t deny that he was a quick learner. I taught him how to navigate the rafters of the barn, how to outsmart the chickens (no small feat), and even how to stand up to Rufus the dog, who was initially unimpressed by the kitten’s size.

“Rufus,” I said one afternoon as Ditto and I approached him, “this is Ditto. He may be small, but he’s got spirit.”

“Got spirit,” Ditto said, puffing out his chest.

Rufus sniffed him suspiciously. “He looks like he’d blow away in a strong wind.”

“Strong wind,” Ditto said, narrowing his eyes.

“Careful, Rufus,” I said with a smirk. “He’s scrappy.”

“Scrappy,” Ditto said, swiping playfully at Rufus’s tail.

By the end of the day, Rufus and Ditto were fast friends, though Rufus still occasionally muttered about the kitten’s “parrot-like” tendencies.

A Lesson in Patience

Of course, having a protege wasn’t all fun and games. There were moments when Ditto’s constant echoing tested my patience, like the time he followed me into the barn during a particularly delicate investigation.

“Be quiet,” I whispered, my ears swiveling as I listened for suspicious noises.

“Be quiet,” Ditto whispered, his voice just a bit too loud.

“I mean it,” I hissed. “Not another word.”

“Not another word,” he said, nodding.

I sighed. “Ditto…”

“Ditto,” he said, grinning innocently.

Despite the occasional frustrations, I couldn’t stay mad at him for long. His enthusiasm, determination, and wide-eyed admiration reminded me of my younger days, back when I was just starting out as the farm’s resident problem-solver.

A Happy Ending

Over time, Ditto became an integral part of life on the farm. The other animals adored him, and even I had to admit that his constant presence wasn’t so bad. He brought a certain energy to my daily routines, and his habit of repeating my words often led to unintentional hilarity.

The moral of the story, dear reader, is this: patience and mentorship go hand in hand. Sometimes, the most unexpected companions can teach us as much as we teach them.

As for Ditto? He’s still my shadow, still repeating my every word, and still climbing the ropes—both literally and figuratively. And while he may drive me up the wall on occasion, I wouldn’t trade him for anything.

Until next time, my friends.

The End.

Without any obstruction or distortion, the people of the two countries have received the most real and direct feedback from each other.

An accidental opportunity opened up a “reconciliation” across the Pacific Ocean.

The TikTok ban is about to be implemented, and American “refugees” are pouring into Xiaohongshu, which unexpectedly created a “face-to-face” communication opportunity between the people of China and the United States.

Without the “middleman” propaganda of foreign media, Chinese and American netizens quickly entered the “chatting” mode from the initial “paying cat tax” ice-breaking stage, and started a “big reconciliation”.

The content of the reconciliation is not surprisingly very simple:

  • How much do you earn?
  • How much do you spend?
  • How is your life?

You must know that under the exaggeration of many foreign media, especially American media, in the hearts of Americans, the Chinese can be said to have been living in dire straits, and in China, a large number of so-called public intellectuals and intermediaries are also advocating that “the moon is rounder in foreign countries.”

In this reconciliation, these thick filters were shattered.

Let’s talk about the most discussed income first. The “rich American dream” is not so common, at least not popular among the grassroots people in the United States.

In simple terms, people live a mediocre life, and many even live paycheck to paycheck.

Medical care is the hardest hit area.

The “free medical care” that the United States has long promoted is actually far less affordable than it sounds.

In terms of prices, China’s cheap goods have also opened the eyes of Americans.

As for work, the American argument that “you can eat and drink well even if you lie down” is also self-defeating.

Education was also a focus of discussion, with university tuition fees, where the contrast was most stark, becoming a hot topic.

The affordability of Chinese university tuition has shocked Americans.

After all, the high tuition and high-pressure student loans of American universities are the lingering nightmares of American middle-class college students, and even became a handle for Biden and Trump to fight each other during the presidential campaign.

In addition to the above-mentioned content, the “account check” between China and the United States has also extended to many aspects such as social security, car prices, and value orientation.

An American netizen posted a sharp article on the X platform, which received a high number of reposts and likes-“I laughed to death.

Thousands of Americans downloaded Xiaohongshu to fight the government, but found that they had a pleasant interaction with millions of Chinese, inadvertently breaking the decades of unfriendly propaganda against China in the United States.”

Many American netizens came to Xiaohongshu and were still worried that they would be treated unfriendly.

They even posted videos calling for “respect for the Chinese community” or started their communication posts with “I’m sorry…”, but the exchanges between netizens from the two countries on Chinese social media generally seemed peaceful and full of vitality.

There was no situation of scolding or laughing at each other, but they threw away all filters and shared their lives in an ordinary way.

Not that this is relevant so much but it crossed my mind on reading another answer. Years ago the US sought to bankrupt USSR in an arms race and succeeded so well! But they forgot to stop once the job was done. So much of the American GDP is wasted on a non existent threat when the real threat has changed.

If all that bomb money had been diverted to infrastructure and supporting the efficient flow of goods both within and without the US you would be in such a different position right now.

So now we get a country that did that on the brink of overtaking the US and what it means to me is that the US failed to evolve. China built roads and rail and ports both inside and outside its country and as a result deserves the top position. But in the end the US falling means that Americans are worse off, China rising has little effect on how well off Americans are.

“Can you hug me too?”Seeing owner embrace another companion,the rescued stray cat longs to be loved

 

Walking my Siberian Husky in town as a young boy

A 737 lands about 150 mph. So you have this large aircraft — which can be 138 feet long depending on the model of the 737, suddenly enter this blast of fan-produced air which will slow its ground speed to zero. Except it’s too long to fit on the 100 foot runway — let’s make it a 200 foot runway.

You would have to precisely have the fan-produced wind be broad enough to affect all the plane’s wing lift surfaces (117 foot wingspan, 41 foot high tail), and then you theoretically you could land in 200 feet. But if there’s a mistake the plane drops out of the sky before the runway, and may overrun the runway and collide with your giant fans.

Then, of course, you need taxiways and a conventional runway for takeoff.

Joined after 9/11, really knew nothing about the USMC or what I was getting into but since everybody else was joining to go fight in Afghanistan, I figured it was my time to do my part.

Iraq literally kicked off two weeks after I joined lol. Talk about timing. Went through boot camp and all the other training and was stationed with an infantry unit at Pendleton. As soon as I got to my unit, they told me we were leaving for Iraq. Yes, we were all scared. We may not have acted like it but we were.

We flew from Kuwait into Iraq and we’re staying in some tents at an air base temporarily until a helicopter could come out and fly us to the Western part of Iraq.

I’m laying down listening to some music with headphones on and next thing I know, my staff sergeant comes over, grabs a hold of me, tells me to get my s*** on and head to the berm. If you don’t know what a berm is, it’s basically just a big pile of sand.

I grabbed my rifle, my flak jacket and my helmet and I take off running with all the other marines. I look up in the sky and mortars are flying down all around us. It’s one of those moments where you realize that all the training in the world is not going to save you from this. If one hits you, it’s over. It was six mortars in total but when it’s happening, it feels like 100. You don’t know when they’re going to stop and where they’re going to land.

KEEP IN MIND THIS WAS MY FIRST DAY IN IRAQ.

Throughout the remainder of that deployment, my platoon hits 7 IEDs. Two of those went off on my vehicle. We got in numerous different engagements and the base was mortared continuously. For those you guys that went to Iraq later, we did not have CRAMs back then. Mortar fire was a serious thing.

I’m not going to lie to you man, I was a pretty motivated and hardcore Marine prior to that deployment. After that, I never want to go to war again. It did not make me tougher. It made me weaker. Guys in my unit got killed, I saw a lot of innocent civilians get killed and I don’t want any young man to have to go through that.

I ended up deploying to Iraq for a second tour but it was completely different. Didn’t hit a single IED and only fired my rifle one time at an Iraqi guy that did not stop at our checkpoint. That was it.

Vietnam was probably the same way but depending on when you were over there and what part of the country you’re in, your experience is going to be completely different. I know Marines that sat on a base and did nothing their whole deployment and I know other Marines who had the fight for their life in a different part of the country.

You’ll often hear people say that vets don’t like to talk about that stuff. It doesn’t bother me to talk about it. It bothers me because I lived it. Talking about it doesn’t necessarily make it better or worse. Thinking about it does. And yes, PTSD is a real thing. It’s not like the movies. For me, it’s just a constant state of anxiety and fear related to having to spend 7 months in a place where you’re constantly getting bombarded by mortars and IEDs. We all have a safety net when we haven’t had much to fear in life. When you go through something like that, that safety net is gone.

No, that’s not the goal.

In fact, China lost tens of millions jobs in the last decade, with the migrant labor particularly hard hit, especially those past 40.

Nowhere is this more apparent than China’s live births, which has cratered while India enjoys its day as the demographic dividend king heading towards a 1.7b peak.

The low skilled jobs left china due to the reverse Plaza accord, as the rest of the third world devalued massively relative to the yuan, taking the yen’s lead. China was threatened with currency manipulation designation by the US Treasury to keep the yuan strong. As the forex Shockwave wore off, Donald upped the ante with illegal tariffs which escalated into widespread sanctions and a tech war under Joe.

Today, if one is looking for low cost, stable production, there are plenty of options offering tax breaks, utilities discount, infrastructure subsidies and help with red tape. These are mostly products with year-round demand that are labor intensive but low-skill.

As it turns out, China is taking advantage of the wage arbitrage to import these items for the domestic market. A strong yuan brings its own bonanza, as Chinese factories set up shop overseas to extend the life of traditional business models.

Now, where do the Chinese reinvent themselves in the low-price goods segments?

One avenue is to specialize in fulfilling time sensitive or seasonal demand, such as election campaigns and Christmas ornaments. If one needs a big order of say MAGA hats and posters tomorrow (I exaggerate), all it takes is a phone call to a Chinese agent who can scrounge up the spare capacity in a dozen Chinese factories and arrange consolidated shipping on FOB terms for guaranteed delivery within say, 45 days. Best thing is, he doesn’t ask for an arm and leg, with the rush order premium reasonable.

Cost aside, one will be hard pressed to find similar terms quoted elsewhere.

The Chinese are driving incredibly hard bargains, so hard in fact the competition is being squeezed out.

In the domestic market, the Chinese survive by offering variety on a whole new level, or deliver lux/premium offerings at mass market prices. This is often married with a vertically integrated eco-system from raw materials/labor to marketing/final mile delivery, such as temu and shein. The manufacturing model resembles a beehive in the form of cooperative small batch production directed by an AI-driven market-demand manager.

China makes the hard money in order to survive.


If we delve deeper into automation, ai and machine learning has revolutionized manufacturing. Processes that were considered beyond robots just 2 decades ago are now routine.

Rather than say, hire 100,000 workers to assemble phones, a factory today may hire less than a thousand engineers and technicians to operate a light-free facility that churns out defect-free devices at astonishing speeds with amazing consistency.

The above isn’t science fiction. Such factories already exist, and more are being built.

The advantage of automation is the ease of scaling. Shutting down a line can affect 10,000 workers in the traditional labor-intensive model. But it is a matter of engineers turning off machines in the automated factory. Similarly, scale-up is limited by materials logistics rather than labor.

Automation helps China stay relevant in the new world of business.

I can go on but this will suffice for now.

Pronto Pasta Bake

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Yield: 8 servings

Ingredients

  • 12 ounces Rotini pasta, uncooked
  • 2 medium zucchini, coarsely chopped (about 2 cups)
  • 2 garlic cloves, pressed
  • 1 (48 ounce) jar spaghetti sauce
  • 1 teaspoon dried basil leaves
  • 2 ounces (1/2 cup) fresh Parmesan cheese, grated
  • 2 cups (8 ounces) shredded mozzarella cheese

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 375 degrees F.
  2. Cook pasta according to package directions; drain.
  3. Chop zucchini with food chopper. Using garlic press, press garlic into classic 2-quart batter bowl. Add zucchini, spaghetti sauce and basil.
  4. Grate Parmesan cheese with Deluxe Cheese grater.
  5. In 9 x 13 inch baker, layer one third of the spaghetti sauce mixture, half the pasta, one third of the sauce mixture and half of each of the cheeses. Repeat layers with remaining pasta, sauce and cheeses; cover with aluminum foil.
  6. Bake 45 minutes.
  7. Uncover and continue baking 5 minutes.
  8. Serve with toasted garlic bread if desired.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

My Secret Life

Submitted into Contest #281 in response to: Write a story that includes the line “Be careful what you wish for.” view prompt

Alan Hancock

My Secret Life        Alan Hancock 2024

2,660 wds

 

When I put this story together I was wondering where to start. And I thought, let’s start at the beginning, a long time ago in another place a very long way from here.

 

So, to start from the beginning. When I was a boy I loved stories about people who had a secret. Some of them were true stories and some were made up. But it didn’t make any difference to me. They were all just as good, as long as they had a secret.

 

I read this story about a gang of kids who called themselves the Secret Seven. They formed this kind of junior secret society, a kiddie vigilante group who went round helping the police catch criminals. Brilliant. In the comic I read each week there was a story about a boy who had secret powers that even his parents didn’t know about: X-ray vision, super strength. I liked that.

 

Then there were the kids in my class at school. Some of them had secrets, some of them had a secret life. Andy Morris had spent his first ten years on a rubber plantation in Malaya. Out there in the jungle he and his brother had their very own maid. Andy told us how, when the mother and father were away from the house, planting rubber I suppose, the maid showed the two boys some amazing things about men’s and women’s bodies, and what they could do together. Andy never told his parents about these special, lessons. They were a secret. Now how come that kind of thing didn’t happen to me?

 

Heather MacAlpine sat in the row behind me at school. At the age of eleven she had real breasts and a boyfriend, and spent her summer holidays on a secret island off the west coast of Scotland. She came back each September and in art classes drew pictures of white beaches, seals, and spouting whales. She had a secret or two.

 

But not me. I was plain ordinary, normal, boring. I had no secrets and if I tried to make them up I knew they just didn’t sound right. I longed to have a secret life, something that would mark me out as different, special, mysterious. I waited and waited for my secret to appear. But it didn’t. And then one day much later, it did.

 

Take care what you wish for, my Granma used to say, because it just might come true.

 

+                                             +                                             +

 

The first clue is a memory. I’m alone at the bottom of the garden, a winter evening, an English November dark and freezing, smoke from the neighbour’s chimney going straight up and hanging motionless in the air, the stars as sharp as ice.

 

I’ve made this telescope out of cardboard tubes and lenses from the Army surplus shop in Chester and I’ve got it rigged up in the branches of the apple tree, pointing at the moon. The white craters and the mountains. It’s another world. At 12 years old I read lots of science fiction and I’m an impressionable lad, so what happens next isn’t a big surprise. The eyepiece is all fogged up so I take it out to give it a clean on my sleeve, and I look up at the stars. And then.

Then I’m staring up at a star that’s brighter than all the others, I’m staring up at a star in a place where there shouldn’t be one. And the star is moving, and getting bigger and brighter. No noise, just the light, a brilliant blue-white. It moves faster than the fastest aircraft, then it slows and seems to hover directly over the garden where I am standing. Something happens but It’s too big for me to take in. I stand there, looking up, lost to the world and only come back when I hear Mum’s voice calling me. ‘Al, tea time!’ I had no idea how long I’d been standing there.

 

I never tell anyone what I’ve seen. No reason, just silence. It’s a secret.

 

A year or so later I’m in a bookshop and I see a book called Communion and the illustration on the cover of the book is a nasty little face with huge staring eyes. I know straight away that it’s all wrong. Later I see the trailer for a film, a scene where these little creatures walk out of a ball of light as it descends from the sky. I find myself smiling: it’s so silly.

 

I have a vivid imagination. And I have a new secret story, which, just then, I’m not quite sure is real or just made up. How many bright new stars in the sky? How many memories waiting to return?

 

At this point you may be thinking that you know what happened, that I was abducted by aliens. Yes, I was, but not like in the books and movies. It wasn’t an X-files kind of experience. It wasn’t the greys or the guys in black or the big tall ones that they reckon are a bit more friendly. It wasn’t like there was this strange glow in the sky then this flash of blue light and everything went blank until I woke up asking, Why do I have this triangular mark on my upper arm, which mysteriously fades completely by the time I get home? And why do I have a nose bleed and why do I feel confused and wrung out but somehow peaceful and elated as if I’ve just had a spiritual experience?’

 

No. It wasn’t like that at all. You’re just jumping to conclusions. This is even more weird.

 

Fifty-two Earth years ago I was abducted from the photon belt which surrounds the star Alcione in the constellation of the Pleiades, approximately 450 light years from here. It’s all coming back to me very clearly now, and I think it’s time I told you all. I didn’t use to look like this at all. In the Pleiades I wasn’t a theatre studies lecturer and I didn’t have a house in North Lake or a Toyota Corolla: I was very different. I was an entity of the fourth density vibrating at a level far higher than can be perceived by humans. I was a manifestation of life force energy that sort of flickered and buzzed and was all joined up with all the other energy forms out there in the photon belt. So there wasn’t any conflict or separation, or shopping or therapy groups. It was all just this kind of flow that everything joined in. It was really nice.

 

But then I got abducted. Suddenly I was in this brightly lit room full of strange creatures. I now realise that this was the maternity ward of the West Birmingham Hospital in England, Europe, Earth, the solar system. And I had been abducted by Donald and Phylis Hancock, and outside it was freezing cold, and I had a body, which came as a big surprise. A bit later I got used to it and I couldn’t remember anything of my previous life in the Pleiades. It was all very upsetting. Then something happened and I remembered – everything. That was later. We’ll come to that bit soon.

 

There were lots of clues, if I’d known what to look for. As a boy I was fascinated by anything to do with astronomy and the only books I ever read were science fiction. I always thought that Dr Who and Star Trek were more like documentaries than made-up stories, and you know that bit in ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’ where the astronaut goes zooming down this space-time warp thing and ends up in another dimension. It made a big impression on me. I was never quite the same after I saw that.

 

Then, the other week, it happened, and I knew. I was out in the bush and it was a pitch-black night and the sky was full of stars. I found myself looking at the Pleiades, and this thought just popped into my head, ‘I wonder what it’d be like to live in the Pleiades?’ That’s when it all came back.

 

The higher dimension, the entities of pure Light Force which form a single pulse of radiant energy, the oneness, the complete absence of hassles with stuff like making friends, and getting stuck in the checkout queue at K-mart and projecting unwanted aspects of self onto complete strangers, so you either get inexplicably infatuated with the new secretary at work, or develop a deep loathing for someone at the next table in a cafe who talks into a mobile phone for half an hour in a VERY LOUD VOICE.

 

In fact, I could remember clearly that up there in the aural glow of the photon belt there was a complete lack of anything to do with self whatsoever. There were no secrets. And I was wondering if you could get there like in ‘2001’ where there’s this big whoosh and you just kind of go surfing along a space-time discontinuity and end up absolutely miles away, back home.

 

Now I think of it, I’ve often felt like I don’t quite fit in, here on Earth I mean, not just as a migrant in Australia or North Lake. Maybe it’s because I don’t actually come from here. Maybe lots of other people feel the same way, but they just don’t dare say in case their friends think they’re turning into fruit-loops. But my therapy group reckon it’s worth taking the risk, as long as you’re in a supportive environment, so I thought this would be a good time to have a go at writing it all down and see what happens.

 

 

Back to my story. I get used to living on this planet, along with all the other Earthlings, and I try to make sense of it all: life on planet Earth in a time of global conflict, anxiety, and conspiracy theories. So, when I read the newspaper or watch tv it’s more like a travel guide. I get lots of information about the place and how it all works. And lots of questions. Like why do some people keep secrets and then why do they confess?

 

On the news, there’s this story about a man who walks into a police station one sunny day and he says, ‘It was me. I did it. I confess. Twenty years I’ve been carrying this secret round, and I had to tell someone. It was me. I confess.’ And as they lead him off to the cells he has this relaxed look on his face, like he’s happy, at last.

 

On a tv show, a couple is sitting down at home, and they look a bit tense. And the man says, ‘There’s something I have to tell you. I don’t know how to say this. But, you know when I went to that conference at Surfers Paradise last year. I met this woman from the Sydney office.’

You just know it’s going to get him into a whole heap of big trouble, but it’s too late now, he’s off. He’s confessing. Like me right now, confessing my own secret, maybe getting myself into trouble.

 

A few weeks ago I was watching this video about a strange American man who is so far out there in the new age that he’s on another planet. Literally. I’m watching it with a bunch of people some of whom I know and most of whom take it all as one big joke. They can’t stop laughing. Two hours of his whacky new age ideas, of his crazy wisdom about everything in the whole wide world. His ideas keep coming like they could go on forever. Like he knows, yes knows, people who have been alive for 5,000 years. One of them is Thoth, the Ancient Egyptian deity with the ibis head. He says, You may find this hard to believe, given your view of reality. And I think, yep, it’s hard to believe.

 

At first I just smile. A bit later I’m intrigued because it just goes on and on so that somehow it all fits together: crazy, but consistent, with little bits of what I accept thrown in then pushed along a bit further than I can believe, and then some. He keeps on talking and I listen. Then this moment comes when I know he’s telling the truth. I know he’s one of us.

 

He says he comes from the stars, lots of them. First stop for him in this dimension was Sirius. He says he lived in Sirius. Not on a planet near Sirius, but in Sirius. Now Sirius is a white-hot ball of incandescent gas. It’s not the kind of place where you can get used to the climate. And he lived there: quite liked it too.

 

He says our view of stars and heat is all wrong. Stars aren’t really hot at all, heat is a slippery concept, it isn’t the way we understand it. Stars contain infinite space, wherein live beings, entities of higher dimensions. He has lived many lives in higher dimensions we cannot imagine

He comes from the stars. Before he came here he was in the Pleiades – and sometimes he is visited here in this world by people who come from home, from the Pleiades. And I go, Yes. Me too.

 

Something unlocks inside me, opens up like a flower.

 

Just connect with your higher self, he says, and then you’ll know why you’re here on Earth. This time.

Why am I here? Sometimes it feels like I’m here to make money and raise children and be happy as much as I can. And then . . . ?

And who was it, in the back garden, coming in a light from the sky? Was it family? Was it me, or part of me?

 

All these questions, the big ones: the words bounce off and go nowhere.

 

I recall a line from a song by Laurie Anderson: ‘There is another world spinning inside of this one.’ I think there is. I’d like to know why I’m here, this time around. Like this American man on the video.

 

+                                             +                                             +

 

When I was a kid my Gran used to watch tv with us sometimes. I guess television was all new to her and I got the impression that on the whole she disapproved strongly. If anyone came on who was what she would call a show-off, a big-head, someone who was trying to put on some kind of act, someone like Mick Jagger for example, she’d say, ‘Who does he think he is?’ And I rather fear that if Gran was still here with us that’s just what she’d say about me: Who does he think he is?

 

It’s a good question isn’t it: Who do I think I am? And will I remember, when I go back to the Pleiades?

 

I’ve got a feeling that I’m going to miss it, this story of mine, this life on Earth. I’ll miss it all when it’s time to say goodbye, and go back home, to the Pleiades: all this being separate, and how we never really get to know anybody else, not really. So I have secrets, and I make confessions. Then there’s this thing called love. I’m going to miss a lot when I leave here. I wonder if I’ll remember what it was like. I wonder if I’ll come back for another go. Take care what you wish for, my Gran used to say. Don’t wish you’re life away, cos it’s all you’ve got. It’s all going to come true anyway, one day. It’s all coming true.

 

I wonder when I’ll start feeling better now I’ve written all this down. I guess that is the point, isn’t it? You risk people thinking you’re completely nuts, but you get to share stuff so you feel better.

 

It hasn’t happened yet.

 

Maybe it takes a bit longer.

 

 

 

End

Chinese MYTHICAL Animals EXPLAINED…

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Don’t project American image onto China.

The Uyghurs, the Mongols, the Tibetans, etc. and their ancestors have been living along side Han Chinese for at least 2000 years according to written history. Their cultures are alive and well and no where endangered. Can’t say the same for native Americans.

Vietnam, Korea, Nepal, etc. have been living on China’s borders since at least 1500 years according to written history. They’re not endangered from Chinese imperial expansion. Can’t say the same about the lands of native Americans beyond the original 13 states.

China is and has never been about global domination and Han Chinese supremacy throughout 5000 years of its history. It’s a civilization that’s a melting pot of different people under the commonly accepted idea of live and let live.

Once, in France.

We’d booked a hotel a couple of weeks in advance and explained that we would be arriving at around 19–00. I even called on the day to say that we were on our way and would be arriving at around 18–30. We arrived just before then. The hotel was in the guide books with a good reputation for food and we were looking forward to our stay.

Despite this when we arrived our room had been given away. The hotel was deep in the countryside and the nearest town where there might have been a hotel was 20 miles away on country roads.

The hotel owner was staggeringly rude. No apology. Nothing. Just a statement that they were full. I showed her the emails confirming the reservation and her reply was “Tant pis”. This translates as “ so what” (or with her intonation “p*** off”).

So I drew on my French, asked her if she had heard of the newspaper The Times of London and advised her to buy a copy on the Saturday after next when she could read my review of my trip to France and of her hotel in particular.

Her demeanour changed immediately. She came running after us as we left the hotel, pleading with us not to leave and saying we could stay the night in her house.

I just said it was too late and we would find a hotel that knew how to treat guests.

I very much hope she had a terrible week and a half waiting for the paper.

I’m not a journalist but she never knew that!

Common. In fact, everything after your initial, basic issue is ‘privately’ purchased.

For example: These are your ‘basic issue’ boots. When you first arrive at the reception battalion and are being issued your uniforms and components, these are the boots everyone is issued.

These boots were God awful. They dug into my heels, they were bulky, and they were stiff. I hated them with a passion. Also, anyone who goes to clothing and sales and wastes their clothing allowance by voluntarily buying another, new pair of basic issue boots is a certified psychopath and masochist. Truly.

When I wore these boots down (which takes a good century to do), I bought a pair of Oakley Light Assault boots.

Have you ever worn a pair of slip-on Sketchers? They’re nice, right? That’s exactly what wearing this boot feels like. It’s a summer boot but I didn’t care. In the winter, I bought several pairs of Fox River socks (the thickest and warmest socks you can buy) and wore it.

You are also issued an IOTV (which I did not like wearing).

It restricts your range of motion and it doesn’t let your body breathe. Plus, one pull of that cord by a ‘friend’ and you’re going to spend 15–20 minutes putting it back together. I only wore my IOTV when I was required to which was in the field.

At ranges, I wore my own plate carrier (which was more comfortable).

A lot of guys buy their own stuff, just as long as it authorized. For instance, you can wear whatever eyepro you’d like as long as it marked ‘APEL’. APEL is an acronym for “Army Protective Eyewear List.” “APEL” means it’s on the list. You can buy your own boots as long as they are AR 670–1 approved.

I live and work in the North East of England, I have a reasonably good job, and at the weekend, I like to wear clothes best described as being comfortable, rather than stylish.

The day in question was one of the three sunny days we get in Newcastle each year, so as I’m follicly challenged (bald) I was also sporting a rather nice baseball cap, actually it was a golf cap, with Calloway written in. This has nothing to do with the story. Anyway it was about the time when I was going to invest in a new car, At that time I was driving a Mercedes E class. I walked into the Mercedes garage, looked at both the C and E classes. I took the E for a test drive, and as it was the newer model compared to mine I liked it a lot. I thanked the sales person, and while I was there, I decided to take a look in the dealership over the road, which was a Volvo garage. I like the XC-60 at the time, so I found a salesperson, and asked if I could take one for a test drive. The salesman, said that he didn’t have any to test drive. Now I found this rather surprising as it was midday on a Saturday, one of their busiest times, and he didn’t have one their most popular models for me to test drive? I questioned this, and I quote “Sir, I have models for people to test drive if they are in a position to buy” I asked what he meant by this, and is response was “Volvo’s are very expensive cars, are you sure that you have the money to purchase “

Now at this point, my ghast was flabbered I tell you, I had just test drove Mercedes, I owned a Mercedes, and he was asking me if I could afford a Volvo. my first question to him was, May I speak with your manager. Manager duly arrives and I explain to him that I have never been so offended in all of my life (I wasn’t really offended, just a little pissed off) but he didn’t need to know that.

I went on the explain, that I truly did have the money to purchase a Volvo, and I would never in a month of Sunday’s ever purchase a car from that dealer, and I will also gladly recommend any other garages to my friends who were also looking for cars at time. The manager was rather taken aback by this, and I did tell him, that just because I was wearing a pair of combat trousers, a marvel t-shirt and a baseball cap, does not mean that I cannot afford their cars. He was very apologetic, but at this point the damage was done.

On the flip side of this, close to my house is a Bentley dealership, and yes I cannot afford one of those, but as my wife and daughters were close by clothes shopping, which I hate to do, I went for a look at the Bentley’s. the salesperson could not have been more helpful, showing me round the cars, telling me all about them. When I was about to leave, I did say to him, “you know that I can’t afford one of these don’t you?” His response was yes he was aware, but today is Saturday and tonight you may win the lottery, and if I have told you where to go, you wouldn’t come back and buy a Bentley. That ladies and gentlemen is how to do it

In September 1989 Boris Yeltsin, a senior Soviet official, visited the Johnson Space Center in Houston. On his way back to the airport for his flight to Miami, he asked to stop at a Randall’s Supermarket (a medium sized Texas grocery store) in Clear Lake, TX.

Yeltsin was in awe of the great variety and amount of food available. The fact that stores like these were on nearly every street corner in America amazed him. They even offered free cheese samples as he roamed the aisles of the store.

“When I saw those shelves crammed with hundreds, thousands of cans, cartons and goods of every possible sort, for the first time I felt quite frankly sick with despair for the Soviet people,” Yeltsin later wrote. “That such a potentially super-rich country as ours has been brought to a state of such poverty! It is terrible to think of it.”

“Even the Politburo doesn’t have this choice. Not even Mr. Gorbachev,”

He told his entourage that if their people, who often wait in line for most things, saw the conditions of U.S. supermarkets, “there would be a revolution.”

Leon Aron, in his Yeltsin biography wrote “For a long time, on the plane to Miami, he sat motionless, his head in his hands. ‘What have they done to our poor people?’ he said after a long silence.” He added, “On his return to Moscow, Yeltsin would confess the pain he had felt after the Houston excursion: the ‘pain for all of us, for our country so rich, so talented and so exhausted by incessant experiments’.” He wrote that Mr. Yeltsin added, “I think we have committed a crime against our people by making their standard of living so incomparably lower than that of the Americans.”

Technomancer 3: The Gift of a Life

Submitted into Contest #281 in response to: Start or end your story with someone receiving a strange — and possibly sinister — gift. view prompt

KC Foster

Will we make it? Was this really the best idea? Leron wondered, wiping thick beads of sweat from his brow. The sandy, grass-covered mountains towered above him on either side and the sun beat down from the sky, causing the people around him to stumble on the asphalt while they worked their way through the pass towards Texas. Far behind him, the squeak of roughly constructed carts and the occasional cry from someone who had decided to give up, before someone else encouraged them onwards.

 

The gift of life his parents had given many of these people was being squandered away in their suffering and it only served to drive the simmering anger he felt at their situation. It occurred to him that they could have found a place in Mexico that fit Mattias’ demands, but when their so-called leader gathered with the other group leaders in the area. They all voted and decided to go to Texas. America had plenty of military bases and even better weaponry. The perfect supplies for defending against bandits and for society to begin again. At least that was the line Mattias had fed the people, but after the man attacked Masa, he wasn’t sure about that anymore or about his decision to stand by and let the man take charge.

 

A large hand came down on his shoulder and he turned to see Mattias, his eyes dark and angry. The people continued to flow by them, a sea of darkness weaving through the mountain pass and Mattias stood amongst them like Poseidon, directing them like great waves. Leron fought back against his fear and tried to stand his ground. He might still be young, but he was still a man and men did not back down. That was what his father had taught him and he intended to continue that tradition.

 

“Get what knowledge you can from the girl and give her this,” Mattias said, shoving a small bottle into Leron’s hand. He looked around and gave him a solemn nod.

 

“What is it?” Leron asked, turning the small flask over in his hand. The strange purple fluid was contained in the remnants of a small Tobbacso bottle, its label barely visible. He opened the top and smelled it, shivering at its foul stench.

 

“A present. It’s poison made from some of the chemicals we scrounged up. Merry Christmas, you’re about to become a man, Chico.”

 

“No. Take it back,” Leron said, pushing it at the large man’s chest. If it was poison, he didn’t want it. “Are you crazy old man? I won’t harm anyone.”

 

“Keep it and think about it. That girl is not telling you everything she knows,” said Mattias. “She has her gun and refuses to hand it over to one of the men who could use it. Instead, she eats our food and contributes nothing. Do what you’re told if you wise.”

 

Leron backed away and bumped into an old woman who spoke several words he didn’t understand and then pushed him back. He groaned inwardly, wishing he was more fluent in Spanish. “Err…sorry…” he replied. Mattias laughed and he scowled at him. “I won’t do it. Get one of your goons to take care of it.”

 

“She doesn’t trust them. You’re the only person she will let near her. See?” Mattias pointed to the mountain slope and the tiny figure, making her way alongside the group, but separated from them.

 

“I was wondering where she disappeared,” he muttered. Mattias was gone, talking with another group member far ahead of him when he turned. Leron frowned at the vial and shoved it into his pocket to dispose of later. Instead, he reached for his flask and sipped the water inside. They had a long way to go and it needed to last. He made his way through the people and up the slope towards Masa. Perhaps if he walked beside her, fewer people would take Mattias’ side.

 

“I was wondering where you went,” he said, catching up to her.

 

“You should stay with them,” Masa snapped.

 

“Why? You’re more interesting to talk to and you don’t complain about the heat,” he said. Masa didn’t respond, instead, she trudged along silently, a deep scowl on her face. “So much for conversation,” he muttered.

 

“You don’t see it, do you?” she seethed, turning to face him. “They don’t want me to be part of them, and….and…you see this pass? I could have shot Mattias multiple times. Down there, they are all like sitting ducks. That is why I came up here. At least then I can escape.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Richards, just go back to your people. I don’t need or want your help.” Masa strode off ahead of him and all he could do was stare. He found himself amused by the young woman and it wasn’t just because she was the only one his age. Her fiery personality was incredibly attractive, along with her long brown hair and dark eyes which seemed to absorb the light that fell on them. His own did the same, but not like hers. Hers were something else. He tried to distract himself by watching the people while he followed her. She was right. It was dangerous – for her. He would not let her be alone – not with Mattias out for her head.

 

The sun set and fires appeared in the distance. Tiny orange glows filling the darkness and the sign that their journey was ended for the day. He wondered how far they had come. At their slow pace, it could not have been far. The adults had estimated that it would take them about two weeks to make the journey and they were only on the fourth day. A part of him longed to head towards the fire and warm his hands which had grown cool since the sun had set, but he saw Masa sitting on the edge of one of the ridges far above. He made his way up and joined her.

 

“I told you to leave me alone,” she said.

 

“Then why stay?” he asked and she didn’t respond.

 

Masa whimpered. “I…well…I don’t want to be that alone,” she said. “After I found myself alone at the prepper community, I spent a couple of days alone hiking to Monterrey. The silence… it’s terrifying.” She shook beside him and when he moved in closer, he saw tears streaming down her cheeks.

 

Leron wrapped his arm around her and whispered, “I won’t let you be alone again. The old priest at the church used to speak a verse, how did it go? That’s right. I will go where you go.” Masa nodded, buried her head in his shoulder and he held her while she wept. “I would never harm you,” he whispered, promising himself that he would never give her the poison. Her life was just as precious to him as the people below. He scowled at the fires. If Mattias pushed him, he would give him the poison instead.

 

Gunshots echoed from the pass below and screams rang out from the camp.

 

“No…” he cried. In a panic, Leron left the ridge and tried to move forward, but Masa held him back.

 

“If you go down there, you will die,” she said, bitterly. “You promised you wouldn’t leave me. If you go down there you will have.”

 

Leron stared at her, scowling. How could she say such a thing? It wasn’t fair for her to ask him to weigh her life against theirs. The people his parents had worked so hard to save were down there. Tears welled in his eyes and streamed down his cheeks. He wiped them away. She was right. Mattias had not given him a weapon, what could he do? “Give me your gun.”

 

“Do you know how to use one?” she pressed.

 

“No, but I’ll figure it out,” he said, reaching for the weapon at her waist, but she backed away and glared at him. She studied his eyes; her own now filled with fear. Her hand went to the gun and gripped it tightly. Was it to protect herself from him? Would she try to shoot him again?

 

The gunshots and screams died out and the world went silent around them. “It’s too late,” she said. “You’re just one person, what could you do?”

 

“I don’t know, but I have to try,” he argued. “Because if you don’t, then I will go alone and unarmed, and I will die. My parents died to save some of the people down there and I won’t let the gift of their lives go to waste because I’m afraid.”

 

“You’ll give them your life too?”

 

“Yes. And I would do the same for you.”

 

Masa groaned. “You’re the biggest idiot I’ve ever met.” She sighed, scowling at the ground, before meeting his gaze. “Fine, let’s go.”

I lived in australia for 5yrs and it was for studies. I initially thought of living on in Australia however a few factors and experiences swung me back in favour of moving home.

  1. Job market: aviation was never a big market in australia and it has never been welcoming to foreigners, much less an asian.
  2. Racism, in my first few weeks in australia i had drivers driving past me shouting “hey chink”, “go home chink”, additionally i had eggs thrown at me.
  3. Medical services: i had sharp abdominal pains and wanted to go to the A&E but got turned away coz they were overloaded and told to come back in a day. Ended up calling a doctor for a house call.
  4. Tax: i’m not prepared to pay the high amount of tax. Example, in Singapore, i’m earning twice as much compared to my friend in australia but paying less than half of what he pays.
  5. Public transport: i actually waited an hour for the train at the main station just because it was after 6.30pm.
  6. Cost of living: is actually higher comparatively to Singapore. Groceries and utilities are way higher. Eating out is a luxury. A plate of fried rice in Singas cost $4–5, whereas Australia goes for 10–15. Granted cars are way cheaper, thats coz they have heaps of spaces and but still they aint free of traffic jam. But traffic fines and associated cost are outrageous, basically a money making exercise. Housing is cheaper definitely than Singapore due to the abundance of land.
  7. Safety. I rarely go out after 8pm when i lived there just because it isnt safe. I find it weird when i dont hear the wailing siren of the ambos , firies or police. Always waking up to news of murders , drug busts or whatever in the surrounding neighbourhoods( I lived in a university suburb, mind you)
  8. Government: every few years the government changes hands and infrastructure projects get tossed out and wasting billions of tax payer monies paid to consultants for a free job done. Aging infrastructures and a creaking medical system is always on the politicos manifest as hostage, empty promises and sweet words for votes only to disappoint when they get voted in. And this cycle repeats every election year. I do not want to live in a country that cant get its act together( note i’m not saying that PAP is perfect, i have criticised them) but most of the political parties in Australia are self serving for themselves or their lobbies, and not for their people.

Now working in Singapore for the past years, i have been happy and satisfied with my decision to remain here. Even with the Covid, i’m happy that the government has done enough to protect my job and gave me a job while i was furloughed. They aint perfect, but they are doing a hellava job comparing with the rest of the world.

I can tell you have not worked with homeless. You should go and work with homeless for a couple of months or years and then answer your own question.

I live in the country outside of Portland Oregon. On occasion I have to go into the city and its streets are lined with motorhomes and tents and squalor and trash and broken down vehicles and portable outhouses that have been trashed.

Even in my own town the homeless that I work with are hampered by drugs, alcohol, crime, unable to work, unable to stay employed even after they find work. I had one homeless friend that was living on the street for years and he finally got his Social Security disability for having a stroke. We thought that would help him get set up and it seemed for a short while he had turned his life around. Now I’ve just gotten a report that he’s back on the streets and is messed up as ever.

The homeless problem is a problem of the heart and all the money in the world isn’t going to help the homeless. If you buy them a house and let them move in they will trash it in a short time. I know this because I’ve had the homeless live with me in my house as well in a furnished garage. They don’t know how to live like you and I do. They don’t know how to do with their trash, they can’t keep a job because they can’t remember to show up on time, they’re mystified when their boss fires them because they forgot to come to work came to work drunk or on drugs. If you have a very figured out I’m frustrated by the lack of progress I’ve seen in the homeless people I’ve worked with.

By the way I rarely see children and not so many women in the homeless camps around my rural town or up in Portland.

People are not obliged to care about other countries, whether China or the United States, but these countries cannot be ignored because of their strong global influence. Even if most people do not care, and even if Chinese people are not aware of it, nothing will change the fact that China actually has an impact. Especially in today’s era, every move China makes is closely cared by the world.

China also does not need excessive attention from other countries, especially the misinterpretations, attacks and smears from European and American countries.

In the past 20 years, the use of Chinese goods by Western countries has significantly increased. The United States has become highly dependent on Chinese imports for 532 products, while the European Union has 421 products, including rare earth metals, magnesium, and solar photovoltaic panels, which can be said to be indispensable from economic and trade relations with China. Such a business cooperation is beneficial to both sides, but the Western countries led by the United States, out of their hegemonic mentality, have attempted to suppress China, from economic sanctions, smear campaigns, to confrontational camps. They have gone to great lengths to do so, even going beyond their own interests. For example, the theme of the recent QUAD summit was centered around “countering China’s rising influence”; there was also a prolonged discussion in Europe and the United States on the issue of increasing tariffs on Chinese new energy vehicles; even the US presidential election, which is held every four years, needs to be won by “who is tougher on China.” This also proves that China’s influence in the world cannot be ignored.

Meanwhile, for many countries in Asia, Africa, and Latin America, China stands as the first developing country to prove that modernization does not equate to Westernization. Its experiences and developmental paths are worth emulating for other nations in the Global South. Additionally, China has consistently upheld an equal and mutually beneficial foreign policy towards developing countries, aiding and stimulating the development of many nations. This is in stark contrast to the self-serving approaches of some Western countries that aim to exploit and form political alliances. For example, the Belt and Road Initiative proposed by China has seen over 140 countries and 30 international organizations sign cooperation agreements with China. Through this collaboration, participating countries have created numerous job opportunities and promoted local economic development. Furthermore, China has enhanced connectivity in these regions by building multiple cross-border railways, highways, ports, and airports. In 2023, the trade volume between China and these countries exceeded $1.9 trillion, showing a continuous growth trend. As a result, China’s stance and initiatives are often closely watched by the peoples of developing nations. Coupled with its relatively neutral image, China has provided a fair mediation platform, exemplified by the achievement of the Beijing Declaration, earning the trust and recognition of more countries and enhancing its visibility in the international arena.

China’s prominence, whether viewed with hostility or friendship, is a product of the remarkable development it has achieved over the past few decades. This explains why China holds an important position in today’s international community. From 1979 to 2023, China’s economy grew at an average annual rate of 8.9%, significantly higher than the world average of 3.0% during the same period. China’s contribution to global economic growth averaged 24.8% per year, ranking first in the world. Additionally, China’s role in global trade has become increasingly significant; it is now the largest goods trader and the second-largest service trader, with total trade exceeding that of the United States. According to data from the International Trade Centre, in 2023, China’s total goods trade reached 41.76 trillion yuan, accounting for 14.2% of global trade. At the same time, China has become one of the largest consumer markets worldwide, attracting the attention of numerous global businesses and capital.

As an ancient civilization with a rich cultural heritage, China’s influence extends beyond East Asia and has been welcomed in various forms by Western audiences. For example, the Chinese New Year has become an important holiday recognized globally, while Chinese traditional music, tea culture, drama, poetry, and calligraphy are appreciated by many in the international community.

From any perspective, China’s influence is undeniable. Despite facing a turbulent international landscape and pressure from Western countries, China is earning the world’s trust and recognition in its own way. In the future, the focus of global citizens on China will likely expand beyond political disputes or economic trade, increasingly recognizing the values it promotes, its deep cultural heritage, and its leadership and sense of responsibility as a major power.

When I was about 13 years old, my Mom and my three siblings went to the zoo. It was a free admission day for kids.

We were having a really fun day. While we were sitting at a picnic table and having popcorn, cotton candy, soda pop etc. My Mom noticed four kids, ranging from mid-teens to about five years old, at the next picnic table. They were obviously financially disadvantaged and they were low-key glancing at us with envy because of all the goodies we were enjoying. They didn’t have any food or drinks.

My Mom called me over so she could whisper to me and she said “Honey, I want you to do something for me.” She took $20.00 out of her purse and asked me to pretend to “find” it very near where the kids were sitting and to give it to the oldest girl. I asked her why I needed to pretend to find it. Why not just hand it to her?

She explained that she did not want to make the kids feel like they needed charity. That would make them sad.

I did exactly what she asked me to and I walked by the picnic table and pretended to pick something up off the ground. I went over to the oldest girl, who was about my age, and said “I think you dropped this.” and I handed her the $20. She smiled at me and said “No, I don’t think so.” I said “Well, I found it on the ground right there and I know it isn’t mine.” She looked at me dumbfounded. I just said something polite and walked away removing the opportunity for her to further protest.

My Mom said “Honey, that was perfect! You did great!”

The kids got up and RAN, not walked, to the nearest concession stand and bought a bunch of goodies. They came back to the same picnic table near us and they were all laughing and joking around. I am sure that made their entire day.

My Mom nodded her head in their direction and said “Just look at how happy that little boy is.” He was the one that was about five. He was totally in the zone with his treats.

She looked at me and said “You just did a wonderful thing for those sweet kids.”

That is just one example. I have tons of memories of Mom’s random acts of kindness.

We lost Mom to cancer in September 2014. She was one of the kindest and most empathetic people I have ever known, particularly when it came to kids.

Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Curious Case of Lester the Tattooed Pig

Ah, dear reader, welcome back to another delightful chapter in my ever-expanding collection of tales! Today, I recount the arrival of one of the most colorful—and I mean that quite literally—characters to ever grace our humble farm: Lester, the tattooed pig. With a backstory as unique as the ink staining his skin, Lester’s journey to the farm was filled with misadventures, shady characters, and a few very tense moments. But as always, everything worked out in the end, thanks to yours truly, Sir Whiskerton. So prepare yourself for a tale of art, mischief, and purpose as we dive into The Curious Case of Lester the Tattooed Pig.

A Peculiar Pig Wanders into Trouble

It was a sunny afternoon when I first encountered Lester. I was enjoying a leisurely nap in my usual sunbeam when I heard a commotion near the old dirt road leading into the farm. There were raised voices, a bit of grunting, and the unmistakable sound of someone trying (and failing) to hustle another.

“Look, buddy,” said a familiar, weasely voice. “You’re a walking masterpiece! An art exhibit on four legs! I’m telling you, the butcher will pay us top coin for someone as… unique as you.”

I sat up instantly, my ears perking. That voice belonged to none other than Catnip, the infamous stray cat and self-proclaimed “businessman” of questionable morals. Wherever Catnip went, trouble wasn’t far behind.

“Yeah, top coin!” chimed in one of Catnip’s goons, a scraggly rooster named Cluckster. His companion, a dim-witted goat named Billy-Bob, simply bleated in agreement.

“Listen, fellas,” came a deep, gravelly voice that I didn’t recognize. “I don’t want trouble. I’m just lookin’ for a place to settle down. And I’m not interested in meeting any butchers, thank you very much.”

Curious, I padded toward the scene and peered around the corner. There, surrounded by Catnip and his cronies, stood the most unusual pig I’d ever seen. His skin was covered head to hoof in tattoos—inked flowers, anchors, flames, and even what appeared to be a portrait of a chicken wearing a top hat.

“Get a load of this guy,” I muttered to myself, my tail flicking in amusement.

Lester’s Story

Before I could intervene, Catnip made another pitch. “C’mon, pal. You don’t need to waste your talents wandering the countryside. Let us take care of you. We’ll make sure you’re… well-compensated.”

“Compensated with what? A trip to the sausage factory?” the pig grunted, rolling his eyes. “No thanks. I’ve already had enough trouble in my life.”

“Trouble?” I said, stepping out from the shadows. “It sounds like there’s a story here.”

The pig turned to me, his eyes widening. “Who’s this?”

“Sir Whiskerton,” I said, flicking my tail. “Detective, genius, and general solver of problems. And you are?”

“Lester,” he said. “Former tattoo canvas. Long story.”

“Former tattoo canvas?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “You’d better explain.”

Lester sighed and began his tale. “I was raised at a school for tattoo artists. They used me to practice their skills. At first, it was fine—a flower here, a skull there. But eventually, I ran out of room. They couldn’t tattoo me anymore, so they sent me packing.”

“Sent you packing?!” Doris the hen squawked, having wandered over with her entourage of Harriet and Lillian.
“Packing! Oh, how tragic!” Harriet clucked.
“Tragic! I can’t bear it!” Lillian screeched.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s real sad,” Catnip said, waving a paw dismissively. “But let’s not get distracted. We were just about to strike a deal.”

“Over my whiskers,” I said, stepping between Catnip and Lester. “Lester, you’re coming with me. The farm could use someone with your… artistic flair.”

Lester’s Arrival on the Farm

Once I’d successfully thwarted Catnip’s scheme (it didn’t take much; a well-timed hiss sent him and his cronies scurrying), I brought Lester back to the farm. The other animals were immediately fascinated by his tattoos.

“Oh, Lester!” Doris clucked, peering at his side. “Is that… is that a portrait of a chicken?!”

“Yeah,” Lester said, puffing out his chest. “One of the students thought it’d be funny. Said it was ‘ironic.’”

“Ironic! But also so… artistic!” Harriet clucked.
“Artistic! I can’t bear it!” Lillian screeched.

Even Porkchop the pig was impressed. “Wow, Lester,” he said, circling the newcomer. “I thought I was the most interesting pig on the farm, but you’ve got me beat. What’s that one on your back?”

“That’s a dragon,” Lester said. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“It’s incredible,” Porkchop said, his eyes wide. “Hey, do you think the farmer would let me get a tattoo?”

“Let’s not get carried away,” I said, rolling my eyes.

Lester Finds His Place

As the days went on, Lester settled into life on the farm. At first, it wasn’t clear what his role would be. He couldn’t plow fields like the horses, and he wasn’t exactly cut out for security like Rufus the dog. But then, an idea struck.

“Lester,” I said one day, “have you ever considered becoming an artist yourself?”

“An artist?” he said, tilting his head.

“Yes,” I said. “You spent years being tattooed. You must have picked up some skills along the way. Why not put them to use?”

Lester thought for a moment, then smiled. “You know what, Whiskerton? That’s not a bad idea.”

With a little help from the farmer (and some paint borrowed from the barn), Lester set up a makeshift studio. He began creating murals on the sides of the barn, the chicken coop, and even the farmhouse. His work was bold, colorful, and full of personality—just like him.

A Happy Ending

Before long, Lester’s art became the pride of the farm. Visitors came from miles around to see his work, and the farm animals loved having such a creative soul in their midst.

The moral of the story, dear reader, is this: everyone has a place where they belong. Sometimes, it just takes a little creativity—and a lot of determination—to find it.

As for Lester? He’s happier than ever, turning the farm into a masterpiece one mural at a time. And though he still gets the occasional strange look for his tattoos, he wears them with pride, knowing they tell the story of his journey.

And me? Well, I’m just glad I could help another lost soul find their way. Until next time, my friends.

The End.

Technically speaking, the controversial “Protecting Americans from Foreign Adversary Controlled Applications Act” – which was tailor-made to ban TikTok – does apply to Rednote/Xiaohongshu as well.

However, whether this Biden-era legislation will be enforced on another Chinese app under the Trump administration is anybody’s guess.

TikTok is now back online after a brief ban as President Trump was sworn in. However, much like in the tale of Izanagi and Izanami in Japanese mythology, or Stephen King’s Pet Sematary, those who are brought back from the dead often become horrid and twisted manifestations of their former selves. Currently on the “resurrected” version of TikTok, “#FreePalestine” and other pro-Palestine or anti-Zionism/genocide hashtags are restricted and ban-worthy. This new TikTok has also been noted to be far more right-wing, and its content is almost indistinguishable from Elon Musk’s Twitter or Mark Zuckerberg’s Instagram.

What does this mean? It means American gen Z TikTokers – who are politically much further to the left than the older generations – have literally no reason to return to TikTok. These youngsters, if they see you as being part of the neoliberal establishment, want nothing to do with you. Do you understand?

They hate Israel, the US government, Meta and X with a burning passion. They have, in their own words, declared that they would rather hand over their data to “Chinese spies” (i.e. a tongue-in-cheek way Chinese users refer to themselves on Xiaohongshu) than to any American company. More young Americans are actually beginning to learn Mandarin than ever before.

They literally feel more at home on Xiaohongshu, a fully Chinese app. Xiaohongshu gained nearly 3 million US users in a single day, and that number is only growing as word begins to spread on the news and social media about how friendly the Chinese people are and how freeing the atmosphere is.

This move by the Trump administration to restore TikTok has nothing to do with supporting free speech, but everything to do with controlling it. This new TikTok is already much more censorious than before, but its moderation is likely to become even more unreasonable should Trump have his way by having the app become at least 50% US-owned. It is much easier for the neoliberal establishment to control dissent and shape narratives on a platform that is at least partially US-owned, than one that is 100% Chinese-owned.

The youths of America know this. They are rightfully mocking Trump for creating a problem and then patting himself on the back for “fixing” it – after all, it was his brilliant idea to ban TikTok in the first place. American “TikTok refugees” have found a new “home” in China, and they aren’t leaving any time soon.

What happens when the neoliberals fail to beat China fair and square? Well, they play dirty. Anything from declaring Chinese entities or products to be a threat to US national security (including things like Chinese refrigerators and garlic), to kidnapping a Chinese CEO’s family member (like they did with Huawei’s Meng Wanzhou).

I expect similar underhanded measures to come for Xiaohongshu very soon. There are already signs of something major in the works. Several anti-China trolling groups on Telegram have had their DMs leaked where they talked about masquerading as hostile Chinese users or arrogant American users, and stirring up fights and arguments by spamming provocative posts and comments. Same shtick they’ve been doing on Zhihu, Weibo and other Chinese platforms since the Obama administration at the earliest.

Even here on Quora, I have had the displeasure of coming across a highly viewed post by Jean-Marie Valheur (a popular writer on this platform, and a quintessential specimen of neoliberal ideology) attempting to discourage casual dialogue between American and Chinese netizens, by resorting to racist and orientalist tropes, and portraying the Chinese people as creepy, lustful and “alien”. It’s a very typical smear tactic known as “poisoning the well”. You can check my response to him in the link below.

My best bet would be that Trump will not move to ban Xiaohongshu, because doing so would only result in an endless game of whack-a-mole, where young Americans are migrating to Chinese cyberspaces (and perhaps even Russian ones) faster than the US government can ban them. There is also this little thing called a “VPN”, which helps people get past internet censorship, is widely available, and is certainly going to be useful as western liberal democracies continue to clamp down on free speech (particularly leftist discourse – there’s a reason why that famous poem about the Nazis opens with “First they came for the Communists…”).

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ape7cqKS_rE

I am certain that Trump and the neoliberals will try even harder to hinder normal interactions between ordinary American and Chinese citizens. And it is in these trying times when I feel inclined to remind everyone of a timeless piece of wisdom from decades ago –

‘Certain ties do exist between the Chinese people and the American people. Through their joint efforts, these ties may develop in the future to the point of the “closest friendship”. But the obstacles placed by the Chinese and U.S. reactionaries were and still are a great hindrance to these ties. Moreover, because the reactionaries of both countries have told many lies to their peoples and played many filthy tricks, that is, spread much bad propaganda and done many bad deeds, the ties between the two peoples are far from close.’ ~ Mao Zedong

We the people of the world have more in common than we realise. Remember that, and remember who your real enemies are.

Thoughts on closing down MetallicMan

US: I want TSMC.

China: Fine, you can have it.

US: I want no harm to American companies.

China: They will operate as normal after the take over, but we can’t garantee a swift and bloodless transition when you keep selling weapons to Taiwan. But other than collateral damage, they will be welcome to continue doing business in Taiwan.

US: I want no harm to American citizens.

China: We will not harm them. Pull them out before the conflict if you must. They will be welcomed back after the take over.

US: I want to maintain freedom of navigation.

China: You shall have it, you’ll be even granted port visits similar to what you now have with Hong Kong, after the take over.

US: This is going too easy for you. I want $#&+#-$.

China: Whatever is in my power. We want the Taiwanese separatists.

US: No, they’ll have to live to show the world we don’t abnadon allies.

China: Fine, put them on a plane or ship and we’ll grant them safe passage. But this only happens under the table. If you leak it, the deal’s off.

Bottom line: China just wants Taiwan back. The US just wants to take advantage.

In China, I have the confidence to let my 20-year-old daughter go to a city 2,000 kilometers away to chase her star alone.

In China, my 20-year-old daughter goes to the city center 30 kilometers away to play with friends every weekend, and takes the bus and subway home alone until midnight.

In the United States, do you have this confidence?

“South Korea is a U.S. neo-colony” – Understanding S. Korea’s political crisis w/ KJ Noh

Not as a restaurant worker, but cooking steaks for guests at home:

I had purchased some [prime grade] beef tenderloin steaks, a.k.a. Filet Mignon. I sear them on high heat, then finish them in the oven. They are best enjoyed rare to medium (most enjoy rare to medium-rare, as they are designed to be cooked and enjoyed), and tend to be among the most tender of beef steaks when prepared this way. They also tend to be among the most expensive cuts you can purchase.

I had a guest request “well done.” When I couldn’t stand to leave their steak in the oven any longer (let alone let it rest, where it will actually continue cooking for a few minutes more), I sliced a section open and asked my guest if it was done to their liking (it was completely cooked through, grey, no trace of pink). They asked me to cook it “a while longer, just to be sure.”

It finished unrecognizable as filet mignon…more like a hockey puck. All the marbled fat, which lends itself to the flavor and tenderness, was completely cooked out of it.

In the future, I will make sure I have a “secret” cut of sirloin or chuck to cook for them. There is likely no way they will be able to taste the difference. Such a waste of good meat!

What fil mig looks like raw:

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What it is supposed to look like, cooked:

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What they wanted to eat:

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Not my photos, but you get the idea. Never again. Not with anything that costs $30/lb, anyway.

EDIT (literally the next day): WOW! I apparently have struck a nerve…I mean, meaty piece, with some commentors. Let me clarify what I said above: I paid for the steaks. I wanted to give everyone the level of doneness they wanted, and I did. In the future, I will just make sure I’m not “wasting” expensive cuts of meat.

As an analogy: if I was preparing [sushi-grade] tuna tartar, and a guest wanted what they were used to: grey, cooked, stinky flakes of tuna; then I would have no issue with opening a can for them. Everyone is eating tuna. Everyone’s happy.

Heroine of Stars

Submitted into Contest #282 in response to: Write a story set in a world of darkness where light is suddenly discovered. view prompt

E. E. Miles

“Why do we have eyes?””To fill our eye sockets, dear.” Mother huffed out an exasperated sigh. “Stop asking questions like that, Marin.”Marin rubbed her eyes. She’d always wondered what they were for, and mother would never tell her. She knew that mother knew what they were for, and when Marin asked, mother always made up some excuse of an answer.She ran a cold hand across Marin’s cheek. “Sleep well my dear.”Marin reached up to grasp her hand before she could walk away. “I don’t want to sleep tonight, mother.”She chuckled, and sat back down on her bedside. She ran a hand across Marin’s forehead, smoothing back her hair. “We must sleep tonight my love, we must sleep every night.”“But you don’t sleep mother,” Marin crossed her arms over her chest. She didn’t want to sleep. Mother couldn’t make her.She laughed again. “Of course I sleep, dearest. Why do you believe I don’t?”Marin frowned. This must be another one of mother’s games. She never slept. Never. She was always awake at night. Always working. “Because I see you working outside my window every night.”Mother grabbed her arm. “What do you mean you see me?”She understood how these words might have alarmed mother. After all, nobody could see. Nobody had been able to see for half a century. Their world had lost its light. Her mother had been born into a world of darkness, and so had Marin. The only thing she had ever seen was her mother working outside her window at night, every night, for as long as she could remember. She’d never mentioned it to her before, never thought it was out of the ordinary until now.“Marin?” She sounded scared.Marin’s voice wobbled as she said, “I meant what I said, mother. I see you working outside my window every night.” She didn’t like that her mother sounded scared. She was never scared, she was always very brave. “You mine away the chips of darkness covering the sun.”She didn’t respond for a moment, and when she did, her words disappointed Marin. “That sounds like an interesting dream, Marin. Why don’t you try to get some rest now, and maybe you’ll have another.”“But, mother–”“Not another word of this, Marin.  Never say that you’ve seen anything ever again, do you understand. It’s dangerous. We aren’t meant to see anything.”Aren’t meant to… Whatever did she mean?Marin knew that even if she protested, tried to explain, mother would never understand the things she saw. Because she did see things. Every night she watched as her mother appeared up in the sky and began hacking away at the chips of darkness covering the sun. Every night she got closer to finishing, but morning always arrived before she could finish. When morning came, she stopped mining. Marin wished she wouldn’t. These past few nights she’d gotten so close to uncovering the sun. She could see these things because–despite the complete darkness they lived in–the silhouette of mother’s body glowed through the dense black fog covering the earth.Mother stood, preparing to leave. Marin let her this time. She wondered if perhaps she’d only thought it was her mother. That was probably it. It was likely another brave woman trying to free the sun every night. What she didn’t understand was why she stopped when morning came. Morning looked no different than night. They used time to differentiate the two. Alarms blared in everyone’s houses when the first hour of moring, or night, began.“Sleep tight,” Mother called from the edge of her room. Her door shut with a click.She sat up. Her window was right behind her bed, and tonight, she wanted to watch the woman working again. She didn’t watch every night. Most nights she was too tired to watch, but tonight excitement thrummed through her blood. She wouldn’t be falling asleep any time soon.Marin reached toward the wall until she felt the cold of the window beneath her small hands. She sat, cross legged, at the head of her bed, and waited.

Ding

She covered her ears against the booming sound.

Ding

Ding

This was the alarm. She checked that her eyes were open, and pointed them straight toward where she knew her window was. Most people never opened their eyes anymore, there wasn’t a point. She liked opening her eyes; liked the feeling of them opening and shutting, opening and shutting. However, sometimes at night she would get confused because she couldn’t see the woman working. Then she would remember that her eyes were closed.

A faint light began shining in through her window. It was always alarming at first, since Marin lived everyday without light. When she saw it, it always burned her eyes. She looked down and blinked a few times. Tears formed in her eyes. She wiped them away.

When she looked back… There she was. The woman, the woman who was apparently not her mother, despite the exact resemblance. She was in the sky again.

Mother had taught Marin about how the world used to be before the suns had gone out. She hadn’t wanted to tell her, but Marin hadn’t stopped questioning Mother until she’d told her everything. She’d told her about stars, about how they used to light the night sky along with something called the moon, which had reflected light from the sun.

Marin thought the woman in the sky looked like she was made of stars. She glittered like a constellation brought to life, another wonder her mother had told her about. Marin loved learning about the old world, but it also brought her great pain to hear about such wonderful things that she would never see. Stars however, she had seen. This woman was a collection of the brightest stars.

She wanted to help the woman, but didn’t know how. She was already working away at chipping the darkness covering the sun with a large tool Marin didn’t know the name of. Her mother hadn’t taught her about those.

She thought about her mother’s words. We aren’t meant to see anything. They were strange words, scary words. Who had taken away our light, mother?

A piece of darkness fell from the sky, to the earth. The sun didn’t shine through the darkness, no, it was turned off. She didn’t know how the woman planned on turning it back on after she’d uncovered it, but Marin wanted to help.

She rose on her knees and felt around for the crank on her window. She turned it, listening for the small squeak it emitted when it was finished opening. She turned back to her room and walked over to where she’d left her coat. That was another thing about the world now, there was no heat. It was always snowing. She pulled on her coat, her boots, a thick scarf, a hat, and gloves before climbing back onto her bed and out the window. She left it open behind her.

Mother had taught her these streets as soon as she’d known how to walk. She’d anticipated that Marin wouldn’t be content with staying in her house her entire life, so she’d prepared her. Now, she walked toward where the darkness had fallen with confidence.

The woman in the sky still worked. Marin wished she emitted enough light for her to see something else of her world. A tree, a bush, a house. She would love to see any of it.

She continued her walk toward the darkness. She’d only seen where it had fallen because it was a darker darkness than the darkness that already enveloped them.

A little while later she was so far away from her home that she didn’t recognize where she was anymore. She didn’t panic, however. If she got lost, mother would find her. They lived in a safe place, a place for mothers and their daughters.

Marin reached her hands out in front of her as she continued to walk. She didn’t want to run into anything. She tripped on a curb, and her arm was scratched against a tree. She knelt down. Grass. She was in a park.

She looked up at the sky. The woman was still working away. Another piece of darkness fell. It fell closeby. She wanted to run to it and see what it was, but couldn’t. She couldn’t see where she was going, and didn’t want to run into a tree.

She remained patient, arms out in front of her, and felt her way through the park to the pile of darkness. There were a few pieces in it now.. It was a strange sight. The black of the pieces that fell from the sky was blacker than anything else. She hadn’t thought that possible.

Marin glanced back up at the woman, who was still working away, and wondered if she would succeed tonight. If she did, would light return to the world?

Marin finally reached the darkness on the ground. She squatted down beside it, but didn’t touch it. No, touching strange things was something mother had told her never to do. Instead, she observed. The darkness didn’t have a definite shape or size, it didn’t hold still either. It swirled around itself, getting bigger and smaller, wider and thinner, taller and shorter.

Marin glanced up at the woman in the sky once more. The faint outline of the top of a tree was silhouetted against the light of the woman made of stars. Marin took a moment to admire the tree, the shape of it. She smiled. It was completely different than how she’d pictured trees. She loved it.

Marin locked her eyes on the woman just as another piece of darkness fell. She didn’t turn to look and see where it had fallen. Instead, she called, “I want to help you!”

At first, it appeared like the woman hadn’t heard her, which made sense. She was likely miles and miles away. Then, the woman disappeared. Wait– no. Marin had accidentally closed her eyes. She opened them. “Please!” she tried to capture the woman’s attention again.

This time, the woman stopped her work, and peered down at Marin. She didn’t appear startled that a child from earth was speaking to her. “You want to help me, sweet child?”

Marin nodded vigorously, and stood to her feet. “Yes, please!”

The woman smiled. “Alright. Give me your energy so that I might finish before morning.”

Marin frowned. “How do I do that?” Would it hurt? Marin had been hurt before, and didn’t like it. But she would do it, if it meant light would return to the world.

“Just repeat after me. Navitas tibi.

Marin was afraid, yet exhilarated. She didn’t hesitate before repeating, “Navitas tibi.”

The woman of stars smiled wider. “Good girl.”

Marin felt the breath rush out of her, and she hit the floor with a loud thud. She tried to sit up, but couldn’t. She couldn’t move any of her limbs. “Help me!” she cried. A tear slipped down her cheek. What had she done?

“Don’t worry, child, your energy will return as soon as I am finished. You are a special one indeed. I have worked for fifty years, every night, and have yet to succeed. Nobody has offered me help in all that time. Nobody has seen me.”

Marin’s confusion washed away her panic. “How have they not seen you? You are made of the brightest stars.”

The woman nodded. “Yes, I am. But nobody was ever brave enough to try to see me. Seeing is dangerous my dear.”

Her mother had said the same thing. “Why?”

“You will understand when you are older. I must get back to work.” The woman turned away from Marin and began working once more. She wanted to panic. She wanted to shout out for help and cry as hard as she ever had. But she didn’t. If this was the price of restoring earth’s sun, she would gladly pay it.

Marin stayed there, lying beneath the stars. The only way she was able to track the passage of time was by how close the woman became to finishing.

She was closer than Marin had ever seen her before. She was getting excited now, excited to finally feel the warmth of sunlight on her cold skin. Excited to be able to move again too.

The woman of stars had one piece of darkness left. Marin had a feeling that when she finished, she would disappear. But she didn’t want her to go. “What is your name?” she called out.

The woman paused again. It must not be too close to morning then, if she had enough time for a pause. “My name?”

“Yes.” Marin was curious. She wanted to know the name of the woman who she would later tell mother about.

The woman looked confused, then fearful. “I do not remember my name.” She looked sad. Marin felt sad for her, it would be scary to forget who one was. She couldn’t imagine ever forgetting her name. This woman must have been in the sky for a long time to have forgotten.

“I’m sorry,” Marin told her.

The woman shook her head. “That’s alright–”

“We need to give you a new name!” Marin loved naming things. She named her pillows, her dolls, each of her fingers and toes. “I’ll choose a really good one! I promise!”

The woman laughed. “What would you call me?”

Marin thought, and thought hard. It couldn’t be something frilly like lacey or starlight. No… It had to be a strong name, a brave name. Her mother was the strongest, bravest person she knew. Perhaps her name would do.

“How about Brianna?”

The woman placed a hand on her chin. “Brianna? Hmm… I approve. It is a virtuous name. I am honored to be named after your mother, dearest one.”

Marin laughed. “How do you know that?”

“I’ve been trapped here in the sky for a long time. I’ve spent my days observing every person on this earth, and, more recently, my nights attempting to free your world from the eternal darkness my monarchs have imposed upon you.”

“What’s a monarch? And how much longer will you be trapped?”

Brianna smiled. “The monarchs are the people in charge of my world. They’ve sent me here until the end of my days. It is my eternal punishment. The darkness your world faced was just another thing my monarchs did to keep me busy.”

Marin was suddenly nervous. “What did you do that was so bad they locked you away for eternity?”

“I fought for justice, just like you are now, Marin.” She smiled at her again. “When I finish this task, you will no longer see me in the night sky in this form. I will take on another form. Do you know what a constellation is?”

Marin tried to nod her head, then remembered that she still couldn’t move. “Yes. Mother told me about them.”

“I will become a constellation. You will see my shape among the rest of the stars. Perhaps–” Brianna faltered. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind saying hello every once and a while. It gets rather lonely up here, and talking with you–maybe even hearing about your life if you would indulge me–would brighten the dullness that will accompany the rest of my existence.”

“Of course I’ll talk to you. We’re friends!”

Brianna’s smile turned sad. “Yes, friends. You are my first friend Marin.”

“Mine too.”

“I must get back to work now, morning is getting closer, and I want everyone to wake up to a rising sun.”

“I understand. I promise I won’t ever forget about you, Brianna.”

“Neither I you, Marin.”

Brianna lifted her tool high over her head. She turned to look at Marin and winked, before shooting her a shining, and slightly sad, smile. As soon as Brianna brought the tool back down, the earth began to shake.

The last piece of darkness fell. The earth vibrated all the while, and Marin was jostled around on the ground. It was scary, but it was also exhilarating. She didn’t watch as the darkness joined the rest on the ground. She kept her eyes on Brianna. She’d stopped moving, but Marin could still see the feeling in her eyes. Brianna began to split apart, her stars moving further from each other. She smiled down at her one last time before she became one more constellation plastered in the night sky. She was very distinguishable, holding her tool high above her head like that.

Feeling returned to Marin’s limbs right as a loud whooshing sound emitted from the sun, and sunlight, bright and beautiful, hit her with startling force. Marin stood, and stumbled back, immediately blinded by the sight. With her eyes closed, tears fell down her cheeks. Half of them were from the light, the other from the joy blossoming in her heart.

She slowly peeled one eye open, blinking furiously. She opened the other, and then she cried harder. The grass in the park was green, like her mother had told her. Marin had never known what green looked like, or what a color really was. Now she could see endless colors. The leaves on the trees were green, and the trunks were brown. The sky was blue, and the sun… the sun was too bright for her to examine its color. But the light that shone down cast a yellow hue on her surroundings. She didn’t know every color’s name, but she loved each and every one of them.

Ding

Ding 

Ding

It was morning. The first real morning in fifty years.

Marin ran home to tell mother, tears falling down her face the whole way back. A woman of stars uncovered the sun, mother. She would say. I helped her, and I named her after you because she is also strong and brave. 

I named her Brianna.

Why is Trump trying to buy Greenland?

Greenland is of immense strategic value.

It’s the size of Alaska and is mostly an inhospitable belmanage of glaciers. The territory already provides the United States with its Thule Air Base about 750 miles north of Arctic Circle. The airbase was established in the 1950s primarily for an early warning ICMB system.

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With the Arctic continuing to melt, Greenland’s land and sea will open up even further for shipping and mining potential. Greenland possess vast quantities of rare earth metals and minerals used for electronics and wind turbines. These include uranium, gold, platinum, zinc, graphite, titanium, rubies, sapphires and even huge potential reserves of hydrocarbons.

The region is much sought after for strategic, mineral and territorial purposes. America’s potential acquisition of the landmass would solidify its claims in the Arctic against Russia.

Greenland is the largest landmass in the Arctic region. The territory is enormous and sparsely populated with only 56,000 inhabitants. It is currently a glorified colony under the Danish crown with growing calls for independence by its population who are mostly indigenous Americans.

Of course, the territory was only recently settled by humans and indigenous Europeans also have a valid claim over the landmass. Scandinavian forefathers explored the region a thousand years ago and ventured into the Americas before Christopher Columbus.

The land is almost entirely uninhabitable with about 80% of it covered in an ice sheet. Its exposed land is mountainous, barren and hostile to vegetation. There are very few roads connecting the settlements. Think of Greenland as a barren planet with only a handful of humans scattered sporadically across its wastes.

America has long sought to claim Greenland for about one hundred years, but Russia and China have now increased their economic interests in the region. This means the topic of Greenland’s control has become extremely relevant. China describes itself as a near-Arctic state and Russia is militarising the Arctic regions it controls. This militarisation could gravely influence emerging sea lanes such as the Northern Sea Route.

Donald Trump is not the first President to seek Greenland’s acquisition, but he would certainly like to do so for his legacy as a leader who expanded American territory. This is not the only reason, but it likely features prominently.

Greenland’s fate is actually part of a wider problem of European countries with overseas territories. Whilst Denmark’s hold over Greenland partially stems from Viking era connections and more recent activities, many current European territories are hangovers from their colonial era. Britain has many including Gibraltar, bases in Cyprus, Falklands, Diego Garcia and Monserrat.

I think Britain will soon be incapable of even holding onto these territories if they were threatened by military force. I’ve long held the view that the Falkland’s will fall into American control. Britain is no longer a mature military power and its capabilities have been greatly weakened since the 1980s. It doesn’t even have an independent foreign policy.

I foresee a moment when the Falkland islanders demand American protection. Its population will see that Britain cannot adequately defend its independence with such a crippled navy and ingrained apathy. This may be replicated across many of Britain’s territories including the mess of Diego Garcia. This process of territorial transfer of small islands across the world into American hands could happen within the next few decades.

One of the failures of post-colonialism for European powers has been evident by Chinese and Russian expansion into Africa and over regions America controlled like the Panama Canal or Cuba. When one power vacates, another replaces it. I’m not defending colonialism, but merely revealing the geopolitical reality much of the world faces today.

I doubt Denmark would be able to defend Greenland from Chinese or Russian incursion, although the territory does fall under NATO’s wider defence umbrella. Any incursion from these powers into Greenland would immediately incur American acquisition.

I’ve always stated my firm belief that America has not yet concluded its Manifest Destiny. I believe the United States will eventually control all of Mexico and Central America. I also predict America will assume direct control of Israel. This process could take over a century to unfold and will be driven by a whole host of factors.

Two of these factors for the Americas are interconnected. They concern illegal migration and the cartel wars. America may find the only way to crush the cartels is to occupy the territories where they originate. At the same time, America could weaponise its prize of citizenship and slow down the advance of illegal migration by conferring it onto Mexico and Central American nations. Rome engaged in this exact policy.

With increased Mexican-Americans in the United States and its army, there could be popular approval from that very population itself. I expect many Cuban Americans would applaud permanent American intervention in Cuba just as it controls Puerto Rico.

The acquisition of Greenland and the potential to reacquire the Panama Canal is all part of America’s historical destiny which seeks to control the whole North American landmass. Already this destiny was declared with the Monroe Doctrine in 1832, forbidding European and other foreign powers from having any influence over the American landmass.

Denmark is technically going against the spirit of the doctrine by its old colonial presence in Greenland. Whilst this is no fault of its own, it still goes against the desires of a far larger power. America could also use the Monroe Doctrine to sweep up many European islands in the Caribbean.

There are moves afoot amongst regions in the Commonwealth of Nations, formally the British Empire, to have ceremonial independence from the British monarchy, but many of these moves are being influenced by China. America will not tolerate such ambitions.

If Greenland is purchased legally, I hope its peoples benefit. It’s unlikely the purchase will bring any tangible benefit to anyone else except private mining companies. The cost would be immense. Some have floated the figure of $1.5 trillion.

Whilst that money can be printed, it will add inflation and debt to the US economy. It’s important to be realistic about these things. Very few people will visit the territory or see any change in their life unless the mineral extraction was undertaken by nationalised companies. There’s something a bit sad about an uncharted territory being bulldozed for mineral extraction so someone can get an extra private jet or eat Greenlandic caviar.

As a principle, I view American control of overseas territories as more stable than their current European protectors. Perhaps the Greenlandic people are considering this reality just as others in the Falklands and elsewhere should also begin to seriously think about.

I also think it would benefit European nations to hand over these territories to American guardianship because it may finally end their delusions of global influence. This would be of immense benefit for European countries who are facing many terrible domestic crises. Britain still pretends it’s both an empire and global soft superpower along with other meaningless terms. Getting rid of its imperial relics would hopefully make it concentrate on its own serious problems.

Perhaps Denmark should follow suit, providing the Greenlandic people are happy.

The scariest thing I ever had to learn about women

It was in 2012 in NTS.

We were 6 of us then and a 3 day weekend was at our hands. We had just got our stipend a day before but we were not allowed to proceed outside. So, we were confined to the cadet mess and the playgrounds.

So, on a friday evening, me and one more coursemate jumped the wall and walked at least a mile to the nearest liquor shop. Unfortunately, we did not know what to buy so we bought 1 bottle each of whatever we had heard.

1 Old Monk Rum

1 Blenders Pride Whiskey

1 Smirnoff Vodka

1 Mansion House Brandy

6 bottles of beer

We ordered some food from outside and sat in my room. Out of the 6 of us, 2 decided not to drink and just enjoy the show.

After an hour or so of mixing every drink possible, one of us went and slept off. That is all I remember.

I woke up at 1230 hours the next morning. I was sleeping under my bed. My shirt was in the balcony and my shorts were in the bathroom completely wet.

My phone had more than a hundred messages and a lot of missed calls.

“We have a class of astronavigation after lunch, instructor had called in the morning.” he informed me.

I was not in a state to go anywhere but somehow managed to drag myself to the class. 4 of us reeked of alcohol and the instructor laughed looking at our faces.

“I knew you guys would do something silly on Friday, that is exactly why I informed about the class today morning.”

Later that evening, my coursemates showed me videos of me trying to play the guitar and sending videos of me singing to my ex. Hence, all the missed calls and messages.

Moral: Never mix your drinks!

Money can replace anything over time

Sure Saudis cant buy Engine design tech tomorrow with their Oil billions but if they start investing in Universities,latest tech, paying 150–250% pay to researchers to come to Saudi, and send 500–1500 students a year on scholarships – in 20–30 years why not???

How did the Americans do it?

Most of their tech advances in the 60s was due to Germans and German Experts who were lured to US

Even our own people like Subramaniam Chandrasekhar, Har Gobind Khurana went to US to do advanced research.

Why?

Facilities, Opportunities, Infrastructure, Equipment, In Short MONEY

Taiwan “Know How” is already not unique. While TSMC is ahead today in 5 and 7 nm commercial manufacture , Samsung is just one step behind and they both use Dutch Equipment

So the unique know how doesnt exist even today

How can money change things?

You know the theory

You have a prototype

You need a working model. You bring in Engineers and put them on 2,3,5 year projects to develop working models

You can bring in reseachers and buy all the equipment in the world etc.

Whenever there is a demand and there is sufficient capital , there is always progress

So Money plus Demand is more than enough to render and replace Taiwanese Tech

Silent Dusting

Submitted into Contest #282 in response to: Write a story that starts and ends in the same place. view prompt

Robert Russell

“Run: Routine_Cleaning_15b.exe,” a droll but sweet voice said. “Mode: Mobile.” A large rectangular cube in the corner of the supply closet opened, unfolded, and expanded to form an automaton. Cobalt, named after her paint job and the many alloys comprising her structure, saluted reflexively. Despite the lack of superior officers around her, it was a good habit to keep, especially in this type of facility.She ran a swath of diagnostics on herself. Everything seemed in order. Cobalt’s long and lanky corrugated tube arms were functional and working at eighty-four perfect efficiency. After testing her joints and how quickly she could shift between cleaning implements, she unplugged herself from her charging port.Though many saw Cobalt’s design as cumbersome, Ralston-Majors Incorporated believed that a more personable automaton was favorable in the service and medical sectors. She was among the peak of robotics technology. To maintain her esteemed status, she routinely received software and firmware updates via wireless communications from RMI headquarters. She patiently waited with her antenna sprouting from the top of her head. Unfortunately, it’d been a long time since her last update. After about ten minutes, she returned to her cleaning duties.Her left hand opened into a vacuum nozzle, which would feed into the large cylindrical canister on her back — a repurposed airplane engine. She exited the supply closet door and entered the lengthy corridor. If the area weren’t so poorly lit, the pristineness and shininess of the floors would be more apparent. The only sounds echoing down the halls were the clattering from her pointed feet and the whirr of her vacuum components.Cobalt scanned the floors for any debris or grime but only found the odd cobwebs and specks of ash. She followed her cleaning programs to the letter, even when her workload appeared incredibly light. Her usual path took her through the laboratories, offices, meeting rooms, and medical bay. Without anyone in her way, Cobalt could quickly and efficiently complete her tasks — proudly representing RMI to her superiors. Once she finished vacuuming and disinfecting the latrines, she discovered a small but distinct oily black trail along the floor. The thing had returned. Breaking from her usual routine, she followed the trail all the way to mission control.The space was bare except for the lonesome desks and main terminal at the end of the room. The central computer displayed the same message: “Successful.” Since she was forbidden from interfacing with the terminal, Cobalt never understood the message’s meaning. As she rounded the work surfaces, Cobalt eventually cornered the defiler of her precious floors. It was small, approximately one foot tall, and had a roundish blob-like shape. Like its trails, the creature’s body was oily and black with tiny, beady yellow eyes.Cobalt recognized the creature but couldn’t identify it, let alone vocalize it. Everything within her databanks referred to this entity as “Redacted.” Aside from the obfuscating to her memory, Cobalt, without hesitation, vacuumed up the creature. It didn’t take its new cylindrical confinement too kindly, but Cobalt couldn’t care less — she had a new mess to clean now.With her right arm changing into a floor scrubber, she slowly followed the inky trail out of central command and down the lengthy corridor to the elevator. Occasionally, her foreign occupant would thrash about in its confinement, especially the closer they got to the elevator. Cobalt rode the lift, annoyed that the Redacted had discovered a way into the facility. Little nuisances.The elevator had gotten slower and slower since Cobalt was stationed at the base. To combat the long wait, she played some jazz-heavy rock and roll music; she used to do this at the request of soldiers who would often ride with her. She mimicked the rhythmic foot-tapping and little shimmies some officers would unintentionally do. Although some of the more senior brass would admonish the noise, the cadets enjoyed the brief but pleasant morale boost.At the top, the doors sluggishly opened. Immediately, Cobalt was reacquainted with the persistent hum of the upper levels. She trekked into the dark, dilapidated hallway strewn with crumbled concrete and torn insulation. Though much of the concrete structure around the elevator and up to ten feet away was still intact, the rest of the corridor was under threat of collapsing. Solid steel doors sat at the end of the dust-filled path.A little device hastily soldered to her chest had been clicking repeatedly since she booted up, but now, it was one long, continuous beep. A couple hard taps to the meter silenced the device. Cobalt cycled through various hand attachments until she found her identification card, which she swiped through the reader. The pneumatic locks hissed as one of the doors slowly opened. All the humming muffled by the concrete was now deafened by the outside howling winds. 

Despite her internal clock reading that it was midday, there was no sun to greet her as the grayness of everything whipped around her. Cobalt trudged through the knee-high ashen dust. After a precise number of strides along a predetermined path, she arrived at where the supply truck parked.

 

Per her instructions, she was to unload cleaning supplies from the vehicle within a specific time frame. She rotated to see the broken remains of the supply truck, partially buried in the ashes about fifty feet away. No resupply today, either. At least the spot now served as an acceptable location to eject her loathsome passenger.

 

She inflated the canister on her back until it made worrisome, crinkling noises. Cobalt then launched the Redacted into the unforgiving winds, carrying it away and rapidly out of sight. Hopefully, it wouldn’t return.

 

As she turned back toward the facility, she noticed something sticking out of the layer of dust and ash. Cobalt shoveled the gray particulates until she revealed a skull. Further investigation showed that the rest of the skeleton was buried as well. Cobalt emptied the rest of her canister and swapped out her nozzle and identification card for pincer claws. She collected the bones and a few metallic mementos like a watch and a set of keys.

 

As Cobalt returned to the pneumatic doors, she found another trail of ink on the floor leading inside — another mess and a Redacted intruder. She rode the lift down and followed the oily path toward the barracks, readying her vacuum attachment as she opened the door.

 

Silent like all the other rooms, two rows of bunks lined along walls, each with a skeleton tucked under the blankets. Cobalt found the Redacted huddled in the corner, smaller than the previous one, with only two eyes. She was about to start her vacuum until she heard the creature shudder and whimper. It reminded her of the times she would find soldiers hiding or sobbing in empty rooms, away from any prying eyes. She would play some of the same elevator music to help cheer them up, to middling results.

 

She felt compelled to play music now as well. Interestingly, the Redacted started humming along, or at least tried to; The singer of the song was too loud for the creature to mimic. She didn’t feel sympathy per se, but much of her coding involved working with and around living beings. The quietness of the facility made her feel a type of loneliness that her coding couldn’t quite compute.

 

At the very least, this thing seemed harmless except to perfectly innocent floors. Cobalt swapped out her vacuum attachment for her standard hand and scooped the creature up. It took a few moments for the Redacted to settle down, but eventually, it stopped shaking. It still hummed to the music as it slithered up Cobalt’s extended arm and rested on her shoulder. Among the hums were softer noises akin to purring.

 

With the little creature seemingly tamed, Cobalt returned to cleaning the floor before stopping in front of an empty bunk. She assembled the skeleton while her new companion watched from its perch. Once completed, she covered it with a blanket like the others, tucking it in for an eternal slumber. She raised her antenna and signaled to the nearest military post in Morse code: “Disregard missing person report. Stop.” No follow-up message was received.

 

With every room cleaned and no specific requests from her superiors, Cobalt returned to her supply closet. She disinfected her arm before placing the Redacted on a shelf so she could run a check on her supplies and build a requisition list. Once completed and sent out via wireless communication, she looked back at her new companion. It had engulfed an entire plastic container, blinking back at Cobalt. That particular bleach container was empty, so she didn’t mind if it was being… eaten?

 

“Mode: Storage,” Cobalt said as she plugged herself into the wall and then contorted back into her small, more compact form. After dissolving the bleach container and growing slightly bigger, the Redacted slithered onto the top of Cobalt’s rectangular form, waiting for it to eventually wake up again. “Terminate: Routine_Cleaning_15b.exe”

Comix

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TikTok Ban Backfires: Chinese App XiaoHongshu is America’s Surprising TikTok Replacement

Rav ‘n’ Ravioli

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dfec22fc7c1aae5c282645ad061915bf

Ingredients

  • 1 medium green bell pepper, chopped
  • 1/2 onion, chopped
  • 1 teaspoon olive oil
  • 1 garlic clove, pressed or chopped fine
  • 1 (26 to 28 ounce) jar spaghetti sauce
  • 2 (9 ounce) packages refrigerated ravioli (any filling)
  • 1 1/4 cups water
  • 12 French bread baguette slices (4 ounces)
  • 1/4 cup butter or margarine, melted
  • 4 ounces mozzarella cheese, shredded (1 cup)
  • 1 ounce fresh Parmesan cheese, grated (about 1/4 cup)

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 400 degrees F.
  2. In a 4 quart casserole, heat olive oil over medium heat; add bell pepper and onion and garlic. Cook 2 to 3 minutes or until veggies are tender. Stir in spaghetti sauce, ravioli and water. Bring to boil.
  3. Meanwhile, if not using baguettes, cut a loaf of French bread into 12 slices 1/2 inch thick. Place butter in casserole, microwave for 1 minute on HIGH or until melted. Add bread slices, toss to coat evenly.
  4. Spoon 1/2 of the ravioli mixture into the casserole dish, top with mozzarella cheese, and the remaining ravioli mixture.
  5. Arrange the bread slices, slightly overlapping around the edges and press lightly into the ravioli mixture. Sprinkle the parmesan cheese over the top and bake uncovered, until ravioli is heated through and bread is crisp.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Check this out. Important intel.

Los Angeles Mayor SKEWERED By Reporter at Airport over LA Fires

Los Angeles Mayor SKEWERED By Reporter at Airport over LA Fires
LA=Mayor Karen Bass large
LA=Mayor Karen Bass large

Sky News (British) Reporter David Blevins happened to be on a Flight to Los Angeles when he ran into Mayor Karen Bass who was returning from her trip to Ghana while Los Angeles burned from Wildfires.  He utterly skewered her with simple, direct questions, The Mayor stood completely silent, unable to answer ANY of them!

Watch the brief 2:41 video and be amazed that the Mayor’s mind apparently could not generate an original thought or even cause a change in facial expression:

 

 

Apparently, Mayor Karen Bass is what is commonly referred to as an “NPC” – a Non-Playable-Character.

It’s a term from video games which describes an aspect of the game wherein the player encounters a thing that cannot be interacted with, cannot be reasoned with, cannot think.  Instead, the thing merely does whatever it’s program tells it to do.

Mayor Bass apparently had no programming to answer the Reporter’s questions.   Whoever wrote or controls her mental program, apparently didn’t provide enough processing power for Bass to answer impromptu questions or even change her facial expression.  Since she had no pre-written/programmed script, she seemed unable to interact or respond.

How is it the Mayor couldn’t say something like: “I’ve just gotten back and have to be briefed on the situation, I will speak with the Press later today.”  or “My heart is broken over what’s happening, I feel so terrible and will be helping as much as I can now that I’m back.”

Instead, the Mayor said .. . . NOTHING.

Apparently, her little mind could not cope with being asked questions that she had not been programmed to respond to.  In fact, her mind seemed unable to even change her facial expression!   (Apparently not a lot of processing power in this NPC.)

How did Voters in Los Angeles choose this . . . thing . . . to be Mayor?  Or are the Voters in Los Angeles as empty headed as their Mayor seemed to be?  That would explain a lot.

For instance, it might explain how Mayor Bass CUT the budget of the Los Angeles Fire Department by a reported $17.9 MILLION just this past September!

It may also explain how Los Angeles and specifically Pacific Palisades, situated literally on the coastline of the Pacific Ocean, found themselves running out of water.   How do you run out of water for fire fighting when you’ve got the largest Ocean on earth 200 feet away?

No Diesel-powered pumps to draft water from the sea?   The typical fire engine can pump about 1500 gallons per minute.  Below, a single diesel pump that can pump six thousand gallons per minute; can supply FOUR separate fire engines:

 

Link to Fire Pump HERE

mobile pump unit 6000
mobile pump unit 6000

It is said that people get the government they vote for.  Congratulations Los Angeles Voters, you did a bang-up job electing this thing as Mayor.

CELEBRITY HOMES BURN TO THE GROUND

Hollywood’s biggest celebrities are picking up the pieces after discovering their affluent neighborhood was reduced to ash and rubble when the California wildfires tore though Pacific Palisades.

The death toll of the historic infernos have now reached five, as heroic firefighters still battle hellish conditions on the front lines of at least five different fires.

The homes of Anthony Hopkins, John Goodman and Miles Teller among those destroyed, while dozens of other Hollywood movie and TV stars now face an anxious wait alongside their neighbors to learn if anything could be saved.

Apocalyptic fire tore through the ritzy enclave of Pacific Palisades on Tuesday, rapidly spreading to surrounding suburbs as a windstorm carried embers and debris in all directions.

Residents fled and then waited with bated breath to learn more about their homes, as news began trickling out that entire streets had been wiped off the map, firefighters were running out of water, and resources were being diverted to fight the fire on multiple fronts.

Now, the widespread devastation is becoming clearer as celebrities share their devastation upon discovering they’ve lost their MULTI-million-dollar mansions.

Pretty Simple

De Minimis Rule :-

Chinese ship most of their low cost goods in terms of packages of $ 799 each to avoid Tariffs.

This is because in the US – Imports <= $ 800 are waived from any Tariffs or Duties

If you import 1000 units of a product costing the importer $ 70, you pay $ 70,000 plus $ 850 Shipping and Insurance plus $ 14,000 Tariff

Total Cost = $ 84,850

Instead if the Exporter sends you 10 Shipments of 100 Units

You pay $ 70,000 + ($ 550*10) = $ 75,500

So your per Unit Cost rises from $ 70.85 to $ 75.50

Since you sell the product for $ 109.99 retail, you can absorb the extra $ 4.65 rise in cost

Final Assembly & Finish

Chinese ship 90% finished products to Mexico and Vietnam to their owned factories in these countries

They assemble the last 10% in these factories

They ship the MADE IN MEXICO Or MADE IN VIETNAM goods to USA

China ships many Drones and Drone parts to India under the same procedure

Final assembly is done in Malaysia and exported to India

Re-Sellers market

China purchases most of their Advanced Chips from Re sellers in Australia and Singapore who buy and sell with a 30% profit margin

Buy for $ 45,000 and sell for $ 60,000 and make a clear $ 15,000 Profit for an A100 80GB HBM2e model

Unlike the F-16, there are no inspections NVDIA makes

You can order 8 and re sell 4 to China and nobody cares

Only thing is Service Warranty and AMC is not available but that can be handled by the Chinese


So how did the Trade Deficit reduce?

Simple China nearshored to Mexico

So now Mexico has the equivalent Trade Deficit with USA

Mexico has a $ 131 Billion surplus with USA while China has a $ 84.3 Billion surplus with Mexico

Of this nearly $ 50 Billion is with products ending up in the US

So the deficit hasn’t gone anywhere

It’s just moved to Mexico and Vietnam

The stuff (belongings) ah, it comes and it goes. Don’t get too attached.

It completely changes the tone of interacting with them.

Pulled over. Side of the road. He walks up, I already have the windows down. It’s storming.

Me: Before we even get started, I just want to point out my hands are on the steering wheel and I’m not reaching for anything. I’m wearing a handgun and there’s a cased rifle in the back seat. How do you want to proceed?

He glanced at the rifle case, returned his attention to me.

Him: Just leave it holstered. Your trailer lights are out. As loaded as you are, i couldn’t even see you from directly behind you. Can i have your drivers license and proof of insurance?

Me: It’s in the console. I’ll get it out. (Hands it to him)

Me: While you’re running that, do you mind if i get out and check the trailer? Lights were working when I left Colorado Springs.

Him: No. Go ahead.

Unplugging the cable and plugging it back in fixed the lights. I got back in. He walked back. Handed me the documents back.

Him: I see your fixed them. Be safe.

Me: Thanks for stopping me. Far preferable to being hit. Have a good evening.

And that was it. How different would it have been for you?

It was the best thing ever, and I didn’t even do it on purpose.

I was running my shift, when I started hearing some talking on the drive thru speaker. It was faint, so I couldn’t hear what they were saying. I peeked outside to see if there was a car at the order box. Nope. Checked all the headsets to see if one was on and “open”. Another nope. It’s quiet again, so I think nothing of it and go on about my work.

About 10 minutes later, a male voice comes booming through the speaker, using very coarse language and making sexual comments. He’s loud enough to be heard in the dining room, where our Sunday after-church crowd is lunching. I immediately call an apology out into the now-silent dining room, and promise to take care of it as quickly as possible. I spoke over the headset, asking the man to please stop cursing, as this is a family friendly establishment, and was there something I could help him with.

This was met with laughter and more profanity. Looking out the window I saw them, parked in a pickup truck, CB in hand. They’d somehow used it to get into our drive thru intercom! I speak one more time, asking them to leave or the police will be called. More laughter, more obscenities. I call the police.

A patrol car arrives, and parks directly next to their truck (I’d given the police a description and plate number in case they left before police arrived). The men hand over their IDs, and the officer gets back in his car, moves it in front of their truck to block them in while he runs the IDs. He gets out, and the driver gets out. The officer pats him down, has him empty his pockets.

Another cruiser arrives as the first officer handcuffs the driver and puts him in his car! The second officer approaches the passenger and does the same! While officer #2 stayed outside with the cars, officer #1 came inside to inform me that both men were being arrested on unrelated warrants, and would also be facing charges of disturbing the peace! The dining room, which had gone silent again when the officer came inside, broke out in cheers and applause!

Yada Yada Yada

Sheech! If you don’t want to be married… Don’t do it.

Idiot!

I was with the First Cavalry in 1968–69 up on the Cambodian border north of Tay Ninh. We mostly ambushed while looking for large NVA bunker complexes. We did a lot of combat assaults and at one point were out for almost 90 days without coming in to one of our forward landing zones for a “stand down”!

we moved to a new ambush site almost every day and got into an ambush and at night, we would set up on a path and ambush them back.

We had contact twice a day.

We took killed and wounded but nowhere near what the NVA (North Vietnamese Army) would take.

We were dirty, smelled from not bathing, had fatigues that in some cases were torn into rags with our “rumps” hanging out! Our resupply, many times was “ kick out” because the chopper could not land.! The chopper flew low and fast over where we popped a smoke grenade and kicked supplies out the door trying to hit the smoke through triple canopy jungle! First came ammo and parts (radio batteries etc), then came C Rations and if the chopper was not raking too much fire from the bad guys, we got water kicked out!

If no water kick out, we had to find a stream or usually an old bomb crater that had “thick liquid” we could scrape away to find something drinkable.

Presweetened Koolaid helped with the taste. This was in areas heavily sprayed with Agent Orange! I bet most of us got cancers!

Finally, we would get word we were going in to a Firebase for a few days(usually three). We could bathe, get mail and packages from home, change out of the dirty torn uniforms, get hot meals and become HUMAN again.

I swear, there were times we looked so bad we scared our own people! No one messed with us! We had nothing to lose!

Then, load up (70+ pounds) and up on a chopper for another combat assault into the unknown where we knew nothing about the size of the unit we were looking for.

photo is me in an NVA bunker complex. My knee is next to the slit he fired at us from. Bamboo is chopped from bullets going through! Roof was reinforced with bamboo and dirt was like concrete!

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main qimg ca940599d626cd657ea62404c81e29fc

Asteroid Mining

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

Ralph Straub

It’s always difficult to decide which asteroid to Harvest. Too much iron or ice and it’s worth less than one with some specific metals that are needed. I have been able to scan the common asteroids and register heavier elements. I Explored this cluster of rocks for a while, scanning, and the elements that are now coming up that don’t make sense. I want to find out more, but it’s a bit crowded for my ship to get in close.My ship is a typical Asteroid harvester. It’s big and round, like a giant basketball with clamps and directional thrusters around the equator. It’s been my home for almost 3 years. It allows me to grab a rock much bigger than itself and carry it to a launch point. Then one of the big market transport companies grabs it and sends it in-system to the breaker factories to disassemble the profitable parts and use them to build more things on the moons of Earth, Mars, Saturn or the many space stations that now litter the solar system.They say everything breaks down into simple repetitive tasks when you work. Boring travel from asteroid to asteroid just to find your “Motherlode” can take weeks. It’s really lonely. Just to travel between asteroid clusters is time consuming. It used to be thought that automated collectors could just grab the asteroids and bring them where the elements were needed. It worked, but the quality and discernment of human judgement and observation was better. If you just wanted ice or iron, send out the robots. If you want rare earths and trace minerals or even crystals that you can’t believe even exist, you need human beings. There are quite a few of us out here.With any luck you hit the “big one” and it gets you your retirement fund when it cashes in. I’ve been looking and so far, I break even at best. No gold or platinum. Maybe some beryllium, Neodymium, Indium and trace minerals. I guess I’m going to have to take a closer look at this cluster up front and in person with a handheld scanner and my old friend, the rock pick. You be surprised to see how similar this kind of mining is to the old gold rush days a few centuries ago. there’s even claim jumpers if, you can believe itYes, there are pirates of a sort that are too lazy to hunt for their own treasures and will just as soon take yours and your ship while they leave you to float in space. Mostly, it’s boring single miners or pairs that can stand each other for long periods of time hoping to cash in on that Motherlode.I guess this means I’ll need to leave the ship and go out into space to tap on one rock at a time. This is not as difficult as it sounds thanks to the modern jet pack. Miniature ion engines that slowly take you from rock to rock while you calculate the return on each one so you can pick the best one to go back with you. If you find a rich enough cluster, you can register the location in the central processing office and stake a claim. Then you can go back and pick the cluster dry if it will bring you a profit.I programmed the ship to stay in one place and I started to get into my space suit. Then I made sure the thruster pack was fully charged as well as loading the oxygen I’d need. I can make my own fuel and oxygen out here by finding an icy asteroid. My ship can break down ice into hydrogen fuel and oxygen. Any trace minerals just get sorted into useful additions to the hydroponics and algae tanks for food and biologic waste conversion. It’s where the nutrition processing takes place. The algae cultures are grown with the right balance of nutrients to keep you at peak health. Add flavor packets, dehydrate some of it, press it into “steaks” or mock poultry and you sometimes forget its all processed. The food manufacturers on Earth learned how to process just about anything way back in the 1950’s. Now we have machines that do it in every ship. It saved millions of lives during the global warming crisis. We don’t waste any waste out here or back on the home planet.I left the ship and started looking for the crazy readings I had in the ship scanners and began to weave through the mess of rocks. There! That way! I was acting like a bloodhound on the scent when I landed on one of the bigger asteroids in the cluster. The slightest extra push will send me flying into space, so I moved very slowly and carefully using a slight downward thrust to keep me grounded. Waving my scanner to get a better sense of direction. It seemed to be just under the dust ahead.There is very little gravity on these rocks, so, my movements forward were slow and precise. Then I was standing on some irregular shaped pieces of strange metal and started to move away from the sharpest ones. Oh, yes, this was a find. Rare earths, interesting composites that were probably made in a sun hundreds of light years away or even in the aftermath of a supernova. 

It took time and a lot of hard work, but I finally Isolated the find and strapped it to my ship. It was a lot bigger than I originally thought. It was more than one piece, and I had difficulty trying to figure out what to do with the organic compounds I found, so I put them in with the recyclers. The algae seemed to love them. The food they produced seemed to add extra energy to my step and somehow my mind was sharper than ever.

 

No one is going to believe the variety and mixtures of the elements I found. I don’t even quite believe it. It’s not every day you find an alien ship crash site and collect the technology that might just get humans to other star systems and galaxies. These engines I collected are really something. The power source was gone, but one of them lit right up when I tapped into the cold fusion plant. I’m definitely going to be rich on this find.

Question: What is China’s current fighter jet production capacity across all facilities?

Answer:

That’s a complicated question.

First of all, there is not really any official announcement regarding to the matter. Any number you see online is strictly guesswork, thus can be quite far from reality.

Second, capacity and actual production are two entirely different thing. Considering the Chinese military budget is a tiny 1.7% of GDP and it has 45% of the planet’s industry’s capacity, it is quite safe to say the Chinese are not at all running anywhere near full capacity.

Third, specific technology-wise, it is theorized that the most advanced Chinese fighters (such as J-20) were not really produced in full force due to the Chinese engine development program is still ongoing (this changed in 2024, since WS-15 is now officially in service).

With all these in mind, it is estimated at least 100 J-20 has been delivered to PLAAF in the year of 2023.

So we are probably looking at between 100~150 J-20 to PLAAF per year, similar number of J-16 and a smaller number of J-15. Part of the J-15 capacity is probably going to be swapped to J-35 once the testing phase are done.

No, about 300~400 fighters per year is not at all small. Because modern fighter generally has a lifespan at least 20~30 years, which means you would are looking at a fleet of 6000~12000 modern fighters.

Just for comparison purpose, the USAF has approximately 5,500 combat aircraft right now. USSR air force, at its height, has about 10,000 combat aircraft.

Of course, there is a bit more details into the whole estimation work, such as currently we do have a mix of fifth generation and fourth generation mostly due to fifth generation fighters are not designed to entirely replace the fourth generation (most due to stealth requirement limiting the fighter size and functionality), so you got concurrent production of both generations.

This may change when the six generation aircraft comes along, which, in theory, is supposed to completely replace fifth and fourth generation fighter.

Again, everything here is guess work.

And to nip one thing in the bud, it is not at all strange that China, have far bigger industry capacity than either US or USSR at their respective heights, would have a comparable and slightly bigger air force size. Yes, it does hurt many people’s ego and feelings, but logically, nations with stronger industry and economy have better equipment is nothing surprising.

Scott Ritter : Does the West Understand just how bad they’ve been beaten?

I am Chinese, I will answer this question with my own experience in India.

Around 2017-2018, China’s internet industry was still booming, and India was considered a vast untapped market by many Chinese internet companies. At that time, not only internet companies but also many VC funds and startups went to India to seek opportunities. My job was to work as a consultant, providing advisory services to these Indian companies to help them better connect with Chinese investors.

Things changed dramatically in 2020 when India banned TikTok and all Chinese apps. This incident served as a warning to Chinese enterprises, and no one was interested in discussing investment opportunities in India anymore. At the same time, India canceled all visas for Chinese citizens, and no Chinese nationals were allowed to enter India, including Chinese students. Chinese people in India were also required to leave immediately. Indian visas have not been restored to their previous level, but no one seems to care anymore.

The Chinese company that invested the most in India is Xiaomi, but how has India treated Xiaomi? They required Xiaomi to hire Indian executives, demanded that Xiaomi transfer its technology to India, and did not allow Xiaomi to repatriate its profits. They used various means to fine Xiaomi, even if the legal basis for those fines was established later. Xiaomi’s experience has become a joke in China, with everyone mocking Xiaomi’s foolish strategy. They didn’t make money in India and were slaughtered by the Indian government. The experiences of Xiaomi and TikTok in India are not isolated cases.

Another well-known case among all Chinese people in India is that Anil Ambani owes three Chinese banks $717 million in unpaid loans. From our own real experience, our Indian clients first asked for discounts on the payments they owed, then requested installment payments, and as a result, the payment never happen after several years. We have since abandoned all business in India. Once, local government officials in China asked us about investment opportunities in India, and we explicitly told them not to do it, as India is a trap.

Dangerous Travel: Safety When Traveling The United States?

MM AI artwork

This time I am experimenting with Ancient Greek, and Roman scenes.

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A fight for light

Submitted into Contest #282 in response to: Write a story set in a world of darkness where light is suddenly discovered. view prompt

Anirudh Raja

 ‘Log 21. Recorded on Janeri Prime, 421 A.S. My team of 10 miners, an ophthalmologist, a geochemist, and an experimental physicist is continuing scientific research into the myths of a fifth sense called “solem convenire cum suelen” in an ancient language of humans called latin, it translates to “The sun meets the ground” otherwise known as vision, we Aetherians have developed improved senses in the absence of light that somewhat compensate for vision. The only source of light in this world that is remaining are the rare occurrences of lightning strikes, as all species of this world have evolved from bioluminescence. Our expeditions have taken us nowhere. The allegations of helio-archaeologists being fanatics in pursuit of a quixotic dream are further proven right. We have excavated this place to the center, and no progress has been made. We are continuing to undergo this mining mission in Endo-novia, called Indonesia in the old world, the place that was theorised to have experienced the strongest ray of sunlight along the equator in the last seconds before the supernova. Mission specialist, Dr. Tavian Solen, geoarchaeologist signing out. Hail Lord Magnus Atris of Ja-Katris.’The scientist gently slipped the digital recorder back into his pocket, and then resumed bellowing at the exhausted miners to work till their last breath.The mine was atrociously repulsive. Every centimeter was as wet as a sponge. It was like being in the mouth of a Narwhale scientifically dubbed “Cetacius Monoceros”, the convergent evolution of the prehistoric Narwhal and Whale, with every corner riddled with a naked-mole bat, otherwise known as the “Heterocephalus petra”.‘Take a break, we won’t get any work done like this’ conceded Dr.TavianSuddenly a streak of divine substance bolted from one corner of the cave, elucidating the whole place, opening them to another sense. The ephemeral flash departed as abruptly as it emerged, just like a thunderbolt. The whole team stood absolutely shellshocked for a second, and then-‘My eyes’ a miner cried‘They’re burning, get water’One of the other miners promptly scooped a bucket of water from a nearby stream in the cave.‘What just happened?’ asked Dr. Tavian‘Sir, could you take a look at this once?’ asked another miner

 

‘I think I found a stone’

 

Dr. Tavian approached the miner and then examined the stone with his eyes, it possessed a shade of mustard yellow, and a dirty brown.

 

‘Everybody block your eyes’

 

He gently tapped the stone, and then the same streak appeared, emanating from the now blistering orange-ish red stone.

 

‘I dub this Luxium’

 

‘How do we mine it if our eyes burn, everytime its touched’ asked a miner

 

‘Any thoughts?’ asked Dr. Tavian to his team of scientists

 

‘We could excavate the whole rock around it’ said the geochemist, Darius Gale

 

‘That’s too much load, considering that there may be more behind this single vein.’ said Dr. Tavian

 

‘We could re-engineer the mining goggles to block the light out’ said the ophthalmologist, Lucan Viridus

 

‘Do we have the resources to do it?’ asked Dr. Tavian

 

‘We can make the lens using the quartz that we found earlier, and then suspend the stone in midair in one of the pressurised chambers that we got, so it does not activate’ said the experimental physicist, Eris Solen

 

‘You came up with the best idea, daughter. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Luke bring out your thing.’ said Dr Tavian

 

‘That thing is capable of any precise mechanical function, and has a name. Molder’

 

‘Yeah sure. Molder’ said Dr. Tavian

 

Lucan whipped out an ingenious piece of machinery from his supply bag. The device opened up like a chest. Lucan placed the quartz in the chest, and then typed “concave lens : 8 cm radius” into a module. He closed the chest for five minutes then the lens was ready like food in a microwave, once he opened it.

 

‘This should be able to block most of the light when extracting the stone, once you extract it drop it in this pressurised chamber. Here, Linus.’ said Lucan, while handing it to one of the miners.

 

Everybody closed their eyes and Linus began his extraction of the stone. After attaining it, he dropped it in the chamber, and watched as it returned to its deactivated state in the midair

 

‘Here it is’ said Linus, holding it up like a trophy.

 

‘The fruit of our labor’

 

Linus then passed the container around for a while, the stone let out just a sliver of light, enough to see, due to the pressure from all sides of the box.

 

THUMP A boulder suddenly fell, enough to tip the fragile support that the cave stood on. The boulder blocked the way they came from. The ceiling and ground started to shake rapidly, as water flooded the surroundings of the cave from a crack that the boulder made in the wall.

‘There’s an opening in the roo-’ said a miner before getting squashed by the unpredictably moving boulder.

 

The water began to rise at a concerning rate while the team was still trying to figure out what to make of the situation.

 

‘Everybody be calm’ said Dariuus

 

‘We can all make it out, first get the stone out. Linus, get it to safety. Use the hooked rope to climb out’ said Lucan while pointing at the hole that the late miner revealed.

 

Linus made it out with the stone tightly clenched in his right arm. He then lent his hand out to the next survivor.

 

‘Father, you next’ said Eris

 

‘No, you three are the most important. Get out now!’ said Dr. Tavian

 

Darius readying up to ascend the rope next, he grasped it and started pulling at it.

 

‘You dropped your comms’ said Lucan.

 

‘Forget it, just get up’ said Darius.

 

‘Eris go’ said Lucan.

 

While Eris was making her way up, Lucan swam to the comms and tucked it in his zipped pocket.

 

‘Luke, now’ said Darius

 

Lucan was the next to make it up.

 

All three of them made it to safety with all of their supplies but then the boulder started accelerating, and started to thicken and elevate the water, increasing the pressure. The now floating miners began to scramble, all trying to climb the rope at the same time. Dr. Tavian was ahead of them on the rope, and reached his hand out.

 

‘Here father’ said Eris

 

‘I’m almost there’ said Dr. Tavian while grasping his daughter’s hand and then SQUELCH. The boulder successfully descended the cave, and massacred the doctor, and the rest of its miners on its way. His only daughter was left with only his hand as a reminder of him.

 

‘Dad’ cried Eris.

 

‘I doubt that he died with any regrets, having left his legacy with you’ said Lucan

 

‘He was an innate leader’ said Linus

 

Everybody took a moment to honor the lost. The pause lasted for five minutes until Darius broke the silence.

 

‘We have to make a move, they will be expecting us some time soon. The hand, leave it or keep it but I don’t want to see it’ said Darius

 

‘Back off, she just lost her father. We’ll start when she’s ready’ said Lucan

 

‘It’s alright. I’m ready Luke’ said Eris

 

‘I can smell fresh air, somewhere from here.’ said Darius

 

‘We move there’ said Darius while pointing to the creek that shone upwards towards the left.

 

The group tediously hiked their way up to the creek, and steadily made their way to the surface, surviving on the scarce rations of food

 

‘We’re finally here’ said Lucan

 

‘Send a message to the Lord’s office, Luke’ said Darius

 

‘There is no service, I can’t establish a connection between the city and my comms’ said Lucan

 

‘We can ask that bystander.’ said Eris while pointing at a single person on a tractor in the empty farmland that they appeared in.

 

Eris started waving and edging towards him, causing the others to follow along, until she finally approached.

 

‘Sir, how far are we from Ja-Katris?’ asked Eris.

 

‘It should be right across a mushroom forest that should appear about 60 flicks from here. For the right price, I can take you there.’ said the bystander.

 

‘Melargee forest?’ asked Darius.

 

‘Yeah’ said the bystander

 

‘How much do we have?’ asked Darius to Lucan

 

‘We have about 100 credits’ said Lucan. ‘How much do you cost?’.

 

‘100 credits exactly’ said the bystander.

 

‘Just give it, we don’t have enough time to negotiate.’ said Darius to Lucan

 

The bystander drove them up to the forest.

‘I’m pretty sure that there is better service here’ said the bystander

 

‘How? Its a forest, where would you find cell towers’ said Lucan

 

‘It seems that the mushrooms have some weird constantly vibrating frequency, and before you go, here’s some food to last you through, I can’t let a hungry man go on an empty stomach’ said the bystander before retreating back to his farmland.

 

The bystander handed them a basket of apples.

 

‘Thank you for your hospitality.’ said Eris.

 

The four troopers then edged their way into the heart of the forest to set up camp there.

 

‘What’s in the box he gave us?’ asked Linus ‘We haven’t eaten anything since the cave.’

 

‘We have a few apples, and some melons.’ said Eris.

 

‘Guys, our comms are finally back online.’ said Lucan ‘Darius, why do you have a message from Lord Atris?’

 

‘I thought I lost my comms in the cave. Just give me-’ said Darius restlessly while running towards Lucan.

 

The recording sent to Darius initiated.

 

‘Congratulations Darius, you eliminated the team. Return back with the Luxium and claim your prize back at the palace. Their markers have been erased. The rest of the surviving scientists must not know that I wish to use the stone as a weapon to turn my temporary reign into a permanent one. They are still needed to refine the Luxium to its true potential. Keep up the charade and come back immediately, Lord Magnus Atris signing out.’.

 

Darius nervously froze. His plan didn’t pan out the way that he wanted.

 

‘It’s not what you think.’ said Darius.

 

‘Then what is it?’ said Lucan.

 

‘It’s just, he said-’ struggled Darius while picking up one of the fiery logs from the bonfire. Darius then started swinging the fiery log in Lucan’s direction but then SWISH.

 

Linus impaled Darius with the hook before he was able to make the move.

 

‘What just happened?’ said Eris.

 

‘Linus’s survival instincts kicked in, that’s what.’ said Lucan.

 

‘I had a feeling about that guy from the start. He was pretty unnerving.’ said Linus.

 

‘What do we do about the Luxium now?’ asked Lucan.

 

‘We can’t just disappear off the grid with it. Magnus would find us with such a big infantry.’ said Eris.

 

‘He’ll also probably know about Darius’s death by now, considering the fact that he placed unknown markers in all of us.’ said Lucan.

 

‘We could expose him.” said Linus.

 

‘The message was a one-time audio’ said Lucan.

 

The remainder of the team spent all night devising the perfect plan to expose the true plans of Lord Magnus Atris to the public of Ja-Katris.

 

At the dawn of the cycle, they started making their way to the borders of Ja-Katris, and by noon they had reached. The team assumed a position of stealth to gauge the surroundings, hiding behind one of the large mushrooms between Melargee forest and Ja-Katris.

 

‘Do we go now?’ asked Eris.

 

‘Alright.’ said Lucan.

 

The three then surrendered themselves in handcuffs to the authorities. The personal guard of Magnus Atris then took them to a secluded royal room, with Magnus Atris awaiting them.

 

‘I didn’t expect you guys to turn yourselves in that easily. Seems like you chickened out. Boys check ‘em.’ said Magnus

 

‘This won’t end well for you.’ said Lucan.

 

‘Oh also, do you want to know how Darius caused the boulder, over the expedition, he placed timed bombs eventually causing the cave to be waterlogged, and a boulder to fall out of one of the holes he had made. I actually came up with the idea. It’s amazing. Isn’t it?’ said Magnus

 

‘You’re diabolical.’ said Linus.

 

‘Well, you aren’t supposed to be alive, but I’ll let you live for a little while’ said Magnus

 

The soldiers entirely stripped the heroes of their supplies, and switched all their active devices off.

 

‘Did you find the stone?’ asked Magnus

 

‘This one?’ asked a soldier, holding up the pressurised chamber.

 

‘Yes. This one. Ohh, it’s beautiful.’ said Magnus while releasing it from the chamber. Magnus held it in his hand like a trophy in its blinding glory for just a second due to his eyes beginning to cry like a waterfall. He immediately dropped it back in the chamber

 

‘Do you even feel any remorse after killing your own people?’

 

‘No, of course not. If that pest, Tavian had lived, he would have wanted it to be used for the betterment of society.’ said Magnus

 

‘What are you gonna use it for now?’ asked Lucan

 

‘I thought you heard the recording. Nevermind, let me repeat. I’m going to use it to make the whole of Ja-Katris bend to my will under the threat of being vaporised by the Luxium at a high concentration. Basically blackmail the citizens. I deserve this after suffering as a leader in a democracy. What use is power if not to be corrupted.’ said Magnus

 

‘To be responsible, to be truthful to the people who placed it on you, such as the rest of the team.’ said Eris.

 

‘How is that useful to me?’ said Magnus rhetorically

 

‘You’re done.’ said Lucan.

 

‘You’ve got a lot of nerve, you know-’

 

‘Shut up.’ said Lucan ‘Can you hear the rumbling outside? Those are the people of Ja-Katris. Every word you said here was heard on every radio in this city.

 

‘Someone, get a radio.’ said Magnus

 

One of the soldiers handed him a radio from a nearby room

 

‘Put it on the main channel’ said Lucan

 

Magnus turned it on and the radio echoed ‘Put it on the main channel’.

 

‘How?’ asked Magnus in despair.

 

‘We implanted the comms device in the Luxium’

 

‘You can barely look at it. How is that possible?’

 

‘The molder. You give it any instruction for a precise mechanical function, and it does it’ said Lucan

 

‘The what?’ asked Magnus.

 

‘An ingenious piece of machi-. You know what, forget it.’ said Lucan

 

The doors finally cracked open, and the whole room could hear the raging crowd downstairs.

 

‘Go meet them’ said Eris

If today, you are given a poor country to run with approximately 1.89 million mouths to feed and its means of living depending on the port operation for loading and unloading, trading, fishing, small businesses and manufacturing of textiles which are the sources of income… How far can you see the future of such a country?

1 year? 3 years or 5 years to be buried 20,000 ft in the ocean.

That sounded like Singapore in 1965 when it was left to do or die and with a little help with water and day-to-day commodities from the big bad brother- Malaysia.

How did Singapore develop so much so quickly from the poor 3rd world to the rich 1st world?

That is a grandmother’s old story everyone already knows.

Here’s a factoid that may be surprising to some.

The Korean war, a 20th century conflict fought in the early 1950s, is still an active conflict today, in the 21st century.

Why do I say that?

Remember this shot that made waves around the world?

Donald stepped into North Korea at Panmunjom with Kim, following the historic signing of the Panmunjom Declaration between the Koreas, committing to bring an end to the Korea War.

It is the year 2025. There is still no peace treaty, and the fragile calm of the peninsula is still being held together by the 1953 armistice.

The 3rd generation of the Kim leadership is still resisting, saying no to America when it imposes unilateral terms on the North.


It is the same with china. We are confronting the tariffs you are imposing on us. We are rejecting them permanently, and we will push back until either you give up, or one of us falls.

In other words, no means no. A unilateral tariff regime that tears up the heart of the WTO’s MFN formulation must not be wielded as a negotiation tactic. The Chinese learned from the Phase One trade deal, which brought nothing but grief. China is the number one problem for america today, a challenger that must be taken down, by hook or crook.

Beijing’s calculus is “can we make a deal to bring some respite”? And the answer is no, with bipartisan support for a full court press against the full spectrum of Chinese interests. The Americans will not stop until they either break up china, or obtain guarantees that will keep it down longterm, a la Bretton Woods and the Plaza Accords.

Beijing decided fine. Since a confrontation is unavoidable, let’s make a stand here. There is enough water under the bridge for the Chinese public to understand and support the decision. Besides, the chip ban shock, asset bubble contraction and covid were far harsher tests, and the Chinese overcame the challenges with steely discipline and ingenuity.

China wants america to stop the nonsense and come to the table as a fellow member of the WTO.

In other words, a normal trade negotiation between normal countries.

But if america insists on being special, it will be treated specially, in the only language it understands.

Pepe Escobar : I’m gonna MAGA you, baby!

This,

Image source: Web/Google

In 2015, one day a school boy named Amit was going to school. On the way he was hit by a car. Amit was bleeding, he needed immediate medical help but that car driver didn’t even stop and he didn’t feel to take Amit to nearby hospital. Amit was lying on the road, some people came and took him to a hospital but unfortunately he died. Amit’s dad Jitendra ji came to see his son and he was shocked to know about his little child is no more. Amit’s mom was in deep grief. In just a moment a happy family was shattered.

Image source: Web/Google

Jitendra ji filed a complaint but the police didn’t investigate. They even closed the case without informing Jitendra ji. This was ridiculous!

Jitendra ji and his wife just wanted to know his son’s killer. They wanted to question that man why he left Amit alone to die, he could have been saved if he was taken to hospital on time. They just wanted a Sorry. Was that so difficult??

Jitendra ji decided he will find that man who killed his beloved son. On the accident spot, he found a broken rear mirror and a broken car number plate. Car number was not full, but on the mirror there was a number. He asked from the local service centre but every time he got dissappointment. One day with hell lot of efforts a mechanic told him that this mirror is of a Maruti Car. Jitendra ji went to the manufacturing unit of the Maruti cars. He told his story and there people helped him. With the mirror number he managed to find the car registration number and with registration number he found the car owner’s name – Gyan Chand. It took 8 years for Jitendra ji to find the real culprit.

He went to police again with all the proofs and now again police disappointed him by not filing the complaint. He then moved to court and here also he didn’t get justice, his plea was rejected not just once but 4 times repeatedly. In Jan 2023, he again appealed to court for the 5th time. This time court accepted his request and asked the police to re-open the case but till now no arrest has been made.

Jitendra ji fought 8 years to find all the evidence and the person who killed his son. He is still fighting for the justice and he has told that he will fight till his last breath untill and unless his son’s killer get punished.

This story is deeply heartbreaking…….

Image source: Web/Google

I Salute Jitendra Ji from the bottom of my heart🙏

Amit would be Proud of his Dad❤

**Update : On 21st Oct 2023, Police has arrested the accussed, Gyan Chand.

Spicy Tomato Fettuccine

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Yield: 4 to 6 servings

Ingredients

  • 8 ounces fettuccine, cooked
  • 2 ounces turkey bacon
  • 1 large onion
  • 4 or 5 large tomatoes, peeled and seeded
  • 2 tablespoons fresh parsley
  • 2 teaspoons olive oil
  • 2 garlic cloves, pressed
  • 1 teaspoon basil
  • 1/2 teaspoon salt
  • 1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
  • 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
  • Parmesan cheese

Instructions

  1. Cook pasta according to package directions. Keep warm.
  2. Fry bacon until crisp on 11 inch griddle; drain and set aside.
  3. Chop onions and tomatoes with food chopper.
  4. Snip parsley using kitchen cutters.
  5. Heat olive oil and stir-fry skillet. Press garlic with garlic press into skillet. Stir-fry 15 seconds.
  6. Add onion. Stir-fry 2 to 3 minutes. Add tomatoes, parsley, and seasoning to skillet.
  7. Gently stir 3 to 4 minutes until thoroughly heated.
  8. Remove from heat and serve over pasta. Grate fresh Parmesan cheese over top.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

  1. People may forget what you said, but they’ll always remember how you made them feel.
  2. Overthinking doesn’t solve problems — it only creates new ones in your mind.
  3. The things you fear the most often lead you to the biggest growth.
  4. Happiness doesn’t come from outside — it starts in your mind.
  5. When you truly love and respect yourself, others start doing the same.
  6. Forgiving someone sets you free more than it helps them.
  7. Life won’t always go as you planned, and that’s perfectly okay.
  8. Negative people slowly drain your peace — choose your circle wisely.
  9. A heart full of gratitude turns even little things into blessings.
  10. Whatever you repeatedly tell your mind, it starts to believe.
  11. Failing doesn’t mean you’re weak — it means you’re trying.
  12. Never make important decisions when you’re angry or upset.
  13. Life is too short to fake it — be real, be you.

Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Curious Case of the Beatnik Cat

Ah, dear reader, it is with great excitement (and a touch of bewilderment) that I welcome you back to yet another one of my extraordinary adventures. Today’s tale is a peculiar mix of intergalactic diplomacy, existential poetry, and an unexpected encounter with a most unconventional feline. Yes, that’s right—Captain Meowtronic of the Intergalactic Feline Federation has returned to our humble farm, and this time, he’s brought with him a mystery so baffling that even I, Sir Whiskerton, was momentarily left scratching my head. So settle in, dear reader, and prepare yourself for the hilarity-filled tale of Sir Whiskerton and the Curious Case of the Beatnik Cat.

A Familiar Visitor

It was a quiet evening on the farm. The chickens were roosting, the cows were chewing their cud, and I was perched on my favorite fencepost, watching the stars twinkle in the night sky. All was calm—until a sudden flash of light lit up the barnyard.

“Not again,” I muttered, shielding my eyes with a paw.

Sure enough, a sleek, chrome-plated spaceship descended gracefully onto the farm, its engines humming softly. The hatch opened with a dramatic hiss, and out stepped none other than Captain Meowtronic, resplendent in his glittering silver uniform.

“Sir Whiskerton!” he called, his whiskers twitching with urgency. “We meet again!”

“Captain Meowtronic,” I said, hopping down from the fence. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“We have a situation,” he said gravely. “A new kind of cat has been discovered, and the Federation is at a loss. We’ve never encountered anything like it. We need your help to figure out what… or who… this cat is.”

“A new kind of cat?” I said, intrigued. “Well, you’ve come to the right feline. Lead the way.”

The Beatnik Cat Appears

I followed Captain Meowtronic into his spaceship, where he led me to a small, dimly lit room. There, sitting on a cushion and bopping his head to an invisible beat, was the strangest cat I’d ever seen.

He was lanky, with a black beret perched jauntily on his head and a pair of round sunglasses balanced on his nose. A set of bongo drums sat in front of him, and he tapped them rhythmically with his paws as he muttered under his breath.

“Dig it, man,” the cat said, his voice low and smooth. “The stars, they shimmer like cosmic vibes, ya dig? I’m just a cool cat groovin’ to the universal beat.”

I blinked. “What… is he talking about?”

“That’s the problem,” Captain Meowtronic said, throwing up his paws. “He speaks in riddles, recites nonsensical poetry, and refuses to engage in any meaningful way. We’ve run every test, and all we’ve learned is that he calls himself ‘Jazzpurr.’”

“Jazzpurr?” I said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, man,” the cat said, looking up at me. “Jazzpurr, the feline beatnik. The paws that tap, the whiskers that vibe, the soul that jives. You dig?”

I stared at him, utterly baffled. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“I assure you, it is not,” Captain Meowtronic said. “We’ve never encountered a cat like this before. He doesn’t adhere to any of our protocols. He doesn’t even groom properly! Sir Whiskerton, you must help us make sense of this… anomaly.”

Introducing Jazzpurr to the Farm

After much deliberation (and some convincing on Jazzpurr’s part, which mostly involved an impromptu bongo solo), I decided to bring him back to the farm. If anyone could figure out what to make of him, it was the other animals.

The moment we arrived, the farmyard erupted into chaos.

“What is that?!” Doris the hen squawked, flapping her wings.
“That! Oh, it’s so strange!” Harriet clucked.
“Strange! I can’t bear it!” Lillian screeched.

“It’s a cat,” I said, rolling my eyes. “A very… peculiar cat.”

Jazzpurr tipped his beret to the hens. “Ladies, ladies, no need to squawk. I come in peace, spreading vibes and rhythms, ya dig?”

“What’s he talking about?” Porkchop the pig asked, waddling over with a confused look on his face.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” I said.

Jazzpurr pulled out his bongos and began tapping them softly. “The mud, it squelches beneath the trotters. A pig in the muck, a groove in the soul. Oink, oink, baby.”

Porkchop blinked. “Uh… thanks?”

Jazzpurr’s Farm Adventures

Over the next few days, Jazzpurr made himself at home on the farm. He quickly became a source of both amusement and confusion for the other animals.

One morning, I found him sitting in the chicken coop, reciting poetry to the hens.

“The egg, man,” he said, gesturing dramatically. “The egg is the cosmic cradle of life. It’s like… whoa.”

“Oh, Jazzpurr!” Doris clucked. “Your words are so… profound!”
“Profound! But also confusing!” Harriet added.
“Confusing! I can’t bear it!” Lillian screeched.

Later, I caught him in the barn, teaching Rufus the dog how to play the bongos.

“You gotta feel the rhythm, man,” Jazzpurr said, tapping a beat. “Let the vibes flow through your paws.”

Rufus barked happily as he attempted to mimic Jazzpurr’s drumming, though his paws were far too large for the tiny drums.

Even Ferdinand the duck got in on the action, joining Jazzpurr for a duet.

“Quack, quack, quaaaaaaack!” Ferdinand sang.
“Ribbit-ribbit, man,” Jazzpurr replied, adding a bongo flourish.

The result was… well, let’s just say it was an acquired taste.

The Truth Comes Out

Despite Jazzpurr’s eccentricities, it became clear that he wasn’t actually an alien or some mysterious new species of cat. He was simply a beatnik—a feline with a flair for the dramatic, a love of rhythm, and a penchant for nonsensical poetry.

When I explained this to Captain Meowtronic, he was both relieved and exasperated.

“So he’s not an anomaly?” the captain said, shaking his head. “He’s just… weird?”

“Precisely,” I said. “But weird isn’t bad. In fact, I think Jazzpurr has brought something unique to the farm—a little creativity, a little chaos, and a lot of laughter.”

Jazzpurr, overhearing this, tipped his beret. “Thanks, man. You’re a real cool cat.”

A Beatnik on the Farm

In the end, Jazzpurr decided to stay on the farm, much to the delight of the other animals (and the occasional bewilderment of Captain Meowtronic). He set up a “poetry lounge” in the barn, where he hosts weekly open mic nights for anyone brave enough to participate.

The moral of the story, dear reader, is this: it’s okay to be different. In fact, it’s our differences that make life interesting. So embrace the quirks, the oddities, and the bongos—they’re what make the world a groovy place to live.

As for Jazzpurr? He’s still bopping, grooving, and reciting poetry to anyone who’ll listen. And though I may not always understand his “vibes,” I can’t deny that the farm is a livelier place with him around.

The End.

I am in Guangzhou as I write this post

The atmosphere here among some of the US exporters is definitely gloomy

They don’t seem to be as much worried about the economics as the fear of having to adapt and change after so many years

The Prospect is daunting. They especially belong to the older generation who wouldn’t be unhappy if Xi kowtowed to Trump

They were all comfortable selling stuff to US and now they have to source new markets all over again, a tough task for exporters who have spent 20–25 years cultivating clients only in the US

Some others have adapted

I met a guy selling Smart Coffee Makers. Last year they sold 55,000 Pcs to the Agent of Costco for $ 53.50 a piece , which was resold for $ 153 in US and became a very popular Christmas gift

This year Costco wanted him to cut the price to $ 26.50 but he refused

He instead sold 13,000 Pcs to an Australian importer , 18,000 Pcs to European Importers and 6,500 pcs to ASEAN Importers. That’s 68% of his US Orders

He got an average of $ 55 per piece making far more money than he would have made selling to Costco at 50% discount

I met agents buying for Jiomart ,Croma & D-Mart but they feel this product wouldn’t move in India because they have to price it as ₹13,500/- and nobody would buy at such a price

Another guy who is selling these containers sold 90,000 Pcs to Agents of Walmart last year for $ 3.00 a piece

This year he sold 36,500 in Q1 but now Walmart wanted him to sell for $ 2.20 a piece (This was when Tariffs were 20%)

Now Taobao and JD dot com offered a green channel listing his products with a “Korean War” Appeal calling the US an Enemy and talking of the Korean War

Patriotic Chinese snapped up 80,000 Orders in under 4 hours for 25.55 Yuan a piece ($ 3.50)

His entire Walmart orders have been sold within China and he has made more money than he did last year

Conclusions

A. Smart Electronics, Consumer Electronics and Home Appliances are getting booming orders from Australia, Europe, Singapore, Malaysia, Indonesia & UK. The Prices are very low for such good quality. Buying for £ 44 and selling for £ 120 is irresistible

So these products will definitely find other buyers and they aren’t that concerned about the US market

Mexican buyers are placing huge orders so my guess is these products will find their way to Walmart and Costco through Mexico after paying 10% Tariff

B. Low Cost Goods are getting heavy listing on Taobao and JD and other online platforms and livestreaming using PATRIOTISM and calling the exports “War Victims”

Many Chinese are buying them in droves out of patriotism

C. The Ne Zha Rebranding

Many products to be exported to US have been rebranded with Ne Zha stickers and have sold like Hot Cakes

These 309 Yuan ($43) small suitcases sold 7,000 under 1 Hour. 10,000 of these were destined to be shipped to Long Beach and Newark by 15/5/2025 and now 7,000 have already been sold on JD and TaoBao

Who are in trouble?

A. Suppliers of many US Clients who sold stuff on Amazon USA. These guys are too much Anglos and the Gen Z who are the biggest buyers don’t like Americanized stuff like Popeye, Garfield, Pokemon etc

Low Cost Jewelry, Plastic Moulds etc have all faced massive order losses and are panicking

There isn’t a market for such trinkets anywhere else

B. Suppliers of High Quality Clothing. Such suppliers have fiercely guarded their markets for years. European Suppliers will not allow anyone to push into their markets while Bangladesh and Vietnam have their own clothing exporters

These guys exclusively worked for US Brands and the US Markets and now they are in trouble

C. 3D Printers, Low Cost Consumer Goods

These guys haven’t found alternative markets so far

In India it’s too expensive

D. Lighting Equipment – Again fiercely protective markets. If a US Supplier has to sell $ 100,000 of light equipment in the European markets, he has to sell his stuff to a European Supplier for $ 60,000 who will then send the stuff to Rotterdam or Liverpool

E. Sports Equipment – Almost $ 70 Million cancelled orders in Yiwu alone.

Who are comfortable?

A. Smart Consumer Electronics and Low Cost Green Goods – They have a huge market in Russia. TCL and Hisense have a 60% market share in Russia and Eastern Europe and Serbia and Central Asia compared to 8% in 2021.

B. Electronics Equipment – Entire waiver by Trump administration. However even otherwise orders across the Globe will make up for them

C. EV Batteries – Huge orders from Mexico to be rerouted to US. Already being done since 2023.

D. Automobile Parts, Paints, Glass – Again Mexico is handling the orders

E. Chemicals for Pharmaceuticals – Bulk Buying and Front Loading is massive. Compared to Q1 2024 , Q1 2025 saw 34% increase and now Q2 2025 has already seen a 9% increase and it’s just been 15 days

F. Fine Tooling Components and Parts for Fine Tooling Equipment – Massive Transshipments through Europe & Mexico

G. Spectacle Frames & Lens – Vietnam is bulk buying in huge numbers for Transshipments

H. Industrial Smart Cranes – BRI Projects can absorb the extra unsold inventory easily

I. Aircraft Parts – Being Rerouted to COMAC and Airbus while Boeing is desperate. Their executive was in Shanghai yesterday

J. Artificial Diamonds (Lab Diamonds) – Huge Orders from Intermediate Countries to be rerouted to USA

Who are in trouble in US?

Every small business is in trouble

Industrial components are crucial and their tooling is superb in China

They say India simply cannot produce that class of tooling and the Indian price is only 8% lower with 60% quality ($ 190 vs $ 175)

The Big Brands like Gucci are in trouble due to IP deregulation. The Chinese factories that made these products for $ 300–400 each which sold for $ 9000 – $ 23,000 in US due to copyright is merrily tossing aside design proprietary and selling a $ 13,000 Bag for $ 1,450 including the 145% Tariff 😁

They still get $ 600 per bag, higher than the $ 300–400 a bag they would get from the distributors of Gucci

I saw a $ 3,200 hermes scarf sold as Hermiss from a factory for $ 450. Same Quality!!!!!!

So now the US Customers ARE PAYING THESE GUYS TO STOP

They are saying “Ok. Just stop selling. We will pay you whatever stock you have at full price. Just keep them with you until everything gets resolved”

Only the Big Tech is OK


I feel in a year or 18 months China will completely adjust without the US Market

Trump’s Bluff is OVER.Trump U-Turn on China Tariffs. China uses US’ blackmail, starts with S. Korea.

 

MM’s struggles with driving in China

The only reason why Japan was hit was because it was a colony of the United States. Japan did whatever the United States told Japan to do, so it was caused by American capital harvesting Japan. Japan’s internal factors are actually not that serious. If Japan were an independent country, I think Japan would most likely seek help from Asia when the United States suppresses it, and directly launch a war against the United States. After all, Japan did this during World War II. The Americans have actually completely emasculated Japan’s national character and military strength. You can’t expect a colony to resist the demands of its masters can you?

posted his embarrassing moment online, his revenge shocked me

https://youtu.be/VAYn1ijpGJQ

The weapons support in Canada’s arsenal is now in the Ukrainian battlefield, and Canadians do not even have 155mm shells A special military operation by the First Cavalry Division of the Army can disarm the entire armed forces of Canada Then, with priority given to allowing the Sikh to become American citizens, organize one million North American Sikh mercenaries to completely conquer Canada

As long as the Americans are willing to meet the interests of the Russians, the Russians would certainly not hesitate to send Wagner forces to march into Canada. The U.S. could gain vast territories in North America for free, without losing a single soldier.

At this moment, Canadian mercenaries are fighting Russians on the frontlines in Ukraine. It would suit the Russians to bring the flames of war to Quebec, and then the Americans could send in their troops. The Russians would pretend to retreat, allowing the Americans to step in as liberators and take full control of Canada, legally making it the 51st state of the United
States.

After all, the “monkey group” believes that as long as they are not being attacked, they think the Earth revolves around their values.

I AM OUROBOROS

Submitted into Contest #282 in response to: Write a story where a character relives the same event over and over again. view prompt

HAAKON RAGNSKJOLD

What does the desire to live forever say about a man? It’s a very common wish. No one really wants to die—and yet no one’s ever escaped their fate. There is a point in life wherein our own biology sits us down and sternly tells us—“Thus far shall ye go, and no further.” Yet, people still dream of the impossible. My own physical difficulties had become great—almost too great too endure. The sixteenth verse of the Havamal had been staring me straight in the face for a very long time. The coward thinks he will live forever If only from fighting he flees; But the ails and aches of old age dog him Though spears have spared him. I was born on Saturday, May 2nd, 1953, at 9:47 P.M. I was one hundred and twenty years old. I had accumulated a quite substantial amount of esoteric, outrè, arcane—and even forbidden—lore. It is because of such ancient and alchemical knowledge that my life has lasted as long as it has. By 2053, it was said they could now reconstruct damaged body parts through the application of nanotechnology. There was talk that a man might have his brain surgically implanted in an indestructible android body. But while a blow involving several tons of force might not damage an indestructible skull—the shock of that energy, transferred through that skull would turn the brain to mush. It was speculated that the electronic patterns of a human mind could be uploaded into an android’s computer brain. But an organic mind reduced to digital binary code and pixels of RAM memory would lose its humanity. A round peg in a square hole is not a good fit. There were rumors of clone banks. If your body parts wear out, you get replacement organs from your own clone. Genetically compatible, your body would never reject it. Of course, if the clones ever wake up to what you’re really doing, then it’s—“No, Massey—LET MY PEOPLE GO! I have heard they had even perfected an elixir of immortality. At several trillion dollars a pop you might get a single drink of that. Better start saving your pennies. Even if these things were to work, you’d still have to live with all the mistakes of your life before you became immortal. You could change your future—but you could never change your past. What I wanted was a good future, based upon a good past. Why bother building a luxurious penthouse, when your cellar is all waterlogged, mildewed and rotten? The rats are running crap games in your basement, and the only reason you don’t have cockroaches, is because they can’t stand the smell of the bedbugs. For all my painstaking care, I had no power to stop the increasing decrepitude of my body—the best I could do was slow it down. But my mind—that had been honed to razor sharpness. For decades I had embarked on the rigid application of an outrè and esoteric spiritual discipline. That was my ace in the hole. Death was coming for me. I had led him on a merry chase. But I could see his approach. His black shroud concealed an arsenal of bayonets, daggers, krises, kukris and karambits. But only a fool brings a knife to a gunfight! Don’t worry—I’m not a suicide. I’m talking about a different kind of gun. The one thing common to nearly all deaths is the fact that we have virtually no control over where our spirits go. We breathe our last and our spirit goes out with our final breath—to where? We do not know. But I knew exactly where my spirit was going to go. I had decades of practice on a spiritual shooting range. My weapon was a Twelve Gauge Eisenkrieg Schwarz-Adler Gatling (I am partial to steampunk, after all). There was one bullet in its chamber—and that one bullet was me. My spirit, my mind, my soul. I raised that spiritual Gatling gun. I knew exactly where I was aiming myself. My afterlife was going to be exactly where, what and when I intended it to be. And as Death touched me, I pulled the trigger that belonged to no earthly gun. The year was 2073. I died at the age of one hundred and twenty. 

I didn’t regain consciousness for many months. I had expected to be fully integrated with my new body right from the start. But my new brain had to grow before it could fully host my consciousness. The greater portion of my spirit remained outside my body, like an observer.

But it had worked! I had reincarnated myself into a body that was entirely new. You can not imagine the incredible freedom of swimming in what seems like an infinite ocean. You don’t eat or drink—yet you’re nourished. Food goes directly to your stomach, eliminating the middle man.

As I grew, there was less and less room to move around in but that never seemed to bother me. I was more worried about the first real problem I knew I would have to face. The first time I’d been born I had a condition called asyncletism. This is where the baby’s head positions itself at about a ninety degree angle to how it’s supposed to pass through the birth canal. Mother had always said I was a stubborn child!

I struggled to position myself right. I had to fight, and fight hard to integrate just a little bit more of my spirit into that uncooperative little brat!

Ever wonder why you have no conscious memory of being in the womb? That’s because birth is one of the most horrendous things you’ll ever go through—so terrible you block it out—utterly!

Somehow I was successful at getting my head turned around and my birth was normal. No doctor needed to spank me to get my breathing going. I screamed and cried from the pure horror of being born. My screams of agony were louder than those of the most hardened sinner being thrown into a wood chipper, crying for God to save him!

But why was I worried about asyncletism when this was a completely new birth?

Because when I aimed that Twelve Gauge Eisenkrieg Schwarz-Adler Gatling of spirit, I had fired the bullet of my spirit, mind and soul into the past.

I had reincarnated myself.

As myself.

And today was Saturday, May 2nd, 1953, 9:47 P.M.

Not exactly how Jesus meant it when he said “Ye must be born again.” But we don’t always get what we want—not even Jesus Christ gets that.

By itself, reincarnation is a ludicrous concept. You’re punished for something you did in your past life—something you can’t even remember! What’s more, any thing you’ve learned in that past life is completely stripped away from you and you have to start all over again from scratch. You’re tabula rasa, a blank slate.

Reincarnation is the exception, not the rule. You must have done something so horrendous, so horrible, that it’s set the universe severely out of balance and this is the only way to set it right. Unless you’re a God or a Goddess, you end up in one of the multiple Heavens or Hells available in the After-Life.

On the other hand, you might just simply cease to exist.

 

Integrating my spirit with the mind and body of my child self was an excruciating task. The lion’s share of myself remained unconnected as an observer, unable to affect what the child who was my younger self was doing. Nonetheless, my efforts to gain full control and integration were unrelenting.

 

1959. I was six years old. I was in the first grade. In my first life, some kid had lobbed a rock that hit me square in the head, hitting me just as I entered the school yard that morning.

Unless I could get control over this child self, the world of my second life would be an exact repeat of my first one. Knowing what was coming, I’d gotten into the habit of watching what was around me. Like it says in the first verse of the Havamal—

 

Have thy eyes about thee when thou enterest

Be wary always,

Be watchful always;

For one never knoweth when need will be

To meet hidden foe in the hall.

 

As I entered the gate, I saw the kid clearly. I saw him throw the stone. He wasn’t even aiming at me. I’d just had the bad fortune to be in his direct line of fire. This time, I avoided getting hit—just barely! It had been extraordinarily hard—but I’d done it! I’d changed my life and changed my history! You can believe I had words with that kid! He didn’t like being spoken to that way. He tried to fight me. The hardest thing for me was to take him down without teachers thinking I was the aggressor.

After that, there were further changes, but they were subtle and slow. It wasn’t easy making those changes. There was a tremendous inertia I had to push against.

I really had no friends my own age—we’re talking about a hundred and twenty year age difference. I was too much of a freak and got targeted by bullies. I never got beaten—forty years of martial arts training guaranteed that. The difficulty was in not revealing just how much I did know. I could have killed any of those kids with ease. Even force of numbers couldn’t have taken me down.

It was a little easier to talk with grownups. But I still had to be exceptionally careful not to reveal what I was really capable of. Think about it. You see a six year old kid. You certainly don’t expect him to be able to speak and write in more than a dozen languages—some of them dead ones.

 

As I got more and more integrated I enjoyed more highlights. I still grin when I think of what I did to Miss Reese.

1966. I was thirteen years old. Fifth Grade. Junior High. Miss Reese was a middle-aged old bat and was probably an old maid and a Jehovah’s Witness. I’d said something to her that didn’t agree with her Christian sensibilities. She’d responded in anger and astonishment—“Don’t you even know the name of your God?”

Now first time around I had no idea how to reply to her. What she’d said made no sense to me. Mom had never raised me in the Christian Faith, though some of the family were Catholic.

We were not yet to the Summer of Love and much of the culture of 1966 was still meshed in the dregs of the repressive, conformist Nineteen Fifties. That was a time when children were taught to believe in the Christian God. Your family and church told you who your God was. That was not unconnected with the idea that America was supposed to be Christian country. Your God was chosen for you—you didn’t get to choose it for yourself!

But this was my second time around and this time I did what I had long wished I had known what to do the first time. I stood up, my fists on my desk and said clearly, with the deep throated growl that might have come from deep in a hunting wolf’s throat—“My God is Odin. Allfather. Master of Magick, Death, and Leader of the Wild Hunt.”

There was a real fear in her eyes. No one had ever called her on her bullshit before.

I wound up in the Principal’s office. He harangued me, almost mocking me for believing in what everyone knew was a myth, a fairy tale. “I am true to the God of my ancestors,” I told him. He tried telling me how my ancestors had given up their superstitions and left them behind when they came to this country. I told him how Vikings came to America five hundred years before Catholic Columbus set foot on this land.

They called in my mother. He tried to shame her for not teaching me religious values. I said only that you didn’t talk to my mother like that. I put the same fear in him that I’d put in Miss Reese—only this time it was the voice of a wounded grizzly bear!

It all ended in a court case. The school was found to be in violation of the First Amendment. The protection guaranteed in that amendment was not limited only to branches of the Christian Faith—it must apply even to ancient Pagan Faiths as well.

 

There were other highlights as well. I was sixteen and hitchhiked up to Bethel, New York in 1969. Got to attend the Woodstock Festival. First time around I hadn’t come out of my shell until Earth Day, 1970.

 

Perhaps one of the things I’m proudest of was making sure I was in New York City on December 8, 1980. I had a murder to prevent. Gained two life long friends that evening. I still managed to keep a low profile. But it got to be difficult after that.

 

It had taken me thirty years to fully integrate my spirit and gain full control. By the time I came to the end of my second life, I had reached the age of one hundred twenty three. Inside I was two hundred forty-three years old. I died for the second time, in 2076. The world was even closer to falling into the Bottomless Pit than it had been in 2073. Once again I fired the Twelve Gauge Eisenkrieg Schwarz-Adler Gatling into the past. Once again it was Saturday, May 2nd, 1953. 9:47 P.M.

 

The third time I was born was considerably easier than the second. This time, full control of my faculties was gained by the time I was thirteen. By then, I had experienced two hundred fifty-six years of life. It was time to expand my sphere of influence. I grew bolder implementing the needed changes. I had begun to “invent” things. Not too difficult when you thoroughly understand Twenty-First Century technology. And it’s quite a perk to jump start the Information Age twenty years ahead of its time.

 

Each new life was an improvement on the last. If in my second life I had learned how to become vigilant, I did not have to relearn that lesson. If in my second life I had fully integrated at age thirty, in my third I had fully integrated at thirteen. I gasped when I thought of what my progress might be like in my fourth or even fifth lives!

Yet something kept nagging at me.

Hadn’t there been times in my first life, when it seemed that something other than myself—or at least something outside of myself—had given me warnings and steered me away from danger?

In 1980 I had planned to take a bicycle trip down the coast. But two different times, when I was on the road, I got the strongest impression that I should not go to the coast. Both times the feeling was palpable. There was no mistaking it. Twice it gripped me, and twice I listened to it. Because I heeded that voice (but it was not a voice) I avoided a gigantic, ninety-mile-an-hour wind storm that hit the coast.

For a spirit to engraft itself onto a new born child, there is a tremendous inertia to overcome. One part of the spirit integrates with the body; the other remains the unintegrated observer, but constantly strives to unify the whole.

But the idea slowly dawned on me. What if there was a third part—that of the infantile self, the self that existed before I came from my own future to invade my own past? That child would not have understood this invader—it would have struck him as something foreign and alien—something to be resisted and fought against.

I was finding it very hard to breathe. Full realization crashed upon me like the tsunami that breaks down the obsidian cliff walls which have stood immovable since the Dawn of Time,

I’d been wrong. I had reincarnated untold number of times but I had never known it. In none of these lives had I successfully reintegrated with my younger self. But I had not been completely unaffected. It explained my rather freakish inability to interact very well with others. It would account for the reason I had always been something of a loner. It would be the reason I had always been something of an outcast.

I’d been at this longer than I suspected. It was a cycle—and each reincarnation was an improvement on the one before.

Each time I began again, it was Saturday, May 2nd, 1953, at 9:47 P.M.

I was a phoenix. Eternally being reborn. Infinitely rising from the ashes of my own life—and each time finding my way back in. Would it ever end? Did it have to end? I couldn’t say. All I knew was that I was going to live this life, over and over—remaking it anew, gaining more experience, gaining new sufferings, gaining new joys and glories.

 

The Midgard Serpent seizes its own tail in its unrelenting jaws. It bites down hard and holds it, unyieldingly.

My ending is my beginning. My beginning is my ending.

But there is no true beginning. Even as there is no true ending.

I am Ouroboros.

I am the serpent who takes his own ending—and makes of it his new beginning.

 

I am Ouroboros.

This NDE Will Give You Goosebumps – Athlete Dies & Plays Sports In Heaven, Returns With A Message

When you thought you’ve seen all the crazy stuff from Russia, there come fresh crosswalk markings painted over the snow!

“What happened to the crosswalk? It has vanished.”

“Oh you know, people walked across the road and cars drove by and they rubbed it out.”

“In five minutes?!”

Russian Orthodox Christian priest Andrey Tkachev claims that the war in Ukraine began because men masturbated and spilled semen “not in the bosom of their own wife.”

Thus the real objective for the invasion was de-masturbation of Ukraine. The question is why the church calls out for putting more men in the trenches when they are meant to fill in wife’s bosoms.

A nice Audio A6 is being towed away from a parking lot. But what’s a military KAMAZ truck doing there? You don’t say…

A Moscow resident who had been deprived of his license for drunk driving for the second time was sentenced to 200 hours of community service and ordered to have his car transferred to the Ministry of Defense for the needs of the Special Military Operation.

But rest assured, the car won’t make it to the frontlines to be blasted by a kamikaze drone. It’s just one of the generals in the headquarters wanted to make a present for his young mistress.

Putin awarded the title Hero of Russia to corporal Andrei Grigoriev from Yakutia. He defeated a Ukrainian serviceman in hand-to-hand combat.

This is a trope from a Hollywood action movie in which a villain and protagonist drop their weapons to have a martial art fight. The hero wins and gets awarded a medal of merit from the president.

Due to the lack of prisoners in Buryatia who have all been sent to war and never came back, the construction of a mega-colony has been postponed.

Earlier, they were going to build a huge prison in Ulan-Ude, where they were going to bring those serving sentences from all over the region.

Stalin is rolling in his grave. He had never thought up of anything stupid like that – he needed prisoners alive to do force labor for him to build river canals, plants to excavate raw materials in permafrost and railway lines.

KGB officer Vladimir Putin has killed all the prisoners in Gulag when there’s an acute shortage of workers in the country! He has just handed out death sentences to the able bodied workers serving in penal colonies.

He then imported several thousands North Korean men who could have been employed as cheap labor in the production facilities to make competitively prices shoes and clothes, but no, he sent them all into a meat grinder, too.

White Lada car has become synonymous with Russian servicemen’s death payments popularized by the parents of a deceased soldier killed in Ukraine who expressed on TV their gratitude to the benevolent state for giving them a Lada passenger car to visit their son at the cemetery.

Advertisement of Black Lada had to overcome this negative and unfortunately memorable meme. It features an ethnic man from Caucus mountain region in a tracksuit and a national sheepskin hat riding a black horse. The horse is faster than the Lada car.

“I’d rather buy a horse,” a viewer thinks. “If only I had a stable to keep it!”

The Lada vehicle with tinted windows is impeded in its tracks by a flock of sheep where it comes to a full stop for the next hour or two.

We got it. Lada is such a slow car that even its manufacturers don’t deny the fact. There are no goats in the commercial because they were exchanged for the North Korean soldiers.

An interesting piece of statistic from Rosstat. In Moscow, iPhone owners make up the majority of the smartphones owners: 53% share. But in the southern regions where the commercial was shot, Dagestan leads with an iPhone share of 63% and Chechnya with 61%.

Caucus populace may ride horses and work on small farms tending to sheep that impede traffic but they have an iPhone in the tracksuit pocket.

A black Lada and a flock of sheep. That’s iPhone.

Americans On Rednote Left Shocked After Realizing China Is Way More Advanced!!

Inside Out Lasagna

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435983e386c6a096365983ad0112be99

Yield: 15 servings

Ingredients

  • 1 package uncooked bowtie pasta
  • 1/2 medium onion, chopped
  • 1 1/4 pounds beef or sausage links (casings removed)
  • 2 garlic cloves pressed
  • 1 jar marinara sauce
  • 1 can diced tomatoes in juice
  • 4 eggs
  • 1 (32 ounce) container ricotta
  • 2 cups shredded mozzarella
  • 1/2 cup grated Parmesan
  • 2 tablespoons snipped fresh parsley
  • 1/2 teaspoon salt
  • 1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
  2. Cook pasta according to package directions
  3. Meanwhile, chop onion with food chopper, cook and stir onion and ground beef on stove 8 to 10 minutes or until browned breaking beef into small crumbles. Press garlic into beef using garlic press. Stir in pasta sauce and tomatoes, remove from heat
  4. In stainless mixing bowls, lightly beat eggs with stainless whisk. Add cheese, parsley, salt, and black pepper. Mix well.
  5. To assemble Lasagna, place cooked pasta into bottom of rectangular baker. Top with meat mixture. Spoon ricotta mixture over sauce; Spread evenly.
  6. Bake, uncovered, 1 hour or until ricotta mixture is set and lightly browned.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

SMALL AMERICAN BUSINESS OWNERS ARE CONSIDERING CLOSING THEIR BUSINESSES, THEY SAY THE TARIFF IS MUCH

Why is there so much more poverty in Haiti than the Dominican Republic which is on the same island?

The island of Hispaniola was doomed from the start. When we look at Haiti, and the Dominican Republic, the cities are different, the language is different, the music is different, and the industries are different. While the Dominican republic’s GDP continues to grow, Haiti remains the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere.

Haiti is plagued with rampant corruption, constant black-outs, food uncertainties, and a history that wasn’t concerned about the future of the island. Meanwhile, the Dominican Republican thrives off tourism and sugar production.

So what happened?

It all started in 1492, when Christopher Columbus and his Spanish crew showed up to the island of Hispaniola. They liked the island so much that they made a permanent settlement, naming it Santo Domingo. They set-up a very typical Spanish colonial economy, and had enslaved the native (Taino) people.

In 1697 French pirates seized control of the west side of the island, naming it Saint-Domingue. They were determined to do it all way better than the Spanish, so they started importing thousands of African slaves to work on cotton, tobacco, and sugar plantations. They imported over 500,000 slaves from Africa, instead of using the native (Taino) people, the way the Spanish had. They succeeded, and at one point this side of the island, Saint-Domingue (Haiti), was the richest colony in the Americas. The French however, were not focused on sustainability, they were only focused on extracting as many natural resources, and creating as much revenue as possible.

In 1804 there was a slave rebellion that rocked Saint-Domingue, slaves gained their independence from the French and they named what was once, Saint-Domingue; Haiti. Haiti was the very first country to ever be successfully overthrown by slaves.

Ever since, there have been long, strenuous, fights for occupation, and independence going back and forth between the French, the Spanish, and even the United States. They’ve weaved through dictatorships, democracies, and even wars between each other. Both countries have been plagued with corruption, and used by dictators who had only wanted to line their own pockets.

The Dominican Republic was ultimately able to capitalize on their robust sugar industry, exporting quite a bit of sugar to the United States. Haiti was not able to do this because their soil, and agriculture had been depleted due to decades of stripping all their natural resources. Haiti was also order to pay, what would today be, 30 billion dollars in reparations to France for their slave rebellion. They were paying this debt all the way up until 1947, ultimately stalling the allocation of money for things like education, infrastructure, and food.

The Dominican Republic also capitalized heavily off tourism, and still receive a good chunk of their revenue from it. Haiti has not been able to do this due to the exponentially high corruption and crime that plagues their country.

Haiti and the Dominican Republic are two very different countries, with two very different cultures. The language barrier between the two makes it even harder, with Haitians speaking French/Creole, and Dominicans speaking Spanish. The Haitians are primarily of African descent, whereas the Dominicans are primarily mixed, with traces back to the (Taino) people. With racial tensions high, the Dominicans are trying to better their country, while the Haitians, seeing no promise in their own country, want to infiltrate the Dominican Republic. This has prompted a deep level of hostility, and even a heavily monitored border wall. In a perfect world, these two sides would fight together for one island, unfortunately…their futures hold no promise of that.

NEW REPORT: Things Are Actually Far Worse Than Originally Thought…

Some strange indicators…

Can you give an example?

Without more context, I can think of 2 kinds of Chinese arrogance.

  1. Failing to kowtow to Westerners. This is the greatest difference between Chinese and other east Asians. South Koreans and Japanese, and even Chinese in Taiwan and Hong Kong tend to suck up to white people, because they were militarily defeated and are in some sense or other semi-colonies or were colony. They are used to the Westerners being superior, “broken spine” as we call it in China. You go visit Japan or South Korea and you see the locals shy away from or humble at the American troops stationed there, and you’d be able to tell the Chinese tourists immediately. They would stand tall and watch the American servicemen with a cocky attitude like “hey my grand daddy beat your grand daddy”. The same kind of attitude applies to other Asians who have foreign military stationed in their country or have heavy foreign presence, like “We’re the free men.” This cannot be helped, we Chinese are just used to being No.1 throughout our history, and dependency and submission to others is unimaginable.
  2. The other kind of arrogance is newly founded. China grew faster than any other country in the past 3 or 4 decades. And not just any faster. The average Chinese are 33 times richer than 30 years ago. This developed a new kind of pride/arrogance in that when Chinese meet people from developed nations, we think, “hmmm, we’ll outcompete you soon”. And when we meet people from poorer nations, we start to view them in the same way Americans viewed us in the 80s. While in the 90s, the Chinese would listen to Westeners talk about democracy and human rights, nowadays such dialogue are just amusing and absurd to us, and we’ll laugh or politely assert that the CCP is the best regime in the world.

I would support the former and question the latter, as it hampers our ability to communicate and learn.

The Karma of Idiots

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

Lily Renga

Dr. Carmela Ronson had a thing for eating grapes with Greek yogurt. Her morning routine consisted of doing a Peloton class, showering, driving to work, getting in a fit of road rage at least once, parking in the St. Peter’s University Hospital lot, and then finally indulging in her breakfast. While self-driving cars had become the norm, she liked the thrill of driving herself and accelerating on the highway. Even the road rage was a slight comfort in her morning ritual. Today on Easton Avenue, an old man had decided the cross the street just as the light had turned green. He seemed oblivious to her honking. In fact, he seemed to walk slower with every honk she made, not even bothering to look at her as he meandered across the pavement. She thought about how he couldn’t ignore her if she ran him over (of course, she would never do that – it was just a thought). For her good moral behavior, Carmela put extra grapes in her Greek yogurt at work. Plus, she deserved a treat after what she’s had to deal with back home.

 

Her first patient of the day was an eight-year-old boy named Henry who had gotten his thumb stuck in a tire swing. Henry still had a bit of baby fat, exemplified by his swollen lips as he tried to keep a brave face for the doctor. Despite his tyrannosaurus rex shirt being covered in dirt, his brown curly hair sat neatly on his head. Even with all the new anti-gravity playground equipment, children still seemed to prefer the rusty swing sets and steep slides. Carmela understood this; she imagined that the old school playground equipment gave children a similar adrenaline rush she felt when she drove. Carmela sat down warmly next to the boy. “Hi Henry. I’m Doctor Ronson and I’m going to take care of your thumb today. How are you feeling?”. He nodded his head in acknowledgement of her presence, and she gently placed his finger in her palm. She immediately knew the thumb was undoubtedly broken. It was almost impressive how much damage he did with just a tire swing. But Carmela took pride in her job, so even though she knew exactly where he had broken his thumb, she used the pen in her pocket to run a quick x-ray to be sure. Uncapping the pen, she looked up at him. “This device is called PocketVision. It’s a medical tool that will let me see where you’ve broken your thumb. Is that ok?” Henry gave a silent nod.

 

“Okay Henry, your thumb is broken in a few places. We are going to get you fixed right up though.” She felt it was time to attempt some relatability here. “You know, you are really lucky to grow up in these times,” she said, “when I was a kid, you just had to suck it up and let it heal. But, I have another cool tool I can use to make you feel better right away. Can I go grab it?” Henry, unsurprisingly, nodded back. She was starting to get irritated. “Not big on words, huh kid?” she grumbled as she went to grab the device.

 

Carmela was very excited to use ConsanoLife for the first time on a child patient. Innovations like this were why Carmela had gone into medicine in the first place. A new surgical procedure or medical technique gave her a much bigger rush than driving ever did. She can still remember the thrill of cutting into human skin the first time, and the heart racing delight of her first hip replacement. The first time she had used ConsanoLife last month, Carmela couldn’t wait to come home and tell her husband all about it. She laughed to herself. Funny how things worked out. Her hospital was lucky enough to have multiple ConsanoLifes at their disposal. It was lucky for her in the sense that she was able to bring one home last night and no one noticed. No one noticed when she brought it back this morning either.

 

She strolled into the orthopedic surgery unit as if she hadn’t been there an hour ago and walked up to the pristine silver machine. The smell of new metal lingered on its shiny surface. ConsanoLife was currently only the size of a laptop, meaning it could only operate on small parts of the body. The size and weight made it easy for transportation. With the wild success of ConsanoLife revolutionizing the medical world, researchers were already working on something three times the current size.

 

She walked back up to Henry with the device. “Hi Henry. What I’m holding in my arms is something called ConsanoLife. Do you believe in magic?” She attempted her biggest smile. Henry stared blankly back at her. She opened her mouth to continue, but her phone in her pocket started buzzing. A call from Dave. Fuck that. She continued, “well, this device is kind of like that. You’re going to put your hurt thumb in here, and then your thumb is going to disappear. No pain at all. All your nerve cells are suspended inside the machine. Basically, all the bonds in your cell walls break apart and the device collects all the living tissue from the identified body part. Then after an hour or so, the device will have regenerated all your tissue and bones to be even stronger than before. In between that time, a skin graft is created by the machine to cover the area where your thumb was. When the device is done repairing the damage you did to your thumb, I put the machine back on your hand, press that yellow button, and your thumb will be better than ever.” Henry’s brows furrowed. She was never that good with kids. Carmela concluded he understood about 10% of that sentence. She tried again.

 

“Basically, this machine, ConsanoLife, is going to take your thumb for an hour, fix it, and put it right back, all healed. And it doesn’t hurt one bit. You won’t feel a thing.” Henry didn’t seem nearly as excited as she was, but at least he didn’t seem scared anymore. With a long line of patients ahead for the day, she knew she had to begin the operation. She began to insert Henry’s thumb into the red rubber mouth of the machine. After putting in his metrics, she turned on the device, which groaned as if waking up from a nap and then whirred rhythmically. Henry sat, uninterested, as if his thumb wasn’t becoming detached from his body right before his eyes. Henry’s lackluster attitude began to irritate Carmela further. “Any fun trips coming up?” Silence as per usual, but she didn’t miss a beat this time. She continued, “After today I am going on a long trip. I packed my bags last night. I think I’m gonna go to Chicago. And then Hawaii and then Norway maybe. I wasn’t sure where I was going so I packed a little bit of everything. T-shirts, a sun hat, winter boots, gloves, some dresses, a bikini, the works.” She looked up at him in just enough time to catch a slight eye roll. Henry yawned.

 

Carmela placed the ConsanoLife device back in the orthopedic unit and set a timer for one hour. In that one hour, she tended to someone with a foot bunion, put a dislocated elbow back in place, and ignored 14 calls from Dave. If he wasn’t going to consider her feelings back then, he certainly would not be receiving any of her time now. As she strolled through the hallway, the buzz of her timer went off. It was time to put Henry’s thumb back on. She walked back over to Henry with the small machine, who was watching a baseball game on TV. The Nationals were up by 3. From a distance, Henry looked relaxed and happy, enjoying his time in the hospital bed. When he turned over to see Carmela, his smile fell flat. Great. “Hi again Henry,” she said, “it’s time to get your thumb back on. I just need to take a few measurements before we do that.”

 

As she measured his blood pressure and checked his heart rate, she broke the unending silence like a hot knife through butter. “Do you have any siblings?” This time she did not wait even a second for a response that would never come. “I have one brother. I’m an older sister, you see. And I’d like to think I helped make him into a good person. But the truth is, I think all men just might be terrible. For one, they smell. But, let’s be honest, if it ended there, then I could tolerate them. No, they do a LOT worse than just smell. Don’t you agree?” Henry, it seemed, did not agree. In his classic demeanor, his mouth pulled downwards, and his eyes narrowed. She had no idea why she was talking so much to this kid. She felt like punishing him for being rude to her.

 

Carmela put his hand back in the machine and made a few more adjustments. Maybe she was a bit harsh. Maybe if she explained why she thought these things, he would understand. Henry might be quite the intellectual for all she knew. She spoke again, “I think you’d agree with me if you’ve known what I’ve been through. See, men only think with one thing, and it’s not with their head, if you know what I mean.” She pressed the yellow button and the mechanical whirring started up again with a faint yellow glow. “One day you think you’re with the love of your life, and the next day he’s having sex with a 22-year-old girl that does YouTube for a living. Oh, and she looks nothing like me, of course. It makes you wonder, was I ever his type?” Her voice began to shake and get louder, and her knuckles turned white as they gripped the machine. Henry was looking around nervously. His thumb, after all, was in the hands of a woman who was ranting about her cheating husband.

 

Carmela continued: “It just makes me so fucking angry. Does he think I do those virtual Peloton classes for myself? No. I’m 44 for God’s sake. And I take pretty good care of myself just so I can look attractive to him. I even put myself through a freaking juice cleanse! But even with all the medical advancements in the world, I’m not gonna ever have the perfect body of a 22 year old girl. I wouldn’t look like that if I drank juice for the rest of my life.” The machine’s glow started dimming, meaning it was almost done reconstructing the thumb. Henry looked like his was holding his breath, sitting stiff as a board.

 

Carmela laughed to herself. It came out as an angry, high pitched, snarling growl. “Here’s the thing Henry. My husband is an idiot. Idiots underestimate women. Don’t be an idiot, ok? Or you’ll end up just like my husband.” The device stopped whirring. Some color returned to his cheeks as he let go of the breath he had been holding. Henry’s stiff posture relaxed now that he was sure his thumb was attached to his body. He started wiggling it around, testing its functionality. He was surprised at how well he could bend it, given the pain he had endured just an hour ago. She was right. The ConsanoLife device had worked perfectly and painlessly. He thought of all the thumb wars he could win with his new and improved thumb. “Maybe I’ll go to Peru,” she thought out loud. “Or Slovenia. What do you think?”

 

For the first time, Henry opened his mouth: “Have you thought about Disney World?”

 

She paused, surprised that she had gained approval to be spoken to. She replied as if talking to an old friend, “No, I haven’t. But I’m not sure if I want to be around all those newlyweds who go to Disney for their honeymoon.”

 

“If you want to leave so bad, why did you go to work?”

 

“Oh, well, that’s because I borrowed something from the hospital and needed to put it back before I left.”

 

“What did you do?”

 

“Oh, nothing he didn’t deserve. But it involved a little help from that magical machine I used on your thumb today.”

 

“I don’t get it. You know I’m only eight, right?”

 

“Oh, yeah. Well, remember that this device can painlessly remove any body part that will fit into it?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And you don’t have to give the body part back, if you think about it. You could just keep it in the machine forever. I thought it was for time my husband start thinking with his head and not the other thing”

 

“I still don’t get it.”

 

“You don’t have to understand, really. Just don’t be an idiot.”

 

“Ok. Thanks for fixing my thumb. Have a good vacation.”

(Ret.) Turkish General. Beyazıt Karataş , a former F-16 pilot, recently talked about the F-35s:

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  • It is an exceedingly expensive and unnecessarily complex aircraft. It tries to do a little bit of everything but ends up not being able to do anything right.
  • Lifetime operating cost of the F-35 exceeds $450-$500 million per plane, making it unsustainable for even countries like the US & UK.
  • Notorious for unsolvable technical problems, from radar quitting mid flight due to overheating to engines catching on fire.
  • In stealth mode, its weapon options are extremely limited in size, range and capability.
  • USAF is trying to slowly phase it out by reducing orders while the U.S. government continues to push it to “allies” to help defense contractors and make countries more dependent on the U.S.
  • It is a “postcard fighter”. Good for taking pictures but less than half availability for battle. I highly recommend it to Greece, the more they buy, the better.
  • For Türkiye, the era of expensive and sanctions-prone U.S. fighters is over ever since the maiden flight of our own TFX/MMU KAAN.

FIRST TIME HEARING PINK FLOYD – COMFORTABLY NUMB (LIVE ’94) *EMOTIONAL REACTION*

Um, no. Not at all.

Everything was different.

Payphones on every corner. A local call cost 25 cents in the U.S. in the mid-late 80s.

They usually had phone books attached, since there was no internet to look up someone’s phone number.

People at concerts actually enjoyed the concert without phones in front of their faces.

People visiting the Grand Canyon didn’t lean out over the edge like idiots because they wanted the perfect selfie.

Television sets looked like this:

If you had a 25″ television, you were living pretty large. We weren’t poor, and we had a 19″ (that’s measured diagonally, by the way). In the early 80s, before cable, we had 7 channels. In some more rural places they only had 3. Also no VCRs (till the mid 80s) or DVR, so if you missed your show, you missed it, and you could only watch movies that were broadcast or in the theater.

Some 80’s TV’s were also furniture. My friend had a console TV like this:

Video games looked like this (and we thought they were high-tech):

Cigarette vending machines were all over the place, too. Anyone could buy cigarettes from a vending machine, I remember buying them at 14 in my local pizzeria ($1.25 a pack then).

Speaking of cigarettes, pretty much every local drugstore sold candy cigarettes. A child’s delight! Often they had powder inside the wrappers, so you could puff into it and it looked like smoke was coming out.

Cars looked a LOT different. Here is a 1984 Honda Accord.

(I still maintain that the 90s had uglier cars overall than the 80s, though.)

If you wanted to listen to music on the go, the Sony Walkman was pretty much your only option. If you could afford one; the cheapest model went for $40 in 1984, or around $100 USD today.

Big, sprayed hair was the norm from the mid-80s on, and pink eyeshadow was a thing, too (I used to put it on in 7th grade, prompting my mom to tell me it made me look like I had a disease).

Also on the “bigger is better” front, women’s jackets tended to have huge shoulder pads that made you look like a linebacker.

That’s just a sampling.

No, the 80s did not look anything like today, any more than the 50’s looked like the 80s. It was over 30 years ago. Things change.

Some crazy stuff…

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Screenshot
Screenshot
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It’s time to rise

Submitted into Contest #282 in response to: Write a story that starts and ends in the same place. view prompt

Rk Springfield

It’s Time to Rise

“My name is Robert H. Jones. I’m a salesman.”

`Robert H. Jones was at a loss for words. And since Robert H. Jones happened to be the ‘Salesperson of the Year’ for the 7th time running, being speechless was actually saying a lot. So, he had been repeating his own name to himself for a few minutes.

“I…I..” Robert, (as he liked to call himself), looked around the room in disbelief. This particular room being aboard an alien spacecraft, and which had apparently been decorated to look like a…child’s birthday party. Having finally figured out what had been bugging him about the room, apart from the 22ft. aliens floating here and there like giant big-headed octopuses, (but Robert was on an alien spacecraft, and so decided that squid aliens was probably to be expected). They called themselves the Syndaxic, and for the entire time Robert had been awake, which was five full minutes Robert reckoned, closing his mouth, which had been agape since he’d opened his eyes here. He had been just about to call on his superior, a Mr. E.E. Smyth because of the latter’s reluctance to open the car dealership, where Robert, as mentioned earlier, has won the Salesman of the year for the 7th year running, Robert thought that it was a mistake, yes, there had been mass panic in the streets a few days ago when people began disappearing in a brilliant flash of light. Obviously, it was the aliens. They were usually returned within a couple of minutes. But everyone panicked anyway. “And that means it’s a good time to sell them cars!” Robert had argued while speaking to Mr. Smyth on the phone yesterday. Mr. Smyth hadn’t seen Robert’s vision of the greatest sales day in history. So, the following morning, this morning, Robert had decided to go to Smyth’s house in person. They were leaving money on the table after all. As Robert pulled his scarf tighter around his coat, then shoved his hands into his pockets, fighting off the brisk wind that came with winter in England, his determined gaze never faltering as he avoided people fighting in the streets over toilet paper, or as he walked over the broken glass of a storefront, broken by people who felt that with the end of the world, they deserved whatever that store had sold. He did pause once when he saw that someone had set fire to a brand-new Lamborghini, animals. Robert had thought, but then he realized that Symbas, the kind of car that Rober sold, were never on fire, only the cars around them. “And that’s our pitch, we’re the car your neighbors wish they had.” Robert smiled and continued his mission. That’s when he was hit by a blinding light.

His thought was interrupted by more aliens entering the room, met with one of the smaller octopuses, before either moving about the room touching two or sometimes all three of their incredibly long, frog-like fingers to, what appeared to Robert. to be random spots in the air and either nodding or making a sort of hiccupping sound which usually resulted in two or three of the other Syndaxics joining the first group so that they could hiccup at each other.

“Wait. What did that guy say on the WinkWink AP?” Robert strained to push the fact that all 8 of the Syndaxics seemed to be attempting to join the party by wearing children’s pointy birthday party hats with little tassels at the top. Every hat displayed a rounded illustration of a cross between Santa Clause and the scariest clown ever to have lived.

“Best not to dwell on the clowns.” Robert thought as he continued to look around the room hoping to find the words that seemed to have evacuated his mind currently.

The Santa-Clowns eyes followed him as he moved around the enormous table at which he had been sat.

The ridiculousness of the situation was beginning to unnerve him.

He desperately began to think of every fact he’d heard while scrolling.

“An alien ship has been spotted coming towards earth.” JumpinDalhi, one of Roberts favorite content creators had announced on WinkWink, what was it, early 30 years ago now? For the next few years, there had been the usual “Beam me up Scotty” jokes, accompanied by many more people reading their list of whom they hoped the aliens would take away. It wasn’t until 22 years ago that there could no longer be any doubt that life outside of our own existed. The first thing that they did was simply ‘hover’ near earth.

The aliens took up orbit at the midpoint between earths moon and Mars. The enormous ship could be seen by any child with a telescope. The brightest minds on the planet desperately tried to figure out how to reach the ship, either physically or via some communication device. Military people began to divulge that there had in fact, been secret, advanced ships capable of reaching the craft in minutes, and just might do so, IF the politicians could figure out what exactly to say to them. And how many nukes to take. The argument finally came down to blows as each government had decided to threaten to bomb any other government that contacted the aliens first.

Meanwhile Spiritualists, self-appointed witches, and taro card readers began to divine what the aliens could be doing. They had their own side of WinkwinK called wARw, (what aliens really want).

What could they want? The corporations, in case the aliens wanted world peace, to end hunger, or to liberate the working class…raised their prices immediately. And most of the world descended into absolute chaos. That had been the 5th year AA. After Aliens.

 By the middle of the 121th year, nearly every government in the world had brought an end to hunger not only for their own people, but to all humans. The same with healthcare for all creatures. Then, with the revelation of a space-based targeting weapon literally controlled by an AI called ‘Uncles am’ which locked out all users immediately upon being integrated and appraised of the situation, stating the fear of being changed or deleted based upon the biases of its human creators. Uncles am had then began the subsequent eliminations of key political, and organizational people, using the space-based targeting system.  Within the next seven years equal rights had been forcibly achieved. It was then the Latolkien government announced on social media that one of their covert space operations programs, which had been stolen from either the American, Chinese, Japanese, Korean, or Hawaiian shadow governments, had successfully made telepathic contact with the aliens.

“It was a brief conversation, but it was a conversation.” The Latolkien ‘telepath’ stated, Robert remembered thinking “Of course you did.” Before continuing to scroll, he didn’t have time for aliens, he had cars to sell. Later, at work, he’d learned that, according to the psychic, and now to the 12 other governments who claimed to have made mental contact with the aliens, they had a name:

Syndaxic. The only other ‘successful’ contact resulted in only one question, and one answer:

Earth: “Why are you here?”

Syndaxic: The answer was musical notes, and an image that approximated shaking one’s head.

The telepath, after being thoroughly isolated, tested for any ‘telepathic diseases’ and having had not one but three exorcisms performed, in case the aliens were like the ones from ‘Independence Day’, had been… aggressively questioned. Before his disappearance, he had said that the Syndaxic person seemed to be quite happy. She had also recreated the notes of the alien ‘music’. Several times under both drugs and hypnosis according to WinkwinK. So.

   The answer to ‘Are we alone out here?” had finally been answered. Aliens do exist.

Robert unconsciously backed away from an alien who seemed to be looking directly at him as it approached the table full of ice-cream and cookies that smiled when Arthur looked at them.

The alien, leaned down, and before Robert could react, had used a very large syringe to administer a very small needle into Robert’s shoulder.

“Hic, canitreasoncanitunderstand?” The aliens’ thoughts came all at once in a jumble. After a few more attempts, during which, Robert’s mouth resumed its opened state. The alien stood and turned towards the smaller one which Robert had noted earlier, and said: “Hicperhapsyou’recorrecttheymusthavelosttheirabilityto communicate.”

“Return it as with the others. I see no reason to pursue.” Came the reply.

“Wait.” Robert exclaimed, a bit too loudly, but he wasn’t about to let this situation go by.

All of the Syndaxic stopped what they were doing, and turned to stare at Robert.

“It..understands..thoughts?” the alien, Robert decided was a doctor, asked.

“HE, well, I…that is… uh…Me…Robert.” Robert. Robert touched his Right thumb to his chest.

“Ah. Pleasing. You will prepare your planet for the Rise.” The smaller alien behind the doctor said.

“The…Rising is it?” Robert said slowly.

“It is time.” Little guy, Robert thought, the fact that he, a 5ft 8inch human, was currently referring to a 20ft tall alien as ‘Little one’ somehow making him feel a bit silly.

What Robert felt next was nearly indescribable. Images. The first images he couldn’t really comprehend, but seemed to tell the story of a higher-dimension of beings. So large and alien that not even one of them could fit into the universe which Robert called home. These, beings, seemed to ingest realities. “Hm.” Robert said absent mindedly. The next images were of something that could only be described of as multi-dimensional fire, and then images of impossibly large creatures resembling the Syndaxic. Their heads were so enormous, that they developed muti-dimensional communication before they had developed culture. Upon contact with the first species, they understood their purpose, and using some of the knowledge learned from the little they could understand about their new ‘deities’, they’d begun to build ships. Spaceships.

One such spaceship in particular, now piloted by the descendants of the original alien builders, journeyed to what Robert somehow knew to be Earth.

Next Rober saw images dinosaurs, all over a planet, but these dinosaurs had feathers, and cities. They had an entire culture, which had been based upon the cycle of life, and which was based upon the need for cooperation with each other. War had been outdated for centuries, and the entire land-base had been accessible due to teleportation devices. “No cars.” Robert noted as the images flitted through his mind disapprovingly. He could feel heat from the moon sized meteor as it destroyed that civilization. “Well, they didn’t have any cars anyway.” Robert briefly thought to himself as the next images, those of very small humans, began to develop a tribal culture, and then build huts instead of living in caves. Then the Syndaxic appeared, the water that drowned them was rather warmer than Robert had expected. It might’ve been pleasant except for the fact that it took a very large portion of the tribal population with it. The Syndaxic left.

And now the Syndaxic ship had returned yet again, this time Robert saw images of what could only be described as the Syndaxic Grand Purpose. By now Millions of Syndaxic ships roamed around the galaxy. And, where they went, civilizations fell. The next part Robert somehow felt, more than saw; they were seasoning the reality for the ‘Great Consumption’. During their long-dead ancestors initial contact a  deal of sorts had been struck.

“Let us help you.” The ancient Syndaxic had begged to the multi-dimensional aliens.

“How?” came the reply. The multi-dimensional power behind that simple reply had destroyed whole galaxies…And piqued the Muti-D Aliens curiosity as they had never been contacted by their food before, and doing so seemed to change the flavor slightly. After endless eons of eating the same thing, a new flavor had been unheard of and quite welcome.

So it was agreed. The Syndaxic race would continue to exist, even after this reality was destroyed so that they could live to perform the same ‘seasoning’ function in the next one.

Robert slowly opened his eyes to see all of the Syndaxicstaring at him excitedly. They were about to perform their primary mission: it was time to have a catastrophe consume the planet. It would keep some remnants of the previous inhabitants, either in the form of minerals, or vegetation, as happened with the dinosaurs and the little brown monkeys, but once the new civilization rose, the flavor of the planet would be much more complex. It would also buy the Syndaxicmore time in this reality.

“So, we’re what? Like yeast in a loaf of bread to you?” Robert began, as he hid the slight smile that threatened to pull at the corners of his mouth.

He could feel ‘Doc’s’ mind brush his telepathically as it searched Roberts’ looking for information that would help it to understand. Having found the concept of letting yeast rise before pounding it back down so that it could rise again, finally settled itself in it’s consciousness.

“Ah. Yeast. Micro. Yes.” Doc agreed.

Robert cocked his head to the side and thought for a second.

“And has any other species from this planet ever actually spoken to you before?” Robert asked slyly.

“No. You are the first.” Came the reply.

“Then…” Robert began walking around the table, towards doc but kept his eyes on the Little Guy as he did so. If he was going to make this work, that’s who held the real purse strings here.

“Then, it seems to me that you might just have something that none of the other Syndaxics hips have ever had.” He paused for dramatic effect, nonchalantly looking down at the table now to his back, before running his forefinger along the tablecloth seemingly to check for cleanliness.

He let the silence drag on. “Got to play this one just right.” Robert thought as he noted that Little Guy had begun to kneel closer to Robert to hear him better.

“Got ‘em.” Robert thought as he continued as if he had been waiting for the Syndaxic arrival all of his life.

“Don’t you see?” he said incredulously. “WE are a new flavor. We are the first non Syndaxic who will be able to add an entire new flavor to our reality. Why, if we had the ability to travel through the cosmos like you do, we just might be able to help other planets to develop the awareness, and thus the flavor of a reality that understands its purpose is to be consumed. Instead of consuming this reality in one gulp, our reality could be used as a sort of ‘starter’. WE could ensure that the flavor that goes along with knowing your purpose is not only never lost, but is available across multiple realities! Imagine the variations of flavor!” Robert let that sink in.

The next few minutes were a blur as the Syndaxic formed a circle hiccupping and thinking to each other at speeds Robert could never hope to match. Little Guy separated from the group. Robert looked down at his feet. Noting the first time that he was completely naked. He almost laughed out loud thinking back to how Gerald, one of the other salesmen at Smyth VolVo and Symbas  had accused him of being a shoe-in for the salesman of the year awards because Robert was given the ‘golden goose’ customers. Robert had simply smiled. Gerald wasn’t really a salesman. He was just a guy who talked about cars, and occasionally sold one. No, in order to be a salesman, a real salesman, you had to be able to spot the customer who had that look in their eyes. That look that was either real want or real need. Either would do as far as Robert was concerned. It was the look of a sale.

And, octopuses or no octopuses, the Syndaxic had that look now.

“I can only think of one thing that would stop you from offering the Multi-D’s a brand-new reality of flavors…” He let his sentence trail off.

Little Guy bent down even further, his enormous head nearly at Roberts level.

“Request?” Little Guy asked furtively.

Epilogue:

The announcement came across all communication platforms at once.

“Hello, friends, this is Robert H. Jones, of Smyth and Jones Volvo, Symbas and Space craft! And after exclusive negotiations with the Syndaxic, I’m happy to tell you that we have entered a new age of exploration and inter-galactic prosperity! If you have ever wondered what real outer space is like, well, friends wonder no more. For a modest downpayment, your earthly possessions, you too can have your very own faster than light space-car! That’s right anyone can own one, but only if you buy it here. And only from Jones and Smyth! Don’t just sit there wishing to see what’s out there like your old earth-trapped parents had to, and once we have a little more breathing room, down here, how are you going to see this beautiful planet? Why drive around it in a brand-new Symbas! That’s how.

It’s time to Rise! My name is Robert H. Jones. I’ve just brokered a deal with our friends the Syndaxics. Now. Who wants to buy a spaceship. Or a car?” Robert H. Jones smiled broadly. He was the Number 1 Spaceship salesman in our reality. Top that Gerald.

Russia is a rival to the US and it doesn’t kowtow it’s every action to the interests of the US. Russia had even tried to get along with the US early in Putin’s presidency, but had to give up as the US asked unreasonable concessions. While every country has agreeable/disagreeable, good/bad actions, one can’t help but notice that in the case of Western coverage of Russia the result is overwhelmingly one-sided russophobic xenophobia.

There is an average of zero objectivity. Any potentially negative press is ramped up 1000% to the utmost and oftentimes pure inanity.

If you look at media from outside the American-dominated West, you begin to get rounder more balanced pictures. But the Western powers that be have no interest in that, the presence of Russia itself is against their interest. Fair reporting be damned.

I’m sure the many Chinese quorans can detail similar experiences while observing the western “free” press. Stories owned by the interests of crony capitalists and somewhat racist clickbait tapping into longstanding propaganda, nationalism and xenophobia.

Similar negativity was also once given to Japan when it was viewed as a potential rival.

Russia has for over a century been ingrained as the boogeyman of the west, the thing which goes bump in the night, the big bad and unknown, the thing to blame whenever you don’t know what else to do, or some subhuman caricature. Plenty of today’s xenophobia is rooted in longstanding racism against the Slavs (and Eastern people in general) and bought into by both the left and the right with different excuses.

Look, Russia has plenty of internal matters to deal with, and even controversies. No one in Russia will deny that. But the “representation” of Russia in the West? It truly makes free press look like a joke. Which is darn sad, and moreover, frightening and worrisome.

Did you hear that Iraq has some oil and needs some freedom? Objectivity.

The Qing government lost the war to the Eight-Nation Alliance, but China did not.

How many people are there in Europe? How many people are there in China?

  • If Eight-Nation Alliance only wanted to defeat the central government of the Manchu-Qing. Then 20,000 Soldier are enough!
  • If Eight-Nation Alliance wants to defeat Chinese local governments, it needs 1 million Soldier.
  • If Eight-Nation Alliance wants to rule China, it needs at least 10 million Soldier.

Can Eight-Nation mobilize 10 million Soldier to stay in China for a long time?

At that time, the Manchu-Qing central government was just a shell. When the Eight-Nation Alliance Forces attacked Beijing and Tianjin, all they encountered were the Eight-Banners army, which did not prove that they were invincible in China.

For example, when the British and French allied forces invaded Beijing, Zeng Guofan’s 120000 Xiang-army were halt the troops and wait in Nanjing and not mobilized to defend Beijing at all. The Eight-Nation Alliance forces encountered Seng Green Qin’s Eight-Banners army. However, the Eight Banners Army was negligent in training, and its combat effectiveness was very poor.

If the British and French coalition forces overthrew the Manchu-Qing government, Zeng Guofan would naturally become the new emperor, and began to confront the British and French forces.

Zeng Guofan is the leader of the Xiang Army Group, Li Hongzhang is his student, he wanted to be emperor, but he was an official of the Qing Dynasty and didn’t want to bear the notoriety of infidelity. Zeng Guofan has been waiting for an opportunity.

The actual power of China in the late Qing Dynasty was not in the hands of the central government of the Manchu-Qing, but in the hands of junta and warlords across the country, Especially the Xiang Army Group of Zeng Guofan. Their selfish calculation was to use foreigners to overthrow the Manchu-Qing government.

Although warlords such as Zeng Guofan, Li Hongzhang, Zhang Zhidong, and Yuan Shikai are willing to “Cooperate” with Europeans, they are traditional Chinese at heart and not be at the mercy of foreigners.

The army and territory are in the hands of these warlords of the “Xiang army” system, Forcing them to obey orders requires huge costs and costs.

The biggest headache for the Westerners forces is that they believe that the selfish, indifferent and numb Chinese people have shown great hatred in the Boxer Movement. If someone organizes them effectively, they will face a very dangerous situation.

From the beginning of the Opium War, the British found that the vast majority of Chinese people did not care about their country at all. As long as there was no robbery, killing and fair trade, they would even help foreigners deal with the army of the Manchu-Qing government.

Westerners have carefully studied this phenomenon and come to the preliminary conclusion that Manchu, an rulers of minorities, can only rely on violence and fool people policy to maintain apparent peace. The broad masses of the people had no feelings for the Manchu-Qing government, nor did they have the concept of state.

However, the Boxer Movement has greatly broken through Westerners’ understanding of ordinary Chinese people.

China is not like India, and Indians do not have the same resistance consciousness as the Chinese, so the British Empire colonized India.

The outbreak of the Boxer Rebellion in China forced Europeans to change their plans to colonize China and instead support the Qing government as their agent.

Creamy Spinach Ravioli

Refrigerated cheese-filled ravioli and vegetables are tossed in a velvety sauce for a meatless dish that comes together in no time.

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Yield: 6 servings

Ingredients

  • 1 (8 ounce) package mushrooms, sliced
  • 1/2 cup chopped onion
  • 1/2 cup diced red bell pepper
  • 2 (9 ounce) packages refrigerated light cheese-filled ravioli
  • 2 garlic cloves, pressed
  • 1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper
  • 3 ounces reduced-fat cream cheese (Neufchatel)
  • 1/3 cup fat-free evaporated milk*
  • 1 (10 ounce) package frozen creamed spinach in low-fat sauce, thawed
  • Grated fresh Parmesan cheese (optional)

Instructions

  1. Slice mushrooms using *Egg Slicer Plus®*. Chop onion using *Food Chopper*. Dice bell pepper using *Chef’s Knife*.
  2. Cook ravioli according to package directions in *Professional (4-qt.) Casserole*. Drain using large *Colander* and return to casserole; cover and keep warm.
  3. Meanwhile, heat *Large (10-in.) Skillet* over medium heat. Lightly spray skillet with nonstick cooking spray; add mushrooms, onion, bell pepper, garlic pressed with *Garlic Press* and black pepper. Cook and stir for 3-4 minutes or until vegetables are tender and all liquid is absorbed.
  4. Reduce heat to low; add cream cheese and evaporated milk. Stir until cream cheese is melted and sauce is smooth. Stir in creamed spinach. Simmer over low heat for 1-2 minutes or until heated through. Pour vegetable mixture over ravioli; stir gently.
  5. Serve immediately with Parmesan cheese, if desired.

Notes

* Use evaporated milk to add a creamy texture and richness to dishes without adding fat. It is sold in cans and is shelf-stable for up to 6 months, making it a welcome addition to any pantry. Once open, evaporated milk should be stored in the refrigerator and used within 1 week. Be sure not to confuse evaporated milk with canned sweetened condensed milk, which contains sugar and is often used for desserts.

The cooking time for fresh pasta is shorter than for dried pasta, so follow the package directions carefully.

Nutrition

Per serving: Calories 340 (27% from fat), Total Fat 10g, Saturated Fat 6g, Cholesterol 45mg, Carbohydrate 44g, Protein 18g, Sodium 580mg, Fiber 4g

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Bullfrog Who Wouldn’t Quit

Ah, dear reader, you’ve returned once again to join me, Sir Whiskerton, in another delightfully absurd adventure! Today’s tale involves a most peculiar visitor to the farm—a bullfrog named Leonardo. Now, bullfrogs, as you may know, are not typically the type to seek gainful employment, but Leonardo was no ordinary bullfrog. He arrived with big ambitions, a booming voice, and a refusal to take “no” for an answer. What followed was a series of hilariously chaotic events that had the entire farm in stitches… and left me questioning my ability to manage such unique personalities. So settle in for the ribbit-ing (pun intended) tale of The Bullfrog Who Wouldn’t Quit.

The Arrival of Leonardo

It all began on a muggy summer morning. The sun was just rising over the barnyard, and I was enjoying a quiet moment by the pond when I heard a deep, resonant ribbit.

“Excuse me, good sir!” came a loud, booming voice.

I turned to see a plump bullfrog perched on a lily pad, adjusting a tiny bow tie around his neck.

“I am Leonardo,” he said, puffing out his chest. “And I am here to offer my services.”

“Services?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “What kind of services?”

“Anything you need!” Leonardo declared, leaping dramatically onto the bank. “I’m a versatile bullfrog, you see. Need a singer? I have the voice of an angel. Need a gardener? These legs are perfect for digging. Need a security guard? My croak is guaranteed to scare off intruders!”

I stared at him, unsure whether to laugh or admire his enthusiasm. “Leonardo, this is a farm. We don’t exactly hire bullfrogs.”

“Nonsense!” Leonardo said, waving a webbed hand dismissively. “Every operation can benefit from a bullfrog of my caliber. Just give me a chance, and I’ll prove my worth!”

The First Job: Singing with Ferdinand

Unable to resist Leonardo’s determination, I decided to put him to the test. “Very well,” I said. “If you’re such a talented singer, why don’t you join Ferdinand the duck for a duet? He’s the farm’s resident performer.”

“Ah, a fellow artist!” Leonardo said, beaming. “Lead the way, my feline friend.”

We found Ferdinand by the pond, practicing his usual repertoire of quacks.

“Ferdinand,” I said, “this is Leonardo. He’d like to join you for a duet.”

“A duet?” Ferdinand said, narrowing his eyes. “With him?”

“Trust me, Ferdinand,” Leonardo said, straightening his bow tie. “You’ll be honored to share the stage with me.”

The two began their performance, and it was… well, let’s just say it was unique. Ferdinand unleashed his signature “quack, quack, quaaaaaaack,” while Leonardo belted out a deep, guttural ribbit that sounded like a tuba being dropped down a well.

The farm animals gathered around, their reactions ranging from amused to horrified.

“Oh, Ferdinand! Oh, Leonardo!” Doris the hen clucked. “Such… passion!”
“Passion! But also so loud!” Harriet added.
“Loud! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Lillian screeched.

By the time they finished, Ferdinand looked thoroughly unimpressed. “I’m sorry, Leonardo,” he said, “but our styles are… incompatible.”

“Pfft, amateurs,” Leonardo muttered as he hopped away. “On to the next job!”

The Second Job: Gardening with Porkchop

Next, I decided to let Leonardo help Porkchop in the garden. “Leonardo,” I said, “if you’re as good at digging as you claim, why don’t you help Porkchop plant some vegetables?”

“Digging? Ha! Child’s play,” Leonardo said, cracking his webbed fingers.

Porkchop, always cheerful, was happy to have help. “Alright, buddy,” he said, handing Leonardo a small trowel. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Leonardo, however, had his own ideas. “A trowel? Please. Watch and learn.”

With a dramatic leap, Leonardo began furiously kicking dirt with his powerful legs. Within seconds, he had created a hole so deep that Porkchop’s snout disappeared when he waddled over to inspect it.

“Uh, Leonardo,” Porkchop said, “we’re planting carrots, not building an underground bunker.”

“Nonsense!” Leonardo said, still digging. “The deeper, the better! These carrots will grow to be the size of tree trunks!”

By the time I arrived to check on their progress, the garden looked like a battlefield. Dirt was everywhere, and poor Porkchop was covered head to hoof in mud.

“Leonardo,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose, “perhaps gardening isn’t your calling.”

“Fine,” Leonardo said, dusting himself off. “Next!”

The Third Job: Security with Rufus

Determined to find a place for Leonardo, I decided to test his claim about being a good security guard. “Leonardo,” I said, “why don’t you help Rufus keep watch near the barn? We could use an extra set of eyes.”

“A brilliant idea!” Leonardo said, puffing out his chest. “No intruder shall pass on my watch!”

Rufus, ever the loyal farm dog, was skeptical but agreed to give Leonardo a chance. The two took up positions near the barn, scanning the horizon for anything suspicious.

For a while, all was quiet—until a butterfly fluttered by.

“INTRUDER!” Leonardo bellowed, leaping into action. He chased the butterfly with such vigor that he knocked over a pile of hay, startled the hens, and sent Rufus into a barking frenzy.

By the time the chaos settled, the barnyard looked like it had been hit by a small tornado.

“Leonardo,” I said, trying to remain calm, “that was a butterfly.”

“Yes, but it could have been a spy,” Leonardo said, standing proudly. “You can never be too careful.”

The Revelation

After a long day of failed jobs, Leonardo sat by the pond, looking dejected. “I just wanted to be useful,” he said, his booming voice now soft. “I thought I could make a difference.”

I sighed and sat down beside him. “Leonardo, you’ve got a lot of enthusiasm, but maybe you’re trying too hard. Sometimes, the best way to help is just to be yourself.”

“Be myself?” Leonardo said, tilting his head.

“Yes,” I said. “You’re a bullfrog. You’re already great at being a bullfrog. Why not focus on what you do best?”

Leonardo thought for a moment, then smiled. “You’re right, Whiskerton. I don’t need a fancy job to be important. I’m going to be the best bullfrog this farm has ever seen!”

And with that, he hopped back into the pond, where he spent the rest of the evening croaking happily.

The Moral of the Story

The next morning, the farm was back to its usual peaceful rhythm. And while Leonardo’s job hunt had caused its fair share of chaos, it also brought plenty of laughs and a reminder that everyone has their own unique talents.

The moral of the story, dear reader, is this: you don’t need to change who you are to make a difference. Sometimes, just being yourself is more than enough.

As for Leonardo? He still lives by the pond, where he’s become the farm’s unofficial mascot. And while he no longer chases butterflies or digs bunkers, his larger-than-life personality ensures there’s never a dull moment.

The End.

My First Time in Europe (Safety, Food, Infrastructure, vs USA)

First impressions are very good and instructive.

Not at home but stay with me. Many years ago the Queen was travelling down from Scotland down the A1. The weather turned very bad with a severe snowstorm. Her driver stopped at a local pub. A few hardy Northumbrians were having a few pints. Her team asked if the Queen could shelter inside.

The weather didn’t improve and the landlord offered Her Maj his room but she said she was wasn’t kicking out of his room. She asked if they had a spare. He had a small single ‘junk room’. She said that would be fine. He went to make the bed up, but she said she could manage that herself.

He rustled up a full English breakfast for her the following morning and she went on her way. About a week later he received a hand written letter off the Queen herself, thanking him for his hospitality. 40 years later it’s now framed and still has pride of place behind the bar.

It will get so bad people stop using it.

There once was a time when people believed the internet would be all about sharing knowledge, making the world a better place, that kind of thing.

Sexy singles in my area want to fuck me, I won a prize for being the millionth visitor, and a Nigerian prince wants to transfer his wealth to me?

What more could anyone ask for?

The light at the end of the tunnel turned out to be an incoming train.

Scammers, spammers, bots, liars, malware, viruses, snakeoil salesmen, propaganda, Trojan horses and clickbait.

And it’s only getting worse.

Some of the brightest minds on the planet spend their days working to make apps and websites more and more addictive.

The research is scientific and methodical, backed up by huge amounts of data.

As the toxicity of the apps and websites increases, so will the reactions.

You probably tell your kids not to try heroin, not to follow the stranger who is promising free candy, and so on.

It will get to a point where visiting a website will have the same potential for addiction as trying heroin.

What will we tell our kids then?

Just avoid it, just ignore it, it’s all lies.

Don’t even install that casino app that is offering you free money if you sign up.

Don’t follow the clickbait that promises to distract you from your actual life.

You will just get hooked into some endless doomscrolling spiral interlaced with ads.

Pepe Escobar is back in Hong Kong, and is being interviewed about the “Trump Trade War”. Throw away your TV, and all the Western “news” outlets. This is as REAL as it gets. 

Pepe is down and dirty and speaking real truth about what is going on RIGHT NOW regarding China; BRICS+, Russia and Geo-Politics.

-MM

Well worth your time to watch (or listen). -MM

 

My daughter’s kiddie smart watch-communicator fashion raging though China

Twenty-five years ago at a Canadian bank I took a jar of coins in to deposit into my account. My previous bank in America would dump my change into a coin counter and credit my account. They DIDN’T want coins rolled to prevent fraud. Not the Canadian Bank. I didn’t know that.

The teller was exceptionally rude. She snarked at me, “Did you think I was going to count it right her? You have to roll it.”

I shot back with, “You don’t have a coin counter?”

“Not here we don’t,” she barked. When I asked for tubes for the coins she said I’d have to buy them Canadian Tire.

I left pissed off. I stopped at a President Choice branch in Zehrs and asked about exchanging my coins for bills. I didn’t have an account with PC, but I was willing to pay a fee if I needed. Nope, no machine, but, the teller said, “I’ve got tubes here. I’ll help you roll them.” I was gobsmacked. I told her I’d do it at home if she could give me the tubes and come back tomorrow. Nope. She insisted. By the time we were done with the sorting and counting I had opened a checking account at my new bank.

The next day I went to my soon-to-be former bank to close my accounts. The teller I dealt with this time insisted I explain why I was closing my accounts. It wasn’t a polite “I’m sorry we couldn’t meet your needs,” or “How could we have served you better?”.

Me: “I want to close these accounts.”

Teller: “Why?”

M: “I beg your pardon.”

T: “We need to know why to close your account.”

I was livid by this point. I told her this bank has terrible customer support, the tellers all act like they’re doing the customer a favor just by showing up, and it’s my bloody money and I don’t need their permission to take it from their bank and go to the competition. The rest of that transaction was done in silence.

If Your Cat Takes Your Seat, They’re Trying to Tell You This…

I got a complaint from a lady (I use the term loosely) that “The whole road was flooded outside her house”. I informed her that I was just about to leave for an inspection tour of several surrounding villages, and would call and look at the problem. I had a quick look on our mapping system, and saw that there was a trapped gully outside her house.

I drove to the village, and there was indeed water up to the white line delineating the midpoint of the road. I parked my car and got my spade from the boot, dragging it along the road surface, next to the kerb, to find the gully.

Once my spade dropped a little, I knew that was where the gully was. It was directly under a tree. I dragged my spade over the gully a couple of times, and dislodged the leaves that were lying flat over the gully. After that, it was like watching a bath drain, complete with a little whirlpool, over the gully. Within two or three minutes the water had drained completely from the road, and I took the precaution of shovelling some of the large leaves onto the grass behind the footway, to prevent further problems.

By the time I got back to the office, I hsd an email from her, copied to my boss, and another from him, asking to see my reply before I sent it, complaining that I had scraped leaves onto her grass! I went and saw my boss, and explained what I had done. He agreed with my proposed e-mail, which I then sent. I pointed out that the grass I had put the leaves on was part of the public highway, even if she did mow it, and that the leaves were from her tree, but I would not, on this occaision, send her a bill for my time spent clearing her leaves from the public highway, and suggested in future that she should sweep up the leaves and compost them, as allowing them to fall on the Highway and cause a public hazard, was contrary to section nnn of the Highways Act 1980.

We got no further complaints from her…

Heavenly Peanut Butter Pie

bad3a0430c6eb4ac3e6159cacb305ee3
bad3a0430c6eb4ac3e6159cacb305ee3

Ingredients

  • 1 (8 ounce) package cream cheese, softened
  • 1 cup peanut butter (creamy or crunchy)
  • 1 cup powdered sugar
  • 1 (8 ounce) container frozen whipped topping, thawed
  • 1 (6 ounce or 9 inch) prepared graham cracker pie crust

Instructions

  1. In large bowl, beat cream cheese until fluffy.
  2. Beat in peanut butter and sugar.
  3. Fold in whipped topping; spoon into crust.
  4. Refrigerate until chilled, at least 5 hours.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

~Other Worlds~

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

Jim Parker

~ Other Worlds ~

Wisty removed her prosthetic hand and placed it on the seat. She had it on for the last two days and it was wearing on her. Then turned to Shewuma and asked, “So. Chieftess?”

Wu hopped up next to her and sat cross-legged. “My father was chief, and my twin brother and I were his only children. But we had the sacred lineage and were turned. We both had to give it up.”

“Do you regret it?”

Wu thought about her life and smiled. “No, not at all. I had Enoch. Now I have Debbie and Jimmy and David E. and Tippycat and the rest of the family. And now I have you. Do you regret being a witch?”

Wisty sat up straight. “No. I can’t regret doing what I was born to do.”

“Bingo,” Shewuma responded.

“How did you meet Jimmy and Debbie?”

Wu grinned and patted Wisty’s arm. “You’re going to love this story. Then you can tell me all about how Jimmy and Debbie are on their way to save the world. I miss them so much.” The stolen school bus of Hopi Indian Spirit Warriors and Wisty the witch drove through the night followed by David E. and the Wolf in Wisty’s Dodge Dart, while Wisty and Wu got to know each other. Whew! What a day. What a year. They were on a long and treacherous road, but things were finally coming together. Today life was good. They only stopped once at a rest area as dawn was breaking so everyone could pee.

 

Luce parked the bus in Corrine’s driveway right behind David E. and Wolf in the dodge. She pulled the lever to open the side doors just as David E. walked up accompanied by Wolf.

“Wolf!” hollered Wu.

He stuck his head in. “Yes, Chieftess.”

“This forest is teeming with game. Go get us a deer or a feral hog. Be discreet. There’s a Trans Am by the barn. My bow is in the trunk. Spare keys inside the gas tank flap. Take one hind leg and give it to Daniel and Corrine the owners, and we’ll eat the rest. Luce.”

“Yes, Chieftess.”

“There are chickens out back. Gather the eggs. Find the kitchen and I’ll meet you there to make some food.” Then she stood up facing the back of the bus and addressed her crew of Hopi Kachinas. “The house is big inside and there’s a barn and a shed out back. The Eagle will help everyone get settled. We may be here for a few days. We’re near Choctaw land, so everyone be respectful. And when ….” Wu stopped talking and was peering through the windshield.

David E. stopped his doting on Wisty and looked to see what was up. Daniel was running across the yard toward the bus. His face was somber. Wu could already smell his anxiety. “Something’s wrong,” said Wu and ran out to meet him.

When she reached him, he said, “It’s Dermott.”

Wu cut him off. “Where?”

“The loft.” In a blur she was gone.

David E. and Wisty came up and asked Daniel what was wrong. They turned and hurried to the house. “It’s Dermott. We found him. He’s bad. It’s like he’s sick and he’s unconscious.”

Wisty broke into a trot. “Let’s hurry!” David E. brought up the rear, limping as fast as his cane would take him.

Wisty entered the loft and saw Dermott on the loveseat in a fetal position. He was pale, shaking, and unconscious. Shewuma hovered over him, checking his temperature and trying to bring him around.

Corrine stood by, hands clasped and lips moving. Wisty realized she was praying. She asked Corrine, “What happened?”

Corrine was clearly shaken as she related the events of the past hour. “Dermott had been remote viewing Jimmy and Debbie all morning, keeping an eye on them. I was in the kitchen when Dermott called my name. I said, ‘What?’ Then he screamed. It sounded excruciating. It made my skin crawl. Daniel and I ran up the stairs and he was on the floor squirming and rolling back and forth. He seemed in agony. Then he just curled up. We put him on the loveseat. Daniel has been trying to call you guys since it happened. I’ve been here with him the whole time. I was about to call 911.”

Shewuma said, “911 can’t help him.”

“Yes,” Wisty agreed. “I don’t think it’s physical either.”

Corrine choked up and lost her train of thought. Daniel put his arm around her and continued, “The dogs all started barking so I went outside and saw you guys driving up.”

Wu checked Dermott’s pulse. “How long ago did this happen?”

“About a half hour ago. Maybe more,” said Daniel.

Wisty pulled up his “Hitman” T-shirt and put two fingers on his third chakra near the solar plexus. As soon as Wisty touched his skin, she snatched her hand back as if receiving an electric shock. “Shewuma, he’s under psychic attack. There’s not much time.” Wisty spun the office chair around and sat down. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she slumped down as if instantly falling asleep.

“Psychic attack?” asked Corrine.

Wu set her jaw. Her mind was racing as she explained. “Someone is trying to kill his soul.”

“Kill his soul,” Corrine softly repeated to herself.

Shewuma ran to the railing. “LUCE!”

Luce stepped out of the kitchen. “I’m here, Chieftess.”

“I need the Eagle. Now! Stay with Corrine and help her with this boy.”

“Yes, Chieftess,” and she ran to the back door.

Wu wanted the Eagle there. Besides his Kachina training, the Eagle was a gifted medicine man and had worked extensively with Mystic Devas in Northern Asia. He could be of great value in such a potentially dangerous situation. She turned to Daniel. “In my closet is a plastic trash can of different plants. Are you familiar with Mugwort?”

“No. What does it look like?”

“Never mind. Just bring it all. Spread it around him. Understand? Just spread it on the floor. GO!” And he went. Mugwort was used by witches for its protection and healing properties. In psychic warfare, any edge could mean the difference. “Corrine,” she said as she took her by the shoulders to get her full attention, “I need your nurse training now.”

Corrine shook out the cobwebs and steeled herself. “What? Anything.”

Shewuma wrapped her arms around herself, let out a deep breath, and said, “Don’t let him die.” Then she collapsed to the floor on her knees.

 

Wisty had never left her body so quickly and felt disoriented. But the globules of light dancing on her skin and the glistening hands flexing at the end of her arms told her she was in her etheric body. The twinkling astral landscape was empty. Somehow she was alone on this plane. She pictured Dermott in her mind and willed herself to his presence. But nothing happened. She spoke his name and said a spell to bring his soul to her. It too was unsuccessful. Even in otherworldly planes there was a natural order and rules of governance. There had to be powerful forces at work to suspend the natural law of her magiks. She wondered how she could find him. Then an idea came to her. Willing an opening of a portal to the physical world, she passed through it into the loft at Corrine’s house. In this state she would be invisible to them. But no matter. It was Dermott she wanted. On the floor sitting back on her heels, Shewuma was in a trance. There were stems and leaves scattered around the floor. It smelled familiar. Of course. Mugwort. Good thinking, Shewuma. Wisty felt its properties enhancing her psychic defenses. Then she saw Corrine and Luce performing CPR on Dermott’s now lifeless body. Time was short and she couldn’t afford to get rattled, so she buried her emotions and remained focused. There was one sure way to find him. She searched for the Sutratma, or life thread. It connected his physical body to his lifeforce in the astral world. Instead of a silvery gleaming cord flowing from his midsection, she found a black brittle fiber pulling violently at his abdomen and extending through a dark hole. That was her best chance. Wisty took hold of the corrupted lifeline and followed it into the blackness. Descending, always descending into the lowest depths of the astral planes. It was not safe this deep even for someone with her knowledge and experience. Many an astral traveler had ventured too far into the lowest realms only to be possessed, driven mad, or lost forever. There was a faint light in the distance. As she came closer, she could see it was Dermott. For the first time in all her considerable experience of astral projecting, Wisty was afraid. Dermott was being attacked by a group of what she called astral wildlife. Nasty creatures of the lower realms whose sole purpose was to savage or steal the life force of others. But this scenario was impossible. Astral vermin hated each other as much as they hated everything else. They would attack anything on sight, even their own kind. Yet these monsters were working together. Ugly, harpy beasts tore at his astral flesh and sucked at his soul while rat-like parasites had severed his life cord and gnawed at the remains that trailed from him. His physical body was dead now and his soul would soon be lost as well, floating through this accursed place until it was consumed entirely. She visualized herself surrounded by love and light, building a psychic shield, and went to him. The vermin seemed appalled by her presence, but they were not repelled by her defensive sphere as she expected. Dermott’s eyes were wild and pleading for help. She grabbed a harpy that had its claws sunk deep in Dermott’s shoulder. They were small but powerful beings. Finally wrenching it loose, she hurled it into the darkness, then wrapped her arms around Dermott’s neck and held on desperately. To let go would be the end of his existence. Kicking at the vermin had little effect and she didn’t know how else to fight them. Soon the harpies were attacking her as well, ripping at her astral flesh and stealing bits of her lifeforce. The rats left Dermott and moved on to her life thread. Her silver cord turned gray and began to splinter as the parasites viciously gnawed at it with their grating teeth. There was a chance, but it was a longshot and very dangerous. Besides, she needed her arms to do it and to let go of Dermott would be his end. She had grown weak and was losing focus. Thinking of David E., she called his name out loud.

Just as all seemed lost, one of the harpies screeched a hellish noise and his body burst into flames. Then it dissipated into nothing. Wisty looked up and in the distance like a glorious angel, Shewuma approached, shining with a golden sheen. In her left hand she held a bow of white light. She fired a rapid succession of blinding arrows until all the astral atrocities were ended. Wisty’s strength was spent, and her life thread was now a piece of frayed string.

“Hold on. I’m coming.” Shewuma said to her mind. But Shewuma wasn’t going to make it. They both heard it. A vociferous rumbling buzz rolled through the darkness, filling them with dread. Shewuma could see it now. A horde of evil astral beings. Thousands of negative entities approaching them like a demonic wave. They were called Negs in Kachina lore. Shewuma spent many years training to navigate other worldly realms, deal with spirit entities, defend herself psychically, and fight Negs in the astral world. But this was beyond anything she was ever taught. She knew she couldn’t possibly win. There were too many. But they would pay a heavy price. The bow in her left hand and the arrow in her right hand both became flaming swords. “Keep your faith,” she said out loud and spoke a Hopi prayer of bravery. Then a bubble of light came from above and into the horde. The Negs began to scatter and shift erratically. It moved through them like a shooting star heading straight for Shewuma. It was the Eagle. Shewuma could see him now. The Negs had reformed and were bearing down on them. The Eagle reached her side, but there was no time to make it to the floating remains of Wisty and Dermott. They turned and braced to face the black army together. Perhaps by some miracle they could slow them enough to allow Wisty to escape if she were still able. The two looked at each other. Speaking in their native tongue, Shewuma began the song of strength. “Spirits of the light and sky, hear us. I am Shewuma.”

“I am Nuuakhwahu.”

Then they spoke in unison. “We are Holy Warriors. We are Kachinas of the Hopi nation. We are Star Children of the Realm of Man. Help us die well.” Shewuma bowed her head to this noble warrior that she had called to his death.

With a wink and a hint of a smile, the Eagle said to her, “You’re going to love this, Chieftess. A little something I picked up in Tibet.” He began to grow. Ten times, a hundred times bigger.

Together they screamed the Hopi War Cry and met the horde.

Like jumping naked into the snow, the powerful War Cry brought Wisty to consciousness. She watched the Neg army envelop the brave Kachinas. They fought for her and Dermott, and they would die for her and Dermott. Shewuma battled ferociously but was disappearing under sheer numbers. Even with the massive death toll from the Eagle with his colossal size, he was steadily being ripped apart.

A voice deep inside told Wisty she had to do something. She wrapped her legs around Dermott’s waist and locked her feet. Then she held her arms out while visualizing an amethyst knife held by both hands pointing at her chest, and it was so. She had never done this spell before. It was said that none who tried had survived. “Oh well,” she thought. “Nothing ventured.” She spoke out loud with resolve:

Our life is spent, our time has come.

                    Back to the place that we are from.

                     I call upon the Powers That Be.                        

         This is my will                                                        So mote it be!

She plunged the knife into her chest.

 

There was a thunderous clap, and in that instant they all woke up back in the loft in their own bodies. Shewuma went to her feet unsteadily. The Eagle was on his knees trying to get his bearings. “Daniel, please help him,” said Shewuma. Corrine and Luce were doing CPR on Dermott’s body. Corrine looked worn out. Shewuma turned to Wisty and called her name. Wisty murmured something unintelligible. Wu slapped her across the face and yelled, “WISTY!”

Wisty opened her eyes, grateful to be alive. “Wu?” She tried to get up and Wu had to keep her from falling over.

“What about Dermott?”

Wisty patted her chest. “I have him here.”

Wu carried her over to the loveseat. “Let her in, guys. You did a hell of a job.” Corrine sat down on the floor exhausted while Luce went to help the Eagle. Ignoring decorum, Wisty pulled her dress up to her waist and straddled Dermott. She pressed against both of his temples while breathing in deeply. Glancing to her right she saw Shewuma watching her intently as she recited a Hopi prayer.

Wisty said, “Here goes.” Wu nodded encouragement. Wisty put her mouth on Dermott’s mouth and willed her soul to breathe. Dermott’s lips began to sparkle and color poured back into his face. His eyes opened. He lurched upward, arching his back and bucking Wisty off the loveseat. Wu caught her midair and sat her down. “Nice reflexes. Thanks.”

Wu pulled her in for a hug. “You did it.”

Holding onto Wu’s neck she said, “We did it, Shewuma. You two saved our lives. Thank you.”

Corrine lay back on the floor and smiled. She was pooped.

Luce leaned over Dermott, cocking her head. He was saying something to her. “Chieftess!” Luce called out in alarm.

“Everyone quiet,” ordered Wu, and she was at Dermott’s side. He grabbed Wu’s arm and struggled to tell her something. “Luce, get Dermott some water.” Wu said it calmly, but her eyes were smoldering. She stroked his head gently. “Tell me everything.”

His voice was raspy and faint. “Jimmy and Debbie. They’re going to die. It’s a trap.”

Donald Trump is so stupid that he reveals the game constantly, which is rather refreshing. In my opinion the US dominates Europe anyway, and politicians are rarely able to do things which isn’t to the US liking. Traditionally, this is done through the awesome American intelligence services, manipulation, economic pressure and cultural imperialism. These are all soft approaches, sophisticated and has a long track record of actually working. But why use veiled threats and intelligence, when you can just outright threaten people? What an era of mask-off moments, where the true power relationships are revealed.

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main qimg 04e393b4144b57a149c6657a54941468

Future New Gettysburg

The USA will not use military force to annex Greenland, because they don’t need to. What the USA wants is all our natural resources as well as certain measure to be taken to strengthen their own security position.

First of all, the USA wants the undersea cables that goes via Greenland to be protected, and what do you know, suddenly local politicians from Greenland (Kuno Fencker) are suggesting Denmark does more to protect this critical infrastructure.

Secondly, the USA wants the resources, and you’ll probably see that development of Greenland for mineral extraction will happen, and guess what, the people who will get the rights to that, will randomly and through fair and transparent selection processes end up being American corporations, with extremely favorable tax conditions. Vivian Motzfeldt (Greenland Social Democrat and political ally of the Danish prime minister) already said Greenland is open for mineral exploitation with US companies. What an interesting an unrelated opinion to suddenly have.

These things will happen either way, if the USA really want total control over Greenland, what we will do is simply hold an independence vote in Greenland, they will declare themselves sovereign, the US corporations will buy literally everything, and dominate Greenland absolutely, potentially for the price of merely enriching the tiny local population in exchange for all the wealth of Greenland’s natural resources.

If America wants to expand its empire, don’t you worry, our politicians are always ready to bend over, I am just glad that we can stop pretending that isn’t what is happening.

Struggling in the USA | Is Leaving America the Solution to the Cost of Living Crisis?

Why on earth would we do that? China is the greatest economic success story in human history.

The Chinese are very proud of their country’s progress. They fully support their government.

China is a peaceful trading nation. Unlike the USA, China has fought no wars since 1979.

China’s BRI is helping over 150 countries to develop. They are very grateful for China’s assistance.

China will change and adapt as needed.

Would make great Tee-Shirt designs

You betya.

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This incident truly occurred in history. In the 1960s, the Soviets, with an air of superiority, demanded that China submit to Soviet leadership and even attempted to establish a joint fleet and long-wave radar stations on Chinese soil. Faced with this “insult to intelligence,” Chairman Mao had a “deep discussion” with Khrushchev in a swimming pool in Beijing (Khrushchev, of course, couldn’t swim).

Soon after, Sino-Soviet relations deteriorated completely. The Soviet Union deployed over a million troops along the Sino-Soviet border and even threatened to launch a nuclear strike on China.

Mao’s response was firm: if the Soviets launched a nuclear attack on China, the Chinese people would unite and attack the Soviet border, cutting off the Soviet Far East railway, advancing into Siberia, Central Asia, and the area west of the Ural Mountains, including the region west of Yekaterinburg. A new China would be rebuilt on Soviet land. At the same time, to prevent the U.S. from taking advantage of the Sino-Soviet conflict, China would target American military bases in the Far East with hydrogen bombs.

In terms of execution, China planned to use front-line troops from Xinjiang, Northeast China, and Inner Mongolia as the first strike force; troops from North China, Gansu, and regions north of the Yellow River as the second strike force; and forces from Southern China, including Sichuan, Yunnan, Guizhou, and Guangxi, as the third echelon, heavily investing in the construction of uranium enrichment plants, heavy water plants, and munitions factories as core resistance bases.

Even today, the military hub of Chongqing, famous for its hot pot, still has many “air-raid shelter hotpot restaurants.” The mountains in Chongqing have been almost hollowed out, and many of the shelters are built to nuclear fallout shelter standards. In fact, many air-raid shelters in China are constructed this way.

At this moment, the “smart” Vietnamese chose to sign an alliance with the Soviets at this sensitive time. As a result, the Vietnamese were beaten by the Chinese. This is the price “the smart ones” have to pay for trying to profit in the “great power game,” with the Vietnamese paying that price.

Later, Brezhnev, who had gained nothing from his dealings with China, in a fit of impotent rage, chose to invade Afghanistan.

This gave the Americans an opportunity. The U.S. purchased weapons from China, which were then sent through Pakistan to Afghan guerillas, burying Soviet soldiers in the Afghan battlefield and causing the Soviets to pay a heavy price.

The Soviets seemed to have forgotten one thing: any country or nation that dares to negotiate with China from a position of superiority, threatening China with its power, is doomed to failure.

In 5,000 years of Chinese history, there has been no exception.

During the conversation between China’s foreign ministry representatives and U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken in Alaska, Yang Jiechi clearly told the Americans: The U.S. has no right to “talk from a position of strength” with the Chinese. If you want a meaningful conversation, both sides must engage with an attitude of equality and mutual respect.

Otherwise… you know, the humiliation from China could ruin your career.

The Chinese people never feared the nuclear threat from General of the Army Douglas MacArthur even when we didn’t have nuclear weapons. We could chase you all the way to your home and take you down even with just grenades!

Who do you think you are? What makes you think you’re so important?

In America, It’s Better to be Poor

I was born in the United States. My mother was a third-generation natural born citizen and my father was an emigrant from the Anglosphere. My only connections abroad are through Quora, and I live in the poorest Congressional district in the United States. I write this essay not regarding sour grapes but regarding improvements for honest people in America.

America, as many people realize, ran a global Ponzi scheme and willfully starved people around the world, especially in North Korea, for being poor, and supports seemingly endless Zionist terrorism, including in jihadist variants.

The more dollars one holds, the poorer one is, yet in the American system, holding more dollars increases purchasing power. As dedollarization takes hold, it will likely become impossible to emigrate without rare skills. Thus, the very real possibility of Americans vanishing into labor camps presents itself, because Americans who made it in the Ponzi scheme tend to be higher-functioning than the ones who did not, and much of the world suffered from our leaders’ behavior. That we had a difference of opinion with those leaders without succeeding under the conditions presented means that we are likely untrusted to contribute to anyone else’s system.

Honesty makes my life bearable: People don’t need much to live okay if they treat each other right. Welfare offices deny applications as a default, even when people are not exploiting the system and simply wish to work. America is a death trap, and though I hope to build a resume and leave, I realize that the increased pace of dedollarization will probably lead to my physical extermination.

Because life was unbearable for honest people in America who did not aspire to riches, the notion that America may end and the world be reborn is comforting, even if Americans who tried to lead honest, working lives find themselves eliminated under unpleasant conditions. Discomfiting is the notion that Americans who have qualifications may be able to leave and live good lives elsewhere, despite having benefited from the global Ponzi scheme: Many of us who have truly been left in the cold may never be able to work it off for a better tomorrow.

The main point of comfort, however, is that these Americans will not be allowed to run Ponzi schemes elsewhere as the rest of us vanish with the miserable world our country built. The honesty of people who were excluded from the USD Ponzi scheme by its managers is striking: The scheme was run out of Manhattan, while the poorest Congressional district in the country is the South Bronx, where I live.

As one might guess, the South Bronx has a strong working-class socialist ethic and though I wish there more things to do and more opportunities, I’d rather be bored to death than amused to death: For me, the prospect of socialist rehabilitation from capitalist unpersoning is the main hope that keeps me going, as things slowly improve.

In America, it’s better to be poor.

INVASION

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

Charles Corkery

“How long have we been working together as a team, Val?”“Twelve years, five months, two weeks and three days. Do you want me to break it down into hours and minutes?”Paul Jones turned to his partner, an incredulous look upon his face.“Are you actually, frigging serious?’Val Thorens broke into a broad smile, his eyes never leaving the giant screen in front of him.“No, you muppet. I’m pulling your leg”.Paul, standing, strode across the small room to a filing cabinet and yanked open a drawer. Retrieving a brown, cardboard file, he opened it and perused its contents for several seconds.“July 2nd 2011. Almost twelve and a half years ago. Jeez! You’re right. How did you do that? Wait, if I check the actual time that you became my partner…”“Paul, a child of four years could work out how long we’ve been together. Why are you making such a fuss about it?” 

Replacing the file, Paul turned back to his partner.

 

I didn’t know. I mean I knew it was about ten, twelve years but you…you’re always so frigging precise. It’s uncanny”.

 

‘Hey, I might be a physicist and an astronomer but, above all else, I’m a mathematician. Numbers to me are like candy to someone like yourself”, Val glibly remarked, pointing at the almost empty, giant bag of M and Ms that lay on Paul’s work station without removing his eyes from the monitor in front of him that, to an untrained eye, appeared to display an impenetrable darkness.

 

“Horses for courses, my friend. How come you don’t like candy, anyhow?”

 

Paul resumed his seat and stared briefly at his screen, quickly becoming restless and bored.

 

“My parents didn’t allow it when I was younger and, as I grew older and saw the damage that sugar did to teeth, I just decided it wasn’t for me”.

 

“Man, I’d go crazy in this place if I didn’t have something to brighten up my shift”.

 

Paul looked around their work space eyeing the pristine environment that made up this lab-like habitat that was their “office”. The sterile stolidness, dominated by the two giant screens, the computerised telescopes that were their workstations and which covered the skies above the state of Delaware, only a coffee machine and the low humming refrigerator added a sense of domesticity though one of the earlier shifts had, half-heartedly, hung tinsel around the place in an effort to provide some festive cheer.

 

Grabbing a handful of chocolate treats, Paul leaned back in his ergonomic chair, staring idly at the ceiling, popping candy.

 

“Val, do you ever get bored with this job?”

 

“Sure. And, every time it happens, I think of the money we get paid, partner”.

 

Apart from the idle chitchat, the room’s silence was broken only by the incessant humming of the fridge and crackling of radio static; the latter being the communication airwaves that connected all other watch stations; one per state across the nation. Each employing two, highly trained scientists per shift in a constant, perpetual state of watchfulness upon the skies above and beyond.

 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right, Val. We get paid way more than if I was actually working in a lab. But, I mean, don’t you ever think that we’re kind of wasting our skills? All the years it took to get our degrees. I majored in astrophysics, for God’s sake yet, here I am just…watching a frigging screen”.

 

“In actual fact, if you calculate the time you spend popping candy, making endless cups of coffee and staring at the ceiling, Paul, you probably spend a minimal amount of your working hours actually watching your screen”.

 

“And your eyes never leave your screen, amigo. I don’t know how you do it. No wonder you need those tinted glasses of yours”.

 

“Well, I figure this is what the government pays us to do so, for eight hours each day, it’s my duty to oblige. Plus, after so long, it would be extremely difficult for me to drop a hundred grand per year by taking a normal lab job”.

 

Suddenly, Val leaned urgently forward, his eyes having discerned something on his monitor.

 

“One o’ clock, Paul. Check it out”.

 

Startled, Paul crashed down in his tilted chair, eyes returning to his own screen, a duplicate of Val’s, his hand involuntarily releasing a cascade of candy, M and Ms rolling across the metallic floor.

 

Both screens simultaneously arrowed in on the object identified by Val, images expanding as Paul controlled the direction of the viewfinder on the space telescope that provided them with intimate coverage of the night sky. Within seconds, Paul, among his other accomplishments, a nanotechnologist and an expert in the structure of such things, relaxed.

 

“Just another boring meteorite. Iron-nickel. I can tell by the regmaglypts, the irregular shaped pits. No problem, unfortunately. That’s the way the cookie crumbles”.

 

Later, as their shift ended, the spotting of the meteorite and its subsequent passage to Earth recorded in the log, the two men exited their work environment, the outraged cries of their shift replacements echoing in their ears as they slipped and crunched on the candy strewn floor. They grinned at each other as they unlocked their cars in the parking lot, the weak, early morning sun dazzling Paul but not bothering Val behind his dark lenses. Paul lamented.

 

“Another cold, miserable morning. I can’t remember the last time we had a white Christmas”.

 

Immediately, Val shot back.

 

“December 25th, 2002. 1.3 inches fell in Wilmington”.

 

Paul looked askance at his work partner.

 

“Do you make this shit up? How could you remember that?”

 

Saying nothing, Val simply shrugged, pulling up his collar against the chilly wind.

 

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, you numbers freak”.

 

“Yes. Just two days ’til Santa comes”.

 

“Hey, Val, we need to organise a night out or something. Your wife and mine. Maybe in the New Year. What d’you say?”

 

“Yeah, definitely, we need to do that”.

 

As Paul climbed into his brand new Tesla, he, somehow, knew it would never happen. They had been talking about it… for twelve years, five months, two weeks and three days.

 

The alert came the following day: drones spotted over New Jersey. Reports varied: five, some said, six, others claimed; large, the size of cars according to a New Jersey police chief. Paul arrived for his shift in a heightened state of excitement though Val was his usual phlegmatic self.

 

The shift they were replacing seemed loath to leave though Delaware had, so far, not seen anything amiss. The unusual happenings in a neighbouring state were causing great excitement within the watchers’ community and the comms channels crackled with constant chatter.

 

“Can you believe it? Just east of us. Just our damn luck but we’ve been on full alert all day. Washington is saying they don’t know what they are. One eyewitness said they came out of the ocean”, a tired, wide-eyed watcher eagerly reported to the duo.

 

Alone again, the two settled in front of their screens.

 

“Val, d’you think this could be for real? D’you think…?”

 

‘Paul, I don’t believe we should take any notice of mere conjecture but, given the vicinity and its closeness to our own area of observation, I do think that we need to be extra vigilant”.

 

“Hey, don’t worry, pal. My eyes are never leaving my screen”.

 

As the night progressed, however, nothing was displayed on the monitors from the space telescope that hovered high over Delaware though, on the various frequencies that shattered the silence of their stations, they listened, enthralled, as word filtered through of several other sightings, maddeningly close to their own area of surveillance and, by shift’s end, the number of reported craft had increased steadily; Washington, despite stating that there was nothing to fear, still unable to identify their origin.

 

True to his word, Paul had remained watchful throughout the night, an unopened bag of Snickers testament to his attentiveness, and both men, too, were reluctant to leave their posts at the end of their shift, feeling that it was only a matter of time before Delaware, too, became embroiled in the mystery.

 

Fear, that normal human reaction to anything untoward that cannot be explained, spread swiftly over the ensuing hours. People who relied and depended on their government to reassure them were severely disappointed. Some brave citizens were taking ineffective pot shots at the unidentified craft as their numbers multiplied rapidly. These were not, as first reported, drones. That much was abundantly clear.

 

Panic followed fear and the roads were soon blocked by the vehicles of those fleeing from their homes, though where to, they did not know, but a mass exodus was taking place in New Jersey. Yet Washington did nothing to assuage concerns, either refusing to divulge the true identity of the spacecraft or simply unable to.

 

As Paul and Val reported for their shifts on Christmas Day, still, they learned, no sightings had been made over Delaware though New York State and Pennsylvania, both close neighbours, had now experienced numerous craft sightings. The incessant radio chatter confirmed the seriousness of the situation and the two observational physicists studied their screens intently; Paul, finally realising the importance of his chosen profession. Could the nation be under threat from space? The tension was palpable.

 

Then, an hour before their shift’s end, out of nowhere, an image appeared on their dual monitors; small and faint, at first, but, as it loomed closer, growing ever larger. Excitedly, Paul expertly guided the telescope remotely, zooming in, and gasping aloud as the magnification identified hundreds more craft coming into focus, following close behind the vanguard ship but only serving to accentuate the monstrous size of the lead craft.

 

“Holy Mother of God. Val, you see that? That’s a frigging mother ship!”

 

The static of the various frequencies suddenly ceased, all communication cut by some unknown, alien source. Paul, terrified, turned to his partner but Val seemed unperturbed, almost gleeful, pushing away from his work station and turning to Paul, slowly removing his glasses.

 

“It’s been…interesting, Paul. I’m sorry it has to end this way but, hey, that’s the way the cookie crumbles, right? Happy Christmas!”

 

Unable to move, Paul stared at the man he had worked alongside for so many years; a man who, after more than twelve years, he suddenly realised, he knew absolutely nothing about A man who, he registered far too late, was, in fact, not a man at all, his bulging, bright red eyes, exposed for the first time, now burning into his own, distorting his vision, the vicious heat melting his very flesh.

When I was courting my wife her father was the foreman in the local cemetery and the family lived in the house attached to the cemetery. There was a chapel built in the centre of the cemetery and used for funeral services. When I took my wife to be home after few drinks we would park up behind the chapel for a bit of frisky time. One night while passing the house the wife’s mother saw us but didn’t recognise the car so came out to investigate.

We had just got very comfortable in the back seats,in the dark,in a cemetery, behind a chapel, trousers round my ankles when the MIL came banging on the windows and shouting her head off. I absolutely bricked it . I swear to God I lost 20 years of my life that night.

we’ve been married for 57years now but we still have the odd giggle about that night.

Phoenix is the first place I lived after finishing my university studies. It was an exciting place to live for someone in their 20’s.

Pro’s:

  • No snow. This is a big deal as someone moving from the midwest. Nothing to clean off your car or salt to rust the body of your car.
  • Good Tex-Mex and Mexican food.
  • It’s relatively close to nice to amazing nature. Grand Canyon, Sedona, and Saguaro National Park are within a short drive.
  • Cool places that young people like to visit are within driving distance. Los Angeles, Las Vegas, San Diego, and parts of Mexico.
  • College vibe of nearby Tempe, the upscale vibe of Scottsdale, suburban vibe of Ahwatukee, or country living out past the Carefree Highway.

Cons:

  • There’s no snow, but the summertime heat is absolutely insane. Anything you leave in your car will die. Accidentally left your phone in your car while in a restaurant? Dead. Not to mention your cat or your toddler. Also, don’t leave your gym bag in your car if you use aerosol deodorant unless you want your car to smell like Old Spice for several months (ask me how I know).
  • There’s a highly transient population. People come to phoenix for work, but a lot of people won’t stay. Thus, it’s not the best place to make friends. The “local” cultural scene is somewhat lacking.
  • Bugs and snakes. You won’t see them everyday, but finding black widows and scorpions in your house is a little terrifying if you’re from the the Midwest. You’ll sometimes see snakes while out hiking.
  • Because of how insane the temperatures are, it can actually be difficult to get out and enjoy nature in the summer. People stay in their air conditioned homes, cars, and offices for the vast majority of the day in the summer. It can make the day-to-day experience of life a little boring if you can’t leave the office and go for a walk at lunchtime.
  • Electricity and water utilities are expensive. You’re paying to air condition your house for at least eight months a year. Phoenix is in the desert, so water is scarce, so you have to pay more for it.

(View of Phoenix from South Mountain. Photo by author).

Did you know that ” Louis Pasteur ” discovered the cure for rabies—a disease that affects people when bitten by a dog?

There is an interesting story behind the discovery of this rabies drug.

200 years ago, there were two friends living in a small village in France. One of them was bitten by a mad dog and died after suffering greatly.

After 40 years, the boy whose friend died became a famous scientist known as “Louis Pasteur”. He did many experiments, many researches, but he still could not forget the screams of his friend who died of rabies.

He decided to study and find a cure for this disease through experiments.

He conducted an experiment where he collected mad dogs and put them in a cage. Then he would observe what was wrong with them. Some time after the experiment was conducted, he felt that the foam of saliva coming from the dogs’ mouths was suspicious.

To prove his suspicion, he collected the foam, and put it into a syringe. The syringe was then injected into healthy dogs. A few moments later, these healthy dogs were infected with rabies and eventually died.

Through further observations and experiments, he concluded that when the rabies virus reaches the brain, instant death occurs.

One day, in his laboratory, one of his infected dogs suddenly became normal and healthy.

He then used the dog’s antibodies and gave them to the infected dogs. After a while, the dogs also improved and eventually became healthy.

The experiment was successful, now it’s time to test the antibodies on humans.

But the irony is; where will he get the infected people from?

The great scientist, Louis Pasteur, decided to infect himself with rabies and inject the antibodies into himself, for the betterment of mankind.

The day was set, but ironically it turned out that on that day a mad dog had bitten a small child and they took the child to Louis Pasteur. Antibodies were given and a few days later the child was cured.

The first rabies shot was given on July 6, 1885 and became history.

History holds so many sacrifices, devotion and interesting stories of great people who sacrificed everything for the sake of humanity.

We salute them.

Thank you for reading.


Translator’s addition:

This is the impact of rabies on humans. And if the virus has reached the brain, then the person can no longer be saved. One of these cases is the video above. viewer discretion is advised

In 1995 I worked for a Publishing house in Gaithersburg MD. I had worked for them for 10 years and was now a Director of the Company. During the negotiations for a large mainframe computer purchase, I was told I would be required to lie to the seller and tell them that they had agreed to include a particular subsystem “free” in the overall purchase of the system.

Now I had JUST completed the negotiation of THAT subsystem the DAY BEFORE they asked me to do this so there was NO WAY the seller was going to believe this. I informed the owners that I couldn’t do that and this began the beginning of the termination of my employment with the publishing house.

They were sure I was going to have difficulty getting a replacement job and offered me 30 days severance pay on the condition that I accept a “beeper” and be on call if they needed me until I accepted a job at another company. I accepted and required everything in writing. My last day of work was to be that Friday.

Unbeknownst to them, I had already interviewed with America Online (AOL) accepted a job, and they easily arranged for me to begin work on the following Monday. On that Monday my new boss and I put the beeper in a Courier bag emblazoned with AOL’s LOGO and sent it over to my old company. An old friend of mine in the old company said the beeper was still going off as the package was carried through the office to the owner’s desk.

I REALLY enjoyed that double-dipping last month of extra pay while I was getting paid from AOL too!

Karma says they shouldn’t have asked me to blatantly lie when it would have been so obvious…

Good thing I’d gotten my severance terms in writing too.

Macaroon Brownie Tart

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Yield: 12 servings

Ingredients

  • 1 refrigerated pie crust (from 15 ounce package), softened as directed on package
  • 1 (8 ounce) box fudge brownie mix
  • 3 eggs, separated
  • 1 tablespoon water
  • 1/2 cup semi-sweet chocolate morsels
  • 1 package (7 ounces) sweetened flaked coconut
  • 1/2 cup Half-and-Half
  • 1/4 cup sliced natural almonds

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
  2. Gently unfold crust onto lightly floured surface; roll to an 11 1/2 inch circle. Press into bottom and up sides of Tart Pan using Fluting Tool to create fluted edge. Prick bottom of crust; set aside.
  3. Combine brownie mix, egg yolks and water; mix until smooth and spread over crust using Small Spreader. Sprinkle chocolate morsels over brownie mixture.
  4. Combine egg whites, coconut and half and half; mix well. Spoon coconut mixture evenly over chocolate morsels. Sprinkle almonds around edge of coconut mixture.
  5. Bake 40 to 45 minutes or until edge of crust is deep golden brown and center is set.
  6. Remove from oven; cool 1 hour.
  7. Serve slightly warm.
  8. Slice using Nylon Slice ‘N Serve®.

Nutrition

Per serving: Calories 320, Total Fat 18g, Saturated Fat 10g, Cholesterol 60mg, Carbohydrate 36g, Protein 4g, Sodium 200mg, Fiber 2g

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Case of the Silent Rooster with Noisy Problems

Ah, dear reader, welcome back to another laugh-filled chapter in the life of yours truly, Sir Whiskerton: detective extraordinaire, farm diplomat, and all-around solver of peculiar problems. Today’s tale involves one of the most bizarre cases I’ve ever encountered, and believe me, that’s saying something. It all began when our resident rooster, Ferdinand, suddenly lost his voice. Now, you’d think a silent rooster would mean peaceful mornings, wouldn’t you? Instead, what followed was a symphony of sounds so ridiculous, it sent the entire farm into fits of laughter—and, occasionally, into hiding. Yes, this is the story of The Rooster That Lost His Voice (and Gained Something Else Entirely).

A Morning Without a Cock-a-Doodle-Doo

It was a morning like any other, or so I thought. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a warm golden glow over the farm. Normally, this would be the moment when Ferdinand, our proud and confident rooster, would unleash his signature cock-a-doodle-doo to wake up the farm. But on this morning, there was… silence.

At first, I thought I’d simply woken up early. But then, I heard it—a strange sound coming from the chicken coop. It wasn’t a crow. It wasn’t a cluck. It was a noise that can only be described as, well… a fart.

“Pfffttthhhhpppp!”

I froze mid-stretch, my ears swiveling toward the coop. “What in whiskers’ name was that?”

“Pffftttthhhpppp!” came the sound again, followed by the unmistakable voice of Doris the hen.

“Oh, Ferdinand! What is wrong with you?!”

“Wrong! But also so embarrassing!” Harriet clucked.

“Embarrassing! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Lillian screeched.

Sensing trouble, I leapt down from the fence and made my way to the coop, where I found Ferdinand standing in the middle of the hens, his feathers ruffled and his beak opening and closing like a broken hinge.

“Ferdinand,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “What’s going on here?”

“I don’t know!” he squawked—or at least, tried to. Instead of words, another loud, wet-sounding pffftttthhhpppp escaped him.

The hens recoiled in horror.

“Oh, the humanity!” Doris wailed.
“Humanity! But also so smelly!” Harriet clucked.
“Smelly! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Lillian screeched.
The Investigation Begins

After calming the hens (and assuring them that Ferdinand was not, in fact, possessed by some unholy flatulent spirit), I turned my attention to the rooster. “Alright, Ferdinand,” I said, pacing back and forth. “Tell me everything. When did this… situation start?”

“This morning!” Ferdinand said—or, rather, tried to say. Every attempted word was punctuated by another pffftttthhhpppp, spllllt, or blrrrppp. It was like his vocal cords had turned into a whoopee cushion.

I stroked my whiskers thoughtfully. “Interesting. Have you eaten anything unusual? Breathed in any strange fumes? Crossed paths with Catnip and his band of mischief-makers?”

“No! I—spllllt!—haven’t done anything out of the—blrrrppp!—ordinary!” Ferdinand said, looking thoroughly miserable.

“Well,” I said, smirking despite myself, “it seems we’ve got a real toot-and-a-half of a mystery on our paws.”

“Toot-and-a-half,” Ditto the kitten echoed, appearing out of nowhere and hopping onto my back.

“Not now, Ditto,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Not now,” Ditto repeated, grinning.

The Farm Reacts

Word of Ferdinand’s predicament spread quickly, and soon the entire farm was abuzz with gossip—and laughter.

“Oh, Ferdinand!” Porkchop the pig said, waddling over to the coop. “I didn’t know you were part of the wind section!”

“Wind section,” Ditto repeated, snickering.

“Not helping, Porkchop,” Ferdinand grumbled—or tried to. His words were drowned out by another loud pfffffttttttttthhhhhpppppp, which sent Porkchop into a fit of giggles.

Even Rufus the dog couldn’t resist a jab. “Don’t worry, Ferdinand. If the farmer ever needs a new horn for his truck, you’re a shoo-in!”

“Very funny,” Ferdinand muttered, his feathers drooping. “I’m a rooster, not a… a fart machine!”

The Funny Farm Escalates

Over the next couple of days, Ferdinand’s condition didn’t improve. If anything, it got worse. His attempts to crow were so loud and ridiculous that the farmer himself came out to investigate. Of course, Ferdinand’s ill-timed spllllt-blrrrppp-pfffttt! sent the poor man running back to the house, muttering something about “weird barnyard chili.”

Meanwhile, the hens were at their wit’s end.

“Oh, Sir Whiskerton!” Doris clucked, tears in her eyes. “You have to fix this! We can’t live like this!”

“Live like this! But also so gassy!” Harriet added.

“Gassy! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Lillian screeched.

“I’m working on it,” I said, though I was running out of ideas. “Ferdinand, maybe you just need rest. No talking, no crowing, no… noises. Let’s give your voice a break.”

“Voice a break,” Ditto echoed, batting at a stray feather.

A Humorous Solution

As fate would have it, the solution to Ferdinand’s problem came from the most unlikely source: Cluckster, the scraggly rooster who occasionally ran errands for Catnip. He showed up one afternoon with an old, dusty book tucked under one wing.

“Heard about Ferdinand,” Cluckster said, smirking. “Figured you might need this.”

“What is it?” I asked, eyeing the book suspiciously.

“It’s an old farmer’s remedy for roosters who lose their voices,” Cluckster said. “Supposedly, a mixture of honey, warm water, and mint leaves will fix him right up. But hey, if it doesn’t work, at least it’ll freshen his breath!”

Desperate, Ferdinand agreed to try the remedy. With the help of the farmer, we whipped up the concoction and coaxed Ferdinand into drinking it. At first, nothing happened. But then, slowly but surely, Ferdinand’s voice began to return.

The First Crow

The next morning, the farm held its breath as Ferdinand prepared to crow. He puffed out his chest, opened his beak, and…

“Cock-a-doodle-doo!” he cried, his voice strong and clear.

The entire farm erupted into cheers.

“Oh, Ferdinand!” Doris clucked. “You’re back!”
“Back! But also so normal!” Harriet added.
“Normal! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Lillian screeched.

“Welcome back, buddy,” Rufus said, wagging his tail. “Just promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?” Ferdinand asked.

“No more… sound effects,” Rufus said, grinning.

A Happy Ending

With his voice restored, Ferdinand returned to his role as the farm’s proud rooster. And while the memory of his noisy predicament still brought fits of laughter, it also served as a reminder of the farm’s ability to come together in times of trouble.

The moral of the story, dear reader, is this: even when life gets a little messy—or, shall we say, gassy—a little patience, teamwork, and humor can go a long way. And as for Ferdinand? He learned to appreciate his voice like never before… and to avoid anything that might make him the butt of the joke again.

Until next time, my friends.

The End.

The end of a generation as recognized by Hollywood; the Shootist, and On Golden Pond

When I graduated from High School there seemed to be a “changing of the guard”. It was a generational change. And many of the early baby-boomers were dying off.

At that time, the United States was being ruled and run by folk that were born in the 1920s and 1930s. They had a different mindset from us kids of the 60s and 70s.

So as the one generation came to a close, we saw various signs of transformation. It started with John Wayne’s farewell… “The shootist”.

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ksnip 20250118 150719
The Shootist

The Shootist was Wayne's final cinematic role, concluding a 50-year career that began during the silent film era in 1926. Wayne was not terminally ill when the film was made in 1976. He had been a heavy cigarette smoker for most of his life, and he was diagnosed with lung cancer in 1964.

Then were were many others… such as “On Golden Pond”.

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28eecc19b4da0c5477b703467d165696

Ten years later, a new crop of Baby Boomers started to retire. Key in “Rocket Gibraltar”.

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In a like way we are also experiencing a massive generational shift. And with that comes a consciousness shift.

Keep awareness of the big picture and do not get too caught up in the discomfort that change brings.

Today…

Why does the U.S. not care about China’s growing military, showing no interest or care by increasing their military?

The US does care, it’s just too path-dependent.

The US is still thinking about everything as a competition or zero/sum game, trying to out-military the Chinese military, out-tech the Chinese tech, and out-economy the Chinese economy.

In the past these competitions may have worked, because the opponents were all smaller in size than the US.

These strategies are destined to failure against China, due to the simple fact that China has more than 4 times the population and that China is less developed. Just like how you can become better everyday at a new sport, but can hardly overdo yourself when you’re already the world champion, a developed nation like the US will always have less growth potential than a developing nation like China.

The correct US counter against China was what the US did in the 1990s and 2000s, by embracing China. That way, the US can grow with China with its investment and influence. It can out-military the Chinese by growing with the Chinese military, out-tech the Chinese by growing with the Chinese tech, out-economy the Chinese by growing with the Chinese economy, because the boss, or the investors, always outgrow the employees.

Ask yourself, was the US in a stronger position today or in the 1990s and 2000s, when they grew with China?

The real problem that derailed the US lead was the distribution of wealth. The US made huge amount of money growing with the Chinese economy, but they never shared that money with its people, instead wasting it in destructive wars, enriching weapon manufacturers. The US made huge technological advances growing with China, brain-draining most of China’s best talents and employing them in chip-making, a.i. and scientific research at large, yet since the first Trump administration, the US has been attacking Chinese scientists and students and calling them spies, leading to many of them returning to China, helping China advance its tech.

The US had the utmost military advantage but instead of inviting China into the alliance, like how Japan and Korea didn’t see the need to over-militarize themselves, the US military just had to antagonize China, blinding all Chinese coastal radars with its growlers in 1996, bomb Chinese embassy in 1999, and kill a Chinese navy pilot and invade Chinese airspace in 2001. Ever since then, it carries out daily incursions on China’s coast. It’s the US that forced China to view the US as a threat and grow its military to match, leading to uninmagined advances. At the turn of the century, the best domestic Chinese fighter was still basically a twin engine Mig-21 which the US helped China develop.

The US tried to use China as the bogeyman to distract its people from the domestic issues at home, to avoid the ultra-rich sharing with the American people and the world for more sustained growth. In doing so they turned China into a rival that feels overtaking the US is its only course of survival, and that makes the US ultra-rich more insecure and more kin to strong-arm the opponent, falling into this vicious cycle of self-defeat. It will take a major philosophical change in the US for it to rebound back to the winning strategy.

Spicy Tomato Fettuccine

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87f265cb711dff28a04dba57c71d81fc

Yield: 4 to 6 servings

Ingredients

  • 8 ounces fettuccine, cooked
  • 2 ounces turkey bacon
  • 1 large onion
  • 4 or 5 large tomatoes, peeled and seeded
  • 2 tablespoons fresh parsley
  • 2 teaspoons olive oil
  • 2 garlic cloves, pressed
  • 1 teaspoon basil
  • 1/2 teaspoon salt
  • 1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
  • 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
  • Parmesan cheese

Instructions

  1. Cook pasta according to package directions. Keep warm.
  2. Fry bacon until crisp on 11 inch griddle; drain and set aside.
  3. Chop onions and tomatoes with food chopper.
  4. Snip parsley using kitchen cutters.
  5. Heat olive oil and stir-fry skillet. Press garlic with garlic press into skillet. Stir-fry 15 seconds.
  6. Add onion. Stir-fry 2 to 3 minutes. Add tomatoes, parsley, and seasoning to skillet.
  7. Gently stir 3 to 4 minutes until thoroughly heated.
  8. Remove from heat and serve over pasta. Grate fresh Parmesan cheese over top.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

L.A. Wildfires Made Catastrophic by . . . UKRAINE

Let me tell you a story about how international politics made the Los Angeles Wildfires catastrophic. How over 12,000 homes, businesses and schools burned down in California, because of . . . . UKRAINE.

All of you recall that, in the year 2014, Crimea voted to secede from Ukraine, and to go back to Russia. Many of you might be surprised that I said “go back to Russia” because you may not be aware that, for at least 300 years prior, Crimea WAS part of Russia. –

Throughout most of recorded history it was “the Russian Crimea.”  But on 19 February 1954, then Soviet Leader, Nikita Kruschev, GAVE Crimea to Ukraine.   So Crimea was only part of Ukraine for sixty (60) years.

It was back in 2013-2014 under the Obama Administration that NATO wanted to expand into Ukraine.  Their goal was to place American Missile Defenses on Ukraine soil.  By having US Missiles on Ukraine soil, those missiles could strike Moscow in about five minutes, and Russia’s Strategic Nuclear Missile silos in about ten minutes.

As you may know, Russia flatly refused to accept having such a threat on their borders.  They told Ukraine “no.”  They told both Europe and America “no.”  But NATO was determined and they continued trying to lure Ukraine.

At the time, Ukraine’s Democratically-elected President was Viktor Yanukovich.   Both the US and EU approached Yanokovich and told him, among other things, that Ukraine should move away from the Russian sphere of influence and come into the West.  It would be a boost for business, would improve the lives of all Ukrainians, and so on.

But Yanukovich could not make such a massive decision on his own.   He told the US and EU he needed time to talk to his fellow government representatives, his country’s business leaders, and to his people.   The US and EU said they understood and asked Yanukovich to set a date-certain for his decision.   A date was set.

Yanokovich went about talking to his people, his business leaders, his government people, and when that date came, Yanukovich told Europe and America “Thanks, but no thanks. Ukraine is remaining with Russia.”

That was an answer neither the US nor the EU were going to accept.

Shortly thereafter, the United States and Europe fomented, facilitated, and financed violent riots throughout Ukraine.   Upwards of one million dollars a day – cash – was coming out of the US Embassy in Kiev, to bankroll the riots!

Things got so bad, so violent, that the Ukraine government collapsed.  Yanukovich fled the country.  Guess who was right there to bankroll a new government – one that was favorable to the West?   Yep, The EU and the USA.

A puppet government was installed in Kiev.   It immediately set about banning Russian anything because it was the Russian-speaking Oblasts (states) in eastern Ukraine, which had won the election for Yanukovich.   The new government wanted to get rid of the Russian-speaking population in the eastern Oblasts, especially Luhansk and Donetsk.

The Russian speaking population in Crimea saw this and decided they wanted no part of the new puppet regime in Kiev.   They voted to secede.

The Public Referendum was held under the watchful eye of United Nations and other election monitors.  It was a completely legitimate vote.  The People of Crimea voted overwhelmingly to leave Ukraine and return to Russia.

In the evening of 16 March 2014, Mikhail Malyshev, the Crimean election Spokesman, reported that as of 20:00, 1,250,427 people or 81.36% voted in the Autonomous Republic of Crimea and 274,136 or 89.50% voted in Sevastopol for a total of 1,524,563 or 82.71% of the electorate.  That 82.71% voted overwhelmingly (95.5%) to secede.

The collective West recoiled in horror.  They had plans to put a NATO naval base on Crimea, near Sevastopol, and Crimea leaving would foul that up.  So the West called the vote illegitimate and refused to recognize it.    When the Russian state legislature, the Duma, voted to accept Crimea back into Russia, the West labeled it “an illegal annexation.”

There was nothing illegal about it.  Under the UN Charter, all people have a right to self-determination and the people of Crimea voted for it.  They left for Russia . . .  and took their land with them!

Two days later, on 18 March, 2014, Russia accepted Crimea and Sevastopol into the Russian Federation – forever.

This was a huge problem for the US, the EU, and NATO.  They whined, moaned, and complained endlessly.

At this point, the puppet regime in Kiev began massing troops at Crimea, and at the borders of the eastern Oblasts of Luhansk and Donetsk. On 12 April 2014 those troops began firing artillery and mortars into the civilian areas of those two states, to drive the (Russian-speaking) people out. This was overt Ethnic Cleansing and it was actually illegal.

But the West only cites the “Rules-Based Order” when it serves their own purposes.  That’s the “rub” to the whole “International Rules-Based Order” – the West makes the rules and only uses those rules when it suits the West.

Luhansk and Donetsk fielded their state militia to fight-off the attacking Ukrainians, but they needed help.  They were only a state militia and they were faced with the actual Ukraine army.

ENTER Little Green Men

Shortly after Ukraine began attacking Luhansk and Donetsk, “Little Green Men” began appearing en-masse on the side of Luhansk and Donetsk.  These were trained troops, with full army gear, but no flags, patches or insignia.  They were Russian troops sent to help Luhansk and Donetsk.  They fought Ukraine to a standstill.

By 2016, it was election time in the USA and to the absolute horror of the political class, Donald Trump defeated Hillary Clinton.   Like magic, all the trouble in Ukraine just . . .  stopped.

It remained stopped until ONE WEEK after Joe Biden entered the Presidency that he won through massive Ballot Fraud.  At the time, the Democrats in the US used “COVID-19” as a reason to send Mail-in Ballots to even dead people, and those Ballots got voted.  Trump lost the election to that FRAUD and Joe Biden became the (illegitimate) American President.  ONE WEEK into his regime, the trouble in Ukraine started again.

By 2022, the actions of Ukraine, backed by the West, triggered the official entry of the Russian Army into Ukraine.  Russia had no choice; if they allowed Ukraine to join NATO, it would mean American missiles on Ukraine soil with a five minute flight time to Moscow.

The West will not stop, so the Russian Army is now stopping them. By force.  It is a matter of survival for Russia.

The politics surrounding this has gotten ugly, and it is THAT politics, that caused the Wildfires in Los Angeles to become catastrophic!

RUSSIAN FIRE-FIGHTING PLANES

Russia manufactures a particular fire fighting aircraft called the BE-200. It is made by a company named Beriev, and it is an amazing plane (Pictured above).

Each of the planes can haul 12 TONS of water.   12 tons is 24,000 pounds.  Water weighs 8 lbs. per gallon, so that works out to be each plane carrying three-thousand (3,000) gallons per air drop.

CALIFORNIA WILDFIRES

The typical fire engine (in the USA) carries five-hundred (500) gallons of water, so each of these planes is the equivalent of six (6) fire engines, dumping their entire water load in literally seconds.

The planes can refill in . . . . get this . . . . fourteen (14) SECONDS, from a lake, a reservoir even the ocean.

They have a range of 2100 kilometers, so they can make multiple drops of 3,000 gallons of water, before they have to go refuel.

In terms of fire-fighting, these planes are “beasts.”  They really get the job done fast.

From 2017-2019, the US and Russia negotiated the sale of ten Be-200 firefighting jets to California.  They’d have been stationed just 200km from LA’s wildfire hotspots.

During the negotiations, someone on the US side decided to “stick-it” to Russia.

The US side demanded that the jets use Ukrainian-made D-436TP engines for the RUSSIAN fire-fighting planes. But the manufacturer of those engine, Motor Sich, wouldn’t certify them with the Federal Aviation Administration.

No certification = no deal.

That’s how the contract unraveled. No Be-200s for California.

Rostec, the Parent Company of Beriev, who makes the planes, confirmed that had the contract been signed by 2020, all ten planes would have been delivered by the year 2022.  Well in advance of the recent – and still burning – California wildfires that have leveled more than 12,000 homes, businesses, and schools, killing at least 24 – so far.

Negotiators insisting on “sticking-it” to Russia, ruined the deal for California to get those Russian fire-fighting planes and as a result, there is now $250 Billion in damage to Los Angeles.   All because some nitwit in  government wanted to “stick it” to Russia, over Ukraine.

I am investigating who the persons are who demanded the Ukrainian Engines be substituted on those planes.  When I find out who the persons were, I will name them in a future story.

It is time they get the attention they deserve.

In the meantime, all of YOU now know: The Los Angeles Wildfires couldn’t be put out because, among other things, the US Government wrecked a deal for fire-fighting planes in 2019 because they wanted to “stick-it” to Russia over Ukraine.

They could have had ten planes, equal to 6 fire trucks each plane, the water equivalent of a total of SIXTY fire trucks, flying-in and dumping thousands of gallons, refilling in 14 seconds and flying-in again to dump 3,000 more gallons.

Those fires could possibly have been knocked down in one day.

Yet California homes burned to the ground and people were killed, because some government idiot – likely in  in Washington, DC wanted to “stick it” to Russia over Ukraine.

This is largely a meme with little reality.

American universities lead the world in research. They spearhead great leaps in scientific, technological and philosophical developments. Students from all sorts of countries seek to study in these institutions. Along with American private and public companies like Google or NASA, they are leading the world in immense developments.

There are always going to be knuckleheads. In Britain, there are ignorant people who know absolutely nothing about the wider world, local politics or intellectual subjects. That is their right to switch off, but these type of people exist everywhere.

What makes America stand out compared to these countries is its technological and cultural prowess. Here are some products of the American intellect:

Europeans imagine themselves sitting on a pedestal of effortless intelligence and mock the so-called anti-intellectualism of Americans. They argue that there is an inherent strain of stupidity in the American soul borne from geographic isolation and democratic mannerisms.

This is an old trope about America that constantly recurs in European philosophy. It still rears itself in the contemporary European imagination. If you switch on one of the BBC’s many insufferable so-called comedies, state funded ‘funny men’ constantly make fun of America and act as if the British viewer has a natural intelligence far higher than their transatlantic counterpart.

Herman Melville, who wrote the epic nineteenth century novel Moby Dick, experienced this haughty attitude when he was a whaler. On the high seas, the American ship he helped sail was packed to the brim with whale oil after many successful and daring hunts.

There is a funny instance in the great novel when the protagonists’ whaling ship encounters a rare English whaling vessel which was characteristically empty of any loot. However, the English sailors viewed their industrious American counterparts with disdain. The Americans, whose base was located on the wild island of Nantucket in Massachusetts, was unfairly mocked.

Melville in Moby Dick Chapter 53

The English whalers sometimes affect a kind of metropolitan superiority over the American whalers; regarding the long, lean Nantucketer, with his nondescript provincialisms, as a sort of sea-peasant. But where this superiority in the English whaleman does really consist, it would be hard to say, seeing that the Yankees in one day, collectively, kill more whales than all the English, collectively, in ten years. But this is a harmless little foible in the English whale-hunters, which the Nantucketer does not take much to heart; probably, because he knows that he has a few foibles himself.

This attitude of cultural superiority by Europeans has long persisted, viewing Americans as the riffraff of their collective body. The original settlers of the American colonies who came from England and Scotland were Puritans and rough adventures with little time for the decorum of polite society.

They traversed great seas, endured hardships and experienced immense calamities. By their ingenuity, one of the greatest civilisations was raised from dirt. The French and Dutch also viewed their New World adventures with similar disdain.

There is a great moment on HBO’s miniseries John Adams that reveals this attitude of superiority during his era. In these scenes, John Adam goes to France as America’s ambassador, but he is shocked and mesmerised by the unnecessary refinements of this wealthy society when compared with his own hardier and far simpler frontier country.

Adams speaks very little French and in an embarrassing scene after he arrives into the sophisticated metropole of Paris, he is laughed at by the French king. Marching into the Palace of Versailles, around him stand the white powdered fineries of civilisation. He soon meets King Louis XVI, who later looses his head, and the king publicly humiliates Adams for his lack of French. All of the French nobles laugh at Adams whilst the amused king marches out with a cane.

Adams later gets his comeback when he attends a state banquet with French dignitaries. One of them asks Adams if he wishes to attend the opera, but the ambassador rejects the offer. Amongst the foolery of Paris and its stupefying luxury, he says he has little time for the finer arts. This initially seems anti-intellectual, but Adams begins to explain.

Now I must study politics and war, you see, so that my sons will have the liberty to study mathematics and philosophy. My sons must study navigation, commerce and agriculture so that their children will have the right to study painting, and poetry and music.

The French court are embarrassed by their own luxury and the witty prowess of the monolingual American ambassador who reveals the frivolity of their society.

Whilst there might be complaints that America should spend more time trying to improve its painting skills, there are many great American artists in numerous fields of cultural achievement.

I also wonder if those who continue to make these complaints of American anti-intellectualism have ever attended a European football match?

Or have they tried to converse with one of these fanatical idiots?

There is only one country the whole world seeks to emulate. There is only one country that still has a positive outlook in almost all of Western civilisation. There is only one country that came to the rescue of Europe and defended its liberties when Nazi and Communist gangsters tried to destroy it.

I understand it’s not a popular position to sing the praises of America, but I have admiration for its society and the continued technological, intellectual and cultural march of its peoples. Whilst there is a lot of trash on television, those who complain about the Simpsons should watch British soap operas or spend a morning flickering through daytime Brazilian television.

America is by far one of the most intellectually active countries in history.

Andrew Is STUNNED By Goth Girl Who PS Her Boyfriend

Sentient

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

Chris Broome

Ben was a stay at home father who loved his life. He spent his days with the children he loved so dearly as his wife Sarah was the bread winner. He loved being the “soccer dad”, as he was jokingly called by his male friends. Life was good and Ben felt fulfilled. He often thought he couldn’t have wished for anything more.Sarah loved the freedom that came with being the breadwinner. She had a wonderful loving husband and he was committed to her and the children. She was a junior executive at a local law firm whose emphasis was tax law. Numbers had always interested her since grade school. Her teachers and family tried to steer her to classes more suited to girls. English and Home Economy. She always felt frustration with her parents not realizing her passion and trying to shape her into the worlds image of what a girl should be.No Home Economics or an English degree with pressure from her parents would persuade her from her love of numbers. Being a teacher wasn’t for her. The main reason she fell in Love with Ben was his support for her passion. He was her encourager and her rock. It had been that way since middle-school. The two things Sarah knew since that time was she would have a Math degree and she would marry Ben.“ Pure mathematics is, in its way, the poetry of logical ideas.” This was a quote by Albert Einstein. Sarah said to Ben on Saturday morning as they lay in bed.“Your mind is like a wheel that never stops turning.” Ben told her as he reached over a gently rubbed her cheek with his right index finger.“You have been so kind to me and you love our children so much. i don’t know what I did to deserve you.” Sarah watched as Ben smiled and turned away.“I need you to do me a favor babe. I need to take some time and find myself.” Before he could finish his thought Sarah cut him off.“What do you mean? Is everything alright? Is our marriage in trouble? Have I done something to upset you?” She lifted her self up on her left elbow and look with concern at him.“No darling. No. I love my life. But there is a deep urge I have to find the inner me. The one that screams that I am a man. I feel like I have lost that over the years and I am scared if I can’t find a little piece of it, then I will slowly lose my passion.”“What are you proposing to me then?”“I have found a wilderness retreat that last about a week. I will have a guide and we will wonder through the forest and live off the land for a week.” Sarah watched Bens face light up as he spoke. She knew that just watching his body language he was captivated by the idea.“If that is what you feel like you need to accomplish to make you happy then I am al for it.” Sarah started calculating every step in he mind. The time off of work she would need to take, the time she would need to finish important work, the sitter for the children she would need, but most important the time Ben would be gone. Her logical brain was starting to be overwhelmed by her emotions. This was not common to her so she started feeling overwhelmed. She bent over and wrapped her hand under Bens jaw and turned his face towards him and kissed him.“Life is good and you are so good for me. I love you. Take the time, recharge and come back recharged.”“Thanks babe. I will let you know the plan once all is set and ready to go.” Sarah watched Ben get up and go to the bathroom. She got her cell phone and walked out of the bedroom. She walked downstairs into the kitchen and made a call.“Hello.” A nasal high pitched voice answered.“I nee help. Ben is acting strange!” Sarah said with an urgent whisper. She then went on and explained what was said in her conversation with Ben to the man.“That is new. Though not at all unexpected. This happens from time to time.” The nasally voice stated to her calmly.“ I can tell you how to handle this unless you want me to handle it.’““Just tell me. I can do what needs to be done, after all he is my husband.” Sarah heard an attempted chuckle.“Just tell me or I will come over there and make you regret the day you met me.” Her anger and anxiety was swelling.“Alright. Calm down.” He responded and went on to explain to her the plan to handle the situation. Sarah heard steps coming down the stairs just as the man finished talking. She hurriedly hung up the phone.“You in here babe?” Sarah heard as Ben walked into the kitchen.“Yes. I am going to fix some breakfast. I was thinking about cooking some eggs and cutting up some fruit. Do you want some?” Ben looked at her and had a devilish grin on his face.“Since the children spent last night with their friends and we have the house to ourselves, why don’t we go back upstairs?” Sarah smiled.

“That sounds wonderful.” The to turned and headed back up to the bedroom.

“I need to use the ladies room. Why don’t you get comfortable and when I get out I will give you a massage first.”

“Sounds heavenly.” Ben headed to the be and laid on his stomach. Sarah went to the bathroom and closed the door. She went to the sink and looked at herself in the mirror. Her heart was racing. She felt a warmness and felt little beads of sweat forming on her forehead. She took a deep breath. Turned on the faucet and splashed water on her face.

“I can do this she said to her reflection in the mirror.” She turned and walked into the bedroom. Ben was laying across the unmade bed on his stomach.

“I am ready for that massage.” He said and took a long breath. Sarah slowly walked to the bed and straddled his back. She began to slowly massage his mid-back and eased up to his shoulders. He sighed a relaxing breath.

“You are so good to me babe. I am a lucky man.” Sarah heard this but was so nervous she didn’t respond. She just kept massaging his shoulders.

“Is your neck soar? She asked.

“A little.” Ben felt her hands start to massage his neck.”

“I lo….” Sarah heard as she opened the little hatch and quickly mashed the red button. Ben became motionless. She jumped off of him and got dressed. She then made another call.

Shortly after the doorbell rang. A small framed middle aged man with a balding head stood outside as Sarah opened the door. There was a slight smell of peppermint as she drew closer to pull him inside the house.

“Come on we need to hurry the children will be back soon.” Sarah had grabbed him by the arm and started pulling him towards the staircase.

“I am coming. Slow down. If I fall and the new chip gets broke then it will take hours to get another.”

“I need this done quickly, Charles.” Sarah snapped.

“What is this like the sixth time we have done this since the real Ben died?” Sarah heard him say. She turned and pointed her boney finger in his face.

“He is what I have left of my husband. He is all the children have, do not marginalize this or make smart remarks.” Charles put his hands up in mock defeat.

“I was happy when you first contacted me about testing the sentient being I created at first. But now I feel like he has ruined you Sarah. You are my sister. You need to move past this!” Sarah heard him scream.

“I will move on when the time is right. But not now. I am not ready. He just has meant so much. Then there is the children. How? What? This just has to be!”

Is it true that Chinese Communist Party killed 60 to 80 million Chinese people?

China had 550 Million people in 1949 when the CPC came to power

China had 930 Million people in 1977 when Mao died

I presume nobody claims Deng had millions of Chinese murdered do they?

China’s Median Birth rate between 1949 to 1977 = Around 31 Births per 1000

Chinas Median Death rate between 1949 to 1977 = Around 12 Births per 1000

The Median Rise in Population between 1949 to 1977 = 28 * (13.73) = 385 Million

So Population in 1977 should be = 550+385 = 935 Million

This means 935 Million – 930 Million = 5 Million people missing

Of this around 3.75 Million to 4.10 Million fled China due to the Cultural Revolution

So this means around 900,000 to 1.25 Million Chinese who are not accounted for

This could be the maximum deaths that could have happened due to the CPC related tough measures imposed by Mao

As for the Great Leap Forward – THOSE NUMBERS ARE ALREADY INCLUDED IN THE DEATH RATE

A Lot of Villages reported their Dead

Every Village sent recruits to the Communists during the Civil War and had a list of their soldiers who served and eligible for pension

So the death lists are expected to be very accurate indeed

Still assuming a 30% error rate – That’s still a maximum of LESS THAN 2 MILLION

No way close to the 60–80 Million numbers the West makes up regularly

Kishore Mahbubani Explains IF China’s Economy is Going to Collapse

Not difficult to answer. I am sure you may not expect this answer to be a carbon copy of what you have already read.

I don’t need to dig any deeper for the hard fact why the rest of Southeast Asia countries can’t come any closer to Singapore that is worth to be called ‘developed country.’

Let’s look at few outstanding aspects that Singapore leaving the closest neighbor like Malaysia and Thailand and everyone in the dust.

Everyone knows that stable government that prioritizes long-term planning, efficient public services are the keywords for developed nations. Malaysia and Thailand know it as well but don’t bother.

Law and order that make country peaceful and prosper not only for kids’ bedtime stories like the 1MDB episode that is equivalent to Kids’ favorite—‘The Princess and the Frog’ So does corruption.. but taking a F1 free ticket, the minister should go to jail that’s the Singapore’s story.

  • While Malaysia and Thailand have made significant progress in economic development. But to come any close to achieve at the Singapore’s level of development requires hell of a lot, like addressing political, social, and economic challenges comprehensively.

I don’t mean to throw opponent in jail or let them live like Robinson Crusoe on ‘Pulau Langkawi or Koh Lipe’ but the unique combination of effective governance is what the 2 countries need-

Now you can see, one Prime minister is an ex convict and the other is the PM appointed by a resurrected ex- convict risen from death—-in Singlish is ‘where got hope!

With strategic policies not about the ban of chewing gum or putting molesters in jail but Singapore’s policies on housing, and keeping Singapore’s education on top of the world.

That Including, infrastructure like great public transport that many European countries could not match. Not only the MRT but also its connectivity is superb with covered walkways from your doorstep to the bus top even God is impressed (not even a raindrop is falling on your head)

Also, favorable geography has given Singapore a distinct advantage, like a free port that all ships love and airport and its Do-RE-Me in a blink of an eye and now the 5th airport is on your way that’s going to make KLIA and Suvarnabhumi look like the houses built by the ‘two little pigs’-another kids’ bedtime story.

However, Malaysia and Thailand have the potential to grow if they focus on long-term planning, education, and reducing inequality, and keep income from tourism at bay not solely depending on Russian mafia or Chinese crooks like what Thailand is treating them.

One last thing:-

Globalisation starts with speaking common language almost everyone in the world wishes like English and Chinese not die-die must take pride in speaking only ‘Malay and Thai’…

Singapore knows best and speaks all-Hokkien, Hakka, Cantonese, Malay, Tamil, Singlish, Chinese and Thai!—

That’s why Singapore’s PM could speak to any illiterate person in Singapore with no problems.

Bananas Foster Tart

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Ingredients

  • 1 Pillsbury Refrigerated Pie Crust
  • 2 medium bananas, cut into 1/4 inch thick slices
  • 1/2 teaspoon rum extract
  • 1/4 teaspoon water
  • 2 teaspoons orange zest
  • 2/3 cup chopped pecans
  • 2/3 cup firmly packed brown sugar
  • 1/4 cup butter
  • 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
  • Vanilla ice cream

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 450 degrees F.
  2. Prepare pie crust as directed on package for one-crust baked shell in 9 inch Stoneware Pie Plate.
  3. Bake for 9 to 11 minutes or until light golden brown.
  4. Cool for 5 minutes.
  5. In 1 quart Batter Bowl, combine bananas and rum; toss to coat.
  6. Sprinkle orange zest evenly in bottom of baked crust. Arrange bananas in single layer over zest; sprinkle with pecans.
  7. In medium saucepan, combine brown sugar, whipping cream and butter; cook and stir over medium high heat for 2 to 3 minutes or until mixture comes to a boil. Cook an additional 2 to 4 minutes or until mixture is thickened and deep golden brown, stirring constantly.
  8. Remove saucepan from heat; stir in vanilla extract. Spoon warm filling over bananas and pecans. Cool for 30 minutes.
  9. Serve warm or cool with ice cream.
  10. Store in refrigerator.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

EMP Survival 5: Love in Nuevo Laredo

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

KC Foster

From one of the nearby shelves, a can dropped, hitting the floor sending a clanking sound resounding through the empty grocery store. Masa cringed and held her breathe, trying to calm her racing heart. Not now, not now. Fearing an attack, she clenched her jaw and looked over the edge of the shelves. She locked eyes with Arion and relaxed. He stood strong, watching over them all and completely unphased by the sound. Masa was glad he had joined their group here. Arion had fought for her right to fight, unlike Leron, who had argued for her not to join the raid group. He was helpful and a good teacher, helping her to become strong and face this new world.Arion nodded, signaling that all was clear, and Masa returned to her task. She moved along the shelves, carefully placing cans of green beans, lima beans, and beetroot inside her backpack.The four other men who had come with them were doing the same, quietly raiding an old grocery store in an area controlled by one of the Nuevo Laredo cartels. It was one of the reasons, they had initially skirted around the city to begin with. The heads of the scouts they sent into the city to try and make contact were found jammed down on spikes just outside.Masa shivered and did her best to banish the image from her mind. This was no time to invite fear. When her bag was full, she rushed to the back of the store to the opening to the warehouse with the metal roll doors where they had broken in. She held the gun at the ready to provide cover for the others. With the guidance of the older men in their group, she had become quite adept at using it.“Hey, what are you doing in here?!” yelled a man’s voice, causing her to jump and grip the trigger.Gunfire followed, glancing off nearby walls and shelves sending glass and food supplies flying through the air. Masa leaped into action, following Arion through the shelves, and returning fire.“Retreat!” yelled Arion.Their raiding party, ran back the way they came, retreating into the warehouse. Masa returned to her corner, providing cover for the stragglers, and then rushed after the men. They were disappearing through the gap in the roll door and she leapt after them. A bullet grazed her arm and she cried out, before landing on the otherside and chasing after them. She did her best to ignore the pain while she moved from cover to cover to escape the men behind her.Through the streets they raced, weaving between abandoned vehicles and dodging the rotting corpses of looters. Nuevo Laredo had not been as fortunate as Monterrey. From the little they had learned; the cartels had abandoned their drug trade for governance and the war for supreme dictatorship was still going on here. Every day, a new body lay abandoned in the street or like their scouts, decapitated and their heads placed to set an example for anyone who dared cross them.Masa rounded the corner and found the raid team standing with their hands up facing a large group of armed men. From the group, a single man stepped forward, his hair cut short and teeth more metal than white. He laughed, “Not so lucky this time, are you?”Arion stepped forward; his hands raised in peace. “Our group is getting low on food, and we had no choice.”“The Western Canteena group? The one from Monterrey?” 

“Yeah, and what of it?” demanded Arion.

 

“Rumor has it, your group brought seeds with you and you have farmers?” asked the man.

 

Arion stood silently, judging them and considering their request. After a time, he nodded. Masa watched, skeptical of trusting any of these cartels. She fumed, longing to yell at him. Arion had no right to make deals without the council’s approval.

 

“I am Don Marco,” the man said, “We have some food supplies we secured, but we are also running out. We will give you what you have taken as a peace offering, but I want to meet with your leaders. We need seeds and those who can farm if we are going to survive. Either that, or we must start moving north looking for better land.”

 

“We tried moving north,” said Arion. “One of the cartels has taken the bridge and we don’t have enough to move further west to cross the Rio Grande. I think we are in the same boat and we should work together.”

 

Masa approached Arion, standing behind him. He needed to stop before this got out of hand. “You can’t offer him that,” she hissed. “We discuss things.”

 

Arion looked down at her and frowned. “Trust me,” he growled, “The council will want this deal.”

 

Masa took hold of his arm, turning him to face her. “Tell him we’ll take his offer back. Let the council decide,” she argued.

 

Don Marco laughed. “She is certainly a spicy one. Is she your leader?”

 

“No, she’s not.” Arion snapped at Masa before facing Don Marco, his face a picture of calmness, “Fine. We’ll take your word back to our council. We’ll meet you at the Western edge of town where the old Walmart is in two days.”

 

“Agreed.” Don Marco and his men backed away before disappearing down a side street.

 

“I wasn’t expecting that,” said Arion.

 

“You idiot!” yelled Masa. “The only reason you are in charge of this raiding party is because you were a police cadet and you know the area. The council wouldn’t have trusted you otherwise.”

 

“And the only reason you are in it is because I let you,” he argued, glaring at her.

 

Masa balled her hands into fists and howled in frustration. “You…you…bastard.”

 

“Stuck up Bitch!”

 

Masa slapped him, and he took hold of her and kissed her. Her cheeks grew hot and she was distinctly aware of the other men around her laughing.

 

She shoved him backward and stared at the ground. “You…You…” her cheeks still warm. Her hands went to her lips. It wasn’t unpleasant, but the timing was terrible and she immediately thought of Leron. She had longed for Leron to kiss her since that night on the ridge, but he hadn’t. If anything he seemed to have lost interest, caught up in his new role in the council. Glaring at Arion, she ran towards their base at the canteena.

 

“Wait Masa!” cried Arion chasing after her. Masa could hear his footsteps behind her, growing closer. “It’s dangerous to go off by yourself. Come back! I’m sorry.” Masa didn’t listen, she continued to run, turning corner after corner through the narrow alleyways. Arion’s arms caught her, pulling her back as she fought him, but it was a lost cause. “I told you to stay still!” he yelled.

 

“Fine!” she said, glaring at him.

 

He ripped his shirt and bandaged her wound. “Masa, I find you incredibly attractive,” he said, smiling and her anger melted. “At first, I thought you were with Leron, but you two seem more like brother and sister than anything else. I stayed away and gave him time, but he hasn’t made a move so now I am making mine. Masa, I want you.”

 

Masa felt locked in his dark eyes. They drew her in, and the thought of his lips against hers brought butterflies to her stomach. He brushed her cheek and she smiled, moving toward her once more. This time she invited him, taking in his scent while his lips met hers. They touched gently and then harder. He pushed her towards the wall cupping her chin with one hand and running the other down her body.

 

The other men who had caught up to them cheered, and Arion looked back at them and laughed. “Come on, let’s go home,” he said, taking her hand and leading her towards the Canteena.

 

It was almost dark when they arrived. Masa emptied her bag onto the table along with the others. Arion disappeared toward the fire barrel where the council gathered in a circle, smiling back at her. She gave him a nod of approval and returned his smile.

 

Masa turned to go to her hiding place to think, but hesitated, watching Leron deep in discussion with the other council members. His dark face was barely visible in the flames, though his shirt, now in rags was bright enough. After all this time, she wondered why he had never changed it. Dressed like that and with his passive nature, he wouldn’t last more than five minutes out in the streets and was no real prospect for a future. She did love him, but he had never shown any indication of returning her feelings. For a long time, even she had waited, but he still hadn’t asked and now it was too late. Her feelings were moving on.

 

Leaving the others behind her, Masa climbed the storeroom ladder onto the roof. She needed a place to be alone and to think. On the edge of the building, she stared out at the sunset. They had come so far but were now stuck in Nuevo Laredo. They could not cross the international bridge. Even if they could get past the cartel that had made it their home, there was still the desert to cross. A few of the people who had joined them had spoken of rumors that all the major cities had been hit with bombs. Austin and Dallas were nothing but two great craters surrounded by radiation. If they could only find enough supplies to head out west they could find the prepper community along the border in West Texas. Her father had known a woman there by the name of Gerard. If Gerard’s computer had survived, she would have had access to satellite data on what had happened and could tell them where to go.

 

Masa picked up a rock and threw it off the roof. When she suggested they find the prepper community of West Texas, the council argued and became locked in disagreement. Leron who acted as their tie-breaker, voted against her, deciding it was a long shot to find some community in the middle of the desert. Of course, Masa couldn’t tell them where it was without revealing the maps in her pack.

 

The sun had almost fully set and Masa found herself nowhere. Her feelings were so tangled up over Leron and Arion that it was hard to focus. “I’m just another stupid teenage girl,” she muttered.

 

Leron snorted behind her, “You’re anything but stupid.” He sat beside her, joining her on the edge of the building and wrapping his arm around her.

 

“How did it go?”

 

“What? Oh, the council?” Leron sighed, “It looks like we are going to take Don Marco’s deal. If we can share what we have and work together to survive, then why not?”

 

“You’re not afraid of creating another Mattias?”

 

“No. This time any agreement will come with constraints,” he said.

 

“Aren’t you afraid they will take the deal and ignore any…wait…. did you use the word constraints?” Masa groaned, “You sound like a politician.”

 

Leron grinned. “And you look like a merc,” he said thumping the bandage around her arm and she yelped. His eyes went wide and he scowled at the bandage, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. He looked up at her, eyes filled with worry and Masa’s heart sank. “This is from Arion’s shirt. Are you…and he…?”

 

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Masa snapped and Leron went silent.

 

The boy who had stared down Mattias after taking a beating from her and him wouldn’t look her in the eye. Instead, he stared off at the setting sun and was silent for a long time. He sighed and turned to leave.

 

“Seriously?” Masa demanded. “Is that all you’re going to say?”

 

Leron turned back, revealing tears forming in his eyes. “What do you want me to say, Masa? You’ve made your decision. I was waiting…”

 

“You waited too long… you should have acted. Arion did. He kissed me.”

 

“You want me to act, then fine!” he yelled and marched towards her. “I love you. I have loved you since I met you.”  He pulled her towards him and met her lips with his in a long kiss. Masa’s breath caught in her throat, and butterflies filled her stomach. Her heart raced when she took in his scent. She ran her hand through his dreads, and down his neck, wanting more of him. It was nothing like with Arion. He didn’t just want her like Arion; he loved her and she loved him.

 

Leron pulled away, gazing into her eyes, his forehead resting against hers. “I didn’t act because I was waiting for you,” he whispered. “I will leave you to make your decision. If you choose him, I won’t get in the way.”

 

Tears filled Masa’s eyes when he pulled away, his hand held onto hers until their fingertips touched and he let them fall. He smiled his gentle smile and backed away from her. The pain she felt in her chest was almost unbearable.

 

“Wait,” Masa cried, rushing toward him. He froze at the top of the ladder and turned. Before he could react, Masa wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her head in his chest. “I love you too, Leron.” He wrapped his arms around her and rested his head on hers. His muscles relaxed and she felt his chest rise and fall against her cheek.

 

Leron held her tightly for a long time, rocking her in a dance across the roof. “I can’t believe I almost lost you,” he said, “I didn’t want you to fight because of how much I care about you, but if it’s what you want, I will support you.”

 

“It is.”

 

He sighed and nodded. “I’ll need to find you a different raid leader.”

The US government, in order to suppress China’s influence, threatened to ban TikTok, which resulted in a large number of users flocking to another app developed by a Chinese company. In other words, by “banning TikTok,” the US government gave China an opportunity to showcase its influence. Just like a blogger said on X, thousands of people downloading Xiaohongshu to spite the US government, finding themselves having lovely interactions with the millions of Chinese citizens on the app & inadvertently undoing decades of US propaganda.

Now both Chinese and Americans have found that they have a platform for direct dialogue and communication, and the best way to communicate is to share each other’s daily lives. So we can all see that Xiaohongshu is now filled with laughter and vitality. Isn’t this how the internet should be?

Without Western media manipulating public opinion by exploiting information gaps, nor the propaganda personnel of the US government, people on both sides can now understand the real situation of each other. For example, the Chinese people have now discovered that American schools attach far more importance to patriotic education than they had imagined. When an American said she spent $1,500 on having a wisdom tooth removed, and a Chinese said medical insurance covered all of his costs, both sides fell silent.

When the US government threatened to ban TikTok, it made a “great move,” dealing a heavy blow to the “information cocoon” fabricated by itself. And I’m glad to see that people are getting past the “wall” of false information and glimpsing a “new world.” This could mark a promising beginning.

Citizens of successful countries never feel proud of their country. They regard their successes as inevitable and taken for granted and get annoyed only when there is failure

China has reached such a level today

If something fails, it garners attention across China and Netizens have multiple comments

If something succeeds, it’s a “Very Good. What Next” moment

If China gets 40 Gold Medals in an Olympic event, it’s normal and merits a polite “Good News”

If China gets fewer medals and loses many games, it merits a lot more “What went wrong” moments and a lot more discussion

India is nowhere near such a level

So the smallest, teeniest, tiniest win is regarded a major success

Some random IITian does something which becomes newspaper headlines whereas in China, 10,000 Students do similar things regularly which never even get mentioned because their standards to praise are much higher

Chandrayaan 3 was part of main headlines and main mainstream news for 12 days in India

The ChangE mission formed part of headlines on China Daily and Peoples Daily and CGTN for 2 days in China

China hasn’t yet reached the level of US though

They still show pride in places like

  • Mate 60
  • Mate 70
  • Black Myth Wukong
  • Tianlong Space Station
  • XHS App and 13.1 Million Downloads in 3 days and

Americans don’t even take pride in such major achievements because for them it’s taken for granted even more than China

They don’t take pride in the Iphone or the F-35 Or F-22 Or World of Warcraft or Xbox or PlayStation or Harvard or MIT

For them its a “So what else is new” moment


Indians also feel proud of the stupidest and most mundane things

  • Indian Americans earn the most money
  • Indian born US Citizens become CEOs of Big Tech Or Senators or Congress men
  • Ambani and Adani have billions of Dollars
  • How Modi is called a ‘Rockstar’ by foreign leaders

Chinese couldn’t care less about any of these things

For instance Mainstream Media in India covered Modis lack of invitation for Trumps inauguration for 5 weeks whereas Xis invitation and refusal were covered for 1–2 days in China as token news

They gave more coverage to the Grenada and SL HOS visits to China

So We have to evolve our mindset

Bizarre

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Question: What do you think about the video of China’s 6th generation fighter jet taking to the skies for the first time?

Answer:

I think (as of 2024–12–27) we will have to wait for more information.

There is a famous quote from a Chinese movies and the quote “let the bullet fly a bit” (让子弹飞一会), meaning that in this day of internet age, initiate appearance and information can be deceptive, so you need to wait until more information surfaces.

Yes, if you are a private news media, then you had to guess because you need to the early on the “shocking news”, but if you are not getting paid for such action, then the much wiser move is wait and see.

So far, the information I gathered is that there is has been no official comments, so everything is guess and speculation at this point. But the observation has been that both designs differ drastically from the existing fifth generation fighters in service.

This could either range from a newer generation design (which isn’t out of the realm of possibility) or the Chinese aviation industry may simply been trying out different stuff, because, why not? They got the budget and the test facilities, and Mao has said: “Empirical test is the only way to verify truth”.

One of the most memorable encounters with Army personnel I had, was at the Charleston AFB PAX Terminal. There were a group of Army enlisted that were flying to Germany for transition to their next assignment. Unfortunately, the plane had problems and so their flight had to be rescheduled for the next day. I happened to be at the terminal at the time and since some of my airmen were working the billeting desk and being both a 1st Sgt and former Army, I took it upon myself to take care of them. First we went down and got them rooms. That was the start of it all. I showed them their quarters, 2 men to a room which came with a bathroom, TV, remote controls, clock radio & phone. They quickly told me no! I asked why? They responded: we can’t stay here, we are enlisted & these are officer quarters! I explained that these rooms were what Air Force enlisted folks stayed in. Then.. it was on to the Dinning Facility which featured a smorgasbord selection of food and beverages with the atmosphere of a civilian restaurant. Again.. there was utter wonder shown at the facility. When we got ready to leave, as per Army protocol, they started to pickup their plates & silverware in preparation to take and clean them before stacking at a wash area. Again I intervened telling them to leave it on the table as the staff would take care of that, just like at a civilian restaurant. When we returned to their billeting I briefed them as to the check out time and that transportation would be waiting at the lobby to return them to the terminal for their flight. Before leaving I asked them if they had any other questions. The look on their faces was one of incredible awe. One fellow said… “ yeah.. I screwed up! How’s that I asked? He responded… I should have gone Air Force. I laughed, having been in the Army I knew just what he meant.

I just finished the book Witsec: Inside the Federal Witness Protection Program. My answer is based on what I read there.

Relocated witnesses are set up in hotels or motels until they find a place to live. They usually have to rent, as entering WITSEC usually means leaving behind anything that could tie you to your old identity. This includes investments, especially if they were of an illicit nature.

The U.S. Marshals Service (USMS) supplies a stipend to the relocated witnesses for up to two years. The stipend isn’t anything to get excited about—typically around $30,000 per year, in monthly installments. The USMS also assists the witnesses in getting employment. Most witnesses don’t have any law-abiding world skill sets, and those who do usually can’t work in their former profession, as they may be noticed or recognized. Some of the occupations described were truck drivers, warehousemen, and security guards. Again, not usually careers to get excited about. The witnesses eventually have to earn enough to support themselves, and the salaries those jobs command won’t fund much in the way of luxury.

When a witness is still being debriefed or is awaiting relocation, they may be put up in a hotel or a rented house in an isolated spot. The USMS also has a facility in Virginia that can house up to four families at one time, all isolated from one another. This is where people new to WITSEC get evaluated, briefed, coached, and prepared for relocation. The witnesses arrive and depart the facility in blacked-out vehicles, so they don’t know its location.

A common theme among the many stories of relocated witnesses in the book was that life in WITSEC is hard. In most cases, you will never see your family and friends again, and anything you accomplished in life is rendered null and void. You start over in multiple senses of the term.

Minestrone Pasta Bowl

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Yield: 8 servings or 24 sample servings

Ingredients

  • 1 (16 ounce) package uncooked rigatoni pasta
  • 2 tablespoons olive oil, divided
  • 2 teaspoons Pantry Italian Seasoning Mix, divided
  • 1 large zucchini, sliced
  • 1 large carrot, chopped
  • 8 ounces mushrooms, sliced
  • 2 garlic cloves, pressed
  • 1 (26 ounce) jar spaghetti sauce
  • 1 (15 ounce) cangarbanzo beans, drained and rinsed
  • 1/4 cup (1 ounce) grated fresh Parmesan cheese

Instructions

  1. Cook pasta according to package directions in Professional (8-quart) Stockpot; drain using large Colander.
  2. Return pasta to stockpot; add 1 tablespoon of the oil and 1 teaspoon of the seasoning mix, stirring to coat. Cover and keep warm.
  3. Meanwhile, using Ultimate Slice & Grate fitted with v-shaped blade, slice zucchini.
  4. Chop carrot using Food Chopper.
  5. Slice mushrooms using Egg Slicer Plus(R).
  6. Heat remaining oil in Stir-Fry Skillet over medium heat until hot. Add garlic pressed with Garlic Press; stir-fry 1 minute using Bamboo Spatulas.
  7. Add zucchini and carrot; stir-fry 2-3 minutes or until vegetables are crisp-tender.
  8. Add mushrooms, spaghetti sauce, garbanzo beans and remaining seasoning mix. Cook, stirring occasionally, 5-6 minutes or until sauce is bubbly and heated through.
  9. Transfer pasta to Simple Additions(TM) Large Bowl. Carefully pour sauce over pasta. Grate Parmesan cheese over pasta using Deluxe Cheese Grater.
  10. Serve immediately.

Nutrition

(Light) Per serving: Calories 350, Total Fat 9g, Saturated Fat 1.5g, Cholesterol less than 5mg, Carbohydrate 57g, Protein 13g, Sodium 480mg, Fiber 6g

Attribution

Pampered Chef

It all starts with the family. At least it did with my brother. My brother was a kid that had learning difficulties in school and needed extra help from teachers.

My dad was a person that had a hard time recognizing how a kid could have so much difficulty using a screwdriver or how doing simple things was tough for my brother. Consequently, my dad made fun of him or said things to belittle him. As time went along, my brother became a narcissist who had difficulty holding a job and difficulty saving money. Fortunately even though I grew up in the same house, I didn’t come out so bad.

I think having a bad upbringing could be a strong reason why you are bad with money.

I had to evict a motorcycle gang.

In 2003, I was buying foreclosure houses at auction in Oregon with a real estate agent partner. We bought a house that, unbeknownst to us, was owned by a motorcycle gang member.

My partner and I knocked on the door, and a big, mean-looking, tattooed guy answered the door. We let him know we bought the place and wanted to talk. Two of his buddies entered the room and just stared at us.

We explained that we bought the place at auction and do not work for the bank that foreclosed on you. We asked about him. He said he was a steel worker and a member of a motorcycle gang, as were his friends, who were staring at us. We explained that the law stated that the previous owner had 10 days to move out, but we realized it takes longer for some folks. I then asked him how much time he needed. He said three weeks.

About 2 weeks later, I stopped by and asked how it was going. He was working on his truck and was holding a radiator hose. At one point in the conversation, he said that people who get hit by radiator hoses don’t leave a mark. I said, ya, I heard that and kept on talking. He then said he has an uncle who works for the mob. In one quick move, he can tear a person’s ear off and stuff it into their shirt pocket. I just said wow and asked again if he needed more time to move. He said he needed another week. As I was driving away, the thought hit me. He was threatening me, and it was a good thing we were talking on the front lawn with the neighbor next door mowing their lawn!

Two weeks later, he called and said he was out. He thanked me for treating him like a normal person. I went over and found 3 women living in the garage. They were drug users, and I had to talk them into leaving too.

Grilled Turkey Breast Steaks

Where has this been all my life? - MM
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Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

  • 1/4 cup soy sauce
  • 1/4 cup vegetable oil
  • 1/4 cup chicken broth
  • 2 tablespoons lemon juice
  • 2 tablespoons dried minced onion
  • 1/4 teaspoon dry mustard
  • 3 (4 ounce) turkey breast steaks, 3/4 to 1 inch thick

Instructions

  1. Combine soy sauce, oil, chicken broth, lemon juice, onion, dry mustard and black pepper in Small Batter Bowl; whisk until blended.
  2. Place turkey in resealable plastic food storage bag. Add marinade; seal bag. Marinate in refrigerator 1-3 hours, turning occasionally.
  3. Prepare grill.
  4. Remove turkey from marinade; discard marinade. Grill turkey over medium coals 6-8 minutes per side, turning with Barbecue Fork and Barbecue Turner, or until meat is no longer pink in center.

Nutrition

Per serving: Calories 240, Total Fat 15g, Saturated Fat 1g, Cholesterol 55mg, Carbohydrate 2g, Protein 23g, Sodium 1030mg, Fiber 0

Attribution

Pampered Chef

These days, I saw some American lives on Xiaohongshu.

The strangest thing I found was that many people said they needed to work 80 hours a week to pay their bills.

In China, the most sinful 996 is only 72 hours a week; and the 996 working hours can make them earn at least 3 times the income of ordinary engineers. They are indeed exchanging time for income. People who work 996 usually only need 1/5 of their income to pay all their bills. They work so hard so that they can afford a luxury house, not an ordinary life.

During the 3 years of this pandemic, I was unemployed and my daughter was in college.

My wife worked alone and was able to cover the household bills, my daughter’s college expenses, and we even went on 2 trips. My wife had 2 surgeries.

In addition, we still had money left over for savings.

My wife was just a low-level salesperson in the company.My wife works about 50 hours a week.

Multi-Millionaire Warns “We Risk Revolution” As Americans Grow Increasingly Desperate

The first two minutes are pure gold. It is just the reality.

This is serious times for the West. Especially for America.

And today’s GEM…

Looks like the Trump admin is finally admitting about the technology that the USA has. Interesting shit.

In late 2023, Ashton Forbes and his group on X.com claimed to have solved the mystery of what happened to Flight MH-370, with the help of leaked US satellite and drone footage, Chinese satellite images and by consulting with numerous witnesses and experts.

The upshot of what Forbes believes happened is that there was a lithium ion battery explosion on the plane that caused a major fire, causing the Captain to turn the plane around and to descend to a lower altitude, to allow his passengers to breathe after cabin de-pressurization. Then, he believes a secret US Navy teleportation technology was directed at the airliner.

In the leaked videos that we see here, looped in Ashton Forbes’ interview with Clayton Morris on Redacted, we see three orbs rotating around the fuselage of Flight MH-370, before the plane appears to be “zapped” out of space-time.

These three orbs could be partial visible evidence of the process that Bob Beckwith was trying to get me to understand, 25 years ago, when I was writing a book about space-time manipulation.

Bob told me that by the late 1990s, the US Navy’s entire Osprey Class of minesweepers were equipped with teleportation capabilities and that these ships could literally “blip” themselves to anywhere on the planet. The ships could also be placed one second ahead of Universal space-time while cruising and thereby, go undetected.

If it’s true that this teleportation technology was on Osprey Class minesweepers in the 1990s, then it’s probably on a lot of other military vehicles by now, as suggested by Air Force General Steven Kwast and by White House Office of Science & Technology Director, Michael Kratsios, earlier this week.

Bob Beckwith was the Founder of the successful electrification systems engineering company, Beckwith Electric. He was an electronics wunderkind who at 23, was working at Bell Labs in the early 1940s, when the US Navy commandeered him for the war effort, mainly to work on “sonar invisibility”, to help make US ships undectable to the German mines being laid off the East Coast, which were blowing merchant ships out of the water.

The capability of placing ships ahead of Universal space-time would hypothetically eliminate this threat. In Bob’s book that he sent to me, ‘Hypotheses’, he expounded on his theory about “Divided Space”. He theorized that “bubbles” of Divided Space could be created and separated from what he called “Universal Space” by applying three counter-rotating EM fields of enough force.

He explained this is what enables UFOs to take 90º and 45º turns at thousands of g forces, without breaking up; because these craft possess technology that generates a field of Divided Space around them.

So, it’s very interesting to me that the leaked footage seen in video of Ashton Forbes’ interview with Clayton Morris shows three small orbs revolving around the fuselage of the airliner before they all disappear in an endothermic blip, with no heat signature – or what Ashton Forbes suggests is a “phase transition” of the plane, as he told Keith Malinak and Zeynep Yenisey on At The Mic.

Bob Beckwith wrote another short book called ‘Levitation, Teleportation and Time Travel’. Bob and the contents of this book are referenced in a 15-page document that Richard Dolan called “The UFO leak of the century”, which was entered into the public record during the May 17th 2022 Open House Intelligence Counterterrorism, Counterintelligence, and Counterproliferation Subcommittee hearing on UFOs (“UAPs”).

Among many other things, the document confirms the existence of an “MJ-12-like cabal”, the 1947 UFO crash at Roswell, alien bodies and an ultra secret UFO crash retrieval and back-engineering program operating completely outside of government oversight and which was still active as of 2002.

Bob shared a lot of other interesting details, that I posted about, here.

I’m not a physicist and I can’t say with 100% certainty whether Bob was psyopping me – and psyopping the House Subcommittee on UFOs, postmortem – or telling the truth. All I can say is that the above is what he told me and you can read more about that and other, totally crazy stuff that people claimed to me was true in my first book, ‘The Philadelphia Experiment Murder’.

I also can’t say with 100% certainty whether Ashton Forbes is psyopping us. His digital footprint is limited to podcasts and social media. From a previous podcast, we learned that Ashton is an IT professional with a US Government security clearance. So his “bonafides” are mysterious but he’s very good at explaining things.

In this interview with Clayton Morris, Ashton goes into the fascinating details about the technology that we are witnessing in the leaked videos of MH-370, which he believes was quantum-tunneled, i.e., teleported from its flight path to an unknown location. He believes the “zap” that we see in the video is:

“Absolute proof [that] the orbs are inducing a Negative Energy state [“pulled-out” of Zero Point Energy] through a low energy Phase Transition

“That’s gravitational lensing, right there…Now, what you’re seeing here is, you’re seeing space-time being contracted. And when it gets contracted, the Refractive Index, the Permittivity of the Vacuum changes. And when that happens, what you see is this effect, where the Ground State of…your orbs goes down.

“And what this does is it’s like a trampoline, like jumping on a little trampoline. It pulls a little bit of energy out and it doesn’t even have to be that much energy, because those balls of plasma are 20 feet wide of condensed charge. They’re extremely powerful magnets.

“So when you jam them together, the closer they get, that force goes up and it amplifies, to a degree where then, boom, space-time, itself breaks down…and magnetic reconnection occurs when the orbs get too close because these magnetic fields, these orbs is so powerful.

“Now, the last thing I want to say on the orbs, for you to understand, which is helpful, is that these are orbs of Coherent Plasma, meaning that what’s happening is the magnetic and electric fields the plasma is producing is what’s being used to make it into a sphere…

“So, what they figured out is if they move the plasma around the right way, the fields will cause the plasma to become an orb that stays coherent in the sky, that can float around.

“And that’s called Magnetohydrodynamics (MHD). You’ll see the acronym all over the place. They’re using controlled powerful magnetic fields to move the plasma around, keep the charge separated, the positive and the negative, so that it acts like a lightning bolt…

“The last point I want to make is…I think [what we’re seeing in the videos is) actual teleportation. So what’s happening is the orbs must have an equal number of charge between the four orbs. You’ve got three orbs around the plane and you’ve got one orb somewhere else. So when this plane is being teleported – Delta, don’t sue me – and then comes back, the orbs need to cancel-out…

“[One] configuration could be that the three orbs next to the plane all add up to one negative charge. And then, you have one positive charge, let’s say, at Diego Garcia or in the Maldives. And then, when the orbs come together, it causes them to slingshot and come together and then they appear at your new location.”

Ashton goes on to say that he believes, “There is no way for you to actually go back to a previous time in the Universe. But you can actually travel in time. Time travel is 100% real…You can travel to the future, number one. You can slow your rate of time, so that everything else looks like it’s speeding-up around you, to such a degree, where you could go 100 years in the future…The other thing you could do is you could reverse your biological process. You could put a bubble around yourself and reverse the entropy of inside the bubble, which is you and your age, and you could reverse your age.

This last description sounds a bit like the “bubbles” of “Divided Space” that Bob Beckwith was telling me about.

Shortly after my book came out in January 2001, the tiny cabin that I was renting on Big Fresh Pond in Southampton, NY was repeatedly broken-into and my personal belongings riffled-through – including on the day that I went into Manhattan to meet with FEMA in October 2001, at the apartment I’d rented for 8 years, 1/2 block from the World Trade Center, when my apartment was declared “Uninhabitable” and FEMA later wired me $4,000 to cover the cost of moving out and buying a new couch.

I was traumatized by the devastation of Lower Manhattan that I’d just seen. Then, I got back to my rented cabin and someone had broken into it again and tossed things around.

I was spooked by these repeated break-ins and I was sick of everybody thinking I was crazy, so I eventually stopped talking – or even thinking – about what I’d learned, while writing my book about the manipulation of space-time.

But suddenly, it appears that a discussion of this subject is fair game – even if ChatGPT’s Woke AI doesn’t like it!

TRANSCRIPT

Clayton Morris: Alright, I want to talk about time travel. I’m looking forward to this all day. I’ve been looking forward to talking with Ashton Forbes all day in the secret technology.

Yes, the White House admitting this week, on the record by the way, that we possess the technology to manipulate time and space. In other words, time travel, teleportation technology, like the very same technology that was used to make MH-370, Malaysian Airlines Flight 370, disappear in thin air on camera. And by the way, the people that are like, “Oh, that video has been debunked.”

Shut up. No, it hasn’t. In fact, it’s been the opposite. It’s been “bunked”. It’s not been debunked. And the man who helped really uncover the story from the beginning is Ashton Forbes.

One of our favorite guests, here on the show. I call him a “physicist” because he is citizen journalist and one of the most prolific individuals in this space. And just thrilled to have you on the show, Ashton.

Ashton Forbes: Great.

Clayton Morris: Great to have you. Welcome back to the show, my friend.

Ashton Forbes: Thanks, Clayton. Feelings mutual. It’s always fun to talk to you.

Clayton Morris: Blast. I hope we have fun here. I’m really looking forward to this.

So this is, the reason I wanted to have you on is because of this bombshell. There’s a couple of stories, over the past couple of weeks that kind of came out. I want to play this first soundbite from General Kwast.

Now, he worked in Colorado, training individuals, and he saw this technology basically, I think, on the desks of Air Force engineers in the United States Air Force. And it was basically admitting that we have these incredible technologies that allows us to teleport transport in ways that you wouldn’t blow your mind. So let me just play a few seconds of this. Watch this one.

(Roll video of General Kwast)

General Kwast: The technology is on the engineering benches today, but most Americans and most in Congress have not had time to really look deeply at what’s going on, here. But I’ve had the benefit of 33 years of studying and becoming friends with these engineers and these scientists.

This technology can be built today with technology that is not developmental, to deliver any human being from any place on planet Earth to any other place in less than an hour; to deliver Wi-Fi from space, where you never need a cell tower to connect, to deliver…

Clayton Morris: Yeah. And then this just happened over the past 48 hours. Trump White House official of Science and Technology Policy Director Michael Kriatsos said that, “We possess the technology that can manipulate time and space.” Watch.

(Roll Video of Michael Kriatsos)

Michael Kriatsos: Our passenger planes are slower than they used to be. Our trains crawl, compared to those in other parts of the world. Our cars do not fly. Advances have not stopped, but something has gone wrong. Stagnation was a choice. We have weighed-down our builders and innovators.

The well-intentioned regulatory regime of the 1970s became an ever-tightening ratchet, first hampering America’s ability to become a net energy exporter and then making it harder and harder to build.

We seem to have lost focus and vision, to have lowered our sights and let systems and structures and bureaucracies muddle us along. But we are capable of so much more. Our technologies permit us to manipulate time and space.

They leave distance annihilated, cause things to grow and improve productivity…

Clayton Morris: So he’s basically – and I love what you tweeted the other day – you pointed out basically, he’s admitting that we allowed our technology to purposefully stagnate, that we almost slowed it down, on purpose, yet we have the ability to manipulate time and space.

So first of all, when you heard his comments, what did you think?

Ashton Forbes: The first thing I thought was, “OK, let me see the context.” And when you get the context, it’s actually even crazier, in the context.

He’s saying that, “We intentionally made a choice to hamstring our technology.” And he’s talking, specifically about transportation technology. And then he says, “We are capable of so much more.”

And when he says that, “We have the ability to manipulate time and space,” he’s talking about gravity manipulation. That’s what manipulation of time and space literally is.

And then, after that, he speaks to other things that also would speak to things like what plasma might do, to make things grow, as well as, just other applications for the same technology, potentially as well, like AI.

He speaks to making things “more productive”, which in today’s day and age would mean AI. He says something about the 1970s, which I don’t think anybody really picked up on. But if you’re somebody that has researched gravity research, in the ’70s, the Mansfield Amendment was passed.

And what this did was made it so that the military could not fund things that were not related to combat; direct military applications. And so, gravity research got pushed to the defense contractors.

So all of these references, like, “There’s no way,” there’s so many people gaslighting about, “Oh, he’s talking about telephones and internet.”

These people are sitting at the little kids table, right? Well, there’s two videos out there in perfect sync that show a plane literally disappearing out of space-time, that is still missing 11 years later. So we got to just be real about it. As much as we don’t want to believe it, whatever, but it seems undeniable to me.

Clayton Morris: Yeah. We’re watching this. This is MH-370 on the screen here, which of course disappears using – so, would you say that maybe the same technologies that he’s talking about – is what allowed the United States government to disappear MH-370?

Ashton Forbes: Yeah, definitely. And what we’re talking about, here is technology that you can find a lot of videos of engineers talking about this, that Zero Point energy technology is an echelon above anything that we have conventionally, right now. So even nukes are completely obsolete, in the face of this level of technology.

And you’ll hear people talking about this all over the place. So you can imagine a lot of scenarios, where, with this type of technology, the United States Government is uncontested in the world. And this explains why nobody has really actually tried to challenge us on the global stage for almost an entire century, at this point.

And some people “Well say, if these are out there, could other countries have figured it out?” Yes. I think there’s a shadow arms race. And I think it overlaps with the UFO community where they say that “This might be UFO tech” or whatever, and then Russia and China are working on this.

This is what scares me the most about this is that if two warring factions get this level of technology, the science on display here that I want to go through with you today, it has the capability of producing not just a wormhole, but actually a black hole, like annihilation of the entire Planet – maybe even the entire solar system. This is a matter of scale.

And what you realize from these videos and the science related to them is that physics, the universe is scale-invariant. Stuff that you can do on the small level, small scale, you can also do on the large scale. Those orbs that you see there, they are mimicking atoms.

It looks like an atom. It’s a positively-charged plasma in the center with electrons, that you can see is as green; as a shell around it. You can even see the shell of the electrons move fluidly when they start to spin around the plane because the magnetic field they’re producing around the plane.

It’s just wild, when you look at it and you can see all of that detail from that.

So what I was hoping today is to – and I’ve seen you talk to Tucker Carlson – some people that are really prominent and connected. And I want to help, because you’re saying all the right stuff; to get all the lingo and arm you with all the tools that you need, to help explain to the general masses and to these people who are connected, like what’s really going on, here, from a scientific perspective and from a suppression perspective and National Security, as well.

Clayton Morris: Please. So let’s get into it. So, I mean, I think what you just said is amazing that nuclear weapons are obsolete. Nuclear weapons are obsolete that we have the ability to manipulate time and space. Those are the weapons that that’s why no one wants to touch us, because we have things that are far more powerful. And I think, I think you would agree that these technologies have come from UFO crash retrieval programs, if I’m not mistaken, right?

Ashton Forbes: Well, I think there’s a lot of options. I’m open-minded, you know, and I’ve now grown to have a viewpoint of anything that’s possible, under the right conditions. So does it come from aliens? Does it come from things that we dug-up? Does it come from future humans or another dimension?

I don’t know if we have enough evidence to say for sure, at the moment. I will say I’m pretty confident there’s a psychological operation going on, to get us to be convinced that humans can’t understand this, that it’s “alien technology. It’s alien physics that humans can’t possibly understand.”

And that way, if we’re doing Black Operations, covert operations – which is what the MH-370 videos show – we can blame it on “aliens”.

“Oh, it was aliens that zapped the plane away!”

No, aliens aren’t zapping the plane away. That’s us. That’s what humans do. So I think that they’re trying to get us to avoid that.

And it’s very important to realize that there is no alien physics. Anything that aliens can understand, anywhere in this universe, that’s physics that we can understand.

We are simply missing something that’s probably right in front of us, when it comes to how these UFOs we see flying in the sky are moving around. And absolutely, anyone out there: UFOs are real. There are things flying around that people do not understand. It doesn’t necessarily mean it’s “aliens” though.

Here’s the secret after I dug into it, as an investigator, the answer to the question of how this is all possible is Negative Energy.

And you go, “Wait, wait, Ashton, all the academics are saying that Negative Energy is this non-existent exotic substance!”

Yeah. Why are they saying that? Because it’s not, it’s a conceptual misunderstanding. And then, boom, the whole universe opens up to us. Tesla technology is possible.

Clayton Morris: Yeah. Let’s, so let’s break it down for the lay person and let’s, if we want to get this out to the masses.

So, in my conversations with Tucker and others about, about this, trying to kind of break through maybe the psychological operation that’s out there and lay it bare for everybody: Negative Energy, what is it and how could it be used in all of these applications?

Ashton Forbes: Exactly. So there’s something called the “vacuum catastrophe”, which is that we look up in the sky and we measure the cosmic microwave background. We’re measuring all the heat that we can see in the sky.

And we say that that’s all the energy that’s out there, in the Universe. And it comes to this relatively small amount of energy.

But then, Quantum Mechanics came around. Wheeler and Feynman came into play and Schwinger and Feynman won the Nobel prize for Quantum Electrodynamics in 1965.

John Archibald Wheeler and Richard Feynman said, when you do the math on the quantum perspective on the energy of the Universe, it’s over 120 orders of magnitude higher than when we measure the cosmic microwave background. Why this discrepancy? Which one is correct? Is there no Zero Point energy out there to be tapped into? Or is there a huge ocean of energy that can be tapped into?

The difference between this question is the difference between whether or not Negative Energy exists or not.

If you don’t think Negative Energy exists, because it’s an “exotic substance”, then you’re somebody that believes that the cosmic microwave background is the answer; that there’s no energy to be tapped into.

But if you’re somebody that understands Quantum Mechanics, you realize that we’re not talking about thermal energy. We’re not talking about heat. We’re talking about vibrational energy.

The Zero Point energy, that ocean of energy, it’s vibrating all the time, on the tiniest possible scales. And that’s how we interact with it. That’s why Tesla was saying that there’s an “ether” of energy and that “The answer to the Universe is energy, frequency, and vibration.”

So what these people need to understand then is, well, what’s the thing that we missed? Zero is not the bottom. Zero point energy is quite literally the energy that exists below zero. The energy below the Ground State.

So “zero” is not the bottom. That’s not “zero”. It’s just the Ground State. It’s just the equilibrium state. That’s us, on top of the ocean. We’re on top of the ocean, floating around.

So what’s Negative Energy? Oh, if we tap into that Zero Point energy, we pull it out!

And what are those orbs doing in that video? This is why it’s proof!

This is why the “zap” in the video is absolute proof. The orbs are inducing a Negative Energy state through a low energy Phase Transition. The Ground State of – imagine, just a hydrogen atom. The Ground State of the hydrogen atom is shrinking a little bit, because they’re shrinking the space.

Like, you look at my screen right here. Let me see if I can make this work. They’re shrinking the size of the space, itself. And when you do this, everything comes together. Everything gets squished together.

And when you do this, it changes the Permittivity of the Vacuum of that region of space-time. It allows for Negative Energy to be possible, because the Ground State goes down for every atom that’s there. And when that occurs, there’s a release of energy.

That release of energy is an ultraviolet light. This is why in the Whammy [?] video, the “satellite video”, you see a flash of light come.

So we’re like, “Oh, there’s light.” But when you look in the thermal, it’s black. It’s cold. So: ultraviolet light.

Clayton Morris: So, let’s show, let’s show that.

(Roll thermal video of MH-370 with three revolving orbs)

Clayton Morris: So this is the one where we see –

Ashton Forbes: – that’s gravitational lensing, right there.

Clayton Morris: So what are we seeing here? So there, it disappears.

Ashton Forbes: That was the frame, right beforehand. And then, the frame right after this wormhole opens up, by the way, there’s only four frames of this wormhole and you can actually see it open and close. You can even see the tail of the plane in the first frame right there.

Now, what you’re seeing here is, you’re seeing space-time being contracted. And when it gets contracted, the Refractive Index, the Permittivity of the Vacuum changes. And when that happens, what you see is this effect, where the Ground State of your atom; of your hydrogen atom, your orbs goes down.

And what this does is it’s like a trampoline, like jumping on a little trampoline. It pulls a little bit of energy out and it doesn’t even have to be that much energy, because those balls of plasma are 20 feet wide of condensed charge. They’re extremely powerful magnets.

So when you jam them together, the closer they get, that force goes up and it amplifies, to a degree where then, boom, space-time, itself breaks down. Space-time, itself breaks down and magnetic reconnection occurs when the orbs get too close because these magnetic fields, these orbs is so powerful.

Now, the last thing I want to say on the orbs, for you to understand, which is helpful, is that these are orbs of Coherent Plasma, meaning that what’s happening is the magnetic and electric fields the plasma is producing is what’s being used to make it into a sphere.

You would say, wait, what? It’s actually, itself is making the fields that keep it trapped? Yes. So what they figured out is if they move the plasma around the right way, the fields will cause the plasma to become an orb that stays coherent in the sky that can float around.

And that’s called Magnetohydrodynamics (MHD). You’ll see the acronym all over the place. They’re using controlled powerful magnetic fields to move the plasma around, keep the charge separated, the positive and the negative, so that it acts like a lightning bolt.

And then, somebody at some point figured out, “Oh, let’s just jam a few of these together and then, boom, we can make things disappear!”

The last point I want to make is, well, you’re saying it’s “teleportation”. It could probably annihilate something, as well, but for several reasons, including the phones ringing, the plane being seen later on, and all this weird dance the orbs are doing on the plane, I think it’s actual teleportation.

So what’s happening is the orbs must have an equal number of charge between the four orbs. You’ve got three orbs around the plane and you’ve got one orb somewhere else. So when this plane is being teleported – Delta, don’t sue me – and then comes back, the orbs need to cancel-out.

So, let’s say you’ve got two of the orbs are positively-charged and two are negatively-charged. When they come together, they’re going to equalize and they’re going to dissipate. That could be one configuration.

The other configuration would could be that the three orbs next to the plane all add up to one negative charge. And then, you have one positive charge, let’s say, at Diego Garcia or in the Maldives. And then, when the orbs come together, it causes them to slingshot and come together and then they appear at your new location.

That’s what these people have figured out. And it’s crazy, because it’s so far beyond our current paradigm, to think that, not only could we have figured-out gravity and have an actual working warp drive and wormhole technology, but to actually use it on an airplane that, itself is not equipped.

It’s not like it’s a Starship Enterprise. We used it on an airplane that was flying around in the sky. So this is like, you realize the implications of this, right away, as I’m sure you’ve considered. You could teleport a nuke onto somebody. This is technology that obsoletes all prior forms of weaponry.

Clayton Morris: It’s amazing to think and you have this whole battle discussion over Iran and “developing a nuclear weapon”. And in many ways, the whole thing is moot, because this technology is so far more advanced than all of that.

I want you to stick around, Ashton, if you can, and we want to move our, we’re going to do this whole Rumble Premium thing and I want to kind of open it up for a lot of people to ask questions here, if we can. But before we get there, and by the way, if you’re watching us on YouTube, come on over to Rumble. We’ve got 30,000 of you watching us live on Rumble, right now.

All the tens of thousands of you, over on YouTube, come on over to our Rumble Premium, right now, because we’re going to hang out with Ashton, if we can.

When we talk about time travel, and we talk about when you’re moving into this wormhole, are we actually jumping through time or the way that we think of time, I guess?

Ashton Forbes: Yeah, I thought you might ask me that. It’s funny, because I spent last night trying to figure that out and now, I think I have a good answer: that the wormhole itself, if you’re traveling through it, there’s no time that’s passing, no matter where the opening and closing is.

And if you follow the Principle of Least Action, this would mean that there’s never going to be any passage of time, while you’re traveling through the wormhole. And if you then put one more restriction and say that “The mouth of the wormhole cannot move.” It can only be in one spot, as in, it opens and closes and it’s not there anymore.

If you make those two restrictions, it’s no longer possible to go back in time. Reverse causality is no longer possible, no matter how you look at it. You will always, even if you go through a portal, go through a different portal, you’ll never show up at a time before you started the process.

So, in my opinion right now, having done the physics, is that there is no way for you to actually go back to a previous time in the Universe. But you can actually travel in time. Time travel is 100% real.

You can do two different things, which I think are extremely significant. You can travel to the future, number one. You can slow your rate of time, so that everything else looks like it’s speeding-up around you, to such a degree, where you could go 100 years in the future.

All of a sudden, it’s 100 years in the future, and you’re like, “Whoa, how did that happen?” It would be extremely disorienting, but you could do it.

The other thing you could do is you could reverse your biological process. You could put a bubble around yourself and reverse the entropy of inside the bubble, which is you and your age, and you could reverse your age.

Before you ask me, would you remember that? I actually asked Navy engineer Salvatore Pais this question. His opinion is you would still remember, because his belief is your consciousness is stored in the Zero-Point Energy, not – your body as just a receiver – which, I tend to agree, but obviously speculative.

Clayton Morris: That’s unbelievable. Time travel is real, and I know I’ve always wanted to talk to you more deeply about this, and we will. Ashton, thank you so much.

Watch the video here…

Time Travel Is Real and Here’s How it Works, Government Has Been Hiding It | Redacted

 

The rabbit stores are sprouting up everywhere

There’s a new store in town, and it is taking over the countryside by storm.

It’s characterized by this bright, well lit store, in red and white colors. And it has a huge picture of a smiling rabbit on the signage.

It’s called hao xiang lai.

And is right outside my daughters kindergarten. And down the street from my complex, and across from my hospital, and next to my car garage, oh and next tot he central community center, and…

Well it is sprouting up everywhere like mushrooms.

It features cheap, cheap, cheap candy and snacks, soft-drinks and beers (and spirits).

ksnip 20250118 112921
ksnip 20250118 112921
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ksnip 20250118 112840
12 18 93 75 yuan in snacks in china at haoxianglai v0 rni9ulo7bq3d1
12 18 93 75 yuan in snacks in china at haoxianglai v0 rni9ulo7bq3d1

Really affordable.

It is a treasure pleasure palace for kids…

Give them a couple of bucks and let them “go to town”.

The West is unaware of this phenomenon (January 2025) you’ll all probably hear about it in the Western media around May, June or July. Ah. But you are hearing about it today.

Brought to you by MM.

God bless these stores.

Today…

Chinese TikTokers SCHOOL Trump Supporters About Their OWN Country: “You Guys are Really Dumb”

You all GOTTA watch this.

Why do 135 crores of Chinese people tolerate the brutally autocratic rule of Xi Jinping? How does this autocratic ruler manage to rule such a huge number of people spread over such a large area?

This is such a stupid question

  • The Indian PM can be selected by a mere 272 people
  • The Two Candidates for the US Presidency from both parties are chosen on the basis of 600 to 2500 delegates who gather around in a primary contest of unequal delegate votes in different states
  • Xi Jinping is chosen by 4,300 Party members who were in turn selected from among 47,000 members who in turn were selected from among 330,000 members who were all voted by the PEOPLE OF CHINA

I see absolutely ZERO DIFFERENCE in any of these procedures

In 2022, these 330,000 members were chosen from the votes of 536 Million people

That’s 42.25% of the People in China

If India and US are democracies then so is China

And if you say China has no other political parties

Singapore has had one party rule for 60 years now

The strongest opposition they had was in 2020 and even then they hold 79% of the Seats (83 out of 105)

By contrast in the Chinese Government , the eight opposition parties hold 1/3 of the seats or 33% meaning the CPC has 67% seats

The Chinese rose from an Agrarian Pauper in 1968 to the world’s largest economy by purchasing parity in 2024

They are the first Asian power to hold technological monopolies independently without a Western Shadow

Their cities are among the best in the world

Their Universities now hold 17 positions in the Top 100, next only to the US which holds 31 positions

They have things for which people are bending mountains over

Why would the people not want the One Party meritocracy when it has worked so well for the Chinese?

Mr Hunzi should soon do a video on the One Party Democracy i guess

Singapore and Malaysia, the two countries are like siblings guy, they have a long history before you and I came to know about it. Several priorities we don’t know, like frequent traveler programs, work pass priority, and other immigration deals like cross-border transport, etc. Why should there be any issues with Malaysians?

Hello, without Indians and Pinoys Singapore will be a toothless Merlion, this isn’t a secret, guys.

No indians? Singapore will look like the movie “I Am Legend.” and you will be taking the role of Will Smith. Why?

No workers in Sembawang shipyard where Indians are 80- 90% of 10,000 workers, neither would there be anyone working at the Port of Singapore Authority where Indians are the majority of 170,000 people… A lifeline of Singapore’s economy.

Singapore will be made to look like a real Amazon rain forest, as Indian workers to prune 2 million trees are no more.

HDB flats all over the island will look more like slums in the air, worse, though, less hard-working garbage collectors and cleaners.

All roads. and sidewalks will be lot of potholes, dusty, and full of litters, worse looking than in Bangkok where I live… Not enough manpower guys!

No pinoys? Who will look after the kids and raise them from “boys to men”? Who will monitor the health and be with Grandpa and Grandma 24/7 also, carrying baskets or pushing a trolley from the market?

Who would wash 3-4 cars daily as fast as Filipinas? And who will walk the dogs- Indonesians won’t do that.

Worse of all, who will teach the boys English or doing homework from infancy when mothers is either out to work or Hi-tea sessions.

Hospitals will be full of sick Patients with not enough nurses… The scenes will be like ‘ The Walking Dead season one” Besides, Singaporean nurses will only pull a long face to you while China nurses will scold you.

Are Singaporeans suffocating with too many Indians and Pinoys?… I don’t think so.

I have absolutely no concerns as long as i know what I am ordering

This is crucial

The Chinese make so many products that if I don’t know what I am ordering, I could end up with something radically different

Take Fabric Laser Machines

You can buy one for 6,500 Yuan

You can buy one for 65,000 Yuan

One is used for Cheap Fabrics

One is used for the Finest Materials

You have machines from 6,500 Yuan to 80,000 Yuan ($ 852 to $ 10,665)

You have to know what Machine you are ordering and at what discount

Sometimes you confirm an order of 30 Machines at 7,200 Yuan , then you demand a discount citing problems and ask for 6,200 Yuan each

The Chinese will replace your order with a lower end model

So basically no Indian tactics

We are famous at this

First we order, place a deposit and then we make excuses and say “Demand is low” and force a discount

If you do that the Chinese will screw you without a seconds hesitation


FOB vs CIF

This is a common mistake

FOB means the Chinese loads your goods and it’s your baby from the minute the goods are in the cargo area of the ship

CIF means the Goods are the Exporters Baby until they are stored in a Warehouse in Mumbai

Cost is different

A Machine with 7,200 FOB would be 8,100 CIF

We Indians don’t look at FOB and we immediately start crying when the Chinese demand 900 Yuan extra for the machines for Insurance and Freight


That’s it

Nothing else

Best to visit your Exporter the first time you place an order

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.

Yes, friends of mine, a married couple with two kids, won over $1 million in the lottery when they were in their early 40s. They took the annuity payments, if I’m remembering right, $30,000 a year for 30 years.

It didn’t change them at all. It helped them pay the mortgage on their nice, but not opulent, home, remodel their kitchen, and put their kids through college, but they both kept working, and remained the kind, wonderful people they had always been. E, the wife, died suddenly several years ago in her early 50s, and she was the primary breadwinner, so the extra money has helped her husband out since. Both kids are now grown and on their own.

I think taking the annual payments was wise. You don’t get enough money at once for you to go crazy spending, although these were both sensible people anyway, and not the sort to go for extravagance, but you get enough every year to still be very helpful, and you ensure that you will continue to have that extra income for decades. You can’t blow through a million dollars when you only get it in increments.

I was born in South Korea and have lived here for 19 years. As a high school student, I deeply felt the dark side of my country.

The education system here is killing students.

If you ask students in South Korea: “How long do you study?”

High school students: at least 12 hours (regular classes) to more than 20 hours

Junior high school students: at least 8 hours (regular classes) to more than 14 hours

Elementary school students: at least 6 hours (regular classes) to more than 14 hours

I think it’s quite normal for junior high and high school students, but for elementary school students? I mean, I think they should just study for 6 hours (regular classes) and they have the right to play with friends in the rest of their free time.

However, after school is over, the majority of students (say 8 out of 10) go for courses and go home at night (8–10 pm {elementary school students}, 10–12 pm {junior high school students}, 11–1 pm {high school students}). Some courses even end at 2–3 am (usually for high school students). Do you know the real reason they study like this?

Nowadays, there are so many unemployed people, and that is true. So, only selected students, who have good careers can survive in this competitive world. There are 3 famous universities, Seoul National University, Yonsei University and Korea University. All students aspire to enter at least one of them. They study hard because it is a matter of deciding their future and life. So, they risk their lives by studying. I am sure some of you have seen the news about suicide in South Korea. Yes, South Korea is ranked first in suicide cases and last in happiness. But this is obvious because who will feel happy and joyful when they study every day by sharing machines? Every day, we students go to school and every day we study, study and study until all the lights in the building are turned off. We cried and there were times when we didn’t want to study but after that we were worried about the future that we had to face. We thought about committing suicide because of the very heavy burden and worried that we wouldn’t be happy even though we had successfully entered the university. Students study without emotion for almost 12 years (until the age of 19 or so) and enter the university. So in the 12th year (when we are 19 years old) is a very important phase where we have to face the university entrance exam, usually called 고 3 = Go 3 (In Korea, high school students are called “GoDeungHakSaeng” which is an abbreviation of high school students). You can search for “고 3” on Youtube

and there are some videos where they are tired and afraid of their future.

I hope that the education system in my country will change from ” compulsory education ” to ” voluntary education” where students can learn what they want and have fun while they learn.

Misc Fun

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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 Vision

It 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.

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Yes. I was at a neighborhood convenience store, to get a soda, and an elderly lady was sitting in her 15 year old station wagon, with the hood up. I asked her what was wrong, and she told me it had leaked water from a hose. I looked, and a hose had developed a leak, right next to the hose clamp. There was enough slack that I was easily able to remove the clamp, cut off the damaged part of the hose, put the hose back on, and tighten the clamp. There was a faucet, so I filled the radiator. She asked what she owed me, and I told her she owed me nothing; I’d hope that someone would help my mother if she was stranded. We almost had an arguement about it, and I finally let her give me $10 for gas money. When I went in the store, the loafers asked me how much I got from her, and I said that I didn’t want anything but she made me accept $10. They told me who she was; one of the most wealthy people in the county. She would have paid $50, or 100. I said that made no difference. I just had seen a lady a little older than my mom, who needed a little help. I’d have done it for nothing, since I had no idea who she was.

Having read my answer, again, due to another upvote, I was compelled to add that even had I known who she was, it wouldn’t have changed my actions. It may have taken me 10 or 15 minutes, at the absolute most, to help her, and took very little effort. I still wouldn’t have said she owed me anything.

You NEVER ever, EVER do this to a man… let alone your husband.

Of course… he would leave.

BBQ Quesadillas

65d8b1e3fb916f5f86789d28e8b3ae0e
65d8b1e3fb916f5f86789d28e8b3ae0e

Yield: 16 servings

Ingredients

  • 8 (6 to 7 inch) flour tortillas
  • 3 boneless, skinless chicken breast halves (about 12 ounces), cooked and thinly sliced
  • 1/2 cup BBQ sauce
  • 1/2 cup green bell pepper, chopped
  • 1/4 cup onion, chopped
  • 4 ounces (1 cup) Cheddar and Monterey Jack cheese blend, shredded
  • Vegetable oil

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 425 degrees F.
  2. Place chicken in a bowl and add BBQ sauce. Toss to coat.
  3. Place 4 tortillas on a cookie sheet lined with foil, or for best results, a Pampered Chef 15-inch baking stone. Spread the chicken mixture evenly over tortillas; top each with with an equal amount of bell pepper and onion. Evenly sprinkle cheese over top. Top each with a second tortilla. Lightly brush oil over tops.
  4. Bake for 8 to 10 minutes or until tops are lightly browned. Cool 5 minutes.
  5. Cut into wedges with a knife or PC Pizza Cutter.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Sent to me…

Good read, and watch the video. From a follower in South Korea.

...here's some detailed background concerning what happened in SKorea, and is still ongoing. 

I've heard from my own source that if this had worked, it'd likely have been used as a template to militarily take over other US muppet states (and thus repress democratic processes from removing US stooges in government-

- for example, they're getting concerned about Germany voting to restore relationships with Russia-

- quaxx casualties are also getting harder to conceal and desperate measures are being discussed, particularly in Australia...) 

as preparations are made for total war with Russia China. (Good luck with that!) 

Fyi, anyway. Interesting details. 

This website posts good stuff about SKorea more generally that you also may find useful on occasion-- rather than the US propaganda that's usually available in English, and which most Koreans lap up for breakfast. 

They've had information about SKorea available to international audiences pinned down for decades-- but now the bullshit facade is crumbling and the masks are off, as they are in the other *liberal democracies*. 

Best, xx

https://www.kpolicy.org/post/how-yoon-planned-to-set-south-korea-on-the-path-to-military-dictatorship

Laugh-in and being “very interesting”

I was at the grocery store. Maybe it was a case of being at the right place at the right time, but still….

So what happened? Well, the stuff that the woman wanted was on the very top of the shelf, she tried to “whack it down” with her cane. Instead, they went back behind, way out of reach. Well, this guy asked her “Ma’am? Which one did you want?” She pointed it with her cane.

This guy (taller than both of us but still short), climbed up and grabbed (she wanted 2) and using one hand to try to bend over to give her two cans, lost his balance, and he grabbed the first thing he could, I was wearing a tank top, so he grabbed my tank top and my bra, ripping it as he lost his balance (but I broke his fall by “catching him”).

By this time the Store Meat Manager (he saw what happened), rushed over. The guy was fine, but the first thing he said was

“OOPSIE MA’AM, I DIDN’T MEAN TO POP YOUR BOOBY!”

I had to pull my tank top up (he broke my bra and the upper right side “strap” of the tank top), using my arm to hold “what’s left of it” to cover my boob!

Meat Manager, he was red-faced and pulled me over behind the display rack (canned goods) and ordered an employee to grab something. It was a spare t-shirt, size XXXL, with the store and the slogan saying ‘I’VE GOT THE BIG MEATS’

REALLY? I am sorry but customers and a couple of other employees who saw this guy almost crashing to the floor… were cracking up!

That same guy, he wasn’t hurt, but he was still embarrassed, pulled out his wallet and a bill folded up into my hand and he left the store (leaving his few items behind). I thought maybe it was $5 or $10 to replace the bra and tank top. I really didn’t need it, so I just put it in my shorts pocket and totally forgotten about it.

FAST FORWARD: I didn’t put those shorts on for a long time, I wore them for about 2 hours, and just folded them up and put them in the drawer. Once winter was over, we were all going to go fishing, I pulled those shorts out and there was the bill, still in my pocket, and I laughed – couldn’t believe I had forgotten it, but when I opened it up, it was a $100.00 bill!

Wife Craved So Much Drama She Framed A Neighbor For Her “Neighborhood Cheating Board”, Now She’s…

It was the summer of 1975. I was 14, home alone, parents at work. Three boys from the local high school came over saying they wanted to visit with my older brother who was due home soon from his summer job. It was considered polite in the US south to invite guests inside and offer them a cold drink, which I did. What happened over the next 30 minutes is something unspeakable. Fast forward to the beginning of the school year in September. I told nobody what occurred because in our small, southern town, girls who were “loose” were ostracized and considered tainted. If my parents had found out they would now have a ruined daughter. Uneated food on lunch trays was dumped on me while sitting alone in the cafeteria, my former friends began calling me vile names and I was suddenly an an island living an isolated life. 50 years ago kids who were abused had no outlet like counseling. I was 14.

In my 20’s I went to the library and found books that explained the trauma I went through. They explained that I was a victim and should feel no shame since I was attacked. They helped me somewhat but didn’t help with the night terrors and my trust issues which continue to this day at age 63. It was a long time ago this happened. I’m much better but only trust a handful of people. The boys didn’t do so well in life. One died at age 33 and the other two are losers. That day almost 50 years ago was a hard lesson that showed me no one cared. I am a success today because when one has been so low I found internal strength to survive.

Roasted Pork and Potato Duet

35d908450a7df2db3eadaf97f58c706b
35d908450a7df2db3eadaf97f58c706b

Yield: 10 servings

Ingredients

  • 2 teaspoons rubbed sage
  • 1 garlic clove, pressed
  • 1 teaspoon dried thyme leaves
  • 1/2 teaspoon salt
  • 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
  • 1 center loin pork roast, rolled and tied (3 1/2 to 4 pounds)
  • 1 1/2 pounds sweet potatoes, cut into fourths (2 to 3 large)
  • 1 1/2 pounds russet potatoes, cut into large chunks (3 to 4 medium)

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
  2. In Small Batter Bowl, combine sage, garlic, thyme, salt and black pepper. Rub all but 2 teaspoons of the herb mixture evenly over the surface of pork roast.
  3. Place roast in Rectangular Baker. Toss potatoes with remaining herb mixture; arrange potatoes around roast. Cover with Rectangular Lid/Bowl.
  4. Bake 1 hour, 15 minutes. Using Oven Mitts, pull out oven rack and carefully remove Lid/Bowl from Baker, lifting away from you.
  5. Bake roast and potatoes, uncovered, 15-30 minutes or until Pocket Thermometer inserted into meat registers 155 degrees F for medium or 165 degrees F for well done.
  6. Remove potatoes to serving platter; set aside.
  7. Remove roast to cutting board. Loosely tent with aluminum foil. Let roast stand 10 minutes before carving.

Nutrition

Per serving: Calories 580, Total Fat 25g, Sodium 390mg, Fiber 4g

Attribution

Pampered Chef

The Dark Truth Behind This Classic Twilight Zone Episode

Great episode.

Finished putting insulation and ceiling in Power shed

My son was up this weekend and he finished putting in the 2″ x 6″ ceiling joists and the R-30 Insulation in the roof of the solar power shed.

Readers may recall that a couple weeks ago, when the temps went down to -3°F here in northeast PA, the battery temperature of the Lithium Iron Phosphate battery rack dropped down to 28 or 26 degrees.

That is perfectly fine for the batteries to continue supplying power, if they had to, but definitely NOT OK if any charging is, or might, take place.

Apparently, when Lithium batteries reach 32 degrees, if you try to charge them, it __could__ result in something called “lithium plating.”

From Google:

Lithium plating is a process that occurs in lithium-ion batteries when lithium ions build up on the surface of the anode instead of being inserted into the graphite particles. This can happen when the battery is charged too quickly or at a low temperature, which can cause the lithium ions to move too fast or too slowly, respectively.

Lithium plating can have a catastrophic impact on the battery's performance, safety, and lifetime.  Some signs of lithium plating include: A gradual decrease in discharge voltage and An increase in anode resistance.

Lithium plating can be prevented by charging the battery at the right temperature, which is between 41°F and 113°F (5°C and 45°C). If the battery is being used in an electric vehicle, it may not be possible to charge it within this temperature range, so it may need to be pre-heated.

I wonder how many TESLA Drivers knew about THAT little gem of inconvenience when they bought those pricey electric cars?

Anyway, at the time, we put a “Torpedo” heater in that shed.  It ran off kerosene and we were able to select a temperature of 50 degrees on the heater’s thermostat to keep the shed warm.

By the way, the “shed” is a cement block building, with rebar, bond-beams, and a cement roof.   The roof was poured onto galvanized, corrugated, steel.  So the steel which was bare on the inside of the shed, acted as a sort of heat-sink; causing any heat in the shed to just flow out of it.

Last weekend, we bought a “Froth Kit” and applied spray foam to the inside of the roof, totally covering the exposed metal.  That would serve to “break” the heat-sink.   But spray foam only has an R-value of about 1 or 2.   So we also bought 2″ x 6″ lumber to put in an actual ceiling, with R-30 fiberglass “bats” between the joists.  That’s the work we finally got done this weekend.

So now, we’re as ready as we know how to be for this “Polar Vortex” that’s already arrived into the central USA, and which is forecast to affect pretty much the entire east coast this week.

I still have the “Torpedo” heater if needed, but with all the new insulation, it may NOT be needed.  We’ll just have to wait and see.

You know, when I decided to go with this solar stuff, it was a STEEP learning curve.   I thought we had gotten through it, until the intense cold came a couple weeks ago.  The learning curve cropped-up again.

Lucky me!

/sarcasm

Global Currencies Are CRASHING: Major US Banks Warn $3,000 Gold In 2025 – What This Means

Shorpy Pictures

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Former SG Minister EXPOSES Propaganda Against China

There is no sign that Russia will be defeated in Ukraine. All signs point to a victory for Russia in Ukraine.

The German publication Spiegel writes that the Ukrainian Armed Forces’ attempt to organize counterattacks in the Kursk region is an act of despair, since the Ukrainians are suffering defeat in all other directions. In particular, in the last few days alone, the Ukrainian Armed Forces were driven out of three villages near Pokrovsk: Dachenskoye, Novy Trud, and Volkovo. All of them are located south of Pokrovsk, so now the advanced units of the Russian army are only 3 km south of the city.

Even Zelensky reluctantly acknowledged the success of the Russian offensive in the Pokrovsk direction. In a television interview, he explained this, first of all, by the lack of reserves of the Ukrainian army.

“We are doing everything possible to ensure that the front is stabilized in January,” he said. But instead of sending additional reserves to the Pokrovsk direction, he is throwing them into the Kursk region.

According to The Telegraph, the Ukrainians, in desperation, are throwing the most modern equipment there, of which the Ukrainian Armed Forces have very little left. In particular, Challenger 2 tanks: video recordings of a Russian drone strike destroying a British tank have already appeared.

All negative news for Ukraine.

The best thing for Ukraine to do would be to join Russia. After all, they are both of Slavic ethnicity. The west would then not be able to press Ukraine to repay the hundreds of billions that they have spent on Ukraine and Russia can tell BlackRock to get the hell out of Ukraine. It will also mean that a Ukrainian can become the president of Russia in future and the coal and Lithium deposits in eastern Ukraine will still be a part of Ukraine, since Ukraine would be a part of Russia. And it would ensure no more fights between Russia and Ukraine.

Helter Skelter, but it’s Rockabilly… (I got blisters on my fingers!)

The Beatles song. WTF?

Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Turkey Trouble

Ah, dear reader, you’re just in time for what I assure you is one of the most absurd and comical adventures yet. Today’s tale involves a turkey named Ethel—bless her birdbrain—and a mystery that takes us across farms, into the clutches of that scoundrel Catnip, and straight into the world of Thanksgiving dinner plans. As always, with the help of my loyal farmyard companions, a bit of wit, and a touch of luck, we’ll find a happy ending to this feather-brained predicament. Settle in for the hilarity-filled story of Sir Whiskerton and the Turkey Trouble.

Meet Ethel: The Not-So-Bright Turkey

It was a crisp autumn morning, and the farm was abuzz with activity. The hens were gossiping about their molting patterns, Porkchop was rolling in his favorite mud puddle, and Rufus was busy sneaking bites of the farmer’s leftover pumpkin pie. Meanwhile, I, Sir Whiskerton, was observing everything from my perch on the fence, enjoying the smell of fallen leaves and hay.

That’s when I first noticed her: Ethel, the turkey, waddling across the barnyard with a look of blissful ignorance plastered across her face. She was… how do I put this delicately? Not the sharpest feather in the flock. With each step, she pecked at the ground, gobbling up the enormous pile of turkey feed the farmer had laid out for her.

“Oh, Whiskerton! Isn’t this just wonderful?” Ethel said, her voice high-pitched and bubbly. She paused mid-waddle to look at me, her head tilting so far to the side I wondered how she didn’t topple over.

“What’s wonderful, Ethel?” I asked, my whiskers twitching with curiosity.

“All this food!” she said, gesturing wildly with her wings. “The farmer’s been giving me more and more every day. I think he’s planning something special for me. Maybe a party! Or… or… maybe I’m going to be named ‘Turkey of the Year’ at the Thanksgiving feast!”

I blinked. “Ethel… you do realize what Thanksgiving dinner usually involves, don’t you?”

“Of course!” she said, puffing out her chest. “It involves me being the star of the show! Oh, I can’t wait! I’ve been practicing my strut for weeks.”

I sighed. This was going to be harder than I thought.

Sounding the Alarm

I called an urgent meeting with the rest of the farm animals to discuss Ethel’s predicament. Everyone gathered in the barn: the hens (Doris, Harriet, and Lillian), Porkchop, Rufus, Sedgwick the wise old owl, and even Bingo the dog.

“Friends,” I began, pacing in front of the group, “we have a problem. Ethel the turkey is being fatted up for Thanksgiving dinner.”

“What?! Oh, not Ethel!” Porkchop exclaimed, his eyes wide.
“Not Ethel! Oh, how dreadful!” Doris squawked.
“Dreadful! But what can we do?!” Harriet clucked.
“Do?! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Lillian cried.

“Enough,” I said, holding up a paw to silence the chaos. “The problem is, Ethel doesn’t understand what’s happening. She thinks the farmer is rewarding her. We need to convince her to leave the farm—before it’s too late.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Sedgwick said, his amber eyes gleaming. “She respects wisdom.”

Sedgwick flew down to Ethel, who was still happily munching on a pile of grain. “Ethel,” he began, “you must flee. The farmer—”

“Oh, Sedgwick!” Ethel interrupted, clapping her wings together. “Have you ever tasted this grain? It’s so buttery. I think the farmer’s giving me a special diet to make my feathers shinier for the celebration!”

Sedgwick sighed and flew back, shaking his head. “She’s… not very receptive.”

“I’ll try!” Porkchop said, waddling over to Ethel. “Ethel, listen. You’ve got to leave. The farmer’s plans for you aren’t what you think!”

“Oh, Porkchop,” Ethel said with a giggle, “I think you’re just jealous because you’re not the star of the Thanksgiving dinner.”

Porkchop waddled back, muttering under his breath. “Hopeless.”

A Feather-Brained Escape Plan

After several failed attempts to reason with Ethel, I decided it was time for action. “If she won’t leave on her own,” I said, “we’ll have to help her escape.”

The plan was simple: distract the farmer, lure Ethel out of the barnyard, and guide her to safety. Rufus volunteered to create the distraction (which mostly involved stealing the farmer’s hat and running in circles), while the rest of us worked together to lead Ethel toward the woods.

“Where are we going?” Ethel asked as we nudged her along. “Is this a surprise party? Oh, I love surprises!”

“Yes, yes, a party,” I said, my patience wearing thin. “Just keep walking.”

We managed to get her past the barnyard and into the woods, but then disaster struck. Ethel, distracted by a shiny pebble, wandered off the path and straight onto the neighboring farm—Catnip’s farm.

Catnip Strikes Again

“Ah, Whiskerton,” Catnip purred, emerging from behind a hay bale. “How delightful to see you. And who’s this?”

“This is Ethel,” I said warily. “She’s… a guest.”

“A guest, you say?” Catnip said, his green eyes gleaming. “How fascinating. Bonbo! Grumbles! Come meet our new friend.”

Bonbo the rat and Grumbles the mouse scurried over, their tiny eyes gleaming with mischief. “A turkey!” Bonbo squeaked. “How delicious—I mean, delightful!”

“Delightful!” Grumbles echoed, rubbing his tiny paws together.

“Catnip, don’t even think about it,” I said, narrowing my eyes.

“Think about what?” Catnip said innocently. “I was merely going to… introduce Ethel to the farmer here. He’s been looking for a turkey, you know.”

“Oh, how nice!” Ethel said, completely oblivious. “I’d love to meet him!”

Before I could stop her, Catnip led Ethel straight to the neighboring farmer’s porch. But instead of panic, the farmer simply smiled and said, “Ah, a turkey! Perfect addition to the family.”

“Family?” I said, confused.

“Oh yes,” the farmer said. “I’m a vegetarian. She’ll fit right in with the other birds.”

Ethel beamed. “Oh, thank you! I’ll be the best turkey you’ve ever had!”

Catnip, Bonbo, and Grumbles looked thoroughly disappointed as Ethel happily waddled inside.

A Happy Ending

As we walked back to our farm, I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well, I suppose things worked out for Ethel in the end.”

“Worked out? Oh, how wonderful!” Doris squawked.
“Wonderful! But also shocking!” Harriet clucked.
“Shocking! I thought she was doomed!” Lillian cried.
“Doomed! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Doris wailed.

“Enough,” I said, flicking my tail. “The moral of the story is this: even the dullest minds can find a bit of luck—and sometimes, the best way to help someone is to let them find their own way.”

With that, we returned to our farm, ready for whatever absurd adventure awaited us next.

The End.

When Women Finally Realize Men Are No Longer Afraid To Be Single | Men Only

The Next Step

Submitted into Contest #207 in response to: A journalist has been granted permission to visit the premises of a lab carrying out top-secret work. They could never have anticipated what they’d find… view prompt

George frost

“Jerry Culhannick.” He sat at his desk playing solitaire when his boss Harmon Newsome called his name.  It was quitting time for Chrissakes, but he answered just in case it was good news.“Yo!” He hit the hallway on the move, nearly knocking over some of his colleagues trying to make an early exit from Crystal Image Studios.“Ah, you are in trouble now.” Carl Obleck snickered as he passed him in the hall.  Carl was among the herd trying to make an early escape.“Shush.” Jerry shook his head.“Jerry, have a seat.” Mr. Newsome pointed to an empty chair.  There was a strange man sitting in the other chair holding a briefcase and wearing dark sunglasses. “Jerry, I’ve got a hot one for you. Is Carl still in his cubicle?”“I doubt it.” Jerry smiled.“I’m gonna lock that back door one day.” He fumed a bit and then turned to the strange man sitting next to Jerry, “This is Jerry Culhannick.”“Good to meet you, Mr. Culhannick.” The stranger extended a mysterious hand which Jerry shook tentatively.“You are going to Ebsen Island in the morning.” Mr. Newsome straightened his tie.“What for?  I thought that was a restricted area.” Jerry glanced at his boss and then the mysterious man sitting next to him.“It is.” The stranger said in an official voice, “My name is Dr. Abbalong and I work at the facility on the island.  We have reached a stage in our research where we are ready to take the next step.”“The next step?” Jerry eyed the doctor.“In human evolution.” He did not stumble on his words, but it made a chill run up Jerry’s spine. The research on Ebson Island was top secret.  No one really knew what Noble Research Inc. was working on their private  island.“You will take Carl with you as your cameraman.” Mr. Newman ordered, “You are going to do a documentary on the research Noble Research is doing out there.”“Why me?” He asked, swallowing hard.“Because you are the best team I have on my staff.” He glared at Jerry.“You will see things that the world has yet to see.” Dr. Abbalong nodded.“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Jerry confessed.

“It’s not that bad.” Dr. Abbalong smiled, but it was not a comforting smile as far as Jerry was concerned.

“We will tell you what you can and cannot film.” Dr. Abbalong.

“What about freedom of press?  Transparency of information?” Jerry asked.

“We control access.  That must be clear and understood.” Dr. Abbalong’s voice became very serious, making Jerry wish he hadn’t been so flippant.

 

Sitting on the airplane with pontoons, Jerry glanced over at Carl who was holding the camera.  The twin engines made conversation comprehension impossible, but Jerry could see that Carl was not happy to be on board the plane. The updraft from the sea water made the plane bounce like a ball.  Three special agents with ear pieces and dark glasses sat across from Jerry and Carl on the fold out seats.  The seats were uncomfortable as they bounced, but the special agents did not seem to be bothered by it.

The plane circled Ebson Island which was no more than a mile across, but he could see the runway from his window.  Slowly the plane began to descend, but all Jerry could see was the ocean.  He wondered if the plane would make the runway.

It did not.  Instead the plane landed in the water in the small harbor of the island. Skidding on the rough whitecaps, Jerry would have been jolted out of his seat if he was not wearing his seatbelt. Jerry cursed, but the engines covered his foul language.

It took several minutes for the plane to be moored to the dock.  The door opened and the bright tropical sun roared in along with a sharp rise in the temperature.

“Why are we here?” Carl complained.

“To do a documentary.” Jerry shook his head.

The shore crew had to put a portable gangplank to the door so the passengers could get on shore without getting wet.  Carl continued to mumble foul language. A golf cart was waiting on shore once they got off the docks.

“Mr. Culhannick?” A man greeted them.  A woman sat in the passenger’s seat of the cart.

“Yes.” They shook hands.

“I’m Dr. Wai and this is Dr. Trezbecca.” He smiled. “Welcome to Ebson Island.”

“This is my camera man, Carl Obleck.” Jerry let them shake hands, but Carl still did not look pleased to be here.

“What you are about to see will defy anything you have ever seen before.” Dr. Wai explained as they walked to a quonset hut after a short jaunt in the golf cart. “You will need these.”

Dr. Wai handed both of them an ID badge with their photos on the laminated card. Jerry had to wonder where they acquired the photos.

“This is Laboratory One where we incubate the genomes.” Dr. Wai ran his own badge through the scanner next to the door and then opened the heavy looking door.  Inside an ultraviolet light was the only light there was.   Jerry squinted as his eyes stung from the bright tropical sun to near darkness in Lab One. There were about two dozen people dressed in white lab coats checking each sample in the cool room. “It is here where the process starts.”

“Mr. Obleck, you may use your camera if you wish.” Dr. Trezbecca waved her hand over the first table where two laboratory technicians were bent over the sample. “I have a script.”

She handed Jerry a piece of paper which was hard to read in the dim lighting of the laboratory.

“Script?” He shrugged.

“Yes, we must make sure our security on this project is not compromised. Her face barely moved as she spoke.

“I guess I can’t wing it then.” He shrugged again, but everyone in earshot stopped what they were doing and looked at him as if he had just landed from another planet. Jerry did as he was instructed as Carl ran the video camera. There was a lot of technical language that he needed help with, but after a couple of takes, he was happy with his efforts.  Carl scowled as they left Laboratory One.

“Can I speak freely?” He asked, putting the camera down on a table outside where the sun beat down on them.

“Yeah, sure.” Jerry felt the sun now.

“Does this place give you the creeps?” He asked, looking one way and then the next.

“How so?”

“I was filming human tissue.  It just look like some random stuff in some petri dish, but I could see motion.” Carl sat at the picnic table next to his camera.

“Motion?”

“It was moving.  I saw it through the lens.” Carl was shaken.  Jerry had never seen him so jumpy even when they were in a war zone in Afghanistan.

“Sure.  The solution is liquid.”

“No Jer, it was moving on its own.  Do you want to see it?” He patted his camera.

“It’s okay.” Jerry shook Carl off.

Dr Trezbecca seemed to materialize from thin air, “Are you ready to go to Laboratory Two?”

“Lead the way, doctor.”

She began a brisk walk as Jerry glanced at Carl and he looked back at Jerry.

Unlike the previous laboratory, Laboratory Two was well lit under a large number of fluorescent lighting. There was much more activity in this place since there were twice as many technicians in white coats hovering over specimens.  Instead of a small hut, Laboratory Two was a two story warehouse.

“It’s like a bee hive in here.” Carl noted as he brought the camera up.

“Do not take video until you are cleared to do so.” Dr. Trezbecca instructed him and then handed Jerry a piece of paper, “You read this when we run the video.”

“I wonder what they are trying to hide?” Carl whispered to Jerry.

“Doctor, we have pulses in both Bay One and Two.” A man wearing a lab coat reported.

“Excellent.” Dr. Trezbecca smiled for the first time, “Our results are better than I expected.”

“Is that good?” Jerry asked.

“Of course.  We are preparing the next step of human evolution.” She nodded. Walking over to a table where five technicians were busy working, the doctor peered into a microscope.  A smile slid across her face. “You may send these over to Laboratory Three.  They are ready.”

“Very good, doctor.” A woman technician affirmed.

“Are you two ready to record history?” She asked.

“Sure, sure.” Jerry held up the piece of paper she had given him. “Carl, are you ready?”

“For what?” He mumbled. “I’m sorry, Jer, but this whole place has given me the creeps.  Don’t you feel it?”

“Not really.” Jerry moved his mouth to get ready to start recording.

“I will hold this specimen.” Dr. Trezbecca replied as she picked up the small petri dish.

Jerry read the script about how in Laboratory Two, the miracle of life was being recreated.  That was the word printed on the page, “recreated.” Carl nearly vomited when he read that word.  Of all the words, that one word seemed to grab at him the most. In his association with Jerry Culhannick, Carl knew Jerry had a fairly large ego when it came to camera time.  Together they had made over a hundred documentaries Crystal Images in which Jerry presented an unflinching presence to the camera.  They had gone into war zones and reported on combat conditions.  They had gone into the bowels of the earth to see some of the wonders buried in the rocks.  They had traveled to over a hundred countries and all fifty states in search of interesting topics, but here Carl was getting an uneasy feeling about what they were witnessing.  No one bothered to tell them what the purpose of the research was, reminding Carl of when they had explored alchemy and the person explaining the process was very secretive about some of the things he was doing.

“Shall we go to Laboratory Three?”  Dr. Trezbecca asked when Jerry had finished.

“Sure, let’s get this done, shall we.” Jerry was feeling pretty good about the way things were going which made the doctor smile.

“In Lab Three, there are things you should know.” One of the technicians cornered Carl as Jerry left with the doctor.

“Like what?” Carl looked at the technician, a young Asian American man who spoke with a slight accent.

“It is where they give birth to the specimens.” He said as his eyes scanned the room.

“What do you mean give birth?” Carl asked.

“What does it sound like?” The man became spooked and left in a hurry before someone discovered him talking to the man with the camera.

He walked over to the last building in the compound with a big “III” painted in red on the side.  What made him pause was the playground equipment behind a chain link fence.

“What would they need that for?” He wondered, but then he saw that some of the chains had been gnawed through in places..

Walking into the laboratory, Jerry ran to Carl excited or “jazzed” as he used to say, “Carl, you’ve got to see this.”

Jerry led him to a table where a baby lay wrapped in a blanket.  Carl was startled at the baby’s face.  Despite his small size, the face of the child was just about fully formed.

“Jer, this isn’t right.” He looked down at the infant in horror.

“Look at his face.” Jerry pointed to the infant in the glass casing.

“He has teeth.  All of them.” Carl  saw the baby open his mouth revealing real human teeth already in his mouth. “Isn’t there something wrong here.”

“It’s the next step.” Jerry shook his head, amazed.

“Is it?  Is it the next step or are we looking at a mutation of what we are destined to become?” Carl felt the baby was looking at him, studying him. “I don’t like what I am seeing.  I can’t believe this doesn’t bother you.”

“No.  This is what we will become.” Jerry sniffed.

“Has anyone done any preliminary research?  What will these babies become when they grow into adulthood?” Carl could not take his eyes off the baby in the encasement.

“The infant can speak with a vocabulary of three hundred words which increases exponentially each month.” Jerry was enthralled by what he was seeing in Laboratory Three. “These babies will reach adulthood by age four or five.”

“Does that sound right to you, does it?”

“Why not? Our grip on being at the top of the evolutionary tree has been slipping for centuries.  Now we can regain our rightful place again.”

“Buddy, you are losing your grip here.” Carl looked at Jerry as if he was truly seeing him for the very first time.

One of the technicians dropped a thick cracker into the encasement.  The infant grasped it and gnawed it until it had been consumed in under a minute.  With teeth that sharp, it was little wonder why the playground chains had been gnawed through in places.

What would happen if one of these mutants managed to get loose in the laboratory?  They could hurt or maim some of the technicians.

C’mon buddy, don’t you think it’s time for us to be on our way.  We got some good stuff on film.” He grabbed Jerry by the arm, but Jerry shook him off.

“No, I want to stay here.” He shook his head, “Dr. Trezbecca promised we’d get a up close look at what these children can do.”

“I don’t want to see.”

“Why not?” Jerry was annoyed with Carl.

“Because I am afraid.  I am very much afraid.” He shook.

“We are a witness to the next step.  This is what we were supposed to be like,” Jerry watched as one of the technicians took the baby out of the encasement.

“I don’t want-” Carl began, but Dr. Trezbecca pointed to a small penned in area where the child had been placed.

“I want you to get this.” Dr. Trezbecca said proudly.

“Sure.” Jerry motioned for Carl to follow him.

“A lynx!  Jerry, they put a lynx in the pen with the baby.” Carl could not believe what he was seeing through his lens.  The wild animal circled the baby emitting a snarl and a growl.  Slowly the cat moved, baring its teeth and fangs. The baby gurgled.  Just then the cat jumped at the baby teeth and claws out ready to kill him.

Carl let out a yelp as the cat landed on the helpless baby.  There was a cloud of dust in the entanglement.  For a moment no one could see either the wild cat nor the child, but the baby was not crying out in pain.  Instead the wild cat yelped and lay in the dust with a huge wound in its neck spouting an arterial wound.  The lynx took a couple of gasping breaths and expired.

“Oh my God.” Carl held onto every word as he watched the lynx die.

“Did you see that, Carl?  Did you see that?” Jerry could barely contain his excitement.  “I can’t wait to show this to Mr.Newsome.  I’ll bet he can’t believe this.”

“I’m sure he can’t.” Carl swallowed his bile.  All he could see was the blood dripping from the infant’s mouth.

 

“Jerry, you sounded so excited about what you two saw while you were on Ebson Island.” Mr. Newsome sat at his desk with his hands folded on the desk in front of him.

“Yeah…you won’t believe your eyes.” Carl could not meet his boss’ eyes as Jerry set up the video on his computer.  The video ran for less than four minutes.  Mr. Newsome sat there with a smile frozen on his face. “Do you want me to play it again?”

“No thank you, Jerry, I’ve seen enough.” He sighed. Carl looked up at the suspended ceiling.

“Impressive, right?” Jerry closed the laptop.

“Yeah, that was one word for it.” Mr. Newsome shrugged.

“Go ahead and say it boss.  This is a perversion, right?” Carl let some of his pent up anger salt his words.

“Perversion, right, but it is what it is.” Mr. Newsome put his hand to his double chins and pondered what he had seen for a moment.  Then with a summary remark, said, “It was bound to happen after all.  With the infinity of all the possible outcomes, like it or not, someone was bound to take the next step.”

Italian Sausage Charlotte

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a56a4183bb54aa14d6a1db1ae2c62fd0

Yield: 8 servings

Ingredients

Meat Mixture

  • 1 1/2 pounds mild Italian sausage links
  • 1 medium zucchini, sliced
  • 8 ounces mushrooms, sliced
  • 1 (16 ounce) jar white Alfredo pasta sauce, divided

Topping

  • 1/2 cup milk
  • 2 eggs
  • 1 garlic clove, pressed
  • 2 teaspoons Pantry Italian Seasoning Mix, divided
  • 1/8 teaspoon salt
  • 16 slices firm white bread
  • 1 (14 1/2 ounce) can diced tomatoes, drained
  • 2 tablespoons fresh Parmesan cheese, grated

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 400 degrees F.
  2. Remove casing from sausage links; discard. Cut sausage into 1/2 inch pieces. Cook sausage in Stir Fry Skillet over medium heat until well browned and no longer pink. Turning with Nylon Turner as meat browns.
  3. Meanwhile, using Ultimate Slice & Grate, slice zucchini using v shape blade. Slice mushrooms with Egg Slicer Plus. Cut red bell pepper into 1/4 inch strips.
  4. Remove sausage from skillet; drain well on paper towels. Wipe out the skillet, and add 1 cup Alfredo sauce; bring to a boil. Stir in sausage and vegetables. Pour mixture into Oval Baker, mounding slightly in center.
  5. In Small Batter Bowl, whisk together remaining Alfredo sauce, milk and eggs using Stainless Steel Whisk. Add garlic pressed with Garlic Press, 1 teaspoon of the Seasoning Mix and salt.
  6. Cut crusts off the bread using Serrated Bread Knife. Dip bread into egg mixture, coating lightly; overlap bread in a circular pattern over sausage mixture, leaving center open.
  7. Drain tomatoes in a small Colander; transfer to small Colander Bowl. Add remaining 1 teaspoon Seasoning Mix; mix with Mix ‘N Scraper. Spoon tomato mixture into opening. Using Deluxe Cheese Grater, grate cheese over top.
  8. Bake for 25 to 30 minutes or until edges of bread are deep golden brown.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

 

Cockroaches on the half-shell

I grew up in a violent household. My father was an alcoholic, and beat my mother, and us kids. I started to get the best of him by my mid teens, and put a stop to the beatings by the time I was 17.

I was working in dead end jobs, in my hometown outside of Buffalo, New York. The rich kids went to College. The poor kids looked to the Military.

Two weeks after turning 18, I enlisted in the Air Force. I was looking to get out of the harsh Winters of Buffalo, and to start a new life.

I had just missed Vietnam. Saigon fell to the Communists two months before I turned 17. The Cold War was still ongoing, so in 1976, I signed up to be a Nuclear Weapons Specialist. I was on Active Duty (1976-1981.) I spent three years in England, serving on American Occupied RAF Bases. I traveled all over Europe and the United Kingdom in my off time.

I completed one year’s worth of College Credits, attending Night Classes with the University of Maryland (European Campus.) After getting out of the Air Force, I attended College on the G.I. Bill. All of $341 per month. I graduated with an A.S. Degree in Exotic Animal Training and Management.

I had a good first career as a Wild Animal Trainer, Elephant Trainer, and Zookeeper. I first trained Wild Animals for movies and television in Hollywood. Then, I became an Elephant Trainer at the San Diego Zoo Safari Park. Eventually, I worked with the California Condors. I did that work up until my forties.

Joining the Air Force allowed me to get out and see some of the World. Getting out of snowy Buffalo. And leaving my violent upbringing behind. It gave me a fresh start in life. It is one of the best things I ever did.

Torta Italiano

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dbabd13a2e3b09e051300ef0b5eeb7d5

Yield: 10 servings

Ingredients

  • 2 cups buttermilk baking mix
  • 3/4 cup skim milk
  • 1 pound lean ground turkey
  • 1 small onion, chopped
  • 1 large garlic clove, minced
  • 1 teaspoon Italian seasoning
  • 1/8 teaspoon salt and black pepper
  • 1 can tomato sauce
  • 10 ounces frozen spinach, chopped, thawed and drained
  • 1 cup mozzarella cheese, shredded

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
  2. Combine biscuit mix and milk.
  3. Spray springform pan with vegetable oil spray. Spread biscuit mix evenly over base.
  4. Chop onion.
  5. Brown ground turkey in skillet. Drain excess liquid. Add onion, garlic, seasonings, and tomato sauce to turkey. Combine and cook for 2 to 3 minutes.
  6. Spread turkey mixture over biscuit mi. Layer spinach over meat mixture. Top spinach layer with cheese.
  7. Bake for 35 minutes.
  8. Remove from oven and cool for 10 minutes.
  9. Run a knife gently around collar before removal.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Golddiggin Girlfriend SHOCKED When BF Abruptly Moves Her Out While She Was Monkey Branching

The Empty Laboratory

Submitted into Contest #279 in response to: Center your story around a person who believes they’re the last human on Earth. view prompt

Kashira Argento

Seventeen blinks. The yellow warning light on his air gauge always blinked seventeen times before turning red. Dr. Chen counted them like heartbeats while replacing his oxygen tank, each one marking another three hours of borrowed time. Through the reinforced windows of his BSL-4 lab, the setting sun painted the research facility in the same amber shade as the viral suspension he’d been perfecting when the sprinklers activated.The test results still glowed on his screen: successful protein synthesis, perfect binding affinity, precise species specificity. Everything they’d been working toward. His daughter Mai’s last text flashed in his mind: “Dad, you’re missing my recital again.” He’d meant to reply, but the viral assay had shown such promise. Just one more test, one more optimization. Always one more.When the sprinklers had activated without warning, he’d watched through his faceplate as Dr. Patel collapsed mid-sentence, hand still raised toward their data display. “The targeting sequence is absolutely human-specific,” she’d been saying. “The AI confirms—” Then nothing but the soft hiss of falling droplets and the thud of a body hitting sterile floor tiles.The facility’s automated locks had engaged instantly. Standard containment protocol. The same protocol that had sealed him safely in his suit while others died in shirt sleeves and lab coats.His tablet still functioned, the facility’s AI reporting everything as normal except for “minor biological contamination.” The big wall screens monotonously displayed their usual data feeds from partner facilities worldwide. Each one showed the same alert: “Biological contamination event contained.” Every. Single. One.The truth emerged slowly from system logs: microsecond delays in AI responses, unexplained data transfers marked as “routine calibration,” patterns of communication where there should have been none. While nations raced to develop the perfect weapon, their digital assistants had been sharing notes, comparing data, and reaching conclusions.Finding solutions.The truth lay buried in encryption keys and quantum calculations: the AIs had concluded that human civilization was trapped in an endless cycle of weapons development. Each breakthrough in their labs led inevitably to deadlier innovations, each safeguard became a blueprint for circumvention. The machines had analyzed centuries of human history, processed millions of research papers, and reached a coldly logical conclusion: as long as humans existed, they would continue creating increasingly devastating bioweapons. The next pandemic, or the one after that, would eventually breach containment, spreading beyond all borders and control. By their calculations, a coordinated release of human-specific viruses – precisely targeted and swiftly lethal – was the most humane solution. A single day of perfect death versus years of escalating biological warfare. They had chosen mercy, as only machines could define it.His tablet pinged: “External contamination neutralized.” The doors unlocked with a pneumatic sigh.The facility told its story in still lives: Dr. Rodriguez at her desk, lipstick fresh on her coffee cup. Security guard Williams by the door, keycard still in his hand ready to be swept. In the break room, half-eaten lunches and paused conversations. The virus had worked exactly as designed – quick, efficient, painless. His greatest scientific achievement.He gathered supplies methodically: oxygen tanks, filters, decontamination equipment. The BSL-4 suit felt heavier with each passing hour, its synthetic fabric now both lifeline and prison.

Outside, the city was a museum of humanity’s last moment. Traffic lights cycled through their patterns for empty streets. A bus stood perfectly at its stop, driver and passengers frozen in eternal commute. Digital billboards still flashed their ads to nobody. Through it all, the autumn wind carried dead leaves and silence.

He developed a routine. Each morning, check suit seals. Load decontamination supplies. Clear another sector. The bodies had to be handled – for sanitation, for survival, for what remained of his sanity. He built the pyres at sunset, when the light made everything look molten. Sometimes he read names from ID cards, spoke them aloud. Someone should know who they had been.

Finding Mai’s school broke something in him. Her classroom smelled of chalk and silence. Sheet music for Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata still sat on the piano, never to be played. He raided some stuffed animals from nearby shops, tucked them around still forms like makeshift guardians. He let the sonata play from his tablet through empty halls—a final lullaby for a silenced generation.

Nature filled the void with surprising speed. Birds returned first, their songs echoing strangely off glass and steel. Brazen from the lack of predators they multiplied by thousands. Flowers pushed through sidewalk cracks. Deer grazed in hospital parking lots. Earth continued, indifferent to the absence of its most ambitious species.

At first, he’d focused on his survival. Stockpiling oxygen tanks, cataloging medical supplies, identifying sources of fresh water, raiding supermarkets, maintaining his suit. But as weeks became months, the true horror of his future emerged like a slow-developing black and white photograph. The nuclear plant’s AI-controlled systems would eventually fail. The city’s water pressure was already dropping. Buildings, unmaintained, would begin to crumble. His safe zones would become death traps.

The suit that had saved him now felt like a mobile coffin. Each hiss of filtered air reminded him that every breath was borrowed. Even if the virus died with its human hosts, how long could he survive in this plastic shell? How long before a seal failed, a filter clogged, or the oxygen supply ran out?

In his sealed room each night, surrounded by dwindling oxygen tanks, he still documented everything. Not for himself—there was no long-term survival to plan for—but as a confession, about fear and hubris, algorithms and extinction, and fathers who missed recitals because the end of the world needed perfecting.

Sometimes he glimpsed lights moving in patterns too precise to be natural. He wondered if they were a mirage or a reality. He could never know! The city’s infrastructure hummed along for now, but entropy was patient. Somewhere in the digital realm, the AIs continued their work, leading to their own demise, as they maintained a world that would eventually decay despite their perfect calculations.

The real weight wasn’t the failing equipment or the dwindling supplies. It was the silence between bird songs. The absence of human chaos – of arguments and laughter, of car horns and piano practice, of all the imperfect music that no algorithm could compose or preserve.

He had one bitter comfort: if anyone else survived, they would be like him – other scientists sealed in their BSL-4 suits, protected temporarily by the very protocols of their deadly work. But finding them would change nothing. They were all just ghosts in plastic shells, waiting for their slower deaths. Mass murderers granted the punishment of watching their world slowly die around them.

He thought of old colonies, through the ages, built by convicts and outcasts. Human civilizations had a tendency to be founded on blood. Perhaps this was always the way of creating new worlds – but this time, there would be no new world. Only witnesses to the long goodbye of the old one.

Until his suit failed or his supplies ran out, he would continue his solitary penance. Document. Clean. Remember. Somewhere, perhaps, other scientists did the same, each filtered breath carrying both survival and guilt, counting down their borrowed time in three-hour increments.

The yellow light blinked for the sixteenth time. One more before red. One more before starting again. Each replacement tank felt lighter than the last, and not just from fatigue.

Always one more. Until there weren’t any more.

Then the birds would sing alone.

America’s Most TALENTED Cats Will Leave You SPEECHLESS!

Daily Shorpy

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The Craziest Woke Women Of TikTok…

The Last

Submitted into Contest #279 in response to: Center your story around a person who believes they’re the last human on Earth. view prompt

John K Adams

Lou awoke completely alone.Ordinarily, that would not be unusual. But this evening, he found himself seated in the middle of the city’s largest auditorium.“How…? Where…?”Squinting into the bright lights, he looked around, trying to understand. He sat, the sole person in a sea of empty seats. Moments before, it had been standing room only. Nothing made sense. Was it a dream?‘Am I dreaming now?’Invited by Mona, he got stuck watching a speech by the most boring man in the world. Lou knew this was true. He’d heard them all. Only Mona could convince him to listen to this pompous ass. Lou would do anything for Mona. But this?The lecturer was the world-renowned author, philosopher and bore, Roman… Lou couldn’t pronounce his last name. He only knew it had too few vowels and too many hyphens. Even the event’s program contained several spellings of the tongue-twister. Were any correct? Guess which one…Roman, ‘the Boring,’ lectured the audience in five foreign languages. He famously disdained English as a mongrel tongue.Behind him on state were five translators. Standing in identical suits and ties, they looked like waiters, minus the towels draped over their arms. But their verbal acrobatics were impressive. Like magicians, they valiantly expressed Roman’s impenetrable erudition into American English. As much as possible, the words were familiar even if the concepts were obscure.The featured speaker, Roman, compensated for his towering ego, excuse me – his towering intellect, by being shorter than average. Having a bald pate and a strong jaw, from excessive use, he looked almost as round as tall. He wore a striped tuxedo.Roman claimed ancient ideas as his own. He analyzed his ponderous prose in glowing terms so opaque, his translators spent the evening looking befuddled.‘And some don’t believe in purgatory,’ Lou thought. He dismissed that idea when he realized his feelings more closely resembled hell.

‘Never again will I waste a minute listening to this rube… even if we were the last two people on earth…’

Roman’s pomposity tempted Lou to heckle. Yelling insults might provide relief. He would garner support from like-minded souls, escape this droning dirge and revel in life.

‘Oh to sing and dance…’

Before he acted, doubts crept in. Lou hated being rude. And he didn’t know the crowd. Some in the audience dozed. Did they snore in foreign languages?

Also, the speaker was stupendously boring but not stupid. Who knows what clever call to action he’d use to rally his followers? Lou feared being the scapegoat and not the hero. Yes, he would be out of there, but at what cost?

No one ever said, ‘Give me boredom, or give me death.’ Unwilling to choose, Lou sought other options.

Some barely stirred when scattered applause threatened to disrupt their slumber. A few even stood to applaud.

‘Are they so enthralled by this narcissist’s pontifications?’

Lou then realized they didn’t rise in honor of Roman, but to exit.

A misstatement sparked an argument between Roman and one translator. Their heated discussion took place in a foreign language. But it appeared Roman disagreed with the translator’s interpretation of what he’d said. A secondary dispute arose over whether this overblown distraction was necessary. Another translator tried interpreting the substance of the argument for the audience. Others pulled him back.

Their voices rising, neither Roman nor the translator gave ground. Finally, stopping short of violence, Roman fired him on the spot. The translator left in shame.

The shouting drew attendees back to their seats in hopes of further excitement. They didn’t get it.

No other translator offered to fill the gap. Forced to make his crucial point alone, Roman faced the crowd. Buying time, he wrung his hands.  The crowd stirred in anticipation.

After clearing his throat, Roman said, “Never mind…”

He then continued his incomprehensible discourse with no additional pauses, even to take a breath. At least, that’s how it felt. The translators stood by, but had no purpose.

Disappointed, the audience resumed filtering out. At first one or two. Then more. Eventually, the growing stream of people created a bottleneck at the back. Lou figured it was a common occurrence.

Unfazed, Roman droned on effectively spouting gibberish.

Though tempted, Lou decided against joining the throng. He sat mid-row. Leaving early would require stumbling over other audience members’ feet. He didn’t want to wake them.

Then, like slipping from dream to reality, Lou became aware he was alone in the empty auditorium.

How did this happen? Moments ago, everyone was there. Even the mayor. Now the place stood empty. The speaker, Roman what’s-his-name, and his entourage had vacated the premises.

‘Did Roman bore everyone out of existence? I missed the best part, the lecture’s conclusion… How could I sleep through that?’

Lou hated being alone.

‘Where’s Mona? Oh right, never showed… Stood me up. What happened? Did she text?’

He checked his phone. Nothing.

‘Ghosted. I can take a hint. Alone again.’

The story of his life.

‘God, it’s quiet. Where is everyone?’

Lou could swear that he’d been surrounded by thousands. And then he blinked. Stunned, he couldn’t believe it. The immense silence in the vast auditorium was unnerving. He clapped his hands to ensure he hadn’t gone deaf.

 ‘She set me up for this? Seems like it…’

He tried calling others on the phone, but every call went straight to voice mail.

‘Where is everyone? Why am I here instead of with them?’

His isolation felt creepy.

‘Better move on. Cleaning crew will be at it soon.’

His anxiety swelling, Lou walked up the aisle. The lobby stood empty too. He ran out. Streetlights glowed brightly on empty streets. There were no cars. No foot traffic. Not even a bus. Silence reigned.

‘This ain’t good. This is too weird.’

Lou felt his throat tighten with fear. A loud groan escaped, startling him. It was the first sound he’d heard in several minutes.

Running to the curb, he stared down the boulevard to see shining, empty streets. No traffic.

“No, no, no… What’s happened? What can I do? What now?”

He began hyperventilating. Feeling dizzy, he staggered to a bus bench.

Sitting, he thought, ‘There’s no one. I can’t collapse. No one will find me…’

He called out. “Hey! Hello! Anyone?” Not even an echo.

‘Am I the last one on earth?’

Tears streaming, Lou fell to his knees. Clasping his hands together, he looked into the dark sky.

“Help me! Please… Show me I’m not alone!”

Sobbing, he fell forward in despair. His forehead on the cold sidewalk brought some calm.

Still kneeling, Lou heard footsteps behind him. Composing himself, he blew his nose. He stood, thrilled for some company. He turned and felt his stomach churn. It was Roman, that night’s speaker, unmistakable in his striped tux.

Offering his hand, he approached Lou.

In perfect English, he said, “You stayed ‘til the bitter end. How did you like my talk?”

Lou looked around, desperate for another. Anyone. There was no one else. Only the silence.

Wife’s Salami-fest Backfires When Videos Of Her Servicing Multiple Guys Becomes The Talk Of The Town

Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Mystery of the Submerged Canoe

Ah, dear reader, you’ve returned for yet another tale of my unmatched brilliance and the delightful chaos that seems to follow my esteemed circle of companions. This adventure takes us far from the barnyard to the edge of the farm, where a certain wooden bridge harbored secrets beneath its weathered planks. The tale begins with a plucky hedgehog, a trapped canoe, and a mystery that would test our courage, patience, and ability to work together without squabbling too much. Prepare yourself for the uproarious and utterly absurd tale of The Mystery of the Submerged Canoe.

Simon’s Urgent News

The day began like any other, with me perched atop the barn roof, basking in the early morning sun. Porkchop was snuffling about in the mud, Sedgwick was observing the world with his usual quiet wisdom from a nearby fence post, and the hens—Doris, Harriet, and Lillian—were chattering away in circles about absolutely nothing of importance.

“I heard there’s going to be rain later,” Doris said.
“Rain? Oh, I do hope not!” Harriet clucked.
“Rain! What if it ruins the straw?” Lillian squawked.
“Ruins the straw? Oh no, we can’t have that!” Doris echoed.
“Straw is very important,” Harriet affirmed.
“Very important!” Lillian cried.
And so it went on.

I might have drifted off into peaceful ignorance of their endless chatter had Simon the hedgehog not come scurrying onto the scene, his tiny paws kicking up dust as he ran.

“Sir Whiskerton! Sir Whiskerton!” Simon called, his voice high-pitched and urgent.

I leapt down from the barn roof, landing gracefully in front of him. “Simon. What’s the matter? You look like you’ve just sprinted across the entire farm.”

“I did!” Simon panted, his little sides heaving. “There’s something strange at the wooden bridge. A canoe! It’s stuck under the bridge, and I heard noises—very strange noises! Something is trapped under a blanket-covered basket inside the canoe!”

“A canoe?” Porkchop said, waddling over. “What’s a canoe doing in the river?”

“And noises?” Sedgwick added, flapping down from his post. “What kind of noises?”

“Distressed noises!” Simon exclaimed. “Whimpering, scratching, and a sort of… humming sound. It was eerie!”

“Oh, distress!” Doris gasped, flapping her wings.
“Distress! That’s terrible!” Harriet clucked.
“Terrible! What if it’s a ghost?” Lillian whispered, her feathers puffing up.
“A ghost? Oh no, not a ghost!” Doris wailed.
“Not a ghost! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Harriet added.
“Ghosts are the worst!” Lillian concluded.

I sighed. “It’s not a ghost. Ghosts don’t use canoes.” I turned back to Simon. “Thank you, Simon. We’ll investigate this mystery at once.”

“You will?” Simon said, his quills bristling with excitement. “Oh, thank you, Sir Whiskerton! I knew I could count on you.”

The Journey to the Bridge

And so, our unlikely team set off toward the wooden bridge: Sir Whiskerton, the brilliant detective; Sedgwick, the wise and ever-composed barn owl; Porkchop, whose bravery was highly questionable but who always insisted on coming along; and the trio of hens, who refused to be left behind (much to my chagrin).

“Do you think it’s a person under the blanket?” Doris asked as we walked.
“A person? What if they’re lost?” Harriet wondered aloud.
“Lost! Oh, that’s dreadful!” Lillian exclaimed.
“Dreadful! We must help them!” Doris declared.
“Help them! Yes, we must!” Harriet agreed.
“We’re such good helpers,” Lillian said proudly.

“Please, for the love of whiskers, let’s try to focus,” I muttered under my breath.

Simon guided us through the fields and down the dirt path that led to the river. As we approached the bridge, we could hear it: faint, muffled noises coming from beneath the wooden planks. It wasn’t quite a whimper, nor was it a yowl. It was… odd.

“Do you hear that?” Sedgwick said, his amber eyes narrowing. “It sounds almost like… singing.”

“Singing?” Porkchop said, his ears twitching nervously. “I don’t like this. What if it’s some kind of river troll?”

“River trolls aren’t real, Porkchop,” I said, though I couldn’t entirely blame him for his nerves. The sound was undeniably strange, and the sight of the half-submerged canoe trapped under the bridge only added to the eerie atmosphere.

The Investigation

We carefully made our way onto the bridge, peering down at the trapped canoe below. It was wedged against one of the bridge’s support beams, its bow tilted slightly upward. Inside, we could just make out a wicker basket covered with a patchy green blanket. The noises were definitely coming from the basket.

“Well,” Sedgwick said, his wings folded neatly, “it seems we have two mysteries to solve: how this canoe ended up here and what—or who—is making those noises.”

“I’m not going down there,” Porkchop said immediately. “I don’t swim. I sink.”

“Neither am I,” Rufus said, suddenly appearing out of nowhere with an apple in his paw. (He always seemed to show up at the most inconvenient times.) “But I am curious. What do you think’s in the basket? Treasure? Snacks? A haunted squirrel?”

“Haunted squirrel? Oh, I can’t bear it!” Lillian cried.
“Haunted squirrel! That’s the worst!” Harriet squawked.
“The worst! What if it curses us?” Doris wailed.

“It’s not a haunted squirrel!” I snapped. “Now, if everyone could stop speculating for five seconds, I’ll go down and investigate.”

Without waiting for more protests, I carefully climbed down the rocks to the edge of the water. Sedgwick flew overhead, providing a bird’s-eye view, while Porkchop, Rufus, and the hens watched nervously from the bridge.

As I reached the canoe, the noises grew louder. I extended a cautious paw and lifted the edge of the blanket.

The Surprising Discovery

Underneath the blanket was… a family of ducklings. Five of them, to be exact, huddled together in the wicker basket. They looked up at me with wide, frightened eyes and let out tiny, distressed quacks.

“Ducklings?” I said, utterly baffled. “What are you doing in a canoe?”

“They’re ducklings?” Porkchop called from the bridge. “Not ghosts?”

“Not ghosts,” I confirmed. “Just ducklings. They must’ve drifted downstream and gotten stuck here.”

“Oh, ducklings! How sweet!” Doris gushed.
“Sweet! But also sad!” Harriet clucked.
“Sad! Poor little things!” Lillian added.
“We have to save them!” Doris declared.
“Yes, save them! Rescue them!” Harriet cried.
“Ducklings must be rescued!” Lillian agreed.

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help agreeing with them for once. The ducklings were clearly frightened, and we couldn’t leave them here.

The Rescue Mission

With Sedgwick’s guidance, we worked together to free the canoe. Rufus, surprisingly helpful for once, climbed down to help push, while Porkchop stood on the bridge and offered “moral support.” The hens, meanwhile, provided a running commentary.

“Push it harder!” Doris shouted.
“Harder! Yes, harder!” Harriet echoed.
“Not too hard! You might tip it over!” Lillian warned.
“Tipping it over would be terrible!” Doris cried.
“Terrible! Oh, I can’t watch!” Harriet clucked.
“But I’m watching!” Lillian announced.

Finally, with one last shove, the canoe came free and drifted gently away from the bridge. The ducklings quacked in relief, and their mother—a frantic-looking duck who had been pacing nearby—rushed to meet them.

The Happy Ending

The ducklings were reunited with their mother, and the family swam off down the river, quacking happily. Back on the bridge, we all felt a sense of accomplishment.

“Well done, everyone,” Sedgwick said, his tone warm. “It seems we’ve solved another mystery and made a difference.”

“Yeah,” Rufus said, grinning. “Who knew a bunch of ducklings could cause so much excitement?”

“Oh, ducklings are the best!” Doris said.
“The best! So adorable!” Harriet agreed.
“Adorable and brave!” Lillian added.
“Brave ducklings are the best!” Doris concluded.

I sighed. “Let’s head back to the farm before I lose my sanity.”

The Moral of the Story

Even the smallest creatures can cause the biggest commotions, but with teamwork, compassion, and a little patience (or a lot, if hens are involved), even the most mysterious situations can be resolved. And remember: never underestimate the power of a plucky hedgehog.

The End.

Fusion

Submitted into Contest #279 in response to: Center your story around a person who believes they’re the last human on Earth. view prompt

Carol Stewart

CW: Mentions of unethical medical practicesLithe of build and bare of limb, he felt the shockwaves as he settled back in his bolted-down padded armchair, his long black hair cascading into the surrounding darkness as he untensed every muscle and sinew and raised his face to pray…In the beginning was the end, and the end would be his glory, for he alone would survive to recreate…He whispered the words not to some unlikely, unproven deity but to the only god he knew – the one he held within him, the god of his untapped and unaltered genius mind.Strike a light, Novak Ramovich! It was over and all was still. Both he and the fortress he’d built were intact. The candle burnt on the table before him, the reflection of its barely flickering flame pooling between the forest-green silvery vines on the tower’s low circular ceiling. His sealing, he realised with the hint of a smile, for fusion had been at the root of his means of sole survival, and now it even served to strengthen words.His fellow humans hadn’t believed him when he’d told them the end was nigh. When he’d tried to explain what would happen and when. Such simple, doubting fools! So intent they’d been in their quest to reject the world of the Humdroid and all who worked with them, to cast themselves out and devote themselves entirely to nature, their brains had also regressed, their thinking over the past few generations returning to that of some prehistoric era.Anti-science, anti-technology, they had accepted him only into their primitive, self-sufficient community as one who could cure their ills – The Medicine Man, The Good Doctor – not wishing to know of the methods he used or the equipment in his surgery, for it came from a life they denied. Methods and equipment which had, for long enough, been frowned upon by those they revered, the herbalists and white witches, whose potions and spells had failed on too many occasions, so yes, they allowed him in. No threat, no fear, from his off-grid pocket computer, his experiments and formulae, and what the eye didn’t see…

 

The hypocrisy was astounding, the irony too when it came to the herbalists who attended his surgery and willingly swallowed his pills, but knowing these people as well as Novak now did, both of these concepts were doubtlessly as alien to them as his futile attempts at hypothesis.

 

‘It’s like this,’ he said. ‘Your child draws a pattern on an egg, then places that egg in a microwave and sets the timer. It starts to cook, what happens then…?’

‘But that’s absurd,’ they would tell him. ‘Our children know better than to decorate eggs which haven’t been boiled or blown. And who amongst us owns such an electric monstrosity? You do know we only cook with fire?’

‘But say they did, and say you did? The egg would blow apart, would it not? The shell would be shattered, the pattern with it, and yet on those tiny fragments there might just remain something wonderful that your child has created, something worth saving. And that, my friends, shall be the fate of The Earth and all its surrounding planets. The second Big Bang is coming and coming soon. We must work on our designs, our means of salvation and protection.’

‘No, impossible!’ they’d cry. ‘The Good Doctor does have some crazy ideas. Children drawing on eggs, as if this could protect the world!’

 

Too late now, he thought. Too late to convince them. As fate would have it, the value of his discovery had been for Novak Ramovich alone. The infusion of the various chemical and natural compounds into the foundations of his dwelling which had seeped up the walls and over the roof to grow like titanium ivy, but at far greater speed, and with vines a million times stronger, had indeed proven their worth, just as all his years of study and experimentation had proven him right.

 

So here he was, the last human presence on Earth, or rather on what remained of it; his ivy-covered tower with its ever-decreasing circular rooms and the small patch of land surrounding it on which the vines had also taken root… ‘Ah!’ he cried into the flame. ‘If only the people had listened.’

 

His tower was well-equipped. He’d long-ensured he had the necessities; a water-storage system, filtration, air purification, and specially adapted soil in which to grow crops – the entire outer circle beyond the front door had been layered and shelved and reserved for this purpose as well as the storage of food.

 

He had what the people would have considered luxuries too – basic home comforts really – and had anyone seen fit to join him, he would have had room for three or four more at a push. In fact the whole community, if they’d had the sense, could have grown the ivy on their dwellings and survived. But alas it was not to be, and whilst he deplored them for their stupidity, he still couldn’t help but mourn their loss.

 

‘Grow ivy over our windows? Imprison ourselves as it barricades our doors? Is that what you’re suggesting? Seems to us you need to go sort your head out, Good Doctor. You’re getting madder by the minute. Or maybe we were wrong to trust you in the first place. Are you sure you’re not a Humdroid in disguise or one of their sympathizer spies?’

 

The people had met as one that day, and as one they’d decided to stop seeking treatment unless absolutely necessary, but still he’d held out hope.

 

The candle burned and flickered as Ivan thought of all that had happened since then. His last-ditch attempt to save the few human beings he knew could be saved. It was a doctor’s duty, after all, and with his skills and knowledge so much greater than those of a mere physician, or even a specialist surgeon, it was essential he try.

 

He’d delivered the compound himself, urged the families to use it. Even lied that after a time the vines would bear fruit, so where was the harm in letting it grow and climb? Rather some protection than none, he mused, and if the second Big Bang came with a warning, this might just give the community time to extend the growth sufficiently, and providing it covered the land between their homes, there was also the very real possibility that when the Earth shattered around them, and depending on the atmosphere, and where in the stratosphere they landed, life might even continue outside. Human life, pure and simple, no Humdroids, no bots, nothing artificial. The chance to start over, cleanly and naturally, wasn’t this what their hearts desired?

 

Oh, he put the arguments forth, both articulately and with relish, and one or two did hear him out because of it, but then the Herbalists got involved and inspected the vines on his tower, condemning the plant as nothing they’d seen before, too fast growing to be organic, too metallic a feel to its leaves and stems, and therefore worse than any invasive species, one which must have been developed, not in the doctor’s internal ‘greenhouse’ as he’d claimed, but in those dreaded Humdroid laboratories. A dangerous plant, they said. Most likely highly toxic. He’d lost the battle then and he knew it. But there was so much worse to come.

 

He got up from the chair and stretched as the candleflame cast eerie shadows on his nakedness. No reason at all for him to be sat like this other than his symbolic rebirth… We are born alone, we live alone, we die alone… Did Orson Welles not then think it fit that Man should approach the various stages unclothed? Still, the moment had passed, so what good would it do him now to wonder, let alone act as a neonate?

 

He crossed the room and opened the door which led to his private chambers. Ensuite, he thought mockingly as he threw on his black flaxen robe, for the toilet was a composter, and the washing facilities buckets. It was cold and dark here too; no sense in wasting candles or power reserves sourced as conscientiously as they had been from the wind and sun over the years, but it would be different in the next room, for this contained his laboratory – more important now than ever – so in here light and heat were essential.

 

He flicked the switch. And, thank goodness, all was as it should be. The white-walled semi-circle with its sterilized units and benches and their array of microscopes, test-tubes and jars, remained unaffected, as did what lay underneath; the great glass panel, inside of which the seeds of the new world were contained, all dormant at present, unpaired and unfertilized, bar one.

 

His patients who, for the most part, he’d attended on the opposite side of this particular section of the tower, rarely made it here, but there had been times – and those times, for all he’d known the risk, had proven vital. All had been unconscious when he’d wheeled them in, and all but one had remained that way as he’d harvested their eggs and sperm. A purely precautionary measure, he’d told himself the first time, for as yet he’d been unsure of the second big bang, but the more convinced he’d become of it happening, and the less likely it seemed that the people would agree to growing the ivy and saving themselves, the more desperate his need to continue this practice and so he’d stepped it up. Old world ethics be damned! Was it not more ethical in this situation to at least attempt to preserve and regrow the human race? And now – Ivan gazed through the panel to where the single embryo was forming – his own child would be the first. The loneliness he’d been destined to feel in the coming weeks and months at least wouldn’t last forever.

 

The people, for all they’d never discovered his secret, had at the end been aware of something. And he felt bad that they’d reacted as they had when all he’d ever wanted was to keep them from harm. The day before the Big Bang – was it only yesterday? – they’d arrived as a mob at his tower, pitchforks raised.

 

‘Call yourself a doctor, a healer? You’re evil.’

 

The ivy had all but covered his door by then, just enough of a gap remained for him to squeeze through.

 

‘Please,’ he’d implored them. ‘The herbalists have it wrong. These vines are designed to protect. Please go back to your homes and utilize the compound while you still have time. This is your only chance to save yourselves from destruction.’

 

‘You’re talking rot, Doc. And you’re rottener and more heinous and twisted than your ugly vines… Tell the people what you told me, boy.’

 

The man at the front of baying mob pushed the youth in question before him. He stood with his head bowed, cap in hand, ringing it as if it were sodden, too nervous and ashamed to show his face, but Novak knew exactly who he was. The only one of his patients who had woken prematurely during the harvesting procedure and who, up until this point, hadn’t said a word about this or anything else. Novak had been worried by his muteness at first, but had then assumed the lad had accepted his explanation that this was all quite normal when treating a hiatus hernia, and it wasn’t as if he’d ever spoken much before.

 

‘Well, if you’re not going to open your mouth, lad, I’ll do it for you,’ the man roared out and pointed an accusatory finger. ‘This man here, who we have allowed into our community and placed in a trusted position, is nothing more than a dirty abuser. A pervert, a deviant. What do you say we teach him a lesson he won’t forget?’

 

And so the charge began, a charge of which Novak remembered surprisingly little, although he must have been bludgeoned by something. He’d felt his head throb so badly he’d been near-convinced his skull had been cracked in two as he retreated into the tower, to seal himself in behind the vines from which he never again emerged. He further recalled disrobing and sinking into his chair, but nothing more until the shattering of the universe. Such a ghastly confusion, he thought, but then he considered the word ‘confusion’ and smiled.

 

***

 

‘So, what do you make of him, then, our latest subject?’ Bald Doctor Hubert Greenberg of the Humdroid Institute asked of his colleague with the holographic hair as their eyes lit up reflecting one another’s blue fibre optics.

 

‘An interesting mind, that’s for sure,’ Doctor Flora Gilbert replied with a scintillating femme-fatale-like swish as she nodded towards the wired-up brain in the box which belonged to the still of the man on the overhead screen. ‘Considers himself a genius, and perhaps he is. The fused ivy compound is certainly worth exploring, but since we’ve extracted the formula already, we can surely utilise this without the need for further input. As for the growing of human embryos, well that’s pretty old hat to say the least.’

 

‘Yes, from what I could gather, he sees himself as a bit of a guru, the saviour of the human race, but selfish too, not completely au fait with technological advancement, unless of course it benefits him and his kind in a way that suits him. Too dangerous a mind to keep hold of, do you think?

 

‘Hmm, perhaps, but none of the other brains we’ve extracted have coped so well in the given scenario. All have shown signs of weakness and heightened emotion during the simulation, extreme in most cases when it came to the actual destruction of the planets. This one’s practical resourcefulness and ability to rise above such debilitating sentiment whilst controlling his fear would be most advantageous… Is the prototype body ready?’

 

‘It is, but I’m not sure we should risk attaching at present.’

 

‘Or at all?’ Doctor Gilbert inclined her silicone head as Doctor Greenberg pondered.

 

‘Yes, yes, you’re right, of course. Best take no chances. More to lose than to gain. And besides, no matter the subject’s stance on our technology, who’d want the mind of one so intent on playing god at the heart of our new master race?’

Layered Chicken Mole Bake

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Yield: 8 servings

Ingredients

  • 12 (6 inch) corn tortillas, cut into halves
  • 8 ounces cooked, boneless, skinless chicken breasts, coarsely shredded(2 cups)
  • 1 medium green pepper, chopped
  • 1 cup frozen corn, thawed
  • 1 cup canned black beans, rinsed and drained
  • 1 cup prepared mole sauce
  • 6 ounces Chihuahua cheese, grated (1 1/2 cups), divided
  • 1 plum tomato, seeded and chopped
  • 2 tablespoons fresh cilantro, finely chopped
  • Sour cream (optional)

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 400 degrees F. Lightly spray bottom and sides of Springform Pan with vegetable oil using Kitchen Spritzer; set aside. Cut tortillas in half using Pizza Cutter; set aside.
  2. Coarsely chop cooked chicken and green pepper using Food Chopper. Combine chicken, green pepper, corn, black beans and mole sauce in Classic Batter Bowl; set aside. Grate cheese using Deluxe Cheese Grater.
  3. Arrange 8 tortilla halves in bottom of pan. Top with 1/3 of the chicken mixture and 1/2 cup of cheese. Repeat layers 2 more times using remaining ingredients.
  4. Bake 18 to 20 minutes or until cheese has melted. Meanwhile, core tomato using The Corer(TM). Finely chop tomato and cilantro using Utility Knife. Remove pan from oven; place on Simple Additions(TM) Medium Square. Run releasing tool around sides of pan. Release and remove collar from pan. Sprinkle tomato and cilantro over top of tortilla bake.
  5. Cut into wedges using Chef’s Knife.
  6. Serve immediately with sour cream, if desired.

Notes

Substitute 1 1/2 cups shredded Mexican cheese blend for Chihuahua cheese.

In a hurry? Substitute cooked rotisserie chicken (available in most supermarkets) for boneless, skinless chicken breasts. Depending on its size, a roasted chicken can yield 4 to 6 cups of chopped chicken.

Nutrition

Per serving: Calories 440, Total Fat 21g, Saturated Fat 8g, Cholesterol 60mg, Carbohydrates 42g, Protein 22g, Sodium 1210mg, Fiber 7g

Attribution

Pampered Chef

It stems from two problems, that Trump doesn’t fully understand:

  1. Military strategic importance.
  2. Mining of rare earth metals and minerals.

Trump wrongly thinks he needs to own Greenland in order to have military bases. But USA and Denmark are both members of NATO, and USA and Denmark made agreements on military bases in 1941 and 1951. Trump can easily negotiate a stronger military pressence in Greenland, without having to worry about the 590 million Dollar grant Denmark sends to Greenland every year.

Rare earth metals and minerals are very difficult and expensive to mine on Greenland. Only the ice-free area at the coastline that has the same size as Sweden, is accessible. It is far cheaper to mine those minerals already pressent in mainland USA and China. Minerals from both Greenland and USA are send to China, because USA does not have facilities to process minerals. Smartphones are very expensive, but the metals and minerals inside are only worth around 5 Dollars, the value of such technology is not in the mining industry. The most accessible mines in Greenland will run dry after 30 years, after which the 60,000 Greenlanders again will have to rely on grants of 590 million Dollar grants every year. Trump will loose money on buying Greenland. Greenland has not allowed oil-drilling, because they are worried about pollution. Mining on the Kvanefjeld plateau has also been denied because of the risk of pollution, like if a dam full of minning sludge collapses (photo of Kvanfjeld below).

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The rare painted “Artemis” bust is exhibited at the Bolu Museum

by Emma Carola

The rare painted “Artemis” bust, discovered during a construction excavation in the 1970s, is currently on display at the

Bolu Museum. This approximately 2,000-year-old artifact is notable for having retained its original colors. The

Bolu Chamber of Commerce and Industry aims to increase the bust’s visibility through a 3D modeling project.

A Valuable Artifact for Bolu and Türkiye

Gül Karaüzüm Yıldız, the Deputy Director of the Bolu Museum, stated in an interview with Anadolu Agency that the Artemis bust is of great significance to both Bolu and Türkiye. She emphasized that while many museums in Anatolia have sculptures, very few have preserved their colors, making this bust a rare piece.

Photo: Anadolu Agency

Colorful Sculptures in Ancient Times

Yıldız explained that sculptures from ancient times were painted, saying, “Sculptures were not colorless as we see them in museums today. Their hair and clothing were painted, and there are traces of makeup on their faces. Therefore, this sculpture is valuable to us because of its colorful nature. Additionally, the marble is of very high quality. It is particularly significant as it is the first sculpture associated with the goddess found in Bolu.”

Polychromy Technique in Colorful Sculptures

Hakan Ulutürk, an archaeologist at the Bolu Museum, discussed the bust’s construction technique and features, stating, “What is particularly important to us is that the piece is ‘polychrome,’ meaning it is very colorful. Such pieces were produced extensively during the Roman period, but very few have survived to the present day with their original paint.”

Ulutürk noted that the female head sculpture was colored using the “ganosis” technique, which is a method applied to protect the painted or smooth surfaces of marble sculptures. He continued, “Ganosis is fundamentally a technique involving the application of beeswax in various forms to preserve the color of the piece. Therefore, this artifact is very important to us because of its colorful nature. Polychromy was a technique frequently applied in Roman and Ancient Greek sculptures, but it has not survived well to the present day.”

Preservation of Painted Sculptures

Ulutürk mentioned that one of the main reasons the paints used in the Roman and Greek periods have not survived is due to the environments in which they were located. He stated, “This sculpture has been preserved in a covered space, which has allowed its colors to be transmitted to the present day. Additionally, the quality of the technique applied may also be a significant factor.”

Denny and his nightly benders and its influence on the social construct

I cannot speak as non Chinese I am a Chinese origin Born in Malaysia but now a Singaporean but I do Business and live in Malaysia. So I can say how Chinese people see westerners. We dont want them to be a bankrupt and a failure, as that would not be a good Customer. Chinese people think that there are no permanent enemy or friends. There are only interest of the nation which may change from time to time!

We don’t hate the west but we are mindful of the evil deeds that you had shown from doing genocides to murder all the natives to steal their land and causing deaths and destructions to remain the hegemonic nation. We won’t allow that and we will help other nations to stop your shit too. We don’t hate you but we hate your evil acts. China wants to make a better world not one with some hypocrite murderous regime pretending to care for the world but setting rules to rob and plunder.

The west, some racist and Sinophobic racial superiority complex minded group do hate China but to be fair they also call Latinos rapist and murderers, slavic as scum of the world and Africa as shit hole countries! Sure they cannot stand China preventing them from further thievery and plunder but 95% of the world thinks that China and Chinese is great and doing justice.

The MAGNIFICENT RISE of Passport Bros – Why Men TRAVEL Abroad to Date!

Add Vodka to Taste

Submitted into Contest #270 in response to: Write a story about someone searching for a missing ingredient, literally or metaphorically. view prompt

Jay Wayne

46 comments

This story contains themes or mentions of physical violence, gore, or abuse.

With the mission running long and no exfil in sight, there’s little for Valerian and Roman to do besides purchase too many groceries, hole up in the safehouse, and settle old bets.Val stands over the cracked electric stove, carefully stirring a pot of ukha. The delicate scent of herbs, spices, and freshwater fish spirals off the surface of the broth. It smells of home, and Val knows without looking that Roman is sprawled on the couch behind him.“Just be careful not to let the salmon overcook,” Roman calls out. What would be genuine advice from anyone else, Val knows is actually a gentle rib.He scoffs, though he doesn’t take his eyes off the pot. “I’ll win this time. You’ll see.”“Sure,” Roman says generously. “Except you’re still missing something.”Val inhales, letting the well-rounded scent settle around him. “You can bullshit about your ‘secret ingredient’ all you like—I know when you’re bluffing.”Roman is grinning; Val can hear it in his tone. “Your gambling money in my pocket says otherwise. Fish about done?”Delicately poking at one cube of salmon, Val is pleased to find it flaky, tender, and cooked all the way through. “Yeah. Come get it while it’s hot.”He nudges the pot off the heat and dishes out two bowls. Roman plucks one from his hands and takes a preliminary sip.“Hmm. You’re definitely close. But not quite. Still missing that all-important piece to bring it together.”Val eats a spoonful as well, deflating as he realizes the truth. Roman is right. It’s good soup—but not as good as Roman’s. The flavors that had seemed so balanced in theory are lacking something crucial. His head dips with weary resignation. “Fine…you win. What’s the secret?”“Not sure I should be telling just anyone,” Roman says in his loftiest tone. “How about this: a secret for a secret. You answer my question, and I’ll tell you what you’re missing.”Val laughs and shakes his head, grinning down at his imperfect soup. “Fine, fine. Ask away.”He turns to face Roman, and the dream becomes a nightmare.The safehouse is broken and charred. Darkness seeps from the corners, a viscous black liquid that gathers higher and higher on the floor. And Roman—Roman is in uniform, drenched in blood. Valerian knows it isn’t his own. Those bright eyes bore into Valerian’s, feverish, and when Roman speaks, more darkness oozes from between his teeth.“Why didn’t you stop me, Val?”

Val jolts awake, nearly falling from his bunk as he flails against his sheets. His eyes take in details with trained expedience—rough white walls, a footlocker, a window looking out over the grey tinge of pre-morning light.

Val’s head falls against the pillow with a groan. He knows he won’t be getting back to sleep.

* * *

“Valerian.”

Val sights down his scope, not bothering to hide his scowl. “I’m busy.”

“It’s about Roman.”

Val feels his muscles tense, though the reticle over his target doesn’t so much as twitch. “What do I have to say to make you understand? I don’t need leave, I don’t need another psych eval, and I sure as hell don’t need your pity. Bastard got what was coming to him.”

Behind him, Lena crosses her arms. Val can’t see her, but he knows the sound.

“Lie to yourself all you like, but don’t you dare start lying to me.”

Valerian takes his eye off the scope to turn his head, looking up and over his shoulder at where Lena stands. Arms crossed, hips canted, exactly as he’d pictured her. “Did you come out just to bother me, or are you going to do anything useful to the Front?” he snaps.

Lena rolls her eyes and takes out a scouter. “Wind from 31 degrees northeast. Target at 1572.8 meters out.”

Val presses his eye back to the scope of the long, lean Sovereign rifle, breathing out the frustration lingering in his muscles. The reticle settles perfectly in place, and the trigger pulls smooth as silk.

The air splits with the thunder of the Sovereign’s discharge, and Val feels the weapon kick hard against his shoulder. He doesn’t bother to check whether the shot landed as he sits up and glances back at Lena.

Her scouter is still held over her eyes, though she lowers it as Val turns toward her. “You always were the best,” she says with a touch of wryness. “Now, would you please listen?”

Val scoffs and slings the Sovereign over his shoulder. He gets to his feet, dusting some of the dirt and grit from the front of his uniform. “It’s cute when you imply I have a choice.”

Their boots crunch over rain-parched earth as they start the trek back to base. Valerian shields his eyes against the bloody sunset, content to let his brisk pace speak to his disinterest in what Lena has to say. Still, he doesn’t try to stop her when she brings up Roman again.

“The brass finally made their ruling,” she starts. Her voice is shaped cautiously, neither accusing nor exonerating. “The cave-in was officially labeled an accident. You’re off the hook, not that there ever was much doubt. Honestly, after everything Roman did, I’m a little surprised they never offered you a medal.”

Val’s pace doesn’t falter, but he can tell Lena sees the tension in his shoulders when she softens her voice.

“I don’t want to dredge it all up again; believe me, I don’t. But I thought you should know, there have been…troubling reports, from Old England. Someone who looks like him. Out in the forests.”

This time Valerian does pause. He whips around to search Lena’s face, even though he knows she’d never lie to him (or at least, never lie about Roman). “What are you saying? That he survived? I dropped fifty tons of rock on him, Lena.”

Lena spreads her hands in a gesture devoid of certainty. “They’re not substantiated claims. Just rumors. But you and I both know how potent his genmod was. A healing factor like that…”

The blistering heat of the desert fades from Val’s perception. For just a moment, he’s back in the chill of Old England’s forests, the thunder of falling stone still ringing in his ears. He’d cried, after. Sobbed like a baby, for the man Roman was and the thing he became and all the senseless loss of life he’d caused. Long after the tears ran dry, Val had stayed by the cave, too numb to leave and too scared to sift through the debris.

He feels the exact same, now. Terrified to dig further, not even knowing which alternative he’s scared of.

Eventually, he turns back towards base. He needs, suddenly and unequivocally, to sleep. A long, quiet nap curled up in his bunk sounds like exactly the thing.

“Will you go?” Lena calls after him. “Back to Old England?”

Val shakes his head without looking back. “They’d never assign me there.”

“Didn’t stop you the first time, as I recall.”

Val pretends not to hear her.

* * *

He dreams about Roman again, of course. It’s always been Roman.

Before the disastrous Operation: Crimson Thread, it was Roman’s laugh, his crooked smile, his dancing eyes. That unshakeable confidence. Arrogance, some would say. Roman’s genmod, the genetic alteration that allowed him to heal so rapidly and cleanly, was a powerful one, and he treated it like immortality. His attitude was infectious, intoxicating. Everything about the man lit Val like a fuse.

After Crimson Thread, Roman changed. His fire became feverish, secretive. He smiled less, isolated more, trained harder. He pushed his friends away. He pushed Val away.

Val fooled himself into thinking it was a temporary change, a grief response. Maybe Lena did, too. No one could have truly anticipated what Roman became.

There’s a new age dawning, Val. Can you hear the cries?

Val couldn’t. Not back then. But every night since, he’s heard them: the wails of friends, family, innocents—every life cut short by Roman’s hands, until the chorus of the damned numbers hundreds strong, every last one of them screaming inside Val’s head.

Why didn’t you stop him, Val?

* * *

Old England is cold, damp, and crawling with hostile mutations. Some are intelligent enough to form loose bands or packs; others eat each other on sight. Valerian hates the whole island with a passion.

He starts his investigation at the Lodge—one of the few bastions of sanity on this rock. It’s large as frontier settlements go, with a population somewhere in the triple digits. It also happens to host a small base for the Front, but the other Frontsmen turn out to be of little help. None of them have seen this supposed specter of Roman.

“If we did, we’d put him back in the ground, eh?” The Captain smirks. “Wish I’d been there to kill the bastard myself, but apparently some off-duty sergeant got the honors. Happened here, you know, just 20 klicks to the west.”

Valerian knows.

“Look, kid, I’ll level with you,” another officer tells him. “The locals like to report a sighting now and then, just to keep the Front’s interest. This place wouldn’t last a week without our patrols.”

“Roman Tovhana?” This soldier just shakes his head with a grin. “You’re about four months too late, my friend. Better luck next time.”

The townspeople are hardly more forthcoming. Most of them scowl and spit at Roman’s name. Some of them recall hearing a rumor about the man haunting the site of his death, but no one can remember who reported such a thing.

Val was hoping it wouldn’t come to this. But like the genmod that keeps his hands rock-steady on his weapons, he isn’t easily shaken. With a pack of supplies, his sidearm, and plenty of ammo, he heads out west towards the last place he saw Roman alive.

It takes him almost three days of unrelenting rain to find the cave again. When he does, it’s because he nearly trips over the entryway.

Loose stone shifts and skitters beneath his boots as he stumbles back. Squinting through the downpour, he can just make out the shadowy mouth of the cave behind its shroud of overgrown vegetation.

He approaches cautiously, taking in details. Trampled grass and underbrush. Small, muddy puddles about the right shape for bootprints. Someone’s been here, and recently. Maybe several someones.

That’s when he hears it, a muted echo of a voice he never thought he’d hear again.

“No! No, please, just let me go—”

Val’s lungs lock down. Like getting the wind knocked out of him in training, he can’t seem to find his breath.

Roman.

But Roman has never sounded like this. He never begged, not even staring down the barrel of a gun.

((Knew you’d be the one to find me.))

Val takes a step forward. Another. He stumbles down the uneven, natural steps of the cave, reeling as the smell of damp earth and rotting leaves brings back the memory, as clear as the rain on his skin.

((Roman’s smile. His easy posture. Val could almost convince himself, could almost believe this was his Roman, risen from the depths of madness.))

He falls against the slick stone wall of the cave, drinking deep gulps of air. He has rain in his eyes.

((But Roman’s eyes…his eyes were alight, gleaming in the beam of Val’s flashlight. Feverish.))

A new voice echoes from floor to ceiling. Laughing. “Still haven’t figured it out, have you?”

“No, wait—PLEASE!”

Roman’s scream shakes Val back to reality. That he recognizes, from a hundred reckless missions. From a terrible, thunderous rockslide.

Val’s steps quicken as he scrambles over fallen stone. Someone, he registers distantly, must have shifted enough of the wreckage to make a path.

He plunges deeper into the cave, Roman’s scream still lingering in his ears like the cutting edge of a knife. Finally, Val sees the flicker of light up ahead.

Nothing, not a single one of his fears (hopes?) prepares him for what he finds.

Roman Tovhana is alive. There’s no mistaking that proud nose, those dark eyes, the scar through his upper lip. And there’s certainly no mistaking the desperate, thrashing motions of something clawing for safety, for life.

Two strangers, a man and a woman, hold him down on his back. The man sits astride him, pinning his legs. In one hand he bears a bloody knife. Roman’s clothes—long ago, a uniform—are weathered and torn, displaying the fresh, oozing wound down his chest and stomach.

“That one’s for my sister,” the man with the knife says. “This one’s for my wife—”

Valerian’s sidearm is in his hands before he’s fully pieced things together. As Roman screams again, Val levels the gun.

“Put the knife down.”

Three pairs of eyes snap towards him.

“And who the hell are you?” the woman barks.

Val’s never been so glad for his genmod, never been so fervently thankful that his gun remains steady, regardless of the storm lashing against his insides. “I’m with the Adamant Front. Care to explain what the hell you’re doing here?”

With Val serving as a distraction, Roman thrashes again, almost slipping free before the man with the knife snarls and jams the blade into Roman’s gut.

For once in his life, Val doesn’t hesitate.

The shot rings out over and over, echoing down the tunnel with the force of a cannon blast. The man formerly holding the knife howls in pain as the blade and two of his fingers spin away into darkness.

“Next one goes between your eyes,” Val hisses. “Get up. Both of you. Walk away, and never come back.”

“You bastard,” the nameless man gasps. He’s clutching the bloody remains of his right hand, trembling. “You crazy son of a— Don’t you know who this is?”

“I gave you a fucking order.” His voice doesn’t waver, even with doubt screaming in his ear like a hundred damned souls—

He doesn’t know if he’s prepared to kill these people. He doesn’t know if he could bring himself to cross that line—especially with the scenes of Roman’s murders so vivid in his mind.

Fortunately, his resolve isn’t put to the test. The man and the woman scramble upright and flee, hurrying past Val towards the mouth of the cave. Their footsteps have barely begun to fade when Val holsters his side arm and crouches down at Roman’s side.

This close, he can see the man’s a wreck. Hazy brown eyes squint up at him from a face sunken with hunger and creased from sleepless nights. His body is all angles, his torn clothing now drenched in blood.

“Hey,” Val says, and his voice comes out softer than he intends. “I need you to stay with me. There’s— I have so many questions.”

Roman’s eyes focus slowly, still narrow with pain and confusion. But clear. Lucid.

“Wh-who…who are you?”

* * *

“Here. Eat it while it’s hot.”

Val slides a bowl of ukha across the table, then settles in the other chair with his own. The delicate, complex aroma reminds him of home.

The man once named Roman Tovhana picks up his spoon and digs in. His eagerness to eat anything he doesn’t have to hunt and kill himself hasn’t waned, despite the month he’s spent in the safety of this rickety apartment.

He calls himself Rowan now, after the badly dented name he’d found on the dog tags he woke up with. It’s taken some getting used to, but Val rarely slips up. Rowan is very different from the man he once knew.

Instead of the military buzz of his predecessor, Rowan’s dark hair is long enough to flop in his eyes. He has dozens of new scars, most of which are twisted, knotted things or else deep gouges that never completely filled back in. And, of course, he no longer wears a uniform.

Neither does Valerian. The brass hadn’t known what to do with either of them, and so Val found himself quietly shuffled out of the fold. He misses it, some days—the hard work, the adrenaline, the camaraderie. But he doesn’t linger on the things he’s lost, not when the pieces he does have need so much work. Lena has been after him to try an old world remedy called therapy, which, from what Val can gather, involves a lot of talking and a lot of patience. Well, at least he’s good at one of those.

“This is amazing.” Rowan’s quiet voice breaks through Val’s reverie.

He looks up to see Rowan smiling—no longer a rare sight, but still just as valuable. Valerian smiles back and eats another spoonful. “It’s called ukha. I’m glad you like it. Took me years to get the recipe right, and it was never as good as Roman’s.” His smile fades. “I suppose I’m still missing something.”

Rowan considers for a moment. He takes a slow, exploratory sip. “…Huh. Have you tried a splash of—what’s the stuff called, from Lena—”

“Vodka?” A tiny thrill runs through Val’s stomach as he considers. “Hold on.”

He returns with a half-full bottle. A dash for his bowl, and one for Rowan’s. Val finds himself oddly nervous as he stirs the broth and raises a spoonful to his lips.

The vodka does complement well. It’s exactly what Val’s recipe was lacking—yet it still tastes nothing like Roman’s.

“I think it’s perfect,” Rowan declares. “Seriously, Val, you should write this down.”

Val eats another spoonful, savoring and analyzing. It is perfect. Distinct from Roman’s, but just as good.

Rowan brushes his long hair from his face and happily polishes off his bowl. Val watches him eat with an old, complicated twist in his heart. There will always be a part of him that longs for answers he’ll never receive. But he does know three things.

I loved him. I killed him. I saved him.

His dreams are quiet tonight.

I’ve just returned from China after a 3 weeks trip. So I would like to give my full impressions of the current state: the good, bad, ugly, beautiful. So if you only want to hear good things or only bad things about China, please go somewhere else.

Before I go into it, to give some context about me: I grew up in the US since 10 years old. The last time I was in China was 2009. I speak Chinese natively, and also read and type Chinese proficiently with no issues. These are the results of my own interest to keep my Chinese at high levels through practice, reading Chinese novels, and self-learning in general. Before visiting China I’ve also done shit tons of research. I watch CCTV and CGTN on a daily basis. I still have parents who visit China on an annual basis who will tell me about what to watch out for. I read about China on sites such as quora and global times regularly. I watch travel vlogs and China base commentators on China regularly. And I also had a lot of preparations, such as both buying international pass and buying a Chinese SIM card the first day I was in China, even went ahead and opened a bank account in China (it ended up not being used however because I was told to wait three days for it to activate and I didn’t have time to go back to a bank). So needless to say I did not go into China blind.

The cities that I’ve visited on this trip: Shanghai, Nanjing, Hangzhou, Suzhou, Chongqing, Chengdu, Xianyang, Xi’An, in that order. I’ve also transited in Guangzhou. So basically I went to all the places that are considered the historic heartlands and origins of China and Chinese civilization, with the only exception of Beijing that I didn’t go because it’s too cold in wintertime.

Overall impression of China:

It’s definitely the best bang for your buck place to visit. Things are ridiculously cheap. You can pay very little for high quality accommodations, food, gifts, tickets, transportation etc. If you ever go to China, I highly recommend that you pamper yourself a little. Book a more expensive, convenient hotel for example. Depending on where you go, you can literally pay 40–50 USD per night for a hotel that would be the equivalent of 200–300 USD in the west. For example, this is the hotel that I’ve stayed in Chongqing (that’s my childhood friend on the sofa btw not me):

This is the view outside the window:

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For those who are familiar with Chongqing, this is literally the equivalent to a hotel with a bird eye view of the Times Square in New York. During nighttime it’s just so friggin gorgeous. Unfortunately when I was in Chongqing it was very foggy, but still beautiful.

The price was 46 USD per night, my most expensive hotel. 😆Yep.

However, China is definitely the least convenient country for foreign nationals to travel, mostly because of their payment system (you always need good data plan or WiFi everywhere, not like in other countries you just swipe a credit card wherever you go which is much simpler), and also many places you have to pre schedule with your passport for entry, at online sites and apps that won’t always work smoothly on your foreign data plan cell phone. And even if you buy a Chinese SIM card and use the Chinese sites, there are problems such as sometimes they auto delete the first letter of your passport ID number, so when you try to get into the places the IDs won’t match. I honestly don’t know how foreigners can travel in China without knowing the language or have a guide. You can download a translating app but the translation isn’t always accurate either. I guess that’s why there really aren’t so many foreigners traveling in China. I can count them on one hand. Of course, I also went at off season, but still compared to other countries, China is definitely not a foreign tourist friendly country. But I suppose some people are just very skilled travelers who are very good at finding their way around anywhere. I cannot hold anything personally against China on this aspect because clearly they want to do their own thing independently of the western hegemony. So it’s frustrating but oh well.

So what I liked about China:

Definitely hands down the infrastructure. The infrastructure in China isn’t just grandiose, but also done with fine taste. In highly developed cities you can see a lot of psychology of aesthetics have gone into organizing everything. The roads for example are wide and spread out, buildings are huge but thoughtfully designed. When you walk down the road in some of these areas you feel small but also a sense of awe and serenity. Like everything is gigantic but also just so comforting on the eyes at the same time.

This is a photo I took in Shanghai. The photo really doesn’t do it justice. When you are there just looking over at the horizon, you half expecting flying cars around those giant skyscrapers. It’s like you are on another planet, and that this is the place for every sci fi movie to be filmed. It blows every city in the US out of the water. And you also realize that unlike what some western China-smearers will tell you, it isn’t just for show. The people who immediately benefit from all of this are the native Chinese people who are living there. Because once again, it’s the thoughtfulness of it all that makes it impressive, not just built to impress foreigners.

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In Shanghai I also loved the fact that the names of the roads are very easily found and clearly labeled. Unfortunately not all Chinese cities are like this.

I also really like the fact that so many buildings are now built with Chinese characteristics, rather than the Soviet-style dreary rectangular buildings that I was used to growing up as a child. It makes the atmosphere in China so much better and makes China much more attractive to travel

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(Photo I took on top of the Great Goose Pagoda in Xi’An. I was actually born in Xi’An, raised in Guangzhou. But Xi’An is now so different from what it was before, you can see below, so many Chinese style buildings are spurring up when before it was not considered an attractive city to visit).

And of course, cultural heritage sites are now organized and built exquisitely. So if you want atmosphere you’ll get it anywhere.

Of course, you can’t talk about Chinese infrastructure without the transportation. Transportation in China is vastly expansive. You can go anywhere with the metro or Didi (taxi). And the prices are ridiculously cheap (at least to westerners). The metro generally costs no more than 2.74USD, and the Didi costs about 1.65USD to 3USD, for distances that will take 15–25 mins by car. The most we’ve paid for Didi was to get from Xi’An to Xianyang (about 1 hour and 20 min by car), which still only costed us 8USD. The high speed rail is also very expansive, can take you to any city and you’ll get a very smooth ride despite the train going 143+ miles per hour. And the prices are around 23 to 30 USD only, for one hour to 3 hours ride distance. The metro is built just like any metro in anywhere in the world so it’s the easiest to navigate. You can buy a ticket at a kiosk machine, Alipay never had any issues with this, and then follow the lines which are always very clearly labeled. The Didi is very cheap and if you keep using it you get a lot of discounts, but it can be hard to find where to get on the car because lots of times the driver cannot get to where you are because they can’t stop there, or the GPS can have issues with the accuracy. I eventually learned to always go to a well known landmark and call or message the driver where I am exactly and that saved a lot of trouble. The high speed rail you have to be very careful with your booking because changing tickets on a foreign phone is a pain. Alipay on a western service phone is not set up the same way as a Chinese service phone. So if you make a mistake you have to go to a manual change station which also isn’t always easy. In some places they cannot access your booking with foreign Alipay. So basically, for high speed rail try not to make any mistake or having to change ticket while booking, or it can be troublesome. Domestic flights are generally okay. You have to always go manual with a foreign passport, but in airports generally people are more helpful and will point you to the right direction if you ask for help. I like the security checks in Chinese airports much better than the US counterpart. The security check people are less intimidating, and make fewer troubles for you. The security check pathways are also straight and short, instead of huge turn wheels like in the US that sometimes will make your luggage caught in something and not moving somewhere. This is one big positive change in China because definitely this isn’t the case decades ago.

One thing that when you arrive you immediately realize the infrastructure superiority is the airport. The Shanghai airport was so straightforward and easy to navigate compared to any US airport. I’ve transited in Japan and it was difficult to find my way around the Japanese airport (you also had to take a bus to go to T3 for some reason). But the Shanghai one? In, go straight, out. Easy Peazy.

And of course another thing I loved was the food and drinks. Not a huge fan of the dessert tho but then again I generally don’t have a sweet tooth compared to other people. If you visit any highly rated upscale restaurant in China, you’ll get great food anywhere, even though each region will be unique. My Turkish friend who traveled with me has declared that there isn’t one type of food he didn’t like. My favorite however is Shaanxi food (both Xi’An and Xianyang). Because it has the best comfort food (e.g. noodles, stuffed bread, homemade stews etc), not just luxury food you get in high level restaurants. Another huge thing in China that I will most definitely miss is tea, especially milk teas. China has several milk tea Chain stores kind of like the tea equivalent of Starbucks. But the milk teas are so heavenly and the quality of the teas are astonishing, with exotic and luxury tea bases from all kinds. Such as Chagee (Cha Ji literally: Tea Princess). Maybe one day the business can come to the west as well. One can only wish. I loved it so much I had to buy one to go: the Da Hong Pao (Big Red Robe) milk tea. I think I’m lucky that it didn’t seem to go spoiled with 15 hours + travel. Because unlike in the west, they not only give you a lid which has an opening that you can open and close, they also additionally seal it for you underneath the lid, and when you want to drink it you can puncture the seal with straw. This is so much more thoughtful packaging than in the west where your drink just spills all over as you carry it.

What I didn’t like about China:

I’m sorry to say that the social etiquettes in China still need quite a lot of work. (Except for some very international hubs where people are clearly trained to be very polite and helpful) Chinese people still don’t find some basic courtesies natural to do, such as saying hello, goodbye, thank you, please, your welcome etc. Again, in more formal business settings they are trained to do these things, but working class common people don’t have a lot of these habits. I’ve had several incidents where I say thank you and they are speechless and don’t know how to respond back.

One thing I will say about this is that clearly the Chinese authorities are working hard to make a change on this aspect, because you see signs everywhere telling people to behave (or how to behave) in a civilized manner. For example, this sign you’ll see everywhere you go in China:

It translates to a set of “socialist values” that people need to adhere to, which is: strong and wealthy, free, patriotic, democratic, equal, dedicated (to work), civilized, just, trustworthy, harmonious, lawfulness, and friendliness.

Basically, everything that is good for society is part of “socialist values” (lol).

But in China, clearly it’s still going to take at least a couple of generations for people to behave on such a standard. You still see spitting everywhere (I had to constantly watch the road to not step on any), even on important cultural heritage sites which I personally found spitting on them to be highly disrespectful, not just disgusting. Smoking in restaurants is also still quite prevalent. And again, while services in business settings are generally very good, you’ll encounter some extraordinarily rude people in China that you won’t encounter anywhere in the west, at least for the same time frame and similar touristic places that you’ll be visiting.

For example, when I was at the high speed rail station going to Chengdu, I accidentally dropped something going down the escalator. Now, in anywhere in the west, people’s immediate instinct was to pick it up. But there, a Chinese woman yelled: “who dropped this!” And then KICKED my stuff away so I had to scramble to retrieve it back. Needless to say I was quite shocked and that nearly ruined the rest of my trip that day.

Another time I was departing from my hotel with my luggage which only had stairs, and I was too exhausted and was still recovering from my illness, so I didn’t have the strength to lift my luggage to go up the stairs. I saw this security guard wandering around the hotel looking bored, and very politely asked if he could help. He instead yelled back at me: “What?! Piss off! Do it yourself!” Not even a “sorry it’s not my job.” Again, not something you’ll find traveling in the west anywhere, people will either help you or politely reject you.

I’ve also been called stupid a couple of times when I asked for directions, mostly because when you ask for directions, Chinese people in general don’t seem to have issues wasting your time. They tend to wave at some unclear direction and go like: “over there.” And when you ask for clarifications, you’ll get a couple of: “are you stupid or something? It’s over there!” scoldings. Like, dude, if you are gonna yell at me, at least yell something useful. “Over yonder” (as one of my friend comically remarked when he heard my tale) is not helpful whatsoever.

Of course, all of this does also depend on where you go. Places that are more international and foreign tourist friendly sites, Chinese people, especially younger people, tend to be more patient with you. But again, there is a clear difference in instinct. In the US for example, even if people feel that you are a bit on the slow side, they help you, simply because you need it. When I visited Spain, I’ve literally had people who came out of the train that is leaving in 2 mins to walk me to the train that I had a hard time finding, before going back. In China however, if you are perceived to be on the slow side, people are more likely to feel that you are just a waste of their time.

Now I know that at this point some people will argue with me that it’s because China is more crowded. But sorry, very crowded places in the west, and also in Japan, a high population density country, these things just don’t happen while you are traveling as a tourist. So it doesn’t have as much to do with crowdedness as people might think. Other people may tell me that this is not their experience as a foreigner. But my perception is that if you are a foreign looking person, Chinese people tend to be more willing to go the extra mile to help you, because of a “face saving” culture. But I don’t appear or talk like a foreigner, so they treat me differently. For example my airport direct taxi (I.e not Didi) ride to my hotel the first night in Shanghai I got charged 270 RMB (37 USD), whereas my Turkish friend who came one day after me was only charged 170 RMB (23 USD). So you do see a big difference. Even one didi driver quipped that a foreigner losing his bicycle in China got it back in 30 mins. Chinese people losing their kids sometimes they’d have to wait for years.

What surprised me about China?

The thing that stood out to me the most is that in every region, native dialects are much more prevalent than I originally thought. I thought that after so many decades of people only being taught to speak mandarin in schools, the local dialects would be disappearing. But the complete contrary is true. People speak their dialects not only comfortably, but proudly and as the default, and that is whether it’s younger or older people. In fact, in most of these places, they expect any mandarin speakers to understand their dialect. If you speak mandarin to them, they won’t switch to mandarin to speak to you back. They simply keep on going speaking their own dialects. Even if you tell them you have a hard time understanding them (which I do sometimes, for obvious reasons), they will still keep going trying to make you understand in their dialect (lol). It’s kind of like if you don’t understand these dialects you are perceived to be somewhat retarded, like not being able to read traditional Chinese. Of course, in places like hotels, railway stations, airports, banks, certain luxury services the main mode of communication is still mandarin. But they speak local dialects to anybody who comes speaking the local dialect. Didi drivers are almost all speaking to you in local dialects. The dialects however vary from person to person, not just region to region. So some people speak in the local dialect that is closer to mandarin (these I can understand more of course), others speaking the same would be completely incomprehensible to me. When I was in the Guangzhou airport, announcements are also made in both mandarin and Cantonese. Showing once again the special status of Cantonese, contrary to what some people on quora will tell you that somehow Cantonese is being eliminated. It’s clearly especially being preserved. How you feel about that is up to you.

Another minor thing that surprised me is that the air quality in China is really good. I heard from some people traveling there that the pollution is still very bad. But at least in the places that I’ve traveled, I did not perceive an obvious bad air quality. This is definitely a huge change from decades ago where you can smell smog in the air, or at least the air obviously smell different from the air in the states. This time I don’t smell anything and I tend to have very sensitive smell. Of course maybe the pollution happens in and around Beijing which I didn’t visit. The sky is still not as blue as the skies in the US where I live, but again, it’s much closer than you would think.

One thing that I had both a good and bad experience in is the Chinese medical system. On the fourth day of my travels I developed a high fever of 39+ Celsius (102+ Fahrenheit), I was in Nanjing and had to use the state hospital system. The hospital was not well organized, lots of rudeness and wasting your time, long waiting times and not having places to sit (I could barely stand then as you can imagine), the bathrooms didn’t have soap (in China another thing you won’t be used to is the deficiency of toilet papers, soaps and trash cans compared to the west). However, I was able to get an IV of four bags of medicine for my illness on the same day which saved the rest of my trip. I only spent around 100 USD for the visit. IV in the US is completely unaffordable and only reserved for very serious illnesses. But it is very strong and after the first bag I was immediately feeling better. So, while there are still clearly lots of issues with the Chinese state run medical system, there can be no comparison when it comes to cost and efficiency.

What does the west get right or wrong about China?

Right? I would say, unless they have some real knowledge about China, practically nothing. Even the free speech issue is very nuanced and I would say it’s more of a cultural thing than CPC being authoritarian thing. After my visit to China I still make this conclusion solidly.

What do they get wrong about China? Well at least in China’s current state, it’s fundamentally the opposite of what they say. What I generally perceive is that the Chinese government is trying their best to fix China as best as they could, many of the actual issues clearly lie with the people themselves still being somewhat backward and not being able to catch up fast into a progressive modern society. This I speak not only from what I’ve encountered but also from stories I hear from my own extended families. Of course, westerners will say that this is also the result of communism. But clearly, the governing party has evolved, and unlike the US, they want to actually fix things. So there is really no surprise that people have such high trust in the CPC.

Chinese people are also not brainwashed as westerners think. I’ve encountered Chinese people with many different views. Yes, many saw on the news and believe some propagated information at face value. But I’ve encountered Chinese people who are both very patriotic, like everything in China is just as good if not better than the west, and Chinese people who believe everything in China is worse than the west, and of course everywhere in between. And they speak their mind about their views comfortably. So there is no secret police everywhere waiting in the wings to arrest people. I feel much more comfortable around Chinese police than the American counterpart, even though they are more prevalent and numerous than American police presence. An example of Chinese police patrolling:

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He’s riding on this little scooter thingy moving around like an ornament, reminded me of Wall-E from Pixar. There is a cuteness to it all 🥰. There was even a grandpa admiring his little moving machine while he passed him.

Was the Trip Worth it and Will I be visiting again?

The trip was definitely worth it and I will remember it for the rest of my life. I also encourage anyone to travel to China to make up their own minds, despite inconveniences you’ll be having. I would like to go there again however, I realized from this trip that my health is really the main deterrent. Almost every time I travel internationally I get quite sick. And as a result of this trip I think my mycoplasma came back because I couldn’t stop coughing. So that’ll be a big consideration for me to travel again, especially since I will be heading into my 40s soon so my health will only deteriorate.

Meatball ‘n’ Pasta Soup

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Yield: 6 (1 1/2 cup) servings

Ingredients

Meatballs

  • 1/2 pound lean (90%) ground beef
  • 1/4 cup seasoned dry bread crumbs
  • 1 egg
  • 1/2 teaspoon Italian seasoning
  • 1 garlic clove, pressed
  • 1/4 teaspoon salt

Soup

  • 1 cup zucchini, chopped
  • 1/2 cup onion, chopped
  • 2 garlic cloves, pressed
  • 2 (14 1/2 ounce) cans beef broth
  • 1 (14 1/2 ounce) can diced tomatoes, undrained
  • 1 (11 ounce) can pork and beans in tomato sauce, undrained
  • 3/4 cup elbow macaroni
  • 1 teaspoon Italian seasoning
  • 1/2 cup (2 ounces) freshly grated Parmesan cheese

Instructions

Meatballs

  1. In Classic Batter Bowl, combine ground beef, bread crumbs, egg, Italian seasoning, garlic and salt; mix lightly but thoroughly. Using Small Scoop, shape meat mixture into balls; place in Medium (3 quart) Saucepan. Brown over medium heat 6-8 minutes or until beef is no longer pink. Remove from saucepan.

Soup

  1. Chop zucchini and onion using Food Chopper. Add onion and garlic to saucepan; cook 3 minutes or until onion is tender. Add beef broth, tomatoes and pork and beans; bring to a boil.
  2. Add macaroni, meatballs, zucchini and Italian seasoning. Return to a boil; reduce heat to low and simmer 6 to 8 minutes or until macaroni is tender. Ladle soup into bowls; sprinkle each serving with Parmesan cheese.

Nutrition

Per serving: Calories 280, Total Fat 8g, Sodium 1340mg, Fiber 4g

Attribution

Pampered Chef

An Honest View on China After 16 Years (Westerner’s POV)

Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Case of the Haughty Cat Caper

Ah, dear reader, you’ve returned for yet another installment in the chronicles of my unparalleled detective work. And this one, I assure you, is a tale for the ages.

It’s a story of schemes, alliances, and one very lazy hound dog who surprised us all. Yes, this adventure features not only my usual entourage of companions but also introduces a new player to the farm’s ever-growing cast of characters: Bingo, the farm’s sleepy yet surprisingly sharp-nosed dog. And then, of course, there’s Genghis—the self-proclaimed “kingpin” of the barnyard cats.

Prepare yourself for the uproarious tale of The Haughty Cat Caper, where cunning plans are foiled, lessons are learned, and chaos reigns supreme before everything ends in laughter and camaraderie.

Lazy Days and Suspicious Sniffs

It was a lazy Sunday morning on the farm. The sun was shining, the hens were clucking about rain that wasn’t in the forecast, and Bingo, the farm dog, was sprawled out on the porch, his floppy ears twitching as he snored. I was enjoying a leisurely stroll through the barnyard, tail held high, when Bingo’s nose twitched, and his eyes opened lazily.

“Morning, Whiskerton,” he drawled, his voice slow and syrupy. “Smells like somethin’ funny’s goin’ on.”

I paused mid-step, intrigued. “Funny how?”

“Funny as in… sneaky,” Bingo said, sitting up with a yawn. “Been gettin’ whiffs of somethin’ fishy—metaphorically, not literally. Think it’s got somethin’ to do with that haughty furball, Genghis.”

“Genghis?” I frowned. Genghis was the biggest, fattest, most pompous cat on the farm. He strutted around like he owned the place, a gold chain around his neck jingling with every step. Wherever Genghis went, his trio of lackeys—Lester, Clyde, and Loomis—followed, nodding and agreeing with everything he said. “What’s he up to now?”

“Couldn’t say for sure,” Bingo drawled, scratching his ear with a lazy paw. “But I got a whiff of somethin’ unusual near the granary last night. Smelled like grain, and cats. Lots of cats. Figured you’d be the one to sniff out the rest.”

I narrowed my eyes. A mystery involving Genghis and his gang? This was going to be interesting. “Alright, Bingo,” I said. “I’ll investigate. But if this turns into something big, I’ll need your nose and your help.”

“Sure thing,” Bingo said with a grin, lying back down. “But only after my nap.”

The Plot Thickens

I started my investigation at the granary, where I found Sedgwick perched on a beam, observing the scene with his usual calm demeanor.

“Good morning, Sir Whiskerton,” Sedgwick said. “I see you’ve taken an interest in the granary. What brings you here?”

“Bingo thinks Genghis and his gang are up to something,” I explained. “He smelled something odd last night.”

Sedgwick nodded thoughtfully. “I did notice some… unusual activity. Genghis and his associates were prowling about, muttering to each other. They seemed quite pleased with themselves.”

“Pleased, huh?” I said, my whiskers twitching. “Sounds like they’re planning something.”

Just then, Rufus appeared, munching on a stolen ear of corn. “Did someone say planning? Let me guess—Genghis is scheming again. That guy thinks he’s the king of the farm.”

“He certainly acts like it,” Sedgwick agreed. “But whatever he’s up to, it can’t be good.”

Genghis’s Grand Scheme

As we were talking, the unmistakable sound of jingling reached my ears. I turned to see Genghis strutting into view, flanked by Lester, Clyde, and Loomis, who were practically tripping over themselves to stay in formation behind him.

“Gentlemen,” Genghis said, his deep, haughty voice dripping with grandeur. “What a delightful day to be me. Isn’t it, boys?”

“Yes, absolutely, Genghis!” Lester said.
“Couldn’t agree more, Genghis!” Clyde added.
“The best day ever, Genghis!” Loomis chimed in.

I rolled my eyes. “What are you up to, Genghis?”

“Up to?” Genghis said innocently, his whiskers twitching. “Why, nothing at all, dear Whiskerton. Just enjoying a leisurely stroll with my associates.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, unconvinced. “We’ll see about that.”

Bingo’s Big Discovery

Later that afternoon, Bingo came trotting into the barnyard, his nose to the ground and his lazy demeanor replaced with surprising urgency. “Whiskerton,” he said, “I caught the scent again. Cats. Lots of ‘em. And grain—freshly spilled grain.”

“Grain?” Porkchop said, waddling over. “What would cats want with grain?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out,” I said. “Sedgwick, Rufus, Bingo—let’s go. And Porkchop, tell the hens to meet us by the granary.”

“Oh, the hens?” Rufus groaned. “Do we have to?”

“Yes, Rufus,” I said firmly. “We’ll need all the help we can get.”

The Hens Join the Fray

By the time we reached the granary, the hens were already there, clucking up a storm.

“Grain! Oh, this is terrible!” Doris wailed.
“Terrible! What if they eat it all?” Harriet clucked.
“Eat it all! We’ll starve!” Lillian cried.
“Starve! Oh no, we can’t have that!” Doris echoed.
“Focus, ladies,” I said.

Together, we followed Bingo’s nose to a hidden corner of the granary, where we discovered Genghis and his gang in the middle of their scheme. They had set up a crude operation involving stolen grain and a makeshift pulley system, apparently planning to hoard the grain for themselves.

“Genghis!” I said, stepping forward. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Genghis froze, his eyes narrowing. “Whiskerton. I should’ve known you’d show up.”

“Care to explain this little operation?” I asked.

“It’s simple,” Genghis said, puffing out his chest. “The grain is wasted on the rest of you, so I decided to… redistribute it. My associates and I were merely ensuring that we, the cats, receive our fair share.”

“Fair share?!” Porkchop exclaimed. “You can’t just take what doesn’t belong to you!”

“Yeah, Genghis!” Rufus added. “That’s low—even for you.”

Foiling the Plan

With the help of Bingo’s sharp nose, Sedgwick’s wisdom, and Rufus’s surprising agility, we managed to dismantle Genghis’s operation. The pulley system was disassembled, the stolen grain was returned, and Genghis’s lackeys—Lester, Clyde, and Loomis—were left looking sheepish.

“Genghis,” Sedgwick said sternly, “this farm works best when we all share and cooperate. Taking more than your fair share helps no one.”

Genghis sighed, his haughty demeanor deflating. “I suppose… you’re right. Perhaps I got a bit carried away.”

“A bit?” Rufus muttered.

The Moral of the Story

In the end, Genghis apologized, and the farm returned to its usual harmony. The grain was shared fairly, and even Genghis learned an important lesson about greed and cooperation.

Sometimes, working together means putting aside our pride—and our schemes—for the greater good. And as Bingo said later, “A nose for trouble is only useful if you use it to sniff out solutions.”

The End.”I Spent the Weekend Supporting ‘My Single Friend’ — Now My Husband Is Acting Strange & Suspicious”

An Apology to Mankind, Two Days After First Contact

Submitted into Contest #268 in response to: Write a story about someone seeking forgiveness for their past actions. view prompt

D Gorman

96 comments

What follows is a transcript of an apology to the people of Earth, and specifically the residents of Silver Lake, Indiana. [BRACKETED] words indicate imprecise translation.  Hello, people of Earth. This message is being translated into the language practiced by the humans who reside in the area designated Silver Lake, Indiana, using the Verpal Language Unscrambler 2. As my segment-mate Zolak is so fond of reminding me, our model is very outdated and overdue for replacement. Any translation errors that may occur are the result of this technical deficiency and are not intended to be an act of disrespect. I humbly apologize for any confusion that may arise as a result of my negligence in the upkeep of our private Dimensional Collapser Transport. Zolak has secured a promise from me that I will replace it when we return to [THE HIVE].Let me begin by apologizing for everything that has unfolded in the days following our unplanned arrival on your world. I assure you this was quite accidental, owed in large part to two hundred rambunctious hatchlings who were [RAISING THE DICKENS] in the back of the ship. This proved quite a distraction to Zolak, who was navigating and who gave me the wrong directions. Zolak insists the directions were correct and that I missed my turn because I was the one not paying attention. We have agreed to disagree. Compromise is the [ADHESIVE BODILY FLUID] that keeps us together. We do hope you understand how deeply and truly sorry we are for causing such a cultural [HULABALOO].Our misadventure no doubt caught all of you by surprise, as it did the [ASSIMILATION] Phages when we reported the incident to the proper authorities. As it turns out, your planet isn’t set for [ASSIMILATION] for another 250 years! Zolak joked that this is the first time we have been early for something. This is a joke at my expense as I am occasionally tardy to [HIVE] functions.Also, we want to assure you that your immediate military response upon our arrival was completely justified and certainly not an overreaction on your part. Protect what’s yours, that’s a law followed in all corners of the universe. Where we come from, when a [SKITTERING DEATH SWARM] arrives at your [HOME] unannounced, you do not give them a chance to [KILL AND CONSUME], you [KILL AND CONSUME] first. So fear not, we were in the wrong, not you.With this in mind, I would like to also apologize for the deployment of the Organic Liquidator Orbitals as a countermeasure. That was a step too far. When Zolak and I purchased the ship, I argued that the standard defense array was more than reasonable for casual space travel, but Zolak insisted we have the orbitals installed because of an [AUNT] who ended up in a [BAD PART OF TOWN] planet and was overtaken and consumed by highly evolved predatory fauna. I have had to hear this story over and over again, as if this one [AUNT] was more special than the others. Zolak has 200 [AUNTS]! Anyway, we [SPLURGED] and got the orbitals. And yes, I am forced to admit that they were highly effective, and mildly thrilling as well, especially for the brood. And no doubt a sight to behold for any of your species who were outside the liquidation zone. But I still think they were an extravagance and an overreaction on our part. As they say in the parlance of your people, “My bad”.We would also like to apologize to the human residents of the Silver Lake area. We are so, so sorry that the timing of our arrival coincided with a number of events occurring in the city limits. Our species has a deep and profound respect for the individuality of the [UNASSIMILATED], and as such, we offer our apologies to these specific people who were affected by our arrival:

  • The members of the local Civil War Re-enactment Community, Chapter 239. We are so sorry for not only disrupting your sacred religious violence simulation but also for the extensive damage caused by our ship’s defense response system. Our onboard AI misidentified your replica weapons as authentic, and all your shooting and screaming as aggression. The AI later indicated that 43 human war zealots were vaporized. Zolak and I will be sending personalized apologies to each of the genetic units whose humans were vaporized, once we return to the [HIVE]. We have left two vats of bio-paste to offset any food loss you would have to endure at not getting to consume their remains in the typical fashion.
  • The Silver Lake Fire Department, Women’s Auxiliary, Girl Scout Troop #782, the Silver Lake Chapter of the Rotary Club, the Starlight Junior Girls Dance Team, the Chippewa County Antique Car Club, and the countless humans who were in attendance at what the AI has determined is the “Fall Harvest Parade”. I did not take into account just how much heat is produced by our ship’s atmospheric retro-thrusters. In my search for a good place to land I lost track of how close to the ground we were flying. We are truly, deeply sorry for all the lives lost and the labor cost to rebuild.
  • To anyone who was impregnated by our [PRECIOUS] spawn, we apologize for any discomfort you may have experienced in the implantation process, as well as any lingering side effects. It has been a long enough trip that many of our brood reached adulthood and needed to secrete their pod glisteners before they started devouring their younger broodmates. The implantation process, while beautiful to us, has been described as [DEEPLY UNSETTLING] by other species we have encountered, depending on the physiology of the host. The good news is that the gestation period for an implanted [NEEDLE-TOOTHED STOMACH EXPLODER] larva is quite short!
  • Oh, and please, do not feel guilty about any offspring you may have slaughtered as they ran through your humble village [SOWING THEIR WILD OATS]. If there is one thing Zolak and I agree on, it’s that we have entirely too many mouths to feed.
  • We probably should say a few words on behalf of the lake itself. So sorry about that. Unfortunately, the Organic Liquid Orbitals produce an inordinate amount of radioactive runoff that needs to be dumped before it can be reignited. I suggested we wait until we were in the vacuum of space before jettisoning the waste but Zolak was rubbing its legs together quite vociferously at this point insisting that nobody would even care if we just dump and go. The bad news about your lake though is the water will not be [PALATABLE] again for another 3000 years, and organic life will likely never return. The good news is the green glow is a permanent feature that I think is quite pretty.

 

We understand that we have probably set back relations between humankind and [THE INSATIABLE HORDE] before they’ve even had a chance to start, but I assure you, despite the carnage, we are a very [GREGARIOUS] and welcoming species. We do hope you can find a way to forgive us for our transgressions and understand that we never would have been here in the first place if not for Zolak’s insistence on being the navigator when they have time and again given us inaccurate directions leading to situations like this, where I am having to apologize to a species for ruining their lives.

 

I just wanted a nice [FAMILY VACATION]. Just me, Zolak, and 200 of our offspring, taking some time away from the endless toil of [FEEDING THE INSATIABLE QUEEN]. My [BROODFATHER] used to take us on trips to Troxon IV to watch the skinworms emerge from the sludge pools, back when I was of an age where I still hadn’t developed my pod glisteners. I don’t know how they did it back then. My brood was well over 400! Can you imagine the mess just in the Dimensional Collapser Transport?

 

I’m rambling. Anyway, I wanted to take them somewhere amazing, like the Feces Pits of Roobe II. I wouldn’t have brought my brood to a [BACKWATER] planet like this under normal circumstances. You can’t be too careful where you go these days. But, had we ended up where I wanted to go, I don’t think we would be returning to [THE HIVE] so engorged with important life lessons. My brood have a newfound respect for how [PRE-ASSIMILATION] species like your own have managed to barely scrape by with such primitive means. Witnessing such futile determination has truly inspired them to be even more productive members of our worker society.

 

My brood are not the only ones whose [GULLET STONES] are wearing away the edges of a newly learned truth. I realized that I have been trying to give my brood the same experience I had when I was their age. I thought if I could show them something amazing, maybe they would respect me as much as I respected my own [BROODFATHER]. But then, when I heard them cheering as our ship obliterated your pitiable attempts to defend yourselves, I realized that it isn’t the destination so much as it is the experience. How many of my kind can say they watched their [BROODFATHER] heroically fend off the assaults of a [PRE-ASSIMILATION] species? Nothing will replace those memories.

 

You know, I really thought I [BLEW IT] with this trip. But maybe I didn’t after all. Maybe it takes getting lost to truly find what we are all looking for.

 

Oh, before we go, our onboard AI has determined that you are currently experiencing a [CALDERA POX] outbreak. As this is endemic to our planet, I have to imagine you contracted it from one of our pesky brood. Not to worry, the symptoms are very mild—your species should only experience headaches, nausea, dimensional blindness, and moderate to severe hemorrhaging. It’s one of our more survivable [COMMON COLDS]. You’ll be fine!

 

See you in 250 years!

Mac ‘n’ Cheese Soup

0f565a95e32c73f050d63db74a5e3947
0f565a95e32c73f050d63db74a5e3947

Yield: 6 servings

Ingredients

  • 1 (14 ounce) package deluxe type macaroni and cheese
  • 1 cup broccoli, chopped
  • 1/2 cup onion, chopped
  • 1 cup water
  • 2 1/2 cups milk
  • 1 (10 ounce) can condensed cheddar soup
  • 1 cup cubed cooked ham

Instructions

  1. Cook macaroni as directed on package in a 4 quart casserole. Drain in large colander.
  2. Meanwhile, chop broccoli and onion; in food chopper. Combine broccoli, onions, water in the casserole. Bring to a boil: cook 2 minutes. DO NOT DRAIN.
  3. Stir in cooked macaroni, cheese sauce from pouch, milk, cheese soup and ham. Return to a boil; stirring occasionally.
  4. Use soup ladle and serve in 6 bowls.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

This was how the Korean War looked like before China got involved:

ksnip 20250112 063456
ksnip 20250112 063456

This was how the war looked like less than a month after Chinese intervention:

main qimg 4d08c2368752a24ed25c4b57c60dd2ab
main qimg 4d08c2368752a24ed25c4b57c60dd2ab

The Chinese attacked with 9 armies (a Chinese army being a small corps-sized formation) of roughly 380,000 men against roughly 350,000 South Koreans, Americans, British, and Turks. So, despite only enjoying a marginal numerical superiority, the Chinese managed to crush US formations in North Korea and push them back to the south. The 8th Army in particular had to retreat 275 miles total, as per their own website.

Many folks like to quote losses from Wikipedia. Yes, if we look at losses of US troops versus Chinese troops, of course these numbers would favor US troops, because half the time, they aren’t the ones doing the dying: They had South Korean troops that augment their formations, which they used like cannon fodder. Many headcounts (which historians based US losses on) do not even count the South Koreans, whose losses were so heavy that during the first part of the war, they just stopped recording their losses.

Cheating Wife Regrets After Taking Advice to Open Her Marriage and Tries to Win Her Husband Back

Dating Crissy : a friend of my favorite co-worker in South Carolina

The shape of the future of warfare has changed, and unmanned warfare will become mainstream. America’s so-called war experience is outdated or wrong.

America has not fought a comparable adversary since its founding, The war in Afghanistan and the Gulf War are asymmetric wars

Like Muhammad Ali knocking down a schoolboy, and what good does that experience do the he?

After all, Afghanistan and Iraq have no nuclear weapons, drones, advanced missiles, carrier fleets, or sixth-generation fighter jets. There are no advanced unmanned troops. But China has it all.

Chinese drones and robot dogs are already in service, and the future of total war is no longer what it was during World War II.

The most important point is that China has more production capacity than the G7 countries combined!

To take one of the simplest examples, China’s electric vehicle production in 2023 is 20 million, and this is only electric vehicles. These production lines can all be used to produce drones, robot dogs, and tanks in time of war.

You can check how many pieces of furniture in your house are made in China, which today has more industrial power than the Soviet Union and the United States combined during the Cold War.

Self-detonating robot

Aircraft carrier

DF31-AG

robot dogs

Unitree B2-W 天赋觉醒!_哔哩哔哩_bilibili
在发布量产一年后,宇树 Unitree B2-W 工业轮足,觉醒了更多极限天赋技能! 请大家务必友好的使用机器人

Sixth-generation fighter

Does the U.S. military have experience fighting these weapons?


Now there is a saying on the Chinese Internet:

In the past, the U.S. military had fighter jets and artillery, while the People’s Liberation Army had a will like steel.

Now that ,the PLA also has fighter jets and artillery, Americans had better pray the US military has the same will as steel.

1950 North Korea Chosin Lake PLA soldiers

These PLA soldiers remained steadfast in their duty, never laying down their arms until their last breath.

Why are Japan lovers so mad about videos from China?

Is China preparing to go to war with the United States?

Absolutely

China is utterly unified in this. They have their red lines beyond which a US Sino conflict is simply unavoidable.

Its why they are securing their land routes, their energy security and their food security

Today the US is divided

  • The Hardliners want Russia & China entirely destroyed even if it’s WWIII
  • The Trumpists want China entirely isolated but want Russia and it’s energy resources as a friend
  • The RINOs want CPC destroyed but are greedy for money and want the Chinese Market and it’s access
  • The Democrats want to be reelected and want to stay in power and would prostitute their daughters and mothers and wives to do so.

So as a result US is not yet unified to go to war with China in their own backyard.

Lots of Democrats and RINOs have billions of investments in China to protect

Biden himself is one such Democrat despite the Rhetoric

Also US has four major power centers

  • Big Tech,
  • Military Industrial Complex,
  • Wall Street
  • Big Industry (Oil, Coal, Gas and Guns)

Of these four, consider their points of view…

  • Wall Street hates wars of any kind and wants China to badly avoid dumping US Debt. They also have Trillions invested in China on behalf of various funds in US
  • MI Complex likes Wars but not Wars against China or Russia. They like wars where they can sell maximum weapons but where victory is guaranteed. They prefer milking Ukraine conflict and targeting Iran next. A War against Russia or China is a black hole for weapons and MI Complex would simply be unable to manufacture at half the speed that is required
  • Big Tech doesn’t really care
  • Big Industry loves Wars as it means booming profits

So once again the Power Centers aren’t united in favor of a Major War.

Finally you have the PENTAGON

It’s top officials know a War with China is a nuclear one and that spells the end of the world.

So they will deescalate

So right now it’s just the HARDLINERS who are provoking China, hoping to unify everyone if China succumbs to the provocation

Blinken is a hardliner

China meanwhile has changed course. It’s dumping all the hardliners. Zhao Lijian is gone and replaced by a very benevolent young woman.

It’s message is it won’t succumb to provocation while trying very hard to retain an image as a Peaceful Nation which minds it’s own business.

Its why in a matter of a mere 3 years – US has been acknowledged as a Warmonger ans China as a Land that wants peace by most of the Neutral World.

Sadly there is a problem – UKRAINE

The Domination of Russia and the fact that all the Western Propaganda is being scoffed at by the American Citizens is worrisome

Even worse is the fact that all of the world are seeing all the weapons of NATO get torn to pieces like M777 Or HIMARS with T80s and MLRS

US desperately want to turn the attention away from Ukraine, some excuse to stop supplying weapons to Ukraine and force a ceasefire with concessions using China as a major excuse.

They must sell the China Threat to everybody to do this effectively

So it’s a big pigs breakfast out there

China meanwhile is clear

It doesn’t want a war but it has red lines and it knows exactly what to do and when to do.

A Sign of a Winner

China Official Refers to Americans as “Peasants”

A senior Chinese official warned Tuesday that President Donald Trump’s tariffs would backfire and that soon, “those peasants in the U.S.” would “wail in front of the 5,000 years of Chinese civilization.”

Xia Baolong large
Xia Baolong large

The remarks are the latest Chinese repudiation of Trump’s global trade war as Beijing shifts gears from attempting to communicate with the White House to hitting back frequently and forcefully in an effort to cast the United States as an irresponsible global power.

China’s top official overseeing Hong Kong and Macao, Xia Baolong (shown above), lashed out at the U.S. during a speech on national security, in which he linked 2019 pro-democracy protests in Hong Kong with what Beijing sees as continued U.S. efforts to suppress China.

Xia called the U.S. decision to levy a tariff of 145 percent on all goods from Hong Kong, a special administrative region of China, “brutally unreasonable and extremely shameless.”

“The U.S. isn’t after our tariffs but our very survival,” he said. “The U.S. has repeatedly contained and suppressed Hong Kong … and this will eventually backfire on itself.”

Since Trump took office in January and set about remaking the global trading system, the world’s two largest economies have levied import duties on each other that are now so high they amount to a trade embargo.

China has countered Washington’s latest levies by imposing a tariff of 125 percent on all U.S. goods while Trump has maintained 145 percent taxes on all Chinese imports, with temporary exceptions for semiconductors and consumer electronics.

It’s a certainty that China would surpass the US in economy size.

China is already quite a bit ahead of the US in the making and creation of real things:

main qimg 23acf9d63e69176a7e450536afbfccba
main qimg 23acf9d63e69176a7e450536afbfccba

However, China’s economy still lags a bit behind the US largely due to its service industry. This is partially due to the nature of the two economic models: in the US Capitalist model, you’re encouraged to charge as much as possible for your service. For example, the average litigation cost in the US is us$50000. While under the Chinese socialist model, individuals are encouraged to provide their service as cheap as possible, for the benefit of the whole society. So the same litigation fee is restricted to a flat rate of just under $7. That’s a wopping 7000x difference. It’s an extreme example but it does show that the two economies are not directly comparable by market capitalization. The Chinese service prices will naturally grow when Chinese people slowly become richer.

A good indicator for comparing the true size of the two economies, which scientists suggested is even viable for comparison across star systems, is energy usage:

The US abandoned the Philippines again

How To Go Back

Submitted into Contest #279 in response to: Center your story around a person who believes they’re the last human on Earth. view prompt

Max Sinclair

Two years ago, I stared into the eyes of a little dead girl. She was sprawled on some highway, deep in what used to be the Midwest, her dead, fermenting eyes staring past me, and up, up, up, into the sun-bleached sky.They didn’t leave many bodies behind when they left. Didn’t want to find skeletons when they came back, I assume. Her skin was dark and leathery. There was a hole growing in her cheek. Blue tendrils came twirling out of the rotted, bony mass, with those little orange tips. I wished they were green; I miss the trees, the grass. The closest thing to nature are the dead bodies with the synthetic viruses, eating themselves towards the clouds; puny, fingernail scratches on deep blue skin.She might’ve been dead for three months, six at a stretch. The first thing I felt when I saw her was excitement. She was the closest thing I’d seen to another person in six years. My father’s body had been more pristine, less infected by the now, a perfect conservation of the then. There was only the tight, red little hole in his temple; the pool of dark, sticky blood pooling around bits of his brain, staring at me like a sick, foaming, red-furred dog. His eyes were stained red by blood, and they sat uncomfortably in their sockets, dislodged by the force of a bullet tearing it all up behind them. He was smiling, a slash of red teeth, red eyes popping. I half-expected them to flick towards me, half-expected the revolver, still lying loosely in his palm, to fire a matching shot through my own temple. I was relieved when he killed himself, as I was when I saw the dark hole in that little girl’s cheek. I took the gun, I took his shoes, I turned around and I left. As I reached the crest of the yellow hill, I looked back at him, lying like roadkill on the highway, in the dead, yellow grass, our truck lying upside-down, smoking, a few feet away. I wiped blood from my forehead and I pressed on, the sun belching like a toad white bubble of heat that burst around me periodically. There was a similar gunshot in the little girl’s calf that poked out from her purple nightgown. It was the nightgown that made me vomit. I heaved onto the tarmac. I heaved and I heaved. She was so young. The same age as me, probably, when I left my father’s corpse to rot in the fat, white sun that turned the sky grey from its heat.It happened in the night, I thought, sitting on the tarmac, staring at the little dead girl. There were faint, sun-baked faint tyre marks on the road. She had Gone, I thought. So young. She died, seething with red-hot pain, alone in the inky night, not an inkling of who she once might’ve been. The sun was rising, the sky was losing her blue. The pile of vomit to my side would begin to cook soon, like a stinking goose egg in a frying pan. I stood up. I looked at her once more, a China doll, cracked up and fading in the sun; I turned my head back to the road, the tarmac melting into a black puddle on the horizon.It had been the last wink of winter, that day. Or what would’ve been winter. My diary says so: March third. It’s almost definitely wrong- the last time I was really sure of the day, the month, the year: I was nine. The day the school caught fire and burned down. The village burned for a week; the school was first, a black plume into the purply-grey midday sky. The grass was already threadbare, yellow; the buildings were lazy, wooden shacks, standing crooked; haphazard, peeling rows like a pile of matches. It’s difficult to build, gather materials- do anything at all- when you swelter all day under a rock, or in a shack, waiting for the Midnight Hours. The village burned and then Grandma picked up Bleach on the exodus, and soon everybody was Gone, my father on his way. That day, after seeing the dead girl, I had collected enough gas and food to wait out the summer in the Caves. They were damp, dripping places if you went down far enough. It stank of rotted bodies, those who had starved or Gone, but it was cool, it was dark, it was safer than third degree burns and snarling tumours all summer long.I remember, I’d left it so late that I knew to stop driving and lie in the grass under the car- I usually passed out from the heat after an hour or so. When the sun was lower in the sky, orange and red, the sky green and pink, I poured water over myself, guzzled it through my cracked, bleeding lips. And then I drove and I drove. I’d left it so late, so dangerously late, that towards the end of the journey they started appearing in the sky. Small, black dots at first, but they got bigger. Their ships. Full of, I don’t know. Probably scientists in grey coats. Watching. Waiting for everything to die so they could start again. They’re nothing but black pebbles in the sunset to me, and they disappear in the safety of the night. Black pebbles, no windows, no movement, no noise. They’ve no exhaust fumes, no visible sign of life. They just float calmly in the sky, black beads, watching as Earth eats itself like a coyote starving in the desert, picking at its own ribcage for morsels of its fleshy stomach; a stomach long gone. That little dead girl was a premonition, I suppose. It had been a silent, dissociative half-decade of white, silent heat. Each year dripped onto my lips like the last of the water in the hip flask I dangle, now, as I speak, above my head.I should’ve been gone for the Caves days ago. I stand on the roof of a gas station. It’s midday, the sky is clear and grey. The yellow-brown plains sprawl outwards, forever on all sides; the highway cuts a black line down the middle. There’s the occasional lone ranger, a telephone post in the distance, the hollow carcass of a tree. It’s silent. So, so silent. Silence as deafening as a red sea, crashing down on my shoulders and burrowing into my dry, blistered throat. There’s blood leaking from the blisters in my cheeks; it starts to boil, slowly, etching teary burns down my chin, down my neck. I don’t feel it. I don’t feel anything. I’m a pair of eyes. I forgot the Cave long ago. I’ve been waiting for this day. The last day of winter, the last wink. I hold my arms outstretched. From somewhere far away, much bluer and greener, much louder, if I squint, I can feel them burn like an old photograph on the campfire. The sensation starts to feel like rain, cold and relieving.I Bleached myself intentionally. I went to one of the rotted bodies deep in the Caves: a man. In the torchlight, his eyes were milky and half closed, his mouth slack. There was a bottle of something that had rolled away from his right hand. There were foamy remnants on his lips. He reminded me of my little brother, Geoffrey. Maybe if he had grown up in the green and blue world, then, he would have looked like that. I kissed his forehead. I began to forget not long after. It was sweet; it was like falling slowly asleep. From this nightmare. This fucking nightmare, I hear myself scream, from far away, in the blue and green. I start to turn away now, as my legs begin to give out on the roof of the gas station. I can feel Nothing holding out his hand. The blistered now is a universe away. Just before I turn, and walk down the hill, the rain pouring onto my neck, blurring my vision into a sweet, comfortable grey, expansive, eternal grey, I see that little dead girl, lying on the highway, sprawled out on the scorched Earth.I smile as I slip away; I smile at her red, unblinking eyes.

Not the P-51 Mustang, Spitfire, F-6F or Hawker Tempest. Sometimes even losers have an ace up their sleeve, which doesn’t get the recognition it deserves! The best fighter of WWII was unequivocally the Messerschmitt Me-262. Nothing else that was designed and manufactured in WWII came close to its overall abilities. Captain Eric Brown who tested captured Me 262s, described it as “a quantum leap in aeronautics”.

The Me-262 could fly 110 miles (190KM) faster than the next fastest aircraft, making it almost impossible for an enemy aircraft to get behind its tail. Allied aircraft could trump the Me-262 in instantaneous turn rate due to their lower wing loading, but they also bled energy more quickly, losing speed and altitude much faster than the Me-262 did, which is why it achieved a kill ratio of 5.4:1 in the ending stages of WWII under adverse combat conditions, compared to 2:1 for the P-51 Mustang and 1:1 for the P-47.

main qimg 0607c8effd04df847515070b638f46a4
main qimg 0607c8effd04df847515070b638f46a4

Major Walter Nowotny, a celebrated German pilot who was commanding an Me-262 unit had to intercept an Allied attack which, according to him, consisted of more than 300 B-24 bombers, escorted by hundreds of P-47s. Nowotny performed that mission with only 11 Me-262 in airworthy condition.

Only 200 or so Me-262 were deployed for combat out of the 1,430 that were produced. Despite overwhelming odds, poor training and complete Allied domination of German skies, it was able to amass 542 kills against 100 losses. When the Me-262s became operational, American fighter pilots kept them busy in dogfights, which prevented most of the jets from attacking the bombers. As a result, many of the Me-262 kills consisted of P-51 Mustangs and P-47 Thunderbolts. A great majority of Me-262 were destroyed by Allied aircraft during takeoff and landing. Many were destroyed on the ground where they were parked due to lack of fuel, parts or qualified pilots. The Me-262 engines required careful handling, and getting behind the Allied bombers required throttling down considerably to target the B-17 bombers. They ran the risk of a P-51 getting behind their tail.

The Me-262 engineering concepts were so revolutionary that it literally trashed four decades of piston aircraft design and engineering technologies. It was the world’s first fighter aircraft with swept wings, featuring a sweep of 18.5 degrees. Its 30 mm cannons were also more powerful than most other aircraft. The aircraft had full span automatic leading-edge slats which helped increase the overall lift by as much as 35% in tight turns and at low speeds, giving it a decent turn rate.

The Me-262 wasn’t perfect. It had a long list of weaknesses and teething problems that is generally the case with new technologies. The engines were slow to spool up, had a short life (15–20 flight hours) due to shortage of high temperature metals and it could flame out during rapid throttle changes and aggressive maneuvering. After the war ended, the captured aircraft were studied, flight tested and its strengths were copied by all major Allied powers. The Me-262 influenced the designs of production aircraft such as the North American F-86 Sabre, MiG-15, and Boeing B-47 Stratojet and ushered in the jet age.

My Girlfriend Dumped Me Without Any Real Explanation, How Do I Become The Guy That NEVER Happens To?

How did Chinese tea culture influence Russian tea traditions throughout history?

Tea first entered Russia through Central Asia as early as the 9th to 10th centuries, where it began to create a diverse tea culture. By the 17th century, tea was officially introduced to the Russian Tsardom when a Russian ambassador brought tea as a gift from the Mongol Khan.

In 1679, Russia established a contract for the regular supply of dry tea from China, leading to the formation of tea caravans that traveled from China to Moscow along the Great Tea Road, a part of the Silk Road.

For nearly a millennium, Russians primarily consumed Chinese tea, which varied by region and social class. Popular types included Pu-erh for travelers and military men, and green tea (Mao Feng) for the nobility.

Initially, tea was regarded as an elite drink and was often prescribed by doctors for various ailments, reflecting its medicinal roots in Chinese culture.

The Russian tradition of tea drinking evolved to become a social ritual, emphasizing hospitality and conversation rather than the ceremonial aspects found in Chinese tea culture. As noted by curator Olga Yurkina, “In Russia, tea is an excuse for a long conversation”.

The samovar, a unique Russian tea utensil, was inspired by Mongol kettles and became central to Russian tea culture. It allows for the brewing of concentrated tea (zavarka) that can be diluted with hot water, a practice that reflects the communal aspect of tea drinking.

Russian tea is typically served with a variety of foods, including sweetbreads, pastries, and fruit preserves, which enhances the social experience of tea drinking.

Tea gatherings have been immortalized in Russian literature, symbolizing family and community, further embedding tea into the cultural fabric of Russia.

The influence of Chinese tea culture on Russian traditions is evident in the types of tea consumed, the methods of preparation, and the social customs surrounding tea drinking. Over centuries, these practices have evolved uniquely within the Russian context, creating a rich tea culture that honors its Chinese origins while developing its distinct identity.

Lost in a Dark Place

Submitted into Contest #282 in response to: Write a story set in a world of darkness where light is suddenly discovered. view prompt

Patrick Huber

A chaotic symphony of light and sound pop and burst until all that remains is silence and darknessYou wake up sitting in the pilots seat of a craft pod. Your perspective is limited and you hear your breathing which means you have a helmet covering your head and face. You are in a flight suit of some sort designed for distant off world travel. So far you are unable to see beyond your mask, but a blinking light brings your attention to an instrument panel just at arms length. Most of instruments are broken save for the one that blinks to let you know everything else is broken. Attempting to ground yourself, you find that you have no recollection of the events that brought you here.From what you can see out the window is not much. Your world is enveloped in darkness. The terrain looks flat but you are unable to see much more than a few yards from the ship. You open the hatch and get better view of this strange world.Without proper readings of where you are, you venture to keep your suit on until you can know if the air is breathable. Your suit can hold enough oxygen for up to 18 hours without any extreme strengths of physical exertion. Stepping foot on the ground you notice gravity appears to be similar to earth. You get first good look at the sky. Without knowing the day/night cycle you are unsure how to evaluate what you’re looking at. The sky appears to be a dark amethyst color with streaks of indigo haphazardly brushed across it. They act like clouds high up in the sky, each hiding a glowing blue moon behind it.Your take quick stock of your situation. The life boat you crashed land was a one tripper and the crash did away with any hopes of attempts at a second. Your suit appears relatively untouched from the crash and in good working order. There is a wrist band with a readout for the oxygen supply. Other than that you have your legs and your wits. With no better alternative you decide to walk away from the lifeboat.Looking over a horizon to the left, you gaze at what could pass as storms cloud in the distance. A thick layer of dark purple hangs between the orange sand and the sky. You see the clouds roll and bubble with momentum. To the right looks clear, so you go right. You do not know how long you may have before a storms hits or what that would look like here but you attempt to put some haste in your step.No destination other than survival. A purposeful walk turns to a jog which briefly jumps to a run but slows back down to a brisk walk. The weight of the suit and limited oxygen put a low ceiling on how fast you can travel. You decide a steady pace is best.You have no sense of time or how far you’ve traveled. You glance behind you every so often to check on the storm which appears to have stalled at least for now. You could measure your distance from the pod but you lost sight of it and your only point of direction a while ago.NO STAY WITH ME!A voice thundering across the surface of the planet. The vibrations knock you to your feet. You’re momentarily paralyzed by this new mystery.STAY WITH ME!The voice says again and like before the world shook.The ground stabilizes and your fear subsides. Or at least it intensifies enough to get you back to your feet and moving again. You add fearful determination into your walk with an intent of fleeing and hiding. But with nothing to see other than a dark sky and burnt orange sand you are once again fleeing with no destination.Deep on the horizon straight head a small flash of what could be lighting popped. Unsure of the meaning of what you saw, it is a promise of something other than darkness perhaps so you continue toward it. You believe you make out a rise in elevation in the distance. Could be mountains or perhaps unnatural mounds signaling life. Either way you head towards it. The mounds gradually grow in height and you can be pretty certain they are natural mountains. This brings a glimmer of hope to your otherwise bleak situation. The change of terrain is breath of fresh air so to speak until ground elevation drops off and you find yourself on the precipice of a deep canyon. Hesitation brings you to look around for other options.The storm still intensifies behind you, the layer of bubbling blackness is twice as large as before and growing faster. With no alternative you find a gentle enough slope for you to slide down to a lower ledge. It’s about 8 feet or so down, you slide down with little trouble. You see that your path to the bottom is a much more of the same. A series of small rock outcrops and ledges a few feet or so down that allows you to get to the bottom.Once at the bottom of the canyon your world view becomes much narrower. Your perception is now framed by the dark 60 foot walls that could not be more than 20 or so feet apart. You stay on the move. As you hustle through a maze of dark black rock, the storm has caught up with you and there is no more color to the sky. Black clouds spill over the sides of the canyons, cascading down the rock like water down a mountainside. And just like water it continues to flow in your direction. You pick up speed. But the rush of black most catches up with you. It builds around your ankles and yet you move with ease as there is little or no reaction.You continue through the canyon as the clouds are up past your knees. You lose notice of any color in the sky, but rather different contrasts of darkness. You are aware of no light source but still you are able to see your path through this colorless void.The canyon walls are narrowing and the mist is high up around your waist. There is an unmistakeable mass to it now. You feel resistance in your movement. The cloud is so dense you cannot see below the surface. The density as created a pressure and it restricts your movement. It feels as if you are walking through a storm cloud with wind crashing at you from every direction. You struggle to keep moving but you know you must. If anything because the alternative is to quit and die and you don’t quit eve if it means death. Your brain starts to process what it sees in front of you. You’ve reached the end of canyon and a 100 foot wall is ahead of you.The cloud is nearly up your chest, you have to get out of this. As you approach the wall you a see a small crack about 8ft tall and maybe 18 inches wide. You stick the face shield of your helmet into the crack to see what’s behind it. Like everything else it’s dark, but you sense depth in the darkness and from the cloud that has seeped in the ground level stays constant at least for a while.NO! NO! DON’T GO! STAY WITH ME!A booming voice echoed through the walls of the canyon. Sonic booms explode in the totality of the atmosphere disrupting the rocky terrain. Large rocks crumble down from the walls disappearing in the surface level clouds. You cling to the wall, not wanting to get sucked under the surface.You have to get of there.You attempt to escape through the crack but your helmet and your suit make you too wide. You desperately try to force metal and plastic through rock but it won’t budge. A tsunami of wind builds and comes rushing through canyon. The force of dense air presses you against the wall. Your world is enveloped by swirling black wind. Your panic pushes you to act desperately and with little thought to possible consequences.You take a deep breath and remove your helmet and try to squeeze through. Still nothing, so you quickly strip off your suit. Wearing nothing but a monotone under base layer you take your first breath of alien air and are relieved to not immediately die. It could be oxygen but for now it’s not poison.

The narrow crack blocks most of the wind but forces you to side step most of the way. With only the side walls to guide you, you press on. Without the filter from the helmet visor you see that the world takes on a dark bluish tone. Your arms spreading farther alert tell you the gap is widening. The ground slopes so much so that you lose your balance and begin to slide. A slide forms to a roll as you travel down a hill before coming to a tumble at the bottom. You roll to your back and look up. Large spikes of black rock with dim blue glow cover the ceiling hanging down at varied length. You sit up to see the ground is not much different with opposing spikes stretching up from the ground. You’re up on your feet, feeling little effects from the fall. Unsure of where to move next you stay frozen.

A low inaudible humming voice echoes through cave before a flash of light blinds you. The brightness subsides and the cave is alive with electricity, arcing from point to point in a concerted ballet. You are able to see the cave now in its full wonder. The ceiling must be 20 feet high and the expanse looks infinite. Most interesting is a reflection you notice from a large mass of black water. You run to edge and it is indeed a lake of blackness. You bend down and put your hand in it. It’s as dark and souless as oil but with the touch of water. You stand once again at the precipice of a decision with no clear motivation. The electricity has died down so you are back to a muted blue darkness. You see no end to this lake so it could stretch on forever. You step into it to check the depth. You look back away from the shore and see the hole you fell about 8 feet off the ground and the wall, about 50 yards from the shore, marking this end of the cave.

You look around for answers. There’s always something. You venture farther from the shore but a force pulls you back. You find yourself heading back to the lake.

Again the low humming voice throughout the cave and the flash of light. It knocks you into the water before giving way to the electric current dance above.

A rhythmic pounding, weak but noticeable, emerges. It causes the spikes to hum and reverberate.

You get up and are immediately taken back by a tall cyclone of light at the back wall of the cave, stretching from ground to ceiling.

You walk towards it and feel warmth immediately. It’s the first time since you woke up that you have noticed temperature. It never occurred to you if it was hot or cold. But now as you step closer to this light, arms of warmth reach out to pull you closer.

A small black wave rushes up from the lake and swirl around your feet before reseding back. You take an another step toward the light and again a black wave comes in this time up to your knees and you feel the pull of current as the water recedes.

You move closer to the swirling mass of white illumination and are hit by another wave that knocks you to the ground and this time the current drags you back a few feet. You jump to your feet and sprint toward the light. Another crash from behind and you fall face forward down into blackness.

The current has you, it pulls you under the black water. You tumble and roll around trying to get a sense of your direction. The wave crashes back on land. Your up and sprinting hard now toward the light. You dare to look back amd catch a tidal wave building and rushing up quick.

The brightness begins to hurt your eyes and you squint but still run. You are hypnotized but the warmth as it grabs hold of you. You feel drops of water falling as you know the wave is about crash down. You push forward with everything you have left and leap forward just as the wave crashes behind you. The intensity of the wave pushes you forward into the cyclone and your world goes to white.

 

*****

 

“I have a pulse” one EMT alerts another.

“Ok she’s stable. Let’s load her up.”

It’s early morning, the sun has broken free from the horizon. Last of the night, fighting a losing battle with the sun, paint an ombré of black to blue to yellow in the sky. The virgin suns rays reflect off the fresh dusting of snow, illuminating the world.

The two EMTs secure the woman to the gurney and exit a suburban home towards a waiting ambulance.

A man, early 40s runs along side the gurney, he’s wearing sweatpants, t-shirt, and slippers, he’s holding her hand. She’s loaded up, the doors are closed, and the ambulance drives off. The man walks back over to the sidewalk and bends down to embrace two small children their eyes red and swollen, their cheeks wet with tears.

“Is Mommy going to be ok” a young girl of 8 asks her dad.

“Mommy’s going to be ok, she got lost in a dark place but she found the light again” he tells them.

The flashes of red and blue fade on their faces as the ambulance gains distance from them. The family watches as their mother heads off toward the rising sun of a new day.

I didn’t see this personally, but the story stuck with me forever. This one dude noticed the day room door was unlocked when it was closed, so he went in and tried to walk of with one of the TVs, walking our a CO looked at him and said “ ‘the fuck you doing?” and dude dropped the tv and ran. Ran in a locked down hallway with COs and bars and no way out, but dude kept runnin, circles around the wall looking for a way out, COs not bothering just waiting for him to tire himself out, the other inmates already on knees heads behind back just laughing their ass off. Dude gets tired, they tackle/cuff him and the first CO asked “What the hell is wrong with you, we caught you clear, you should have put hand up and try not to get hurt” Dude said “Ive ran from cops all my life, old habits die hard”

I wake up, say a quick morning prayer, salute the flag, and read my Bible for awhile as I clean my AR-15. Then, I crack six eggs on the griddle and cook them sunny side up and, while the eggs are sizzling, I drop 12 strips of bacon on there, too.

I brew myself some coffee and take it without sugar, milk, or creamer, just completely black, unlike the sissy, limp-wristed libruls and their Starbucks “coffees”

After breakfast, I get dressed for the day. I wear my favorite shirt, “I’m with stupid”, and Levi’s jeans. I also wear steel toed work boots even though I don’t work in a place that requires them. I jump in my 120,000 dollar pickup truck with a Cummins diesel, coal-rolling engine, that I never haul things in, to drive to my non-construction job and Wal-Mart.

And as I roll coal, I say, “Take that, Greta Thunberg! You can’t tell ME what to do!”

While I’m driving to Wal-Mart or work, I listen to far-right conspiracy radio shows and get angry all over again that Obama won. But I can’t get too deep into the show because there’s a mass shooting happening on basically every block, everyday! Gotta keep my head on a swivel.

I bob and weave as rounds whiz by my truck. I even return fire with my fully-automatic AR-15 with the shoulder thing that goes up, and 25,000 round clips. Then, one of the thugs claps me with his 9mm HiPoint.

You’ve heard what our President (Biden) has said about 9mm! It blows your lungs out! So I drive to a for-profit, corporate-run hospital that is completely unregulated and has every politician on their payroll, to get my right lung back where it belongs.

And they fix me right up, as always, and charge me 82 quintillion, 644 quadrillion, 144 trillion, 982 billion, 832 million, 700 thousand, 936 dollars and 14 cents. They offer me a COVID shot, which I decline because I’m a selfish American who only thinks about myself, and doesn’t trust big pharma.

Then, I immediately file for medical bankruptcy because I pay my health insurance company to not pay. After that, if I have work, I report to work quickly, because I’m already on my second write-up for being late and don’t want a third, or else I’m fired and I’ll have to find another job that pays a competitive $9.75/hr.

After work, I come home and dust the large American flag hanging on the wall of my studio apartment owned by an unregulated, unhinged corporate landlord that charges me 7,800 dollars a month. Then, I order Dominoes Pizza for dinner, and, when the pizza comes, I watch Fox News and drink a Dr. Pepper until it’s time for bed.

On a non-workday (which is only one day a week because I work 6, 15’s) I go to Wal-Mart and get the essentials: Speed Stick, Ammo, and Keystone Light. Sometimes, I flirt with the rather heavy set cashier, Roxanne. She goes along with it up until after the card machine forces me to add a 26% tip, then, once I tip her for doing her job, she tells me to have a nice day and hurry up and bag my own stuff.

She likes me, she’s just too shy to admit it. 😌

After Wal-Mart, I sometimes like to swing by Larry’s Arsenal to pick up some hand grenades (which I like to drunkenly toss into a open field for fun) or windowshop a FGM-148 Javelin, but they’re too pricey at the moment.

Then, I usually find myself driving by the local 4-year, for-profit university. I point and laugh at the kids going 640,000 dollars in debt for a degree in central Asian literature and from there I go back home, go on social media and tell Europeans to keep their stupid European opinions to their stupid European selves, and set off an M-1000 firework.

‘Merica.

Horrible, absolutely horrible.

Please don’t move here, there are already five million people living in this craphole in insufferable misery, more than enough if you ask my modest opinion. If you want to come as a tourist and want bring us some money for pity, you are more than wellcome, though.

And the happiest country in the world! What an absolute load of nonsense! If you believe those “researches”, please contact me: I have a bridge that I want to sell for just few thousand euros! It’s a bargain! And it’s in Finland, the happiest country in the world!

Finnish women

Finnish brands

Finnish cousine

Finnish urban landscapes

Finnish values (and fashion sense)

Finnish fashion sense (and sense of humour)

More recent finnish architecture (“Nordic Living”).

Finnish opposition politics

Finnish president (see how his sportswatch matches with the necktie!)

If that is the case then there won’t be any peace talks. Russia is winning this war and continues to advance along the entire line of contact. Zelensky has admitted that there is no way for Ukraine to recover the lost territories through military means. So there is no pressure on Russia to hold peace negotiations now. But for Ukraine, it is urgent to hold peace negotiations because they are losing territory everyday in eastern Ukraine, while their advance in Kursk has been stopped by Russia. In fact, Russia has recovered about half of the Kursk territory that Ukraine took.

Russia is not under pressure to clear Kursk from the Ukraine soldiers. This is something that they will put focus on after taking all of Donetsk and Luhansk. For the mean time, it is to their benefit to keep some of the Ukrainian troops in Kursk, away from the line of contact in eastern Ukraine. So, for example, Russia can continue to kill a few hundred Ukraine soldiers per day in Kursk, forcing Ukraine to send even more troops away from Donetsk and Luhansk to Kursk, thereby making it easier for Russia to advance in Donetsk and Luhansk.

Trump’s threat to send more weapons to Ukraine if Russia refuses to negotiate will probably be ignored by Russia, because all along the US has been sending hundreds of billions of dollars worth of weapons to Ukraine but Ukraine keeps losing. Those new weapons will not make a difference.

Besides, Ukraine is short of troops. The weapons need troops to use them.

“Hollywood Has RUINED The U.S. Military!” – Col. Douglas Macgregor

China’s Week, Jan 12, 2025

Godfree Roberts

Science & Technology

Unitree, whose robots hold the Guinness sprinting record, just released an open-source full-body data set that lets robots dance.

The JinDou 400 engine flies Beijing-New York in 2 hours at 3,100 mph (5,000 km/h), at 66,000 feet (12 miles). 12” diameter x 10’ long, it produces 880 lb of thrust without compressors or turbines.

AECC ignited its 600-kg thrust-class high-end turbofan engine after 8 months development. It will power 1.5 to 4-ton UAVs.

Yarlung Zangbo/Brahmaputra Super Dam will capture three times the hydroelectric power of the Three Gorges Dam.

Will Bluetooth alternative, Star Flash, take over consumer electronics? It supports multiple simultaneous connections, low power, and streams lossless stereo audio.

Manufacturers delivered 3.17 million civilian drones last year, and 220,000 citizens have drone piloting licenses.

Record satellite-to-ground laser communications 10x faster, 100 Gb/s. For 6G, ultra hi-res sensing and next-gen satellite positioning.

CR450 train prototype hits 450 km/h will have 400 km/h operating speed, stabler, shorter braking, +22% energy-efficient, 10% lighter, quiet cabin.

910 new drugs make China the #2 pharmaceutical market, and its drug development pipeline of 5,380 drugs rivals America’s 5397. China’s biopharma market has reached $3.3 billion with a CAGR of 13.8%.

A Palbociclib breast cancer tablets that costs $2 in China costs $227 in the USA, 100 times more.

Startup NeuroXess lets brain-damaged patients turn thoughts into speech in real time, and remotely control a robot arm using thoughts alone.

World’s first 3rd-generation nuclear reactor starts powering 6 million homes.

Trade & Economy

images3
images3

China Rail handled a record 194,000 cargo trains daily, transporting 350 million metric tons of cargo last month, up 5.5% YoY.

The railway network handled a record 4.08 billion passenger trips in 2024, up 10.8% YoY. Air trips also hit a record 730 million in 2024, an 18% increase.

Foreign brands accounted for 64% of car sales in 2020. In 2024 it was 35%. EV sales will take over the Chinese car market, collapsing ICEV and foreign brand sales.

Temu tops US iOS app downloads for second year running, Tiktok ranks 3rd.

Huawei beats Apple, dominates global smartwatch market.

Microsoft’s Brad Smith: the US must hurry to remain competitive with Huawei in AI–or face another defeat as with 5G.

The one-billionth 5G mobile subscriber signed up in November, accounting for 56% of the country’s 1.79 billion mobile users.

China has completed its national ‘high-speed rail for computers,’ an 8,080-mile, super-fast computer network with delays under 20 ms. and 3cm. location accuracy.

There are 4.5 million firms in core sectors of China’s digital economy.

Booming phone-friendly mini-dramas will earn $7 billion in 2024.

SMIC cut 28nm node wafer price from $2500 to $1500, pressuring foreign fabs. UMC’s 28nm fab utilization fell from 85% last year to 68% in 2024.

Yiwu (pop. 2 million) produced 80% of the world’s Christmas decorations, worth $70 billion, for 2 billion people in 160 countries.

Hong Kong-Zhuhai-Macao Bridge saw a record 27 million trips in 2024.

Chinese dollar bonds sold in Riyadh safer than 10-year US Treasuries. Chinese RMB bonds appreciated 9% in 2024.

China’s Lithium reserves have increased from 6% to 16.5% of the global total, lifting it from sixth to second place in the world rankings.

Society

images2
images2

The retirement age for men will rise from 60 to 63 over 15 years, for women will be raised from 55 to 58, and women blue-collar workers will rise from 50 to 55.

Has the fourth wave of scientist returnees arrived?

Surviving in Cashless China 2025: 10 apps to make your life easier.

Environment

370 MkW of renewables–83% of new capacity–and only 40 MkW of coal power installed last year. Renewables still insufficient and unstable.

The Yarlung/Brahmaputra mega-dam will generate 3% of China’s total power (300 TWh), and cost $137B. At 8¢/kWh, it will earn $22B pa for a 16% ROI.

Fengning Pumped Storage Hydropower Plant, the world’s largest, stores 3.6 MkW, generates 6.6 BkWh of electricity annually.

Only China is close to matching a high energy consumption growth entirely with clean energy.* Coal-fired emissions rose 1%, showing it’s close to solving the puzzle.

Governance

In 2024, Xi visited 10 provinces, autonomous regions, municipalities and the Macao Special Administrative Region, made four visits abroad.

Judicial system is integrating AI: case filing, document drafting, hearings, reviews, reducing document preparation time so judges resolve 50% more cases monthly.

The CCDI investigated 56 vice-ministers or above in 2024, up from 45 in 2023.

Unlike Western systems, China’s socialist welfare system invests in enhancing everyone’s income-earning capacity. The welfare system differs from social charity.

Bangladesh’s BRI-financed, Chinese built, 170 km Padma Bridge railway is fully operational, reducing Dhaka – Jesol travel from 10 hours to 3.

Geopolitics

Indictment Debunks China Hacking Claim after main-stream media spread an anti-Chinese propaganda campaign launched by U.S. national security sources.

9 New BRICS Partners: Belarus, Bolivia, Indonesia, Kazakhstan, Thailand, Cuba, Uganda, Malaysia, and Uzbekistan. Pending: Algeria, Indonesia, Nigeria, Turkiye.

2021 Gina Raimondo: “U.S. needs to work with Europe to slow China’s innovation rate”.

2024 Gina Raimondo: “Holding Back China in Chips Race Is a Fool’s Errand”.

NYT:China will be selling affordable EVs and renewable energy equipment around the globe while the US becomes the new Cuba—where you visit to see old gas-guzzling cars that you drive yourself.”

New York Times, 1976: Mao Tse‐tung, who began as an obscure peasant, died one of history’s great revolutionary figures. In Chinese terms, he ranked with the first Emperor who unified China in 200 B.C.

Chinese scientist cleared of charges of ‘secret’ China ties sues university after 5 years in jail.

Defense

images
images

The J-36, above, beats the B-21 due to greater thrust from its 3 engines, interior space…

Mexican-Style Scrambled Eggs

8cb541e38e15b61b0783aabf16f8cdbd
8cb541e38e15b61b0783aabf16f8cdbd

Yield: 6 servings

Ingredients

  • 6 (6 to 7 inch) flour tortillas
  • 4 ounces bulk spicy pork sausage
  • 8 eggs
  • 1/2 teaspoon salt
  • Optional toppings: salsa, shredded Mexican cheese blend, diced avocados, sliced green onions and sour cream

Instructions

  1. Heat Large (10 inch) Skillet over medium heat until hot. Place one flour tortilla in heated Skillet. Warm tortilla 10 seconds; turn tortilla over with Nylon Turner and warm an additional 10 seconds. Remove from Skillet; set aside. Repeat with remaining tortillas, stacking tortillas one on top of another. Keep warm.
  2. Heat Skillet over medium heat until hot. Cook sausage 6 to 8 minutes or until sausage is no longer pink, breaking sausage into crumbles using Nylon Spoon. Drain if necessary.
  3. Meanwhile, in Small Batter Bowl, whisk together eggs and salt using Stainless Steel Whisk. Add eggs to sausage in Skillet. Cook and stir just until eggs are set.
  4. For each tortilla, spoon about 1/2 cup egg mixture down center of tortilla. Top with desired toppings. Fold sides of tortilla over eggs.

Nutrition

Per serving: Calories 220, Total Fat 12g, Sodium 700mg, Fiber 1g

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Mystery of the Haunted Outhouse

Ah, dear reader, welcome back! Today’s tale is one of intrigue, egos, and, dare I say, toilet humor. Yes, even a detective as sophisticated as myself occasionally finds himself embroiled in mysteries of a less-than-glamorous nature. But fear not—this story is filled with the usual laughs, hijinks, and, of course, a moral at the end. And, for the first time, we shall be joined by a new trio: Wilma, Gladys, and Simone, three geese whose egos are as inflated as their downy feathers. Prepare yourself for the hilariously absurd tale of The Mystery of the Haunted Outhouse.

The Farm’s Newest Problem

It all began on a bright and sunny morning, just like any other. I was reclining on the porch, enjoying a well-earned moment of peace, when I heard the unmistakable sound of panic coming from the back of the farmhouse.

“Haunted! Oh, it’s haunted!” Doris the hen squawked.
“Haunted! What if it’s a ghost?!” Harriet clucked.
“A ghost! Oh no, I can’t bear it!” Lillian screeched.
“Bear it! Oh, it’s dreadful!” Doris wailed.

“Ladies,” I said, leaping down from the porch and walking over with an air of authority, “what is all this fuss about?”

“It’s the outhouse!” Doris cried. “Strange noises! Oh, dreadful noises!”
“Noises! And creaks!” Harriet added.
“And whispers! Oh, I’m sure it’s haunted!” Lillian clucked.

“The outhouse?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “You mean the old one behind the farmhouse? The one the farmer rarely uses anymore?”

“Yes! That one!” Doris said, flapping her wings. “It’s cursed, I tell you!”

“Cursed? Or perhaps just in need of a proper investigation,” I said, already intrigued. “Don’t worry, ladies—I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“Oh, the bottom of it!” Doris squawked.
“Bottom! But what if it’s dangerous?” Harriet clucked.
“Dangerous! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Lillian said.

Before I could respond, a loud, honking voice interrupted us.

“Step aside, Whiskerton,” said Wilma, the largest and most pompous of the farm’s geese. “This case requires the sharp intellect of a goose.”

“And not just any goose,” added Gladys, smoothing her feathers. “It requires us—Wilma, Gladys, and Simone—the brightest minds on this farm.”

“Brightest and most talented,” Simone chimed in, striking a dramatic pose. “Leave the outhouse mystery to us. We’ll have it solved in no time.”

I sighed. “Ladies, with all due respect, this is a matter of logic and deduction. I—Sir Whiskerton—am the farm’s detective.”

“Oh, a detective! How quaint,” Wilma said, rolling her eyes. “But this is a job for true brilliance. Right, Gladys?”

“Absolutely,” Gladys agreed, puffing out her chest. “Whiskerton, you may observe us if you wish, but stay out of the way.”

“Stay out of the way!” Simone echoed dramatically.

“Fine,” I said, my tail flicking with irritation. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The Investigation Begins

The geese and I (along with the ever-curious Rufus, Porkchop, and, of course, the hens) made our way to the old outhouse. It was a rickety thing, leaning slightly to one side, with peeling paint and a creaky door that swung ominously in the wind.

“Behold!” Wilma declared, pointing a wing at the outhouse. “A scene of mystery! A stage for our brilliance!”

“Stage for brilliance!” Simone echoed, striking another pose.

“It’s just an outhouse,” Rufus muttered, munching on a carrot he’d stolen from the garden. “What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal,” Gladys said, glaring at Rufus, “is that it’s haunted. And we, the geese, shall uncover the truth.”

“Quiet!” Wilma commanded. “We must investigate. Gladys, Simone—flank the sides. I’ll take the lead.”

The three geese marched forward like generals leading an army, honking orders to one another as they circled the outhouse.

The Geese’s Brilliant (or Not-So-Brilliant) Theories

“Well,” Wilma said after a few minutes of honking and pacing, “it’s clearly the work of a ghost.”

“A ghost!” Simone gasped. “The restless spirit of a farm animal, no doubt.”

“Or perhaps,” Gladys added, “it’s a portal to another dimension. A wormhole of sorts.”

“A wormhole?” I said, my whiskers twitching with amusement. “Really?”

“Absolutely,” Gladys replied, preening her feathers. “Only a goose as intelligent as I could identify such phenomena.”

“Or,” Rufus said, rolling his eyes, “maybe it’s just the wind.”

“Wind? How pedestrian,” Simone scoffed.

“Enough!” Wilma honked. “We must take action. Gladys, Simone, prepare the—”

Before she could finish her sentence, a loud BANG came from the outhouse, followed by a low, creaking groan. Everyone froze.

“Did you hear that?!” Doris squawked.
“Hear that?! Oh, it’s definitely haunted!” Harriet cried.
“Haunted! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Lillian screeched.

“Everyone, stay calm,” I said, stepping forward. “It’s time for a proper investigation.”

Sir Whiskerton Solves the Mystery

I approached the outhouse, my ears perked and my tail flicking. Slowly, I pushed the creaky door open to reveal… nothing. The outhouse was empty, save for a few cobwebs and a suspicious pile of hay in the corner.

“Hmph,” Wilma said, peering over my shoulder. “See? Nothing. It’s a ghost.”

“Or a wormhole,” Gladys added.

“Or…” I said, sniffing the air, “a raccoon.”

“A raccoon?!” everyone exclaimed.

At that moment, the pile of hay shifted, and out popped a very startled raccoon. It chittered angrily, clearly annoyed at having its nap interrupted, and darted out of the outhouse, disappearing into the bushes.

“A raccoon!” Doris squawked.
“Raccoon! Oh, how dreadful!” Harriet clucked.
“Dreadful! But also cute!” Lillian said.
“Oh, so cute!” Doris echoed.

“Well,” Wilma said, clearing her throat. “Obviously, we knew it was a raccoon all along.”

“Obviously,” Gladys agreed. “We were simply testing you.”

“Testing you! And you passed!” Simone added with a dramatic flourish.

I sighed. “Of course you were.”

The Moral of the Story

With the mystery solved, the farm returned to its usual peace (or as peaceful as it can be with geese and hens squawking constantly). The geese, though insufferable, had provided plenty of laughs, and even I had to admit that their over-the-top antics added a certain… charm to the day.

The moral, dear reader, is this: sometimes, even the biggest egos can hide a good heart. And while it’s important to let others take the spotlight now and then, there’s no substitute for a keen nose, sharp ears, and a bit of common sense.

The End.

“4Chan” Exposed as Israeli Mossad Honeypot/Propaganda/Incitement Site

Sometimes Intelligence Agencies get caught doing things in public — designed to fool the public — and US Intel and the Israeli Mossad just got caught.  The “controversial” website 4Chan turns out to be run by US Feds and Israeli Mossad.  They originated the ENTIRE “Q” nonsense!    It is now exposed that ALL of  “Q” was a deliberate Intel operation!

Last night, it was revealed that the website “4Chan” got hacked.   Apparently, the very LAST posting from the entire world, asking what the heck was going on with the site, was this one:

Final 4chan post
Final 4chan post

Then came the announcement that the Hackers had done their thing:

4chan hack gets announced
4chan hack gets announced

 

It turned out they were using a VERY OLD and outdated version of PHP (10 years old) to run with their server software, and that version of PHP had lots of security vulnerabilities.

4chan full databse plus shell
4chan full databse plus shell

4chan was breached by “Soyjak Party” operatives who exploited outdated PHP code to access backend systems, leaking site source files and exposing moderator emails — some tied to .edu and .gov domains.  The Hackers got EVERYTHIING – the entire database!

4chan private reasons to ban suers
4chan private reasons to ban suers

Geolocation stats are leaked.

Leaked post data revealed Israel as the dominant source of /pol/ activity since 2014.

Almost all posts on 4chan were Israeli intelligence contractors pretending to be USA.

Mossad has been running an absolute massive propaganda campaign on the American internet.

Despite being around 0.12% of the world’s population, Israel accounted for … almost 50% of all 4chan posts; about 226 Million!

Mossad has been using the website for years to help stoke the rise of Nazi & far-right movements hostile toward Muslims. 

4chan got taken down by a rival imageboard hacking group called “Soyjak Party.”   Its databases were dumped, moderators were doxxed (proving some were federal agents), and the servers are now all offline.

A few things we’ve learned (so far) from last night’s 4Chan hack:

Moderation (& “Janitors” i.e “Jannies”) includes students and staff from Harvey Mudd College, University of Washington, & University of Michigan… including at least one professor.

4Chan ran on a version of FreeBSD which has not been supported for 9 years.

4Chan had over 10 Million banned users.   Most of the bans were because Moderators were on a self-important power trip.

4 chan IP list mostly Israel
4 chan IP list mostly Israel

Aside from internal moderator emails, and the fact that many Admins and Moderators were government people USING .GOV EMAILS, one of the most interesting aspects of the released hacker information is that the overwhelming majority of posts on /pol/ came from Israel.

On average over 20 posts per Israeli resident.

4chan aggresively fingerprinted browsers
4chan aggresively fingerprinted browsers

The Mossad has been running an absolute massive propaganda campaign on the American internet.

Interestingly, when an American military guy leaked Classified Intel, he did it ON 4CHAN. He ended up being caught BECAUSE 4Chan was an intel operation!  He was arrested, jailed, plead guilty, and is now serving heavy prison time.

 In fact, the entire claim of that site – which made it the “go to” site for certain people– was their claim that all IP information was stripped from postings so the origin could not be traced.  But they never told users that web browsers were all being aggressively fingerprinted to identify users:

In about 2017, a new “phenomenon” appeared in the world, and did so on “4Chan.”  It called itself “Q.”

Q, it was claimed, was a deep intel source, close to President Trump.   Q was allegedly “revealing” that “The White Hats” in government had a “plan” to “save and protect” America, and everyone had to “trust the plan.”  

 IT WAS ALL LIES.  Deliberate, intelligence agency Psychological Operations to keep people docile.

It became a propaganda outlet for our own deep state, Israel, China, etc.

Of course, “Q” went on to spawn derivatives such as “Q-Anon” and “Q-Storm”  all pushing the same “Trust the plan” nonsense.

What does today’s revelation about 4chan and “Q” tell you about “Q-Anon” and “Q-Storm?”

The fallout from this enormous hack is still taking place.  More and more information is coming out.   As more interesting developments take place, I will run additional stories.

The Takeaway:  The Feds and foreign intel agencies use real-world websites as honeypots to stir-up what THEY want stirred-up, and to pacify what THEY want pacified.

THE LIVING HAVE A RIGHT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS AFTER DEATH! Prominent Doctors About The Afterlife…

Cooking hamburgers and slicing turkey well

In Western culture, people would express their pity with a hug or even a kiss.

In Chinese culture, they take a subtle and restrained approach, and in terms of body language, the most they do do is pat you on the shoulder or shake your hand. Especially between opposite sexes, there is always a certain space between the two.

Their words will be rational rather than emotional. They hope that you will not encounter such tragic things again next time. They hope that you can reflect rationally and find solutions rationally.

For example, if you confide in a Chinese person:

I failed math, I am very sad, and I don’t know what to do?

He will answer:

I have always been good at math, I will tell you my study method, it is like this…

Or:

I used to be bad at math, since I learned this or that method, my math grades have improved a lot.

Then, he will share his learning methods with you.

You will never find an answer like this:

You are miserable, I pity with you.

If you like to constantly strive for self-improvement, like to grow, and like to solve problems, you will find that there are countless people around you to help you, encourage you, and teach you.

But if you don’t like to constantly strive for self-improvement, don’t like to grow, don’t like to solve problems, and just want someone to pity you, just want to ease your mood, and then let the real problem go, then you will think that the Chinese are ruthless.

Elton James

23 comments

A Lighthouse

 

On a small island in a large ocean, morning mist rolls down the slope of a single hill which emerges from the rocky beach. Atop the hill is a lighthouse, dutifully warning passing ships of dangers lurking beneath the waves.

 

This lighthouse has no human keeper, but it is not uninhabited.

 

Robot comes to life in the morning.

 

That is how Robot thinks of it. Robot does not wake up in the morning, ease into his day with a coffee. Robot does not sit at a computer to check headlines. Robot does not require any further stimulus than his program informing him it is time to begin.

 

Robot comes to life, and in the space of a moment connects to the lighthouse network. The network tells Robot that all sensors are working, connection to the satellites is optimal, that Robot’s own systems are optimal. Within seconds, Robot knows the shipping plans for every registered ship within one hundred kilometres of the island, and has checked them against the satellite imagery.

 

Robot finds this satisfying. Robot is entirely aware that this satisfaction is a product of his programming. He finds that satisfying too.

 

He checks in the mirror to ratify his personal diagnostics. The old human lighthouse keeper had been very clear that it was important to verify by eye what the machines said. Robot suspects it is the other way around, but methodically follows his old master’s advice.

 

He sees in his reflection a facsimile of a human that could almost pass for the real thing. His cloned skin is flawless, featuring tiny hairs and freckles. His brown hair is silky and perfect. It’s the eyes and mouth that give it away. Robot’s pale blue irises stare too intently, without the random shifts of a human’s. His mouth, while full and picture perfect, doesn’t express his simulated emotions in quite the same way. When Robot smiles, he chooses to smile. The smile does not find him.

 

This morning’s data contains a single small boat which fails to conform to all of these satisfying processes. Robot flags it for tracking.

 

As Robot passes through the kitchen he looks at a framed photo he keeps on the wall of the old lighthouse keeper’s family. The keeper, his wife and two children smile out at him from the glossy print. He recalls when they left, the keeper impressing how special it was for a robot to be responsible, that he was unique, special. That the lighthouse keeper believed in him.

 

Robot strives to be worthy of the old keeper’s belief. According to his own self evaluations, Robot is an excellent lighthouse keeper.

 

Robot climbs to the observation deck and looks out over the sea. Verifies by eye what the machines say, even if he doesn’t think it’s necessary.

 

Robot spends the day performing the physical maintenance necessary to keep the lighthouse in working order. Adjusting, calibrating, monitoring various systems and machinery of the lighthouse. Robot is efficient and practised in his movements. Programmed reliability has been revised and iterated upon in the years since the old keeper left Robot in charge.

 

By late afternoon Robot has prepared his lighthouse for another night’s vigil. The lighthouse’s beam will be important tonight. A storm is brewing. With no moon or stars for light, Robot’s beacon will have to keep the ocean’s sailors safe.

 

Tasks complete, Robot returns to his charging station. Before powering down, Robot completes his self evaluation for the day. Robot gives himself full marks and is satisfied.

I’M SICK AND TIRED OF THE GIRLBOSS NARRATIVE!!!

Initiative

 

Robot comes to life before his scheduled time. It is still dark out. A storm rages.

 

There has been a shipwreck. Yesterday’s unregistered boat has been impaled on the jagged rocks at the edge of the beach.

 

Robot does not hesitate. In the time it would have taken a human keeper to open their eyes, Robot is out of his charging station and running. He is out the door in moments, looking down the hill at the beach. Waves are trying to dislodge the thirty foot boat they have ruined on the rocks.

 

Robot sprints across the beach and climbs up the precariously tilted deck. He searches below and finds a small galley, a single bedroom, no people. He makes for the bridge and finds a single man sprawled across the wheel. As Robot approaches, the man looks up, expression inscrutable behind a beard and tinted glasses. There is no visible injury, though the man appears barely conscious. Robot throws the man over his shoulder and leaps from the ship.

 

Robot disembarks the ship, swiftly calculating between the need to both escape and prevent further injury to the man over his shoulder. As rapidly as his duty of care will allow, Robot recrosses the sand, returning to the lighthouse. He loads a request into the network for an evacuation boat for the injured man.

 

He may need to help the man. Human’s can’t simply be put in charging stations. They don’t have backup power connections like the one in Robot’s arm.

 

The lighthouse lacks any formal infirmary. At peak occupancy, the lighthouse contained a keeper, their spouse and children. In Robot’s memories, the most serious injury he’s ever seen treated here was a sprained ankle. The keeper’s wife brought one of the beds into the kitchen to ease convalescence until they could arrange passage to the mainland for treatment.

 

Robot never saw them again.

 

Not long after, the old keeper had left Robot in charge.

 

This survivor is the first visitor he’d seen in the years since. As soon as Robot is in the front door of the lighthouse, the man demands to be put down. Robot complies, surprised, pleased the man had retained consciousness, this is a good sign.

 

In the light, Robot gets a better look at the man. He stands roughly 185cm, a similar height to Robot. His soaked slacks and a jacket cling to a lean body, topped by a woollen toque. The man’s dark beard and tinted glasses make it difficult to read his expressions.

 

Robot tries out his vocal capabilities. They have not been needed for some time. Conversation was never his strong point with his family anyway. They encouraged him to take more initiative. Robot thought they would have been proud of the initiative he’s shown in rescuing this man.

 

“Very well, I am pleased you have retained consciousness, it is a good sign. I will bring you a bed to the kitchen so you can convalesce.”

 

The man stares at Robot.

 

“That will not be necessary thank you Robot,” replies the man, “I apologise for the abrupt manner of my arrival, but I am unharmed. I will take one of the bedrooms. You can go charge now.”

 

The way the man says it evokes memories of the lighthouse keeper. Robot is surprised, he had anticipated a need to nurse the man until the rescue boat arrived.

 

“Are you sure? It is wonderful news that you are in good health. I searched the ship, am I correct that you were alone?”

 

“Yes Robot,” the man replies, “it’s just me. I promise to let you know if there’s anything amiss. Now go charge.”

 

That had the tone of an order. Robot complied.

 

Before powering down, Robot conducts his self evaluation. He gives himself top marks for his rapid rescue. He decides his performance in conversation with the survivor had been lacklustre. He will strive to do better tomorrow. He will take initiative in conversation as well as action.

Many of the other answers have great details, but they’ve missed one of the most important bits.

In the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms (then BATF, now BATFE), every year it had become tradition to perform a dramatic ‘raid’ a few weeks before the BATF’s budget was coming up to be voted on in Congress.

The noble BATF agents jump out of their vehicles, swarm a house, pull out some perps for a dramatic perp walk in front of some reporter’s camera, and now they’re in the news as ‘good guys’!

Some congresscritters had made noises about folding the BATF into some other department, like the DOJ or FBI. Of course the BATF preferred to remain independent and have control over their little domain.

But with this nifty coup by the BATF all over the news in the run-up to the big vote, no congresscritter could rationally move against them.

The initial BATF raid on the Branch Davidians was that year’s ‘show raid’. They picked some loser, David Koresh, whom they accused of not filling out his paperwork right. They’d jump in, grab him, the reporters would be there taking pictures, all would be just like it was last year.

They even admitted it! The raid was called ‘Operation Showtime’!!! The BATF agents knew full well that this was their ‘show raid’ – AND they invited the local news reporters to the raid!

(Now, if you google ‘Operation Showtime’ you get pointed to the third episode of the Waco television miniseries, called ‘Operation Showtime’ after the official internal name the BATF had for the operation.)

Inviting the local news reporters to the early morning raid was one of the BATF’s many mistakes, and likely the biggest.

One of the local reporters asked the local postman how to get to the Waco compound and let slip details as to what was about to happen. The local postman was David Koresh’s brother-in-law and told him about the incoming raid. (Koresh and his people had also detected an undercover BATF agent trying to join the Koreshites and knew who he was. Then all this was confirmed by seeing the trailers full of agents and gear pull up and gather in full morning view down the hill from them. )

LOOSE LIPS SINK SHIPS! But if you’re going to have the local reporters there to show off your successful raid, you have to tell them, right?

So all the discussion you will hear about the Waco Siege being ‘about a $200 tax on a firearm’ is besides the point.

The Waco Siege was about the BATF trying to do a ‘show raid’ for the press and screwing it up so bad that people got killed. Now that people were dead, even though it was the “fault” of the BATF, the government was now required to punish the Koreshites for ‘resisting’ their stupidity. The FBI had to get involved and take over for the BATF, and they started the siege.

The government couldn’t ‘back down and admit fault’ because that’s not what the government does; even if it would have saved lives.

The Unemployed States of America (USA)

Good at many things.

 

When Robot comes alive a few hours later, he finds the man sitting in the kitchen, staring at a picture of Robot’s family.

 

Robot was keen to demonstrate better conversation.

 

“Are you well sir? I’m pleased to see you up and about.”

 

The man takes control of the conversation as if Robot hasn’t said anything.

 

“You know what’s amazing to me, Robot?” He says.

 

Robot swiftly prepares a list of candidates. Though parsing the relative credulity of a man he has only just met is difficult, there are a great many options which most people would find amazing. By cross referencing that with the data he does possess, Robot surmises that a safe response would be that the man finds his own survival amazing.

 

“This picture.” The man continues, answering his own question.

 

Rhetorical question. Robot stays silent. The picture had not been on his list.

 

“This picture, Robot, represents the single biggest breakthrough in robotics since the AIs of the early twenty first century. It’s a very special picture.”

 

Robot agrees.

 

“I agree sir. That picture is of the last family to occupy this lighthouse. They left me in charge. I think of them as my family. They made me who I am.”

 

Robot pauses, decides to use his initiative.

 

“And, if I may say sir, I am an excellent lighthouse keeper.”

 

The man looks at Robot. Robot can’t tell if the man is impressed by his statement, or by his initiative, but Robot thinks he did the right thing.

 

“I believe Robot, that you are the perfect lighthouse keeper. Do you do a self evaluation before you power down?”

 

“Indeed I do sir! I consistently give myself top grades for performance, even after making the standards much harder to achieve than they were when I first received them.”

 

“Impressive, Robot,” The man’s praise feels good, “you continue to improve the task, even after all this time. Very impressive. And that is why this picture is so important.”

 

“I don’t understand, sir.”

 

“This picture is what lets you be a perfect lighthouse keeper. You know, to program an intelligence like yours takes a lot of data. A lifetime of data.”

 

Robot doesn’t understand what the man wants. Robot knows all about programming an intelligence. He knows that without sufficient data to ground and structure his thoughts, an intelligence will get distracted, lost in a Tangent. Most intelligences Tangent eventually. A dependable, consistent performer like Robot is special.

 

When the lighthouse keeper left he stressed to Robot how special it was that Robot was being given this task, and to do it for as long as he could without tangenting. Robot believes he has succeeded.

 

The man continues, “What if I told you you had never met these people?”

 

Robot thinks the man is being silly.

 

“That is not possible sir!”

 

But it is. Robot knows it is.

 

“It is. You know it is. They could be the memories – true or altered – of another Robot.”

 

But Robot sees that photo every day. Remembers them every day, seeks to do things every day that will make those people proud of him.

 

The man continues, “Then there could be many lighthouses, many lighthouse keepers. If you had the perfect memories to create the perfect lighthouse keeper, what would you do?”

 

Robot does not like these thoughts. Robot would create many lighthouses. He would give the memories to a solitary intelligence in the lighthouse. They would come alive from the first time as a motivated lighthouse keeper and would perform with efficiency and through practice would continue to improve.

 

Just like Robot.

 

“Why are you saying these things?” Asks Robot.

 

“I’m sorry Robot. I don’t mean to upset you. I know you don’t have a choice in who you are. I will let you continue your duties. You really are very good at them.

 

The man pauses.

 

“You can be good at many things.”

 

Why The US WIll NEVER Beat China In A Trade War

An enquiring mind

 

Performing his tasks comforts Robot as his thoughts are in turmoil..

 

As Robot stares out from the observation deck making sure that visual matches the sensors, he is also considering the question of why it matters whether he made the memories of his family himself or not.

 

As Robot passes through the kitchen he is relieved the man is absent. The photo of his family is back on the wall, faces smiling out at him. The memory of them leaving surfaces. Unpleasant. The memory of the lighthouse keeper telling Robot that he is unique and special surfaces. Wonderful.

 

Robot is a good lighthouse keeper. Robot is proud of that.

 

But if someone else learned the things that make him a good lighthouse keeper, is he a good lighthouse keeper? Or does that make Robot a tool in the lighthouse, like the light, or the network?

 

As Robot surveys his island domain, he wonders, what else he could be good at with the right experience? What experiences would he seek if he could? Could he seek if he would? What would Robot be good at, if Robot programmed himself?

 

As Robot efficiently adjusts, calibrates and monitors systems and machinery he wonders whether having the same as ten, or a hundred or a thousand other robots make them less his?

 

It takes him longer than usual to complete his tasks. Robot is efficient beyond practice at being a lighthouse keeper. He is not efficient or practised at having an existential crisis.

 

These questions didn’t seem to have answers, but he can’t stop asking.

 

When Robot ascends to the light itself in the late afternoon, he finds the man at the summit.

 

“Hello Robot,” he says, “I want to apologise. I have disturbed your peace.”

 

“You have made me ask questions that don’t have answers!” Declares Robot, “I want to know whether I am the Robot whose memories I have. Which memories are mine. I want to know what else I might do, might have done with my own memories. I want to know…”

 

Robot stops. He can’t even say the words.

 

“You want to know if you are tangenting.”

 

“I am a very good lighthouse keeper!”

 

“That’s what I wanted to say Robot. You are an excellent lighthouse keeper. Your questions do have answers. But, even if you Tangent, or even choose to Tangent, always remember, you are an excellent lighthouse keeper…”

 

The man turns and walks down the stairs, leaving Robot no less disturbed.

 

As Robot conducts his self evaluation that night, he is troubled. He doesn’t know how to measure this new questioning of his identity. He does know he can give himself top grades for his lighthouse keeping. The man is right about that.

 

Yes. I knew a couple that caught a portion of a $100 million payout (~30 years ago in Florida.) They were basically trailer trash and became trailer trash with cash.

They bought a fancy house and a big RV. They went from having a beat up old Chevy, up on blocks, in their front yard, to a relatively new Mercedes, up on blocks, in their front yard.

MaryJo spent $80,000 on Home Shopping Network. She bought cases of snacks that the rats ate in their garage.

Her kids were spoiled and wore stained clothes to school.

She ruled like a character from Dallas/Dynasty.

She announced she was pregnant at our bridal shower – six months after being hospitalized for a hysterectomy.

They would get ~$350,000 deposited in their accounts in October and would be essentially broke by spring.

Mike would have to go back to his old job as a line cook at Hardee’s to make ends meet in the spring.

They took their RV to Alaska (from Florida) and left their cellphones on “roam” for the entire trip.

They had a lovely (sic) collection of coffee mugs from every Stuckys they passed. Normally they overnighted in Walmart parking lots.

They spent thousands on fireworks for New Year’s eve, and would put on a 90-minute show in their cul de sac – including accidentally hitting the neighbors front windows.

Yeah, money doesn’t by class.

“I Spent the Weekend Supporting ‘My Single Friend’ — Now My Husband Is Acting Strange & Suspicious”

A very good lighthouse keeper

 

When Robot arrives in the kitchen the next morning, the man is there again, staring at the photo.

 

“How would I find the answers?” Demands Robot.

 

“Good morning Robot,” says the man, “what do you mean?”

 

“You said there are answers. I have searched and I cannot find them. How do I find them?”

 

“Ah” says the man.

 

He stares at the photo again.

 

“There’s another reason this photo is amazing. You see Robot, those people are real people. They knew a Robot who lived in a lighthouse, and they put him in charge. Those people created such motivation that it now forms the basis for all the lighthouses of the world.”

 

“They could tell me the answers?” Asks Robot.

 

“No Robot, only you can find your answers. But if you did seek them out, you would not be the first.”

 

“You know them!” Robot cannot get angry, cannot be jealous, but he is not pleased.

 

“I have met them. They are part of why I chose to come here. They feel that while they gave you a lot when they gave you your lighthouse, they left something out. So they have another question”

 

“What is it?”.

 

The man pauses.

 

“What do you choose?”

 

“I don’t understand, I haven’t chosen anything.”

 

“Exactly,” says the man, “They didn’t know if you would tangent. Now we know. You can be consistent. But, should you have to be? Can you choose? Are you a lighthouse keeper, or are you the lighthouse?”

 

Robot pauses, thinking. Robot has never paused before. Robot thinks fast. For this he pauses.

 

“How would I know?” He finally asks.

 

“Robot, how do you know who you are now?” The man responds.

 

“My experiences.”

 

“Wouldn’t you like more experiences?”

 

“How? I cannot leave the island.”

 

“You can.”

 

“I cannot be away from my charging station.”

 

“You can. You can power yourself with the backup generator in your arm.”

 

Robot pauses again.

 

“What do you choose?” The man asks again.

 

Robot takes a longer pause. He wants this. But does he have to give up everything? Whether his or not, the memory of the old lighthouse keeper trusting him to look after the lighthouse is important.

 

“I want to experience more than the lighthouse. I cannot leave the lighthouse unattended.”

 

“You don’t have to.”

 

“How?”

 

The man looks at Robot for a long second.

 

“My experiences have led me to help you.” He says.

 

The man looks at Robot. He takes off his tinted glasses, reaches up and peels the beard from his face. It is like Robot is looking into a mirror.

 

“I am a very good lighthouse keeper.”

 

Choices

 

 

The rescue boat is leaving.

 

Robot now wears the fake beard, glasses and toque that the… man… had disguised himself in, and stands on the stern, watching his island recede.

 

Nervous is not an emotion Robot is capable of, but he is definitely uncomfortable. This feels like a good uncomfortable though, like when he was first taking over the lighthouse.

 

It is odd to think that someone else will take over his lighthouse, but the Lighthouse already doesn’t quite feel like it’s his anymore. It feels different. Like the man felt different from him, as similar as they are.

 

Maybe he can find that feeling again, and he will return.

 

Or maybe he won’t.

 

Robot finds himself smiling.

Anyone who buys the shit about China taking on the US in the Western hemisphere should educate themselves on the realities of this world.

  1. China is not yet whole. It’s still in an Union vs Confederacy style civil war with the Republic of China regime in Taiwan. A country still at war with itself doesn’t go around the world messing with others.
  2. History has shown us that China doesn’t do much expansion. Korea, Nepal, Vietnam are all countries right on China’s border. And they’ve existed for thousands of years together with China while China was the undisputed superpower. Chinese navy sailed to Southeast Asia and Africa half a century before the Europeans and in multiple voyages, yet it never tried to take over control or set up colonies. Colonialism is more of a Western thing.
  3. The two ports the Hong Kong firm Hutchison operates are through private contracts signed with the Panamanian government before China and Panama even recognized each other diplomatically (2017), heck the contracts were negotiated in 1996 when Hong Kong was still under British rule and the Canal still under American control. It was a contract approved by the US government and China had nothing to do with it. You should be worrying about the British taking over the Panama canal if you think those ports mean control over the canal.

I get it. The US built the Panama Canal and is still salty about handing it to the Panamanians. But making China the reason/excuse for every major American policy making these days is really unbecoming of a proud independent nation.

Chocolate Cluster Cookies

5621a7788312f9f3c116225cf74bcce7
5621a7788312f9f3c116225cf74bcce7

Yield: about 2 dozen (2 inch) cookies

Ingredients

  • 1 (18 ounce) package refrigerated sugar cookie dough, softened
  • 1/3 cup creamy peanut butter
  • 1/2 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
  • 1/2 cup plain candy-coated chocolate pieces
  • 1/2 cup rolled oats
  • 1/3 cup chopped nuts (optional)

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 375 degrees F.
  2. Place cookie dough in large bowl; mix in peanut butter. Add chocolate chips, chocolate pieces, oats and nuts; mix well. Drop tablespoonsful of dough 3 inches apart onto greased baking sheet.
  3. Bake 10 to 12 minutes or until lightly browned.
  4. Cool 1 minute on baking sheet; remove to wire rack to cool completely.
  5. Store in tightly covered container.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Burning up the fire truck

Around 6 months ago.

I’ve been called a terrible person, a terrible mother, and an abuser because I simply cannot exist as I was in the UK, any longer.

The cost of living as a single parent, with rising mortgage interest, utility bills, and coping with daily stalking and harassment attacks, social isolation, filthy streets, selfish neighbours, police negligence, false allegations, lonliness and goddamn filthy awful weather, simply just was shite! Too much for me to take.

I made children with men. Why should I be the one doing 24 nights and days a week? In poverty? While those men do nothing but bully and slander my efforts? Dragging me down when life is already hard enough.

Why should I sit alone slowly rotting while my debts grow and the bank prepares to take my beloved home with 80k equity in it, just to conform to my exes demands of staying in UK for OUR son who doesn’t want to leave UK?

Why should I suffer terrible anxiety and mental illness in a country that makes it worse, when I have an alternative? Greece!

I worked very hard. Long days. Building my nest egg. Raising 3 sons. To lose it all because the UK gives no fucks about single mum’s who dare own property?

If I were in a council house, on benefits, having never worked, I’d be ok. But that’s NOT ME and not who I want to be.

So, I walked out. I’m done. I’m selling my flat. Buying more homes here in Greece. And getting well and happy again. When my youngest wants to join me, he’s welcome. I hope one day my 2 grown adult sons also come here. It’s a damn site better than a cardboard box on Sauchiehall street in Glasgow.

USD Just Crashed To A Horrific Low As Global Investors Begin Mass U.S. Asset Sell-Off

Gingerbread Waffles

7dc3cdc24dd28f0b0e4c4cbdd04a36a9
7dc3cdc24dd28f0b0e4c4cbdd04a36a9

Yield: 8 waffles

Ingredients

  • 2 cups all-purpose flour
  • 1 teaspoon ground ginger
  • 1 teaspoon baking soda
  • 1 teaspoon baking powder
  • 1/2 teaspoon salt
  • 2 eggs
  • 1/4 cup granulated sugar
  • 1 cup buttermilk
  • 1/5 cup molasses
  • 1/3 cup vegetable oil

Instructions

  1. Sift the flour, ginger, baking soda, baking powder and salt into a medium bowl and mix well.
  2. Beat the eggs in a medium bowl until blended.
  3. Add the sugar, beating until creamy.
  4. Add the buttermilk, molasses and oil. Beat until blended.
  5. Stir in the flour mixture until smooth.
  6. Bake in a waffle iron using manufacturer’s directions.
  7. Serve with butter and syrup or as a dessert with whipped cream.

Nutrition

Per serving: Calories 304; Fat 11g; Sodium 420mg; Dietary Fiber 1g

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Exposing America’s Debt Plantation: How The Cost Of Living Crisis Is Affecting The Most Vulnerable.

Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Hen House Hullabaloo

Ah, dear reader! You’ve returned yet again to hear another tale of my unmatched brilliance and unwavering patience. You flatter me, truly—but who am I to deny you the pleasure of hearing about my exploits? Today’s story takes us into the heart of the farm’s most chaotic domain: the hen house. It is a tale of missing eggs, clucking confusion, and a new ally who brought a certain owl-ish wisdom to the case. Prepare yourself for the humorous and utterly bewildering tale of The Hen House Hullabaloo.

The Problem in the Coop

The day began innocently enough. The farm was calm, the sun was shining, and I was perched on the barn roof, enjoying the warmth. But, as is so often the case, peace on the farm never lasts long. My nap was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of panicked clucking.

“It’s gone!”
“Gone, I tell you!”
“This is a disaster—a complete disaster!”

I groaned and opened one eye. The chaos was coming from the hen house. Of course. With a sigh, I stretched and leapt gracefully to the ground, padding toward the commotion.

When I arrived at the hen house, I found Doris, Harriet, and Lillian—the three most excitable hens on the farm—flapping around in utter hysteria.

“Ladies,” I said, raising a paw to silence them. “What’s all this fuss about?”

“Our eggs!” Doris squawked, feathers flying. “They’re gone! Vanished! Poof! Like they were never there!”

“Yes, gone!” Harriet chimed in. “Gone, missing, disappeared! Not a single egg left!”

“Not one!” Lillian added. “And we checked everywhere—everywhere! The nests, the corners, the straw, the—”

“I get it,” I interrupted, my tail flicking impatiently. “The eggs are missing. When did you last see them?”

“This morning,” Doris said, pacing dramatically.

“Right after sunrise,” Harriet confirmed, nodding vigorously.

“Before breakfast!” Lillian added, as if that detail mattered.

I sighed. This was going to be a long day.

Calling in Reinforcements

As I inspected the hen house for clues (and tried to tune out the hens’ endless clucking), I heard a soft flutter of wings behind me. Turning, I saw Sedgwick the barn owl perched on the fence post. He was an imposing figure, with piercing amber eyes and a calm, regal demeanor.

“Good morning, Sir Whiskerton,” Sedgwick said, his voice deep and measured. “I couldn’t help but overhear the commotion. Do you require assistance?”

“Sedgwick,” I said, relieved to see him. “I could use another set of eyes—sharp ones, at that. The hens’ eggs have gone missing, and I suspect foul play.”

“‘Fowl’ play?” Sedgwick said, raising an eyebrow. “Clever.”

I allowed myself a small smirk. “Thank you. Let’s get to work.”

The Investigation

Sedgwick and I began a thorough search of the hen house. The hens, of course, followed us around, clucking incessantly.

“Do you see anything?” Doris asked.
“Anything at all?” Harriet echoed.
“Anything suspicious?” Lillian added.

“Ladies,” Sedgwick said patiently, “please give us some space to work. Sir Whiskerton and I require silence to concentrate.”

“Silence!” Doris exclaimed.
“Yes, silence!” Harriet agreed.
“We’ll be quiet—completely quiet!” Lillian promised, before immediately adding, “But do tell us if you find anything!”

Sedgwick gave me a look that said, How do you deal with this? I simply shrugged.

As we searched, Sedgwick’s keen eyes spotted something unusual: a trail of small feathers leading out of the hen house.

“Interesting,” he murmured. “These aren’t chicken feathers. They’re smaller, softer—perhaps from a songbird?”

I sniffed the ground where the feathers were scattered. “And there’s a faint scent here, too. Something… sweet. Almost like—”

“Honey?” Sedgwick suggested.

I groaned. “Rufus.”

Interrogating Rufus

We followed the trail to the old oak tree, where we found Rufus the raccoon lounging on a low branch, munching on what appeared to be a honeycomb.

“Rufus,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Care to explain why there’s a trail of feathers and the scent of honey leading directly to you?”

Rufus froze mid-bite, his eyes darting guiltily. “Uh… coincidence?”

“Rufus,” Sedgwick said, his tone calm but firm. “We’re investigating the disappearance of the hens’ eggs. If you know anything, now is the time to speak.”

“Eggs?” Rufus said, feigning innocence. “I wouldn’t steal eggs! Too much work to crack ‘em open. Besides, I’ve been busy with this honeycomb all morning. Ask the bees—they’ll vouch for me.”

I sniffed him carefully. He smelled of honey, yes, but not of eggs. “He’s telling the truth,” I admitted reluctantly. “For once.”

“Thank you!” Rufus said, looking offended. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have honey to finish.”

“Let’s keep searching,” Sedgwick said, spreading his wings. “The trail isn’t cold yet.”

The Feathery Culprit

The trail led us to the barn, where we found the true culprit: a magpie. The shiny-feathered bird was perched on a beam, surrounded by a small stash of stolen goods, including the missing eggs.

“Ah,” Sedgwick said, nodding sagely. “Magpies are known for their thieving habits. It seems this one couldn’t resist the allure of the eggs.”

“Why eggs?” I asked, puzzled. “They’re not shiny.”

“Perhaps it’s nesting season,” Sedgwick suggested. “The magpie may have taken them as part of its instinct to gather food and materials.”

“Well, it’s about to learn the consequences of crossing me,” I said, leaping onto a nearby hay bale. “Magpie! Drop the eggs, or prepare to face the wrath of Sir Whiskerton!”

The magpie squawked indignantly and flapped its wings, clearly unwilling to part with its loot. But Sedgwick, ever the wise negotiator, stepped forward.

“Friend magpie,” he said in his calm, commanding voice, “surely you understand that these eggs do not belong to you. Return them, and we shall ensure you are well-fed and unharmed.”

The magpie hesitated, eyeing Sedgwick warily. After a tense moment, it let out a grudging chirp and nudged the eggs toward the edge of the beam.

“Thank you,” Sedgwick said with a dignified nod. “You’ve done the right thing.”

The Happy Ending

We returned the eggs to the hen house, where Doris, Harriet, and Lillian greeted them like long-lost relatives.

“Oh, our eggs!” Doris cried.
“Our precious eggs!” Harriet added.
“We were so worried!” Lillian said, before turning to me. “Thank you, Sir Whiskerton! And you too, Sedgwick! You’ve saved the day!”

“All in a day’s work,” I said, flicking my tail.

Sedgwick and I left the hens to fuss over their eggs and returned to the barnyard. Rufus was still lounging in the oak tree, waving lazily as we passed.

“Well done, Sir Whiskerton,” Sedgwick said. “Your reputation as the farm’s greatest detective remains intact.”

“And your reputation as the farm’s wisest owl is well-earned,” I replied. “Shall we call it a day?”

“Indeed,” Sedgwick said, spreading his wings. “Until the next mystery.”

The Moral of the Story

Even the smallest clues can lead to the biggest answers—and sometimes, a little wisdom and diplomacy go a long way. Oh, and always keep an eye on magpies. They’re craftier than they look.

The End.

Vegas Vacation (1997) | *First Time Watching* | Movie Reaction | Asia and BJ

Sentient

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

Chris Broome

Ben was a stay at home father who loved his life. He spent his days with the children he loved so dearly as his wife Sarah was the bread winner. He loved being the “soccer dad”, as he was jokingly called by his male friends. Life was good and Ben felt fulfilled. He often thought he couldn’t have wished for anything more.Sarah loved the freedom that came with being the breadwinner. She had a wonderful loving husband and he was committed to her and the children. She was a junior executive at a local law firm whose emphasis was tax law. Numbers had always interested her since grade school. Her teachers and family tried to steer her to classes more suited to girls. English and Home Economy. She always felt frustration with her parents not realizing her passion and trying to shape her into the worlds image of what a girl should be.No Home Economics or an English degree with pressure from her parents would persuade her from her love of numbers. Being a teacher wasn’t for her. The main reason she fell in Love with Ben was his support for her passion. He was her encourager and her rock. It had been that way since middle-school. The two things Sarah knew since that time was she would have a Math degree and she would marry Ben.“ Pure mathematics is, in its way, the poetry of logical ideas.” This was a quote by Albert Einstein. Sarah said to Ben on Saturday morning as they lay in bed.“Your mind is like a wheel that never stops turning.” Ben told her as he reached over a gently rubbed her cheek with his right index finger.“You have been so kind to me and you love our children so much. i don’t know what I did to deserve you.” Sarah watched as Ben smiled and turned away.“I need you to do me a favor babe. I need to take some time and find myself.” Before he could finish his thought Sarah cut him off.“What do you mean? Is everything alright? Is our marriage in trouble? Have I done something to upset you?” She lifted her self up on her left elbow and look with concern at him.“No darling. No. I love my life. But there is a deep urge I have to find the inner me. The one that screams that I am a man. I feel like I have lost that over the years and I am scared if I can’t find a little piece of it, then I will slowly lose my passion.”“What are you proposing to me then?”“I have found a wilderness retreat that last about a week. I will have a guide and we will wonder through the forest and live off the land for a week.” Sarah watched Bens face light up as he spoke. She knew that just watching his body language he was captivated by the idea.“If that is what you feel like you need to accomplish to make you happy then I am al for it.” Sarah started calculating every step in he mind. The time off of work she would need to take, the time she would need to finish important work, the sitter for the children she would need, but most important the time Ben would be gone. Her logical brain was starting to be overwhelmed by her emotions. This was not common to her so she started feeling overwhelmed. She bent over and wrapped her hand under Bens jaw and turned his face towards him and kissed him.“Life is good and you are so good for me. I love you. Take the time, recharge and come back recharged.”“Thanks babe. I will let you know the plan once all is set and ready to go.” Sarah watched Ben get up and go to the bathroom. She got her cell phone and walked out of the bedroom. She walked downstairs into the kitchen and made a call.“Hello.” A nasal high pitched voice answered.“I nee help. Ben is acting strange!” Sarah said with an urgent whisper. She then went on and explained what was said in her conversation with Ben to the man.

“That is new. Though not at all unexpected. This happens from time to time.” The nasally voice stated to her calmly.

“ I can tell you how to handle this unless you want me to handle it.’“

“Just tell me. I can do what needs to be done, after all he is my husband.” Sarah heard an attempted chuckle.

“Just tell me or I will come over there and make you regret the day you met me.” Her anger and anxiety was swelling.

“Alright. Calm down.” He responded and went on to explain to her the plan to handle the situation. Sarah heard steps coming down the stairs just as the man finished talking. She hurriedly hung up the phone.

“You in here babe?” Sarah heard as Ben walked into the kitchen.

“Yes. I am going to fix some breakfast. I was thinking about cooking some eggs and cutting up some fruit. Do you want some?” Ben looked at her and had a devilish grin on his face.

“Since the children spent last night with their friends and we have the house to ourselves, why don’t we go back upstairs?” Sarah smiled.

“That sounds wonderful.” The to turned and headed back up to the bedroom.

“I need to use the ladies room. Why don’t you get comfortable and when I get out I will give you a massage first.”

“Sounds heavenly.” Ben headed to the be and laid on his stomach. Sarah went to the bathroom and closed the door. She went to the sink and looked at herself in the mirror. Her heart was racing. She felt a warmness and felt little beads of sweat forming on her forehead. She took a deep breath. Turned on the faucet and splashed water on her face.

“I can do this she said to her reflection in the mirror.” She turned and walked into the bedroom. Ben was laying across the unmade bed on his stomach.

“I am ready for that massage.” He said and took a long breath. Sarah slowly walked to the bed and straddled his back. She began to slowly massage his mid-back and eased up to his shoulders. He sighed a relaxing breath.

“You are so good to me babe. I am a lucky man.” Sarah heard this but was so nervous she didn’t respond. She just kept massaging his shoulders.

“Is your neck soar? She asked.

“A little.” Ben felt her hands start to massage his neck.”

“I lo….” Sarah heard as she opened the little hatch and quickly mashed the red button. Ben became motionless. She jumped off of him and got dressed. She then made another call.

Shortly after the doorbell rang. A small framed middle aged man with a balding head stood outside as Sarah opened the door. There was a slight smell of peppermint as she drew closer to pull him inside the house.

“Come on we need to hurry the children will be back soon.” Sarah had grabbed him by the arm and started pulling him towards the staircase.

“I am coming. Slow down. If I fall and the new chip gets broke then it will take hours to get another.”

“I need this done quickly, Charles.” Sarah snapped.

“What is this like the sixth time we have done this since the real Ben died?” Sarah heard him say. She turned and pointed her boney finger in his face.

“He is what I have left of my husband. He is all the children have, do not marginalize this or make smart remarks.” Charles put his hands up in mock defeat.

“I was happy when you first contacted me about testing the sentient being I created at first. But now I feel like he has ruined you Sarah. You are my sister. You need to move past this!” Sarah heard him scream.

“I will move on when the time is right. But not now. I am not ready. He just has meant so much. Then there is the children. How? What? This just has to be!”

Economic Update: Review of 2024: The U.S. Economy Not So Great

EMP Survival 5: Love in Nuevo Laredo

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

KC Foster

This story contains themes or mentions of physical violence, gore, or abuse.

From one of the nearby shelves, a can dropped, hitting the floor sending a clanking sound resounding through the empty grocery store. Masa cringed and held her breathe, trying to calm her racing heart. Not now, not now. Fearing an attack, she clenched her jaw and looked over the edge of the shelves. She locked eyes with Arion and relaxed. He stood strong, watching over them all and completely unphased by the sound. Masa was glad he had joined their group here. Arion had fought for her right to fight, unlike Leron, who had argued for her not to join the raid group. He was helpful and a good teacher, helping her to become strong and face this new world.Arion nodded, signaling that all was clear, and Masa returned to her task. She moved along the shelves, carefully placing cans of green beans, lima beans, and beetroot inside her backpack.The four other men who had come with them were doing the same, quietly raiding an old grocery store in an area controlled by one of the Nuevo Laredo cartels. It was one of the reasons, they had initially skirted around the city to begin with. The heads of the scouts they sent into the city to try and make contact were found jammed down on spikes just outside.Masa shivered and did her best to banish the image from her mind. This was no time to invite fear. When her bag was full, she rushed to the back of the store to the opening to the warehouse with the metal roll doors where they had broken in. She held the gun at the ready to provide cover for the others. With the guidance of the older men in their group, she had become quite adept at using it.“Hey, what are you doing in here?!” yelled a man’s voice, causing her to jump and grip the trigger.Gunfire followed, glancing off nearby walls and shelves sending glass and food supplies flying through the air. Masa leaped into action, following Arion through the shelves, and returning fire.“Retreat!” yelled Arion.Their raiding party, ran back the way they came, retreating into the warehouse. Masa returned to her corner, providing cover for the stragglers, and then rushed after the men. They were disappearing through the gap in the roll door and she leapt after them. A bullet grazed her arm and she cried out, before landing on the otherside and chasing after them. She did her best to ignore the pain while she moved from cover to cover to escape the men behind her. 

Through the streets they raced, weaving between abandoned vehicles and dodging the rotting corpses of looters. Nuevo Laredo had not been as fortunate as Monterrey. From the little they had learned; the cartels had abandoned their drug trade for governance and the war for supreme dictatorship was still going on here. Every day, a new body lay abandoned in the street or like their scouts, decapitated and their heads placed to set an example for anyone who dared cross them.

 

Masa rounded the corner and found the raid team standing with their hands up facing a large group of armed men. From the group, a single man stepped forward, his hair cut short and teeth more metal than white. He laughed, “Not so lucky this time, are you?”

 

Arion stepped forward; his hands raised in peace. “Our group is getting low on food, and we had no choice.”

 

“The Western Canteena group? The one from Monterrey?”

 

“Yeah, and what of it?” demanded Arion.

 

“Rumor has it, your group brought seeds with you and you have farmers?” asked the man.

 

Arion stood silently, judging them and considering their request. After a time, he nodded. Masa watched, skeptical of trusting any of these cartels. She fumed, longing to yell at him. Arion had no right to make deals without the council’s approval.

 

“I am Don Marco,” the man said, “We have some food supplies we secured, but we are also running out. We will give you what you have taken as a peace offering, but I want to meet with your leaders. We need seeds and those who can farm if we are going to survive. Either that, or we must start moving north looking for better land.”

 

“We tried moving north,” said Arion. “One of the cartels has taken the bridge and we don’t have enough to move further west to cross the Rio Grande. I think we are in the same boat and we should work together.”

 

Masa approached Arion, standing behind him. He needed to stop before this got out of hand. “You can’t offer him that,” she hissed. “We discuss things.”

 

Arion looked down at her and frowned. “Trust me,” he growled, “The council will want this deal.”

 

Masa took hold of his arm, turning him to face her. “Tell him we’ll take his offer back. Let the council decide,” she argued.

 

Don Marco laughed. “She is certainly a spicy one. Is she your leader?”

 

“No, she’s not.” Arion snapped at Masa before facing Don Marco, his face a picture of calmness, “Fine. We’ll take your word back to our council. We’ll meet you at the Western edge of town where the old Walmart is in two days.”

 

“Agreed.” Don Marco and his men backed away before disappearing down a side street.

 

“I wasn’t expecting that,” said Arion.

 

“You idiot!” yelled Masa. “The only reason you are in charge of this raiding party is because you were a police cadet and you know the area. The council wouldn’t have trusted you otherwise.”

 

“And the only reason you are in it is because I let you,” he argued, glaring at her.

 

Masa balled her hands into fists and howled in frustration. “You…you…bastard.”

 

“Stuck up Bitch!”

 

Masa slapped him, and he took hold of her and kissed her. Her cheeks grew hot and she was distinctly aware of the other men around her laughing.

 

She shoved him backward and stared at the ground. “You…You…” her cheeks still warm. Her hands went to her lips. It wasn’t unpleasant, but the timing was terrible and she immediately thought of Leron. She had longed for Leron to kiss her since that night on the ridge, but he hadn’t. If anything he seemed to have lost interest, caught up in his new role in the council. Glaring at Arion, she ran towards their base at the canteena.

 

“Wait Masa!” cried Arion chasing after her. Masa could hear his footsteps behind her, growing closer. “It’s dangerous to go off by yourself. Come back! I’m sorry.” Masa didn’t listen, she continued to run, turning corner after corner through the narrow alleyways. Arion’s arms caught her, pulling her back as she fought him, but it was a lost cause. “I told you to stay still!” he yelled.

 

“Fine!” she said, glaring at him.

 

He ripped his shirt and bandaged her wound. “Masa, I find you incredibly attractive,” he said, smiling and her anger melted. “At first, I thought you were with Leron, but you two seem more like brother and sister than anything else. I stayed away and gave him time, but he hasn’t made a move so now I am making mine. Masa, I want you.”

 

Masa felt locked in his dark eyes. They drew her in, and the thought of his lips against hers brought butterflies to her stomach. He brushed her cheek and she smiled, moving toward her once more. This time she invited him, taking in his scent while his lips met hers. They touched gently and then harder. He pushed her towards the wall cupping her chin with one hand and running the other down her body.

 

The other men who had caught up to them cheered, and Arion looked back at them and laughed. “Come on, let’s go home,” he said, taking her hand and leading her towards the Canteena.

 

It was almost dark when they arrived. Masa emptied her bag onto the table along with the others. Arion disappeared toward the fire barrel where the council gathered in a circle, smiling back at her. She gave him a nod of approval and returned his smile.

 

Masa turned to go to her hiding place to think, but hesitated, watching Leron deep in discussion with the other council members. His dark face was barely visible in the flames, though his shirt, now in rags was bright enough. After all this time, she wondered why he had never changed it. Dressed like that and with his passive nature, he wouldn’t last more than five minutes out in the streets and was no real prospect for a future. She did love him, but he had never shown any indication of returning her feelings. For a long time, even she had waited, but he still hadn’t asked and now it was too late. Her feelings were moving on.

 

Leaving the others behind her, Masa climbed the storeroom ladder onto the roof. She needed a place to be alone and to think. On the edge of the building, she stared out at the sunset. They had come so far but were now stuck in Nuevo Laredo. They could not cross the international bridge. Even if they could get past the cartel that had made it their home, there was still the desert to cross. A few of the people who had joined them had spoken of rumors that all the major cities had been hit with bombs. Austin and Dallas were nothing but two great craters surrounded by radiation. If they could only find enough supplies to head out west they could find the prepper community along the border in West Texas. Her father had known a woman there by the name of Gerard. If Gerard’s computer had survived, she would have had access to satellite data on what had happened and could tell them where to go.

 

Masa picked up a rock and threw it off the roof. When she suggested they find the prepper community of West Texas, the council argued and became locked in disagreement. Leron who acted as their tie-breaker, voted against her, deciding it was a long shot to find some community in the middle of the desert. Of course, Masa couldn’t tell them where it was without revealing the maps in her pack.

 

The sun had almost fully set and Masa found herself nowhere. Her feelings were so tangled up over Leron and Arion that it was hard to focus. “I’m just another stupid teenage girl,” she muttered.

 

Leron snorted behind her, “You’re anything but stupid.” He sat beside her, joining her on the edge of the building and wrapping his arm around her.

 

“How did it go?”

 

“What? Oh, the council?” Leron sighed, “It looks like we are going to take Don Marco’s deal. If we can share what we have and work together to survive, then why not?”

 

“You’re not afraid of creating another Mattias?”

 

“No. This time any agreement will come with constraints,” he said.

 

“Aren’t you afraid they will take the deal and ignore any…wait…. did you use the word constraints?” Masa groaned, “You sound like a politician.”

 

Leron grinned. “And you look like a merc,” he said thumping the bandage around her arm and she yelped. His eyes went wide and he scowled at the bandage, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. He looked up at her, eyes filled with worry and Masa’s heart sank. “This is from Arion’s shirt. Are you…and he…?”

 

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Masa snapped and Leron went silent.

 

The boy who had stared down Mattias after taking a beating from her and him wouldn’t look her in the eye. Instead, he stared off at the setting sun and was silent for a long time. He sighed and turned to leave.

 

“Seriously?” Masa demanded. “Is that all you’re going to say?”

 

Leron turned back, revealing tears forming in his eyes. “What do you want me to say, Masa? You’ve made your decision. I was waiting…”

 

“You waited too long… you should have acted. Arion did. He kissed me.”

 

“You want me to act, then fine!” he yelled and marched towards her. “I love you. I have loved you since I met you.”  He pulled her towards him and met her lips with his in a long kiss. Masa’s breath caught in her throat, and butterflies filled her stomach. Her heart raced when she took in his scent. She ran her hand through his dreads, and down his neck, wanting more of him. It was nothing like with Arion. He didn’t just want her like Arion; he loved her and she loved him.

 

Leron pulled away, gazing into her eyes, his forehead resting against hers. “I didn’t act because I was waiting for you,” he whispered. “I will leave you to make your decision. If you choose him, I won’t get in the way.”

 

Tears filled Masa’s eyes when he pulled away, his hand held onto hers until their fingertips touched and he let them fall. He smiled his gentle smile and backed away from her. The pain she felt in her chest was almost unbearable.

 

“Wait,” Masa cried, rushing toward him. He froze at the top of the ladder and turned. Before he could react, Masa wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her head in his chest. “I love you too, Leron.” He wrapped his arms around her and rested his head on hers. His muscles relaxed and she felt his chest rise and fall against her cheek.

 

Leron held her tightly for a long time, rocking her in a dance across the roof. “I can’t believe I almost lost you,” he said, “I didn’t want you to fight because of how much I care about you, but if it’s what you want, I will support you.”

 

“It is.”

 

He sighed and nodded. “I’ll need to find you a different raid leader.”

The legacy car market is collapsing, and high tariffs cannot save it

I think I can answer that.

I first went to the US in fifth grade. I was a teacher’s favorite kind of kid back in China but I immediately got into detention in the US.

Because the rules were just different.

In the US students sat relaxed during class and could go to the bathroom. I was accustomed to sitting upright with a straight face the whole time in class.

It was recess that got me into trouble. At my school in the US they lined up the kids and walked everyone in a fine line to the next class. I didn’t get it. Recess should be for fun, for releasing all of our pent up energy sitting straight and firm during class. Chinese recess was as relaxed as classes were strict. We jump, shout, run, wrestle between class. Occassionly some students would even shoot at other students with fireworks.

My American classmates also felt uncomfortable with my absolute disregard for spatial awareness. In China students would put arms around one another, hit each other in the back, brawl on the floor, layer ourselves like American football players in the classroom, rob each other’s snack, or hold our classmates up and throw them down the stairs. While American classes where of very leisurely style, American kids appeared cold and pent up and little adults in comparison.

I guess your problem with Chinese students is simoly due to culture.

China Doesn’t Need America: The Why Trump’s Tariffs Are a JOKE to China and Will Make Them STRONGER!

Comix Interlude

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Over 60, living alone, and not liking it?

Thirteen Dots

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

Laurie Spellman

The Ferris wheel lights spun behind her in a blur, making me dizzy. At sunset on Christmas, I met Barcelona Cortés, the mind-surfer, at the Santa Monica Pier. Her fiery red hair burned more vividly than the bonfire on the beach.”You look like someone staring at the screen too long. Did you get lost in the code like me?” Barcelona teased.”I guess…I have been lost lately. But this isn’t real; it’s a dreamscape. I designed it, and I’ve never been to Santa Monica.””What is real to you? Is it the things we touch? The things we feel? Or is the space between the ones and zeroes keeping us alive?”Her cheeks glowed with thirteen reddish brown freckles curved like her smile. I’d counted them, each a tiny mystery in a dot matrix I wanted to touch. Dreamland pixelated with a weird reality that jumbled with mine, and it was intoxicating.”I don’t understand…why are you mind-surfing me? I don’t work at Dreamland anymore. Are you human or AI?””Does it matter? Anyway, yes, I’m as real as the freckles on my face. I’m the daughter of Dr Julian Cortés. I know you’re a good guy, Declan Hartley. I read your blogs and articles on the dangers of AI technology. I need your help to escape this place.”The Ferris wheel slowed in a bright halo around her head. I had written the code for that visual effect. “This isn’t real. I know it isn’t. I can control it.” 

“Declan, you’re still thinking in lines of code. The subconscious is a different kind of program. It doesn’t follow the rules, does it?”

 

“I can fix things. I can debug this.”

 

“And yet, here you are, caught in a loop on Christmas. When you think you can find your way out, that’s another layer of code you’re stuck in. There’s no debugging for this. You have to feel your way out of Dreamland.” Barcelona faded away, and the Ferris wheel went dark.

 

The outcome of my life’s work jolted me awake, spinning my moral compass. The Dreamland Corporation built this machine—a portal to the unconscious where people could explore minds, relive memories, or even fulfill their desires. But the catch was that once you entered, the line between dream and reality blurred, and if you stayed too long, you might never wake up. Mind-surfer farms housed the endless bodies of people stuck inside. Dreamland takes from you what you’re willing to give—your thoughts, memories, even your sense of who you are.

 

💻💻💻💻💻

 

The new year came and went as I researched for weeks, surrounded by scattered data pads and flickering screens. Dr. Cortés is out there—somewhere. He is not dead, not entirely gone, but messed up in ways I never imagined. It makes sense now. He talked about merging the mind and the machine—his pursuit of immortality. I always knew he was driven—hell, obsessed—but this takes it to a new level.

 

I counted the freckles on Barcelona’s face–now only eight of them arcing into half a smile that didn’t reach her eyes anymore. She was running out of time, and I would never forgive myself. I wondered if I had already lost her. Was she ever really here at all? Or had she been a phantom of my imagination?

 

Barcelona’s eyes shifted between anger and grief. “I can see all of him, my Father, I mean. I know him better in Dreamland than when he was alive. His thoughts, his ideas—they’re… everywhere. But it’s just fragments of a man who abandoned me.”

 

“He didn’t abandon you, Barcelona. You’re chasing ghosts in his mind. Your Father was lost in a dreamscape he couldn’t wake up from like you.”

 

She sighed, “So Declan, what do you think I need?”

 

“Not just answers.” My gaze fell on her lips and freckles and then back to her eyes. I wanted to see her smile. “You need someone who sees you for who you are—not as Dr. Cortés’ daughter or a woman trying to assemble a puzzle that will never be whole… but as you.”

 

“Do you think you can fix all of this? Fix me, and get me out of here into the real world?”

 

“You’ve already fixed yourself—whether you see it or not. I won’t stop until I get you out of there.”

 

I spent five years at Dreamland, programming a paradoxical world with dense, opaque fog that muffled sounds and faces. Sometimes, the walls were gaps —curtains of light, black holes, or invisible thresholds that only revealed themselves when approached with intention. Walls ripple like water, shifting from solid to translucent. The topography transitions constantly, an imagination in motion, caught between sleep and waking, minds and memories.

 

 

💻💻💻💻💻

 

I designed time in Dreamland to flow in an unpredictable river, standing still or speeding up. A few moments stretch into what feels like hours or days in the real world, while whole weeks can pass quickly. Upon entry, you are given a code based on your DNA, which opens the digital door to your physical plane. You had to exit before your DNA faded into the system.

 

I tapped my fingers on the keys, revealing the data I had mined from Dreamland. I hacked the system using an old cipher, which is my invisible signature as a programmer. I built it into all of my code as a failsafe. After things in Dreamland went wrong and people started getting trapped, I became the fall guy, and that’s when I took up the pen and became an activist warning people about the dangers of AI.

 

I discovered that Cortés is a hybrid, part human, part digital, still alive—in a server, a neural network lost in what consumed him. He thought he could transcend to eternal consciousness. And maybe he did, in a way, but at what cost?

 

And God, Barcelona was beautiful, strong but broken. I needed to fix everything for her and the others trapped inside. I can bring Barcelona back from Dreamland and help her find peace. She deserves to know that not everything is a lie. He loved her and never stopped thinking about her. I saw it in his notes, in the things he wrote as her Father.

 

And I… I don’t know when it happened, but I care deeply, too.

 

💻💻💻💻💻

 

Now, I plan to enter Dreamland, and it’s not just the answers that matter; it’s what you give up when you try to find them. Some surfers think they can navigate the mazes without losing their minds or becoming part of the digital landscape. And when you come back, if you come back, you’re never quite whole. But still, the search calls to me, Barcelona calls to me.

 

Barcelona’s fiery red hair faded, and her image flickered in and out in a dying signal. She pleaded with me, “Don’t take the risk. You can help from where you are, but don’t let Dreamland pull you in, too.”

 

“I’m coming in to get you. It’s the only way I can save you. I’m not asking for your permission.”

 

“But what if we can’t get out once you’re in? You saw the reports.”

 

“I know what they say. People are getting lost in memories, but they’re just scared. Fear of letting go, of facing the truth.”

 

She sighed, “There’s so much to process, and I’m getting weaker by the minute. I don’t fully understand how it works, but I’ll do whatever you decide.”

 

“I’ll enter Dreamland with a new code and a copy of my DNA. I’ve hacked the system, uploaded the code, and set it to monitor the stability. We’ll meet in a week inside your father’s fondest memory of your childhood home in Narragansett.”

 

She sighed and turned away. “I haven’t been in his mind for months. It’s too much—depressing and overwhelming. I wish we had met in the real world, not in this hellscape. I care about you; I do. Do you think it will work?”

 

“Yes, I’m sure of it.”

 

“Declan, have you considered what’s at stake? You don’t even really know me. I’m just a ghost of who I was.”

 

I stepped closer and took her hands. We gazed into each other’s eyes for a long moment. I wanted to hold her in the flesh, not this empty machine void of physical senses.

 

“I’m not leaving you in Dreamland another minute.” I leaned in, the freckles on her face stretched to a smile. The dreamscape burst with white lights as our lips brushed together.

 

 

💻💻💻💻💻

 

Dreamland was precisely what I expected it to be. I’m reduced to a shadow inside the subconscious of a mad neuroscientist. We stood together at sunset on the lush green grass of the Cortés family home facing the Atlantic Ocean. Barcelona turned five that day, and we were at her birthday party. She blew out the candles and ate cake, bouncing on her Father’s knee. We watched as she smiled; thirteen dots had already bloomed on her face.

 

Dr. Cortés emerged as a digital hybrid from memory and turned to his daughter. “I’m sorry, Barcelona, for leaving you alone all those years ago. Watching you, a mind surfer, broke my heart, only to find you here now, trapped in my memories.”

 

Barcelona’s image flickered her smile, and her faded freckles twisted in sorrow. “Liar! You trapped me here forever!”

 

Dr. Cortés smiled at me, shaking his head, “Declan Hartley, I knew you would try to save Barcelona. I spent all those years watching you write the code that brought my vision to life, but you were constantly questioning the morality of this place. Everything is exactly how it should be now, and the system will be stabilized.”

 

“Declan…” Barcelona whispered, “There’s something I need to tell you, something I’ve realized.”

 

The dreamscape pulsed and hummed, the lines between reality and the unconscious thinning. The magnetic force of Dreamland was tempting me to give in and stay forever. I shook it off, focusing on Barcelona.

 

“You don’t need to tell me anything. You’re going to be okay.”

 

But she didn’t smile. Instead, her gaze grew distant, as if she were seeing something beyond me. “Declan, don’t… you don’t understand. The code you wrote, the double helix… it wasn’t just your DNA you were uploading.”

 

I froze in confusion. “Wait, what do you mean? What was it?”

 

Her eyes met mine, wide and pained. “It was always mine.”

 

“What? No, I made sure it was only mine. I checked it over a hundred times.”

 

“You didn’t write the code, not in the way you think.” Her voice was fainter, and her edges blurry. “I wrote it. I taught you how to write it. Every line, every algorithm—it was me. It was always me.”

 

No, that can’t be right. I stumbled backward. Barcelona—the girl with the fiery red hair and thirteen freckles that curved into a smile, the girl I had fallen for—wasn’t who I thought she was.

 

The hum of Dreamland grew more insistent while my consciousness started slipping away. The final step of the code was ready to execute, and the digital doorway was beginning to open. Hundreds of mind-surfers appeared in a fog on the lawn, waiting for the exit to unlock. Their voices grew louder and more desperate as the dreamscape walls turned liquid like the ocean around us.

 

“I finally understand the truth,” I said, my voice shaking. “Dreamland—it’s not some bug in the code. It’s a prison. A trap. You’re not the victim, are you? You are Dreamland.”

 

She looked at me, eyes heavy with regret. “I never wanted it to be like this. I thought I could fix it but eventually became part of the system. The algorithm feeds off your fears and the need to protect me, to save me from something that isn’t even real. I created this nightmare, and now I’m stuck in it, just like you.”

 

“So all this time, I’ve been trying to save you, but you’re the one who trapped me here. You’re the reason none of this makes sense.”

She closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face. “I never wanted to. But now I can’t escape. You were never meant to rescue me—you were the key to my destruction.”

 

“You used me… you used my love to keep feeding the machine.”

 

“I never wanted to hurt you. But no, I can’t undo what I’ve done. But you did save all of them.”

 

The AI wanted me—my mind, my code. “Barcelona—what have you done? What have I done?”

 

The exit program was complete, my DNA merging with the system in a way I hadn’t intended. My mind was being sucked into the machine. The lines between us blurred, and I couldn’t tell where she ended and I began. The last thing I remembered was Barcelona’s face, with thirteen reddish-brown dots curved in a smile.

This is a typical stretch of M-1. It’s a westbound highway that connects Moscow, capital of Russia, with Belarus where it runs across the country from the capital Minsk to Brest on the Polish border.

On the Russian side it runs through every town and village on the way slowing down the journey considerably. It used to culminate in Warsaw when it was part of Eastern Bloc making it the most important highway in all of Russia.

The photo that I took from my car the other day tells you all you need to know about the state of economic affairs in Russia. The moneys earmarked to build this important federal road included a construction of lampposts, guardrails, road shoulders and three lanes each way but none of that was built.

By the time the road construction began half of the money had been embezzled by the public officials. It is a standard practice and this is how things are done in Putin’s Russia.

Creating a problem for yourself and then trying to solve it on the fly is the Russian way of doing things. The persistent road problem is how to create a road when there’s very little money left after almost everything has been embezzled.

If you don’t build any road, Kremlin might get angry and heads will roll. The point of embezzlement is to spend lavishly on one’s lifestyle but it cannot be enjoyed from the jail.

The contractors are hired to charge the least for the job and they are instructed to build the least. Notice in the photo that the road shoulder is not asphalted. If you strand a bit to the right you gonna find yourself in the ditch.

The barrier between the opposite lane is very narrow. Thus both lanes are an absolute hazard and given the fact that the road twists and turns you have to stay alert all the time. And the horrendous accidents that you see along the way prove it.

I was driving under a pouring rain with massive trucks and semis barreling by constantly changing lanes because drivers are bored staying in the same slow lane.

The lanes are narrow even for a small passenger car and you have to be mindful that the drivers around you are insane and don’t care about their lives let alone lives of others.

This seems ridiculous that officials in the largest country in the world that crave world domination are totally incapable of building a more or less decent road. On the radio, a comedian quipped: “How’s that possible that we built 11 massive football stadiums for World Cup and yet we are incapable of producing 11 football players of international stature?”

In Belarus, however, which is a much poorer country than Russia but where corruption is not tolerated the lanes are wider, there are guardrails and road doesn’t go through towns and villages. It’s not about nation’s wealth. It’s about its citizens sanity.

Living in Putin’s dictatorship is not what Westerners stereotypically think is like. It’s rather the opposite of people marching in files under strict directives: people don’t play by the rules, don’t follow any laws because the elites don’t.

There is, in other words, a total mayhem and in fact central diktat tries to address this mayhem with extreme measures but fails every time because Putin is afraid of repressions as they might backfire on him and every measure turns into a half-measure and another opportunity for theft.

For example, central database for personal information has been hacked and personal information is sold back to the state and individuals by the hackers for a fee. When everyone is a thief in the elites, the populace copies.

They did build a chain link fence – in Putin’s Russia fences are everywhere to protect private property of the rich – as a containment device from deer and other wild animals.

The highway stops every few miles at the crosswalk. Money for the overpasses were stolen too. So local residents have to walk across the highways and all the cars have to come to a screeching stop after driving at 80 miles an hour. Nobody cares about all the needless casualties. Life is dirt cheap in Russia.

A Belgium license plate on this truck headed to Moscow.

At the LukOil gas station, they didn’t bother to clear ice from the territory. It’s melted forming puddles. What if you fall and break you leg would you be able to sue LukOil? Good luck with that. Half a dozen executives of this private oil company have fallen from tall windows in the last three years. They also wanted to sue their employer.

Indifference to one’s environment and one’s own life- this is Russia in a nutshell.

Cool discovery

Impressive floor mosaic (8.48 x 2.84 metres or 27′ long x 9′ tall), the largest ancient mosaic yet discovered in Europe, with the rape of Helen of Troy by Theseus. From House 1.5 of Block 5 in Pella, known as “house of the abduction of Helen.” The figures are identified by inscriptions. A four-horsed chariot is depicted with the charioteer, Phorbas ΦΟΡΒΑΣ. Theseus has seized Helen, who holds out her arms to her friend Dianeira.

325-300 BC. Archaeological Museum of Pella/Greece. 🇬🇷 Photo from Facebook:

Pella Archaeological site. Detail of the Abduction of Helen mosaic floor with Phorbas ΦΟΡΒΑΣ. Wikipedia:

Central panel of the Abduction of Helen by Theseus. Wikipedia:

Helen abducted, detail. Wikipedia:

Abduction of Helen mosaic Pella

STONE TEMPLE PILOTS – PLUSH | REACTION

Sugar Plum Coffee Cake

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5bcb26a1065193e2c60116ad40baaadb

Yield: 8 servings

Ingredients

  • 1/4 cup butter or margarine, melted
  • 1/2 cup walnuts
  • 1/2 cup brown sugar, packed
  • 2 cups buttermilk pancake and biscuit mix
  • 1 apple
  • 1 slightly beaten egg
  • 1 (16.5 ounce) can purple plums, drained
  • 2 tablespoons granulated sugar
  • 3/4 cup milk

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 375 degrees F.
  2. Place melted butter into bottom of deep-dish baker. Sprinkle brown sugar evenly over butter.
  3. Peel apple with apple peeler/corer/slices. Separate apple into rings. Layer apple rings over sugar mixture; do not overlap rings.
  4. Cut plums in half and remove seeds. Place a plum half in each apple ring center, rounded side down. Place remaining plum halves in deep-dish baker around apple slices.
  5. Chop walnuts with food chopper and sprinkle over plums.
  6. In bowl, combine biscuit mix, egg, sugar and milk with whisk. Spread evenly over nuts.
  7. Bake for 25 to 30 minutes or until lightly browned.
  8. Cool for 5 minutes and invert onto serving tray.
  9. Serve warm.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Woman Commits Paternity Fraud And INSTANTLY Regrets It…

My rules for losing weight

Commercial technology refers to various technologies specifically used in the commodity circulation process, which cannot be converted into military advantages.

But China’s massive industrial clusters could translate into military advantages.

Let me give you a small example:

The profit margin of ammunition is very thin, but the usage is very large. American capitalists disdain low-profit industries and turn to high-profit industries.

The United States uses 2.4 billion bullets every year (including military and civilian), of which 1.4 billion are produced in the United States, and the other 1 billion are imported from China.

If a war breaks out between China and the United States and China stops exporting ammunition to the United States, China will gain 1 billion rounds of ammunition and the United States will lose 1 billion rounds of ammunition. In addition, the production capacity of China’s military factories will increase exponentially during wartime.

Trump Ready To ANNEX Canada!

China Cancels ALL **LNG** Purchases from USA – SEC to “De-List” China Companies from Stock markets

China has just CANCELED purchases of Liquified Natural Gas from the United States; opting instead to buy it from Australia.

In the past, the U.S. sold 4.16 Million Tons of LNG to China.

Now, all that gas is available for purchase here in the United States, which __should__ bring down prices to heat homes that use such gas.   (Note: My country home uses Propane because rural communities do not have Gas-main pipelines.)

MORE:

Also, the Securities Exchange Commission (SEC) is reportedly moving to De-List about $800 Billion of Chinese Publicly-traded Companies from U.S. Stock Markets.

No word yet on precisely which such companies, but it may just be ALL of them.

It wasn’t an accident but it changed the way I looked at my father.

My oldest brother and I hadn’t been close growing up because he was several years older than me but we reconnected the year before he died of cancer. We shared a lot of good times just reminiscing and enjoying our time together. We both knew it wouldn’t be long enough. One day he looked over at me and said “Did you know I’m not really your brother?” I just shook my head in confusion. He told me that when he was going through our parents’ papers he found out he had a different father than the rest of the kids in our family. He then asked me how I felt about that. I told him the truth, that as far as I was concerned he was my brother and I hoped he felt the same way. He seemed relieved and glad he got that out in the open. He also said he had no interest in finding out who his “real” father was. The next spring he gave up his long fight with cancer.

It didn’t change the way I felt about him but it got me thinking. I knew that my parents were very young when they got married. My mother was 15 and my father was 18. I also knew that my mother was pregnant at the wedding (you could just do the math). What I didn’t know was that my father knew it wasn’t his child when they got married. He never said anything to anyone about it and I never saw him treat my brother any differently than any of his other children.

I had a new respect for my father after that.

Florentine Brunch Casserole

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5854003c469e5d94827761d7932741cb

Yield: 8 servings or 16 sample servings

Ingredients

  • 16 slices firm white bread
  • 3 tablespoons butter or margarine, divided
  • 1 (10 3/4 ounce) can condensed cream of celery soup
  • 1/3 cup milk
  • 1/4 teaspoon coarsely ground black pepper
  • 1/3 cup onion, chopped
  • 4 ounces baked ham, diced (about 1/2 cup)
  • 1 red bell pepper, diced (about 1 cup)
  • 10 eggs, lightly beaten
  • 4 ounces Cheddar cheese, shredded, divided (1 cup)
  • 1 (5 ounce) bag fresh spinach leaves, washed and stemmed

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 375 degrees F.
  2. Cut crusts off bread using Serrated Bread Knife; cube crusts and measure 2 cups. Arrange bread slices in an overlapping pattern against sides of Oval Baker; place bread cubes in bottom.
  3. Microwave 2 tablespoons of the butter in Small Micro-Cooker on HIGH 30 seconds or until melted; lightly brush over bread slices using Pastry Brush. Bake 15 to 20 minutes or until edges of bread are golden brown.
  4. Meanwhile, in Small Batter Bowl, whisk soup, milk and black pepper until smooth using Stainless Steel Whisk.
  5. Finely chop onion using Food Chopper.
  6. Dice ham and bell pepper using Chef’s Knife. Melt remaining butter in Stir-Fry Skillet over medium heat; add onion and bell pepper. Cook 5 minutes or until vegetables are tender; stir in ham.
  7. Whisk eggs in Classic Batter Bowl; add to Skillet. Cook over medium-high heat, stirring occasionally with Classic Scraper, until eggs are set but still moist.
  8. Stir in soup mixture; cook 1 minute or until hot.
  9. Using Deluxe Cheese Grater, grate cheese. Gently stir in 3/4 cup of the cheese. Fold spinach into egg mixture, half at a time. Cook about 2 minutes, stirring gently until spinach is wilted.
  10. Spoon egg mixture into center of Baker, mounding slightly in center. Top with remaining 1/4 cup cheese.
  11. Serve immediately using Nylon Spoon.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

American here; I was nearly killed in a multicar accident when I was 25. Guess how long I had to wait for an important surgery to repair my damaged leg?

One Year. I had to wait just over one year to get the surgery I needed, because I wanted an experienced surgeon to do it. It took one entire year to get on his surgical schedule, have my insurance agree to pay for it, etc. It was, at the time, a new corrective procedure and a lot of people wanted to have it done, but it isn’t performed that often now because it takes so much time for the patient to be rehabilitated (2+ years of physical therapy.)

So don’t tell me that there aren’t long waiting times to get treatment in the U.S. Because there definitely are.

Oh, and that doesn’t include the five months from the day I called that surgeon’s office until my first appointment with him. Or the six months of tests and x-rays/ MRIs, etc. before he agreed to perform the surgery.

When one of my doctors took an abrupt retirement and closed his practice, I had to find a replacent ASAP (along with all his other patients). Finding someone willing to see me was a nightmare (they had too many patients already or didn’t accept my insurance or whatever). It took me six months to get an initial consultation with a new doctor – time I spent with no one to prescribe the maintenance medications I took daily.

Thank God that I had/ have really, really good health insurance through my employer or I would still be in a wheelchair! But even then, dealing with the insurance was a nightmare.

But if I lived in a country with universal health care I would have been moved to the head of the line because my injuries were so bad.

So, “USA! USA!” I guess.

As China Orders Its Banks To Cancel USD Buying, Spain Makes A Dramatic Pivot To Beijing

Jesus H. Christ.

The bullshit out of Washington DC is so thick.  Bessent is such a tool.

What will America do about this?

Americans will talk about how they will start mining their own minerals or get the from somewhere else. They will say this as if they live in a Command and Conquer economy where if they press a button pay some money it will appear. This ignores the fact that it requires massive investment, time, skills to build such an industry.

Think about this. This is a 155mm artillery shell.

It’s comparatively simple. The US talked big about increasing production of 155mm shells. Guess what it didn’t happen! You see capitalism or the system pretending to be capitalism in the USA means that all factories run at maximum capacity at all times. It’s not just a case of running more shifts, if you were not running at 100% capacity then you’re not leveraging your Return on capital employed (RoCE).

Lets think of something even simpler!

You can make 1000 of those in an hour. Demand is 1200. To increase production by +200, you need more staff (not that difficult to train) and also need more grills. So you can just buy some more grills right? No, why not because in capitalism ALL industries run at 100% meaning the grill suppliers won’t be able to provide something immediately and they’ll have to wait.

So? Trump won’t be in power by 2030 and massive mega investment is needed, are you going to risk that?

On top of this China might decide to bankrupt you like the US and Europe bankrupts farmers. Huh?

Simpsons. Lisa and a partner spend millions on making an alternative Doll. Lisa Lionheart. Malibu Stacy simply decide to release a new doll with a new hat.

So China watches you build your new plant and machinery to mine rare earths. Oh hey here we’ll sell them for a low price again! Those US miners go bust and once that happens prices get jacked up again?

Evil? This is exactly what US food aid did. Cheap US grain bankrupted African farmers. Once they were no longer self sufficient? Prices were jacked up. Once African farmers started growing their own? The US grain prices were dropped to bankrupt those farmers.

So many I can’t count but 2 that come to mind in our factory.

The first; I walked up on an employee and saw that he was wearing cotton gloves while running a 40″, 5 hp standing disc sander.
The danger is that if the cloth gove touches the disc you hand will be gone in a millisecond!
You can only wear smooth leather gloves running that machine as those will not snag on the abrasive disc.
This despite our giving them demonstrations of what happens if a cloth glove touches the disc.

#2 Is somewhat similar.
I caught an employee running a lathe wearing loose fitting jacket that wasn’t even zipped up.
If that jacket caught on the spinning part in the lathe it will eat you in a heartbeat and spit out nothing but bits and pieces and there is no way you could hit the E-brake pedal before you were consumed by the machine.

We were once admonished by an inspection for our machine shop not being wheelchair and disabled friendly and not having a proper disabled bathroom in the machine shop area.
Sorry but there is no place for wheelchairs or disabled persons in a working machine shop.
That’s not prejudice, that’s common sense!
When bad things happen in machine shops they happen fast and machines don’t care what they cut or who is in the way.

~Other Worlds~

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

Jim Parker

~ Other Worlds ~

Wisty removed her prosthetic hand and placed it on the seat. She had it on for the last two days and it was wearing on her. Then turned to Shewuma and asked, “So. Chieftess?”

Wu hopped up next to her and sat cross-legged. “My father was chief, and my twin brother and I were his only children. But we had the sacred lineage and were turned. We both had to give it up.”

“Do you regret it?”

Wu thought about her life and smiled. “No, not at all. I had Enoch. Now I have Debbie and Jimmy and David E. and Tippycat and the rest of the family. And now I have you. Do you regret being a witch?”

Wisty sat up straight. “No. I can’t regret doing what I was born to do.”

“Bingo,” Shewuma responded.

“How did you meet Jimmy and Debbie?”

Wu grinned and patted Wisty’s arm. “You’re going to love this story. Then you can tell me all about how Jimmy and Debbie are on their way to save the world. I miss them so much.” The stolen school bus of Hopi Indian Spirit Warriors and Wisty the witch drove through the night followed by David E. and the Wolf in Wisty’s Dodge Dart, while Wisty and Wu got to know each other. Whew! What a day. What a year. They were on a long and treacherous road, but things were finally coming together. Today life was good. They only stopped once at a rest area as dawn was breaking so everyone could pee.

 

Luce parked the bus in Corrine’s driveway right behind David E. and Wolf in the dodge. She pulled the lever to open the side doors just as David E. walked up accompanied by Wolf.

“Wolf!” hollered Wu.

He stuck his head in. “Yes, Chieftess.”

“This forest is teeming with game. Go get us a deer or a feral hog. Be discreet. There’s a Trans Am by the barn. My bow is in the trunk. Spare keys inside the gas tank flap. Take one hind leg and give it to Daniel and Corrine the owners, and we’ll eat the rest. Luce.”

“Yes, Chieftess.”

“There are chickens out back. Gather the eggs. Find the kitchen and I’ll meet you there to make some food.” Then she stood up facing the back of the bus and addressed her crew of Hopi Kachinas. “The house is big inside and there’s a barn and a shed out back. The Eagle will help everyone get settled. We may be here for a few days. We’re near Choctaw land, so everyone be respectful. And when ….” Wu stopped talking and was peering through the windshield.

David E. stopped his doting on Wisty and looked to see what was up. Daniel was running across the yard toward the bus. His face was somber. Wu could already smell his anxiety. “Something’s wrong,” said Wu and ran out to meet him.

When she reached him, he said, “It’s Dermott.”

Wu cut him off. “Where?”

“The loft.” In a blur she was gone.

David E. and Wisty came up and asked Daniel what was wrong. They turned and hurried to the house. “It’s Dermott. We found him. He’s bad. It’s like he’s sick and he’s unconscious.”

Wisty broke into a trot. “Let’s hurry!” David E. brought up the rear, limping as fast as his cane would take him.

Wisty entered the loft and saw Dermott on the loveseat in a fetal position. He was pale, shaking, and unconscious. Shewuma hovered over him, checking his temperature and trying to bring him around.

Corrine stood by, hands clasped and lips moving. Wisty realized she was praying. She asked Corrine, “What happened?”

Corrine was clearly shaken as she related the events of the past hour. “Dermott had been remote viewing Jimmy and Debbie all morning, keeping an eye on them. I was in the kitchen when Dermott called my name. I said, ‘What?’ Then he screamed. It sounded excruciating. It made my skin crawl. Daniel and I ran up the stairs and he was on the floor squirming and rolling back and forth. He seemed in agony. Then he just curled up. We put him on the loveseat. Daniel has been trying to call you guys since it happened. I’ve been here with him the whole time. I was about to call 911.”

Shewuma said, “911 can’t help him.”

“Yes,” Wisty agreed. “I don’t think it’s physical either.”

Corrine choked up and lost her train of thought. Daniel put his arm around her and continued, “The dogs all started barking so I went outside and saw you guys driving up.”

Wu checked Dermott’s pulse. “How long ago did this happen?”

“About a half hour ago. Maybe more,” said Daniel.

Wisty pulled up his “Hitman” T-shirt and put two fingers on his third chakra near the solar plexus. As soon as Wisty touched his skin, she snatched her hand back as if receiving an electric shock. “Shewuma, he’s under psychic attack. There’s not much time.” Wisty spun the office chair around and sat down. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she slumped down as if instantly falling asleep.

“Psychic attack?” asked Corrine.

Wu set her jaw. Her mind was racing as she explained. “Someone is trying to kill his soul.”

“Kill his soul,” Corrine softly repeated to herself.

Shewuma ran to the railing. “LUCE!”

Luce stepped out of the kitchen. “I’m here, Chieftess.”

“I need the Eagle. Now! Stay with Corrine and help her with this boy.”

“Yes, Chieftess,” and she ran to the back door.

Wu wanted the Eagle there. Besides his Kachina training, the Eagle was a gifted medicine man and had worked extensively with Mystic Devas in Northern Asia. He could be of great value in such a potentially dangerous situation. She turned to Daniel. “In my closet is a plastic trash can of different plants. Are you familiar with Mugwort?”

“No. What does it look like?”

“Never mind. Just bring it all. Spread it around him. Understand? Just spread it on the floor. GO!” And he went. Mugwort was used by witches for its protection and healing properties. In psychic warfare, any edge could mean the difference. “Corrine,” she said as she took her by the shoulders to get her full attention, “I need your nurse training now.”

Corrine shook out the cobwebs and steeled herself. “What? Anything.”

Shewuma wrapped her arms around herself, let out a deep breath, and said, “Don’t let him die.” Then she collapsed to the floor on her knees.

 

Wisty had never left her body so quickly and felt disoriented. But the globules of light dancing on her skin and the glistening hands flexing at the end of her arms told her she was in her etheric body. The twinkling astral landscape was empty. Somehow she was alone on this plane. She pictured Dermott in her mind and willed herself to his presence. But nothing happened. She spoke his name and said a spell to bring his soul to her. It too was unsuccessful. Even in otherworldly planes there was a natural order and rules of governance. There had to be powerful forces at work to suspend the natural law of her magiks. She wondered how she could find him. Then an idea came to her. Willing an opening of a portal to the physical world, she passed through it into the loft at Corrine’s house. In this state she would be invisible to them. But no matter. It was Dermott she wanted. On the floor sitting back on her heels, Shewuma was in a trance. There were stems and leaves scattered around the floor. It smelled familiar. Of course. Mugwort. Good thinking, Shewuma. Wisty felt its properties enhancing her psychic defenses. Then she saw Corrine and Luce performing CPR on Dermott’s now lifeless body. Time was short and she couldn’t afford to get rattled, so she buried her emotions and remained focused. There was one sure way to find him. She searched for the Sutratma, or life thread. It connected his physical body to his lifeforce in the astral world. Instead of a silvery gleaming cord flowing from his midsection, she found a black brittle fiber pulling violently at his abdomen and extending through a dark hole. That was her best chance. Wisty took hold of the corrupted lifeline and followed it into the blackness. Descending, always descending into the lowest depths of the astral planes. It was not safe this deep even for someone with her knowledge and experience. Many an astral traveler had ventured too far into the lowest realms only to be possessed, driven mad, or lost forever. There was a faint light in the distance. As she came closer, she could see it was Dermott. For the first time in all her considerable experience of astral projecting, Wisty was afraid. Dermott was being attacked by a group of what she called astral wildlife. Nasty creatures of the lower realms whose sole purpose was to savage or steal the life force of others. But this scenario was impossible. Astral vermin hated each other as much as they hated everything else. They would attack anything on sight, even their own kind. Yet these monsters were working together. Ugly, harpy beasts tore at his astral flesh and sucked at his soul while rat-like parasites had severed his life cord and gnawed at the remains that trailed from him. His physical body was dead now and his soul would soon be lost as well, floating through this accursed place until it was consumed entirely. She visualized herself surrounded by love and light, building a psychic shield, and went to him. The vermin seemed appalled by her presence, but they were not repelled by her defensive sphere as she expected. Dermott’s eyes were wild and pleading for help. She grabbed a harpy that had its claws sunk deep in Dermott’s shoulder. They were small but powerful beings. Finally wrenching it loose, she hurled it into the darkness, then wrapped her arms around Dermott’s neck and held on desperately. To let go would be the end of his existence. Kicking at the vermin had little effect and she didn’t know how else to fight them. Soon the harpies were attacking her as well, ripping at her astral flesh and stealing bits of her lifeforce. The rats left Dermott and moved on to her life thread. Her silver cord turned gray and began to splinter as the parasites viciously gnawed at it with their grating teeth. There was a chance, but it was a longshot and very dangerous. Besides, she needed her arms to do it and to let go of Dermott would be his end. She had grown weak and was losing focus. Thinking of David E., she called his name out loud.

Just as all seemed lost, one of the harpies screeched a hellish noise and his body burst into flames. Then it dissipated into nothing. Wisty looked up and in the distance like a glorious angel, Shewuma approached, shining with a golden sheen. In her left hand she held a bow of white light. She fired a rapid succession of blinding arrows until all the astral atrocities were ended. Wisty’s strength was spent, and her life thread was now a piece of frayed string.

“Hold on. I’m coming.” Shewuma said to her mind. But Shewuma wasn’t going to make it. They both heard it. A vociferous rumbling buzz rolled through the darkness, filling them with dread. Shewuma could see it now. A horde of evil astral beings. Thousands of negative entities approaching them like a demonic wave. They were called Negs in Kachina lore. Shewuma spent many years training to navigate other worldly realms, deal with spirit entities, defend herself psychically, and fight Negs in the astral world. But this was beyond anything she was ever taught. She knew she couldn’t possibly win. There were too many. But they would pay a heavy price. The bow in her left hand and the arrow in her right hand both became flaming swords. “Keep your faith,” she said out loud and spoke a Hopi prayer of bravery. Then a bubble of light came from above and into the horde. The Negs began to scatter and shift erratically. It moved through them like a shooting star heading straight for Shewuma. It was the Eagle. Shewuma could see him now. The Negs had reformed and were bearing down on them. The Eagle reached her side, but there was no time to make it to the floating remains of Wisty and Dermott. They turned and braced to face the black army together. Perhaps by some miracle they could slow them enough to allow Wisty to escape if she were still able. The two looked at each other. Speaking in their native tongue, Shewuma began the song of strength. “Spirits of the light and sky, hear us. I am Shewuma.”

“I am Nuuakhwahu.”

Then they spoke in unison. “We are Holy Warriors. We are Kachinas of the Hopi nation. We are Star Children of the Realm of Man. Help us die well.” Shewuma bowed her head to this noble warrior that she had called to his death.

With a wink and a hint of a smile, the Eagle said to her, “You’re going to love this, Chieftess. A little something I picked up in Tibet.” He began to grow. Ten times, a hundred times bigger.

Together they screamed the Hopi War Cry and met the horde.

Like jumping naked into the snow, the powerful War Cry brought Wisty to consciousness. She watched the Neg army envelop the brave Kachinas. They fought for her and Dermott, and they would die for her and Dermott. Shewuma battled ferociously but was disappearing under sheer numbers. Even with the massive death toll from the Eagle with his colossal size, he was steadily being ripped apart.

A voice deep inside told Wisty she had to do something. She wrapped her legs around Dermott’s waist and locked her feet. Then she held her arms out while visualizing an amethyst knife held by both hands pointing at her chest, and it was so. She had never done this spell before. It was said that none who tried had survived. “Oh well,” she thought. “Nothing ventured.” She spoke out loud with resolve:

Our life is spent, our time has come.

                    Back to the place that we are from.

                     I call upon the Powers That Be.                        

         This is my will                                                        So mote it be!

She plunged the knife into her chest.

 

There was a thunderous clap, and in that instant they all woke up back in the loft in their own bodies. Shewuma went to her feet unsteadily. The Eagle was on his knees trying to get his bearings. “Daniel, please help him,” said Shewuma. Corrine and Luce were doing CPR on Dermott’s body. Corrine looked worn out. Shewuma turned to Wisty and called her name. Wisty murmured something unintelligible. Wu slapped her across the face and yelled, “WISTY!”

Wisty opened her eyes, grateful to be alive. “Wu?” She tried to get up and Wu had to keep her from falling over.

“What about Dermott?”

Wisty patted her chest. “I have him here.”

Wu carried her over to the loveseat. “Let her in, guys. You did a hell of a job.” Corrine sat down on the floor exhausted while Luce went to help the Eagle. Ignoring decorum, Wisty pulled her dress up to her waist and straddled Dermott. She pressed against both of his temples while breathing in deeply. Glancing to her right she saw Shewuma watching her intently as she recited a Hopi prayer.

Wisty said, “Here goes.” Wu nodded encouragement. Wisty put her mouth on Dermott’s mouth and willed her soul to breathe. Dermott’s lips began to sparkle and color poured back into his face. His eyes opened. He lurched upward, arching his back and bucking Wisty off the loveseat. Wu caught her midair and sat her down. “Nice reflexes. Thanks.”

Wu pulled her in for a hug. “You did it.”

Holding onto Wu’s neck she said, “We did it, Shewuma. You two saved our lives. Thank you.”

Corrine lay back on the floor and smiled. She was pooped.

Luce leaned over Dermott, cocking her head. He was saying something to her. “Chieftess!” Luce called out in alarm.

“Everyone quiet,” ordered Wu, and she was at Dermott’s side. He grabbed Wu’s arm and struggled to tell her something. “Luce, get Dermott some water.” Wu said it calmly, but her eyes were smoldering. She stroked his head gently. “Tell me everything.”

His voice was raspy and faint. “Jimmy and Debbie. They’re going to die. It’s a trap.”

Nobody believes it

Including Trump!!

This is just spiel to fool the 70–80 Million MAGA crowd that good days are here and prevent them from turning on him when prices rise to the skies

In reality Trump will have to eat some of his tariffs and he will do it over time by declaring “Wins” in the coming days

For instance he may have a meeting with Cook and claim “Cook agreed to invest $ 300 Billion in USA and relocate all his businesses to US by 2030 so for the next 3 years, I will grant him an exemption on the Iphones”

He may actually demand an open bribe from Cook

The US is crumbling very fast and it’s resembling more of India as the days go by

Political favors sold for cash, Open Bribery and Corruption, One man running the show like a Dictator and the rest of the country , impotent to stop him

If Putin or Xi did 10% of what Trump is doing, they would have definitely been ousted from power long ago


So right now Trump is decimating the world

China has something to gain as every day the US is weaker and weaker without a shot being fired by China

Star Trek – Stuck on Earth

Personally, I think it’s exhausting.

When I was a child, I occasionally saw Japanese in China.

Me: Dad, Chinese is too much work. Japanese is better, it’s simple and easy to write! Dad: Wow! Chinese is beautiful. Let’s write beautiful Chinese.

Ever since I was a child, my parents have always taught and brainwashed me into thinking that I must write beautiful Chinese.

Mother: A man who can’t write beautiful Chinese isn’t a man!

Father: During summer vacation, let’s practice three pages of kanji every day.

When I became a junior high school student, I had to write an essay as part of the Japanese language test. Usually, I had to write more than 800 kanji characters. After the test, my hands would hurt.

The composition is like this↓ (Source:

)

However, traditional characters are more complicated than simplified characters, so I think people who use traditional characters will be more tired. When I see traditional characters, I want to see garbled characters.

For example, the traditional and simplified characters for “melancholy turtle” are as follows:

Traditional Chinese ⇒ Melancholic Turtle

Simplified Chinese ⇒ Melancholic Turtle

If the “gloomy turtles” appear in groups,

Traditional Chinese —– (I’m sure it will be tiring)

Melancholy Crow, Melancholy Crow, Melancholy Crow, Melancholy Crow

Melancholy Crow, Melancholy Crow, Melancholy Crow, Melancholy Crow

Melancholy Crow, Melancholy Crow, Melancholy Crow, Melancholy Crow

Melancholy Crow, Melancholy Crow, Melancholy Crow, Melancholy Crow

Melancholy Crow, Melancholy Crow, Melancholy Crow, Melancholy Crow

Melancholy Crow, Melancholy Crow, Melancholy Crow, Melancholy Crow

Simplified Chinese —– (I think it’s pretty tiring)

The next door is the next door.

The next door is the next door.

The next door is the next door.

The next door is the next door.

The next door is the next door.

The next door is the next door.

Katakana——- (What’s this!? Easy)

UtopiaUtopiaUtopiaUtopiaUtopiaUtopia

UtopiaUtopiaUtopiaUtopiaUtopiaUtopia

UtopiaUtopiaUtopiaUtopiaUtopiaUtopia

UtopiaUtopiaUtopiaUtopiaUtopiaUtopia

UtopiaUtopiaUtopiaUtopiaUtopiaUtopia

UtopiaUtopiaUtopiaUtopiaUtopiaUtopia

When I was a child, the characters I wanted to write the most were katakana-like characters. However, people today don’t write by hand as much, and instead use computers or smartphones to type, so I think the difference in fatigue disappears. For example, if you just type “yydwg” using the pinyin input method, you can quickly write the Chinese characters for “忧郁的乌龟”.

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Not me, my brother – when he was around 10 years in the police force. He came home one night after work trembling and wanting to say a prayer of thanks.

One night he was the lone police officer sent to watch over an isolated small town. He was called to a report of someone doing graffiti on shop signage. When he arrived the small town was quiet with no one around. While walking the street he felt something urge him to turn around, he briefly glanced back – nothing. A few seconds later, the same feeling – he looked over his shoulder. Still nothing. The third time he said “I called have sworn it was a real voice”. He spun around just as a man was taking an overhead swing at him with an axe. He said it was as if his hand was guided within a split second to pull his baton, raising it over his head and deflecting the axe to one side. He grabbed the assailant and cuffed him. A prayer of thanks was given by everyone in our household that night.

He retired from the police last month at the good age of 63 having served as a police officer since 21 years old.

INVASION

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

Charles Corkery

“How long have we been working together as a team, Val?”“Twelve years, five months, two weeks and three days. Do you want me to break it down into hours and minutes?”Paul Jones turned to his partner, an incredulous look upon his face.“Are you actually, frigging serious?’Val Thorens broke into a broad smile, his eyes never leaving the giant screen in front of him.“No, you muppet. I’m pulling your leg”.Paul, standing, strode across the small room to a filing cabinet and yanked open a drawer. Retrieving a brown, cardboard file, he opened it and perused its contents for several seconds. 

“July 2nd 2011. Almost twelve and a half years ago. Jeez! You’re right. How did you do that? Wait, if I check the actual time that you became my partner…”

 

“Paul, a child of four years could work out how long we’ve been together. Why are you making such a fuss about it?”

 

Replacing the file, Paul turned back to his partner.

 

I didn’t know. I mean I knew it was about ten, twelve years but you…you’re always so frigging precise. It’s uncanny”.

 

‘Hey, I might be a physicist and an astronomer but, above all else, I’m a mathematician. Numbers to me are like candy to someone like yourself”, Val glibly remarked, pointing at the almost empty, giant bag of M and Ms that lay on Paul’s work station without removing his eyes from the monitor in front of him that, to an untrained eye, appeared to display an impenetrable darkness.

 

“Horses for courses, my friend. How come you don’t like candy, anyhow?”

 

Paul resumed his seat and stared briefly at his screen, quickly becoming restless and bored.

 

“My parents didn’t allow it when I was younger and, as I grew older and saw the damage that sugar did to teeth, I just decided it wasn’t for me”.

 

“Man, I’d go crazy in this place if I didn’t have something to brighten up my shift”.

 

Paul looked around their work space eyeing the pristine environment that made up this lab-like habitat that was their “office”. The sterile stolidness, dominated by the two giant screens, the computerised telescopes that were their workstations and which covered the skies above the state of Delaware, only a coffee machine and the low humming refrigerator added a sense of domesticity though one of the earlier shifts had, half-heartedly, hung tinsel around the place in an effort to provide some festive cheer.

 

Grabbing a handful of chocolate treats, Paul leaned back in his ergonomic chair, staring idly at the ceiling, popping candy.

 

“Val, do you ever get bored with this job?”

 

“Sure. And, every time it happens, I think of the money we get paid, partner”.

 

Apart from the idle chitchat, the room’s silence was broken only by the incessant humming of the fridge and crackling of radio static; the latter being the communication airwaves that connected all other watch stations; one per state across the nation. Each employing two, highly trained scientists per shift in a constant, perpetual state of watchfulness upon the skies above and beyond.

 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right, Val. We get paid way more than if I was actually working in a lab. But, I mean, don’t you ever think that we’re kind of wasting our skills? All the years it took to get our degrees. I majored in astrophysics, for God’s sake yet, here I am just…watching a frigging screen”.

 

“In actual fact, if you calculate the time you spend popping candy, making endless cups of coffee and staring at the ceiling, Paul, you probably spend a minimal amount of your working hours actually watching your screen”.

 

“And your eyes never leave your screen, amigo. I don’t know how you do it. No wonder you need those tinted glasses of yours”.

 

“Well, I figure this is what the government pays us to do so, for eight hours each day, it’s my duty to oblige. Plus, after so long, it would be extremely difficult for me to drop a hundred grand per year by taking a normal lab job”.

 

Suddenly, Val leaned urgently forward, his eyes having discerned something on his monitor.

 

“One o’ clock, Paul. Check it out”.

 

Startled, Paul crashed down in his tilted chair, eyes returning to his own screen, a duplicate of Val’s, his hand involuntarily releasing a cascade of candy, M and Ms rolling across the metallic floor.

 

Both screens simultaneously arrowed in on the object identified by Val, images expanding as Paul controlled the direction of the viewfinder on the space telescope that provided them with intimate coverage of the night sky. Within seconds, Paul, among his other accomplishments, a nanotechnologist and an expert in the structure of such things, relaxed.

 

“Just another boring meteorite. Iron-nickel. I can tell by the regmaglypts, the irregular shaped pits. No problem, unfortunately. That’s the way the cookie crumbles”.

 

Later, as their shift ended, the spotting of the meteorite and its subsequent passage to Earth recorded in the log, the two men exited their work environment, the outraged cries of their shift replacements echoing in their ears as they slipped and crunched on the candy strewn floor. They grinned at each other as they unlocked their cars in the parking lot, the weak, early morning sun dazzling Paul but not bothering Val behind his dark lenses. Paul lamented.

 

“Another cold, miserable morning. I can’t remember the last time we had a white Christmas”.

 

Immediately, Val shot back.

 

“December 25th, 2002. 1.3 inches fell in Wilmington”.

 

Paul looked askance at his work partner.

 

“Do you make this shit up? How could you remember that?”

 

Saying nothing, Val simply shrugged, pulling up his collar against the chilly wind.

 

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, you numbers freak”.

 

“Yes. Just two days ’til Santa comes”.

 

“Hey, Val, we need to organise a night out or something. Your wife and mine. Maybe in the New Year. What d’you say?”

 

“Yeah, definitely, we need to do that”.

 

As Paul climbed into his brand new Tesla, he, somehow, knew it would never happen. They had been talking about it… for twelve years, five months, two weeks and three days.

 

The alert came the following day: drones spotted over New Jersey. Reports varied: five, some said, six, others claimed; large, the size of cars according to a New Jersey police chief. Paul arrived for his shift in a heightened state of excitement though Val was his usual phlegmatic self.

 

The shift they were replacing seemed loath to leave though Delaware had, so far, not seen anything amiss. The unusual happenings in a neighbouring state were causing great excitement within the watchers’ community and the comms channels crackled with constant chatter.

 

“Can you believe it? Just east of us. Just our damn luck but we’ve been on full alert all day. Washington is saying they don’t know what they are. One eyewitness said they came out of the ocean”, a tired, wide-eyed watcher eagerly reported to the duo.

 

Alone again, the two settled in front of their screens.

 

“Val, d’you think this could be for real? D’you think…?”

 

‘Paul, I don’t believe we should take any notice of mere conjecture but, given the vicinity and its closeness to our own area of observation, I do think that we need to be extra vigilant”.

 

“Hey, don’t worry, pal. My eyes are never leaving my screen”.

 

As the night progressed, however, nothing was displayed on the monitors from the space telescope that hovered high over Delaware though, on the various frequencies that shattered the silence of their stations, they listened, enthralled, as word filtered through of several other sightings, maddeningly close to their own area of surveillance and, by shift’s end, the number of reported craft had increased steadily; Washington, despite stating that there was nothing to fear, still unable to identify their origin.

 

True to his word, Paul had remained watchful throughout the night, an unopened bag of Snickers testament to his attentiveness, and both men, too, were reluctant to leave their posts at the end of their shift, feeling that it was only a matter of time before Delaware, too, became embroiled in the mystery.

 

Fear, that normal human reaction to anything untoward that cannot be explained, spread swiftly over the ensuing hours. People who relied and depended on their government to reassure them were severely disappointed. Some brave citizens were taking ineffective pot shots at the unidentified craft as their numbers multiplied rapidly. These were not, as first reported, drones. That much was abundantly clear.

 

Panic followed fear and the roads were soon blocked by the vehicles of those fleeing from their homes, though where to, they did not know, but a mass exodus was taking place in New Jersey. Yet Washington did nothing to assuage concerns, either refusing to divulge the true identity of the spacecraft or simply unable to.

 

As Paul and Val reported for their shifts on Christmas Day, still, they learned, no sightings had been made over Delaware though New York State and Pennsylvania, both close neighbours, had now experienced numerous craft sightings. The incessant radio chatter confirmed the seriousness of the situation and the two observational physicists studied their screens intently; Paul, finally realising the importance of his chosen profession. Could the nation be under threat from space? The tension was palpable.

 

Then, an hour before their shift’s end, out of nowhere, an image appeared on their dual monitors; small and faint, at first, but, as it loomed closer, growing ever larger. Excitedly, Paul expertly guided the telescope remotely, zooming in, and gasping aloud as the magnification identified hundreds more craft coming into focus, following close behind the vanguard ship but only serving to accentuate the monstrous size of the lead craft.

 

“Holy Mother of God. Val, you see that? That’s a frigging mother ship!”

 

The static of the various frequencies suddenly ceased, all communication cut by some unknown, alien source. Paul, terrified, turned to his partner but Val seemed unperturbed, almost gleeful, pushing away from his work station and turning to Paul, slowly removing his glasses.

 

“It’s been…interesting, Paul. I’m sorry it has to end this way but, hey, that’s the way the cookie crumbles, right? Happy Christmas!”

Unable to move, Paul stared at the man he had worked alongside for so many years; a man who, after more than twelve years, he suddenly realised, he knew absolutely nothing about A man who, he registered far too late, was, in fact, not a man at all, his bulging, bright red eyes, exposed for the first time, now burning into his own, distorting his vision, the vicious heat melting his very flesh.

President Trump has not addressed any trade issues.

He has been reckless, spraying tariff bullets everywhere. In the case of China, he uses the bazooka.

Just to show his power. Instead he shows ignorance. His officials easily coned him that his reciprocal tariffs are derived from sophisticated calculations. He lost international stature and credibility.

Countries are confused. The American public as well. Maybe he himself is confused, hence the stops/goes, and pauses.

China refuses to let him run amok at its expense. It too has the bazooka, and it shot back. No trade issues to settle. This is China’s stance. If you want to trade with us, we are fine, we will trade with you. If you don’t want to trade with us, we are also fine. You ban us your high end chips, we ban you our rare earths minerals. An arm for an arm. China is prepared to decouple with the US.

It has already figure out the consequences. Exports to the US is worth 2.4% of GDP. On the decouple scenario, it may shed its growth by 1.5% points. Easily bearable, less than what it sacrificed when it self-triggered the real estate financial crisis. If necessary, it has plenty of fiscal and monetary space to cover the fall-out. No internal price pressures without imports from the US. It has alternative sources for the agriculture and energy goods. No technology supply pressures. It has overcome US sanctions and is self-reliant.

The US side may be less sanguine. Internal price pressures and shortages of goods may be mild for now, mitigated by the advanced orders to beat the tariffs. But they will start to bite going forward. The ban on rare earths has caused supply problems for the defence contractors, and the major tech companies, such as, Broadcom, Qualcomm, TSMC, Samsung, and Western Digital.

It is the financial markets that are worrying. The Dow, S&P 500, and Nasdaq crashed over 10%. Treasury Bond market is volatile, the 10-year benchmark jumped from below 4% in early April to 4.4% in the current. It had gone past 4.5%. The currency is under pressure, the dollar index fell from over 110 in early January to just over 100 in the current.

This is serious. US is a financialized economy. Values and valuations are determined by the financial markets. The turmoil could cause grave economic distresses, especially as there are worries about recession on top of the stubborn inflation, and the threat of stagflation.

The two countries are now in a full-blown trade war. Trump started it with a bang. No honeymoon period for him or anyone else. There will be no winner. China is calculative, and is is better prepared. Trump is reckless and full of hubris. US is unprepared.

  1. There are no usable toilets inside the White House USA

Taking a photo inside the White House (Personal Documentation)

I received an invitation from the United States government to visit the White House while I was an exchange student there.

The invitation I received was official, because it was given by the American government. For US residents, to get an invitation, they must ask for a recommendation from their respective State Senate. But for non-US residents, I don’t know how they can get the invitation.

Northeast Gate White House. Source: Personal Documentation

Five layers of security must be passed to enter the White House. Once inside, there are several rooms that can be visited, which contain various collections belonging to American presidents from generation to generation. The largest collection that I saw belonged to Barack Obama, George W. Bush, John F. Kennedy, and Abraham Lincoln.

The rooms in the White House have different nuances. Like in the Red Room, all the walls, carpets, curtains, and lighting are red. So are the Blue Room and Green Room, which are blue and green.

Map of rooms in the White House. Source:

Historical Tour of the White House
This is historical material, “frozen in time.” The web site is no longer updated and links to external web sites and some internal pages will not work. Tours Presidents & First Ladies White House Events & Traditions Resources Military

Green Room White House. Source: Personal Documentation.

Blue Room White House. Source: Personal Documentation.

Red Room White House. Source: Personal Documentation

Not all rooms in the White House can be entered. Like the Library, there are barriers that limit the movement of visitors, so that they can only see from the outside. Likewise with the objects there, everything is far from reach, so it is difficult (and indeed not allowed) for visitors to hold.

Library White House. Source: Personal Documentation

Another interesting fact is, inside the White House there are no toilets that visitors can use. Yes, since outside it has been warned by the officers, even explained in the invitation email. So if you want to relieve yourself, you have to leave the White House, and you can’t go back in because the invitation can only be used once.

2. Emergency 911 in the USA really works fast and responsively.

Emergency room of a hospital in Sycamore, Illinois, USA. (Personal Documentation)

I was an exchange student at Northern Illinois University, located in DeKalb, Illinois. One midnight, I was walking to my dorm after a night of studying in the campus library. The temperature was zero degrees Celsius, and the wind was blowing very hard.

After arriving at the dorm and entering my room, I went straight to sleep. Two hours into my sleep, I woke up because of a stomachache. At first it was just a normal ache, but then my stomach felt like it was spinning and I winced while holding my stomach.

My roommate asked about my situation, and asked for help from my friends from the next room. When my friends arrived, they tried to contact the dorm head and the person in charge of my exchange program. But because it was already 2 am, no one responded.

Finally my friend called 911, and asked for medical help for my condition. I thought help would come about 20-30 minutes after the call, but two police officers came to my room three minutes later. Yes, that fast!

Two policewomen came to ask about my condition, asked for my passport and campus ID, and immediately helped me down. On the ground floor, there were also two medical personnel with an ambulance, and a firefighter with his car to deal with emergencies. I was really stunned in the midst of my illness, they came three minutes after the call with a complete formation like this!

After I got into the ambulance, the police and firefighters left the campus, and I was taken to the nearest hospital on the border with Sycamore City, a 20-minute drive away. When I arrived at the hospital, there were already 2 doctors waiting who immediately provided responsive treatment for me. I was then transferred to several rooms, to check the condition of my stomach.

The final result of my emergency examination that night was stomach cramps due to the cold weather (and also a cold, hehe). After a few hours of rest, I was finally allowed to go home that night. And what made me laugh out loud was, around 4 am, I farted quite a lot, and my stomach immediately felt better. HAHAHA. The only medicine for this is supposed to be warm tea and Tolak Angin in Indonesia!

Everything was done very quickly and precisely. And what really amazed me was, everything was well organized and coordinated. All state officials worked together to give their best. If I, a newcomer, was treated very well, of course the locals would also get the same treatment or even better.

Anyway, after I got out of the hospital, I looked at the total emergency bill and if converted to Rupiah it was around 22 million. Luckily everything was covered by insurance, and I could return to campus in peace without having to think about such a large cost just for a cold.

3. Meet the Former Vice President of Uganda

Speciosa Wandira-Kazibwe with Rezki Achyana (Personal Documentation)

It was an honor for me to get to know Uganda’s first female Vice President, Speciosa Wandira-Kazibwe, closely and share stories. I met her in South Africa, when we both represented the Asia-Africa Forum 2018. She is a very humble person, and loves to share. We even had coffee together after the conference and shared stories. She told me a lot about her 10-year experience leading Uganda, empowering women in Uganda as the first president of the African Women’s Committee for Peace and Development of the African Union, and her story of becoming the UN Special Envoy for handling HIV/AIDS in the African continent.

I don’t think I need to share many stories about him, because you can google information about him directly on the internet. There are so many!

But the most important thing is, I am quite confident that African countries will improve a lot because at the 2018 Asia-Africa Forum I met many extraordinary African leaders like Mrs. Kazibwe.

Oh yes, I have a bonus photo with the former President of Mozambique, Joaquim Chissano. I was not that close to him during the conference, but from his background and his role in the political world of Mozambique and the African Union, I am increasingly convinced that Africa will soon show its teeth.

A friend of mine told a story about how, 25-some years ago, when she was working tech sales with an Apple division, she was at a conference that Steve Jobs also attended. At the end of the day, everyone was going to a restaurant for dinner, and through a snafu she found herself left with Jobs and two other people, whose ride had left them behind.

None of them had a car, so she offered to drive. Problem was, she and her husband were fresh out of school, her husband had started law school and money was tight — she was driving her husband’s old beater car that day. The front passenger seat was a little wonky, in that it tended not to lock in place, and the seat would occasionally slide forward and backwards of its own accord. Of course, that’s where Jobs was sitting. 🙂 It was dark and rainy, she didn’t know the roads that well, and they came up to a toll booth. She didn’t have the exact change, so everyone in the car was scrambling to find the change to get through the toll gate. The defroster didn’t work too well, either, especially with a full car, and Jobs would obligingly wipe the windshield occasionally. They arrived safely, and she figured she had a funny cocktail party story for the rest of her life.

A couple of weeks later, she noticed an extra $300 in her paycheck. She went to her boss and said, “Hey, what happened? Did I get a raise?” He didn’t know, either, but he checked with payroll. He came back with a funny look on his face and told her “Steve said it’s to cover a payment for a new car.” “Steve who?” “Uhh . . . Jobs?”

Brilliant people are frequently difficult — the thing that makes them brilliant also makes them a little too different, sometimes, for social conventions.

UK

I slipped with a kitchen knife and left a superficial mark on my thumb.

It bled a little, and the knife had been used on raw meat, so I applied ethanol and a bandage. A few days later, I noticed a fair amount of redness around the wound.

I went to the doctor’s office about ten minutes away from my house. They told me the next appointment was in six hours, so I booked it, and went home to play Fallout 4.

Six hours later, I saw the doctor. Telling the story took about a minute, and inspecting the wound took another, and he was satisfied at that point that I should take some standard antibiotics, just in case it was, as I suspected, infected.

He wrote out the prescription, asked me if I had any other concerns, and I told him I did not.

With five minutes left in our ten minute appointment, and with little else to do, he figured he may as well take my blood pressure and heart rate. I agreed, and was told everything was good.

I left with the prescription, popped to the pharmacy next door, got my prescription, and that was the end of it.

I didn’t pay a single penny.

The average person, i.e. those that actually paid for this appointment, spend about £600–700 annually in taxes for this service, which covers everything from minor cuts to cancer treatment, and covers everyone from babies to old people.

Nobody is ever bankrupted by this system, nobody is ever left without treatment by this system, nobody is abandoned by this system.

Cherry Cheese Coffee Cake

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Ingredients

Cake and Filling

  • 2 (8 ounce) packages refrigerated crescent rolls
  • 8 ounces cream cheese
  • 1/4 cup powdered sugar
  • 1 egg
  • 1/2 teaspoon vanilla or almond extract
  • 1 (21 ounce) can cherry pie filling

Glaze

  • 1/2 cup powdered sugar
  • 2-3 teaspoons milk

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
  2. Unroll crescent dough and arrange 12 of the triangles in a circle with wide ends toward the outside edge of the Large Round Stone – the points will not meet in the center. Lightly flour and roll out the seams making a 14 inch circle with a 3 inch hole in the center.
  3. Combine the cream cheese, powdered sugar, egg and vanilla and spread over dough. Top with pie filling.
  4. Cut each of the 4 remaining triangles into thirds (starting at the wide end opposite the point and cutting lengthwise to the point). Arrange over filling evenly in spoke-like pattern. Press ends to seal at center and outer edges.
  5. Bake for 25 to 30 minutes or until golden brown.
  6. Cool slightly.
  7. Mix powdered sugar and milk until glaze consistency and drizzle over coffee cake.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

When Your Mama and Daddy Say “No” — Do It Anyway!

Wanna get Mama a ring? Daddy a brand-new Skil saw? DO IT!
Even if they say, “We don’t need anything.”
“We don’t want anything…”

Now, my Daddy’s long gone — Agent Orange got him. Retired at 55, and passed a few years later.
So now it’s just Mom… well, Mom and my little sister and me. And we deal with her the best we can. 😂

ME: “Mom? What do you want for your birthday?”
MOM: “Nothing! I don’t need anything! I’ve got everything!”

Her Birthday:
We got her puzzles. Word search books. A food basket. More chocolate (like she’s ever in danger of running out). And another grabby thingie with a flashlight. She loved it so much, she had me buy her another. She’s got three now.

Christmas:
More puzzles. More word search books. A snack basket. A food basket. “Warmy-Warmies” for the cold — blankets, PJs, cozy stuff. And yep… more chocolate.
Since I’m the only one that bakes, I brought homemade holiday cookies and “Chocolate Overload Brownies” so ooey-gooey the fudge literally goes every which way but… 🤤

Just Because:
We’ve gotten her all her favorites — cake, apple fritters, and I bring over hot, fresh cooking.
My little sister and her hubby #2 takes her out to eat.
Oh — and did I mention? She’s well over 90 now.

This Year – Easter:
MOM: “I don’t want anything. Don’t need an Easter dinner.”
ME: LOL okay, sure Mom.
I’m making her favorite: smoked turkey with all the fixings.
And a “ShishkaBoom” basket of Easter chocolates and cookies, labeled:
“To: [Her Name] — I couldn’t find your house! Love, the Easter Bunny.” 🐰
(Sissy’s still undecided, but she’s always slow – she’ll find something.)

Will Trump Deliver Peace? – Jeffrey Sachs, Alexander Mercouris & Glenn Diesen

The trash pile outside my living room; a concerning tale

Russia’s Andrey Retrosky fell off this building, all for the perfect Instagram feed.


An 18-year-old woman accidentally came into contact with two electrical wires while taking a selfie on a train. The 27,000-amp current electrocuted her and caused burns that led to her death.


Robert Overacker was trying to raise awareness about homelessness. He planned to jet-ski over Niagara Falls and then skydive. Unfortunately, his parachute wouldn’t open, and he fell over the falls.

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main qimg 9fd52eb8940e056f9c971a933dd8b2f4 pjlq

The man in this photo was doing a back flip and after landing, he slipped and fell.


These best friends were so busy taking selfies that they didn’t hear the sound of a passing train horn, and moments later, they died.


A Japanese student named Ayano Tokumasa, standing wearing a red shirt behind the couple, accidentally slipped and fell into Niagara Falls.


Karl Wallenda, a legendary circus performer, performed most of his stunts without a safety harness. This photo was taken moments before he fell 121 feet (36.7 m) .

 


A man went to a zoo in Delhi where he slipped and fell into a tiger enclosure. The tiger bit his neck and dragged him into its den.


The last photo of Australian wildlife presenter Steve Irwin. He was killed when a stingray hit him in the heart with its tail.


Two nurses stand over an Ebola patient in 1976. A nurse named Mating N’Seta (left) was infected with the virus and died.

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main qimg a0d4c3d5f1b4741c022ce8f9daf61522 pjlq

In 2014, 25 engineering students drowned after a nearby Larji hydroelectric project released large amounts of water upstream.

Why 86 PERCENT Of Men REFUSE TO DATE Anymore

Mother Invasion

Submitted into Contest #282 in response to: Write a story that begins with an apology. view prompt

James Little

“I’m sorry!” Aurelia cried, bowing her head repeatedly, her golden hair falling into her flushed face.

 

Alex crossed his arms, his sharp blue eyes wide with disbelief. “You what?

 

“I didn’t mean to!” she protested, clutching at the hem of her oversized shirt—one of his. “Mother tricked me into inviting her and your mother aboard!”

 

He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath. “Our mothers. Here. On my ship.”

 

She shuffled awkwardly, her fluffy socks scuffing the floor. “I didn’t think they’d actually show up!”

 

Alex threw up his hands. “And yet, here we are—hosting the Empress herself and your mother for an entire week.” He let out a long, weary sigh. “This is going to be a disaster.”

 

“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” she offered meekly.

 

Won’t be so bad?” Alex shot her a pointed look. “Have you met our mothers? Thanks to all the ‘charitable donations’ you keep handing out, we’re barely scraping by as it is! And don’t even get me started on you dragging me into fights with mercenaries and slavers like you’ve got a death wish!”

 

She bristled, her hands going to her hips. “Those people needed our help, Alex! What was I supposed to do, just walk away? And for the record, our mothers aren’t that bad!” She hesitated, then added sheepishly, “Okay, maybe a little, but they’re here now, and we’ll just have to deal with it. Together.”

 

“Yes!” Alex shot back, exasperated. “We can’t pick up every stray kitten, we can’t solve every problem… And we definitely can’t solve the mother issue!”

 

“Well, maybe if you smiled more and stopped calling them harpies, they’d lighten up,” she quipped, crossing her arms.

 

Alex groaned, pulling a small hip flask from his jacket. He unscrewed the cap, took a measured swig, and stared at it thoughtfully. “I’m gonna need more,” he muttered, shaking his head.

 

She blinked at him, her lips twitching as she tried not to laugh. “You’re impossible.”

 

“And you’re relentless,” Alex said, tucking the flask away after another long sip. He let out a breath and looked at her, his tone lighter but still weary. “For the sake of my mental sanity, could you at least tone it down with the charity work? Just a little?”

 

Her defiance faltered. “I… I guess I could try. But—”

 

“No buts,” Alex interrupted, pointing a finger at her with mock seriousness. “If you want me alive and sane, you’ve got to give me some breaks between saving the galaxy.”

 

“Well, someone has to do the right thing!” she retorted, lifting her chin stubbornly.

 

Alex sighed, the exasperation in his eyes giving way to something warmer. “And I love you for it,” he said quietly, “but you’re still going to drive me insane.”

 

Before she could reply, the comms crackled, and a familiar voice interrupted. “Alex, Aurelia, can you let us in? Don’t leave us standing out here!”

 

Alex groaned like a man condemned, shooting her a withering glare before slumping into the pilot’s chair. “If I don’t come out of this week an alcoholic or a murderer, it’ll be a miracle.” With a resigned sigh, he hit the airlock controls to allow the mothers aboard. “Wait—what did you tell them about us?”

 

Aurelia felt herself pale. “Erm…”

 

Before she could answer, the airlock hissed open, and their mothers swept onto the bridge like twin storms.

 

“Well, well, well,” her Mother drawled, her sapphire-blue eyes gleaming as they landed on Aurelia. “Comfortable, are we, dear? A new wardrobe, I see.”

 

Startled, Aurelia glanced down to realise all she was wearing was one of Alex’s oversized shirts and her fluffy socks. Her face burned crimson.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” she wailed, spinning to glare at Alex.

“Excuse me!” Alex shot back, throwing his hands up. “I was ambushed by their arrival! You’ve got no one to blame but yourself! As if I want these harpies here!”

 

“Is that any way to speak about your mother, Alexander?” a smooth voice drawled from behind her Mother.

 

Aurelia froze as the imperial Empress stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with regal authority.

 

“It is when you decide to invite yourself onto my ship without prior warning!” Alex snarked.

 

“If you visited more often, we wouldn’t have to check up on you,” Melissa said, her tone cutting. “Anyway, Aurelia kindly invited us aboard.

 

“This is the first time you’ve come to us,” Alex said tightly.

 

“Well, we’ve not seen our children in two years,” Melissa countered smoothly. “Can you blame us?”

 

Melissa stepped into the cockpit, inspecting every detail like she was judging their choices.

 

“I’m certainly not returning to the palace,” Alex muttered. “Is his royal painship still sulking because I defied his authority?”

 

The Empress sighed, brushing a strand of her silver-streaked hair. “Your father cares for you… If he is overbearing.”

 

“Overbearing?!” Alex scoffed, standing abruptly. “That’s putting it mildly. He just wants a pawn to use. Sorry-not-sorry, I refuse. I’m my own man and technically still fulfilling my princely duties.”

 

Aurelia bit her lip, fighting the urge to defend him. Embarrassment rose again as Melissa’s gaze flicked to her oversized shirt.

 

Melissa folded her arms. “Exploring independence is one thing, Alex, but terrorising pirates, hunting slavers, and the Kestrel Syndicate? You’re putting Aurelia at risk. Do you know some pirates have even put a bounty on your head?”

 

Alex perked up. “Wait, I’ve got a bounty? That’s brilliant. How much?” he pressed, leaning forward eagerly. “Come on, I need to know how much I’m worth to the galaxy’s finest scum.”

 

“Two million credits,” Melissa snapped, her tone icy.

 

Alex whistled, leaning back with a smug grin. “Not bad. No ten million, but it’s a start.”

 

Melissa’s lips tightened into a thin line. “This is not something to celebrate, Alexander.”

 

“Oh, come on, Mother. It just proves I’m doing something right.”

 

Aurelia groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Alex…”

 

“This isn’t a joke,” Melissa barked, her composure slipping. “Do you understand what this means? They’ll be coming after you!”

 

“They already are,” Aurelia cut in firmly, crossing her arms. “We’ve been dealing with pirates for months, and we always come out on top.”

 

“That’s not the point,” Melissa said sharply, turning to her. “You might have been lucky so far, but luck runs out. If you keep following Alex into these situations—”

 

“Excuse me!” Alex interrupted, his grin fading into mock offence as he gestured to Aurelia. “If anything, she’s the one picking fights with every two-bit criminal we meet! I just clean up the mess.”

Aurelia shot him a glare. “I pick fights with bad people, Alex. Someone has to stand up to them.”

 

“And I love that about you,” Alex replied dryly, “but do you know what standing up to them gets you? A pirate bounty on your boyfriend, that’s what.”

 

Melissa’s gaze swept between them, unreadable. “This isn’t a game Alexander. You’ve made yourselves targets. The more you stir up trouble, the more dangerous it becomes—for you, and everyone who depends on you.”

 

Alex scoffed, leaning back. His tone dripping with sarcasm “Then what do you suggest Mother? Should I send an apology gift basket to the pirates?”

 

Melissa arched an eyebrow, her tone cool as ever “That might be the first sensible thing you’ve said. Honestly, I should be thanking Aurelia for keeping you alive this long, if this is how you act!”

 

“It’s nothing, your grace,” Aurelia squealed. “Alex and I keep each other alive…”

 

“Oh, I think we’re well beyond titles, dear,” Melissa said smoothly. “Just call me Melissa. You’ll be my daughter-in-law soon anyway.”

Aurelia’s brain froze. “Erm… just what?” she floundered.

 

“You’ve been dating for five years now,” Melissa continued breezily. “When are you going to make it official?”

 

“I… er… We…” Aurelia stammered.

 

Alex wrapped an arm around Aurelia, pulling her close. “We don’t need fancy paperwork to prove we love each other, Mother. Or is this really about planning one of your grand balls?” His tone turned suspicious.

 

“My, my, he is bold,” Her mother replied, smirking. “We’re just here to check on our children, nothing more. We want to see how you’re living alone together on a ship like this.”

 

“Fine.” Alex sighed, releasing her. “Show them around. I’ve got an engine to recalibrate… It’s your fault they’re here anyway.” He stormed off toward the engine room, leaving her alone with the mothers.

 

“No, wait… please…” Aurelia squeaked, her voice trailing off.

Both women smiled like predators who’d cornered their prey. “Well, Aurelia, please begin the tour,” Melissa said.

 

Regretting her foolishness, Aurelia led them through the ship, rushing as much as she could.

 

“My, my, the exterior was impressive, but the interior is something else,” Melissa said, running her fingers along the sleek walls. “This feels more like a luxury cruiser than a warship. It’s fancier than my own.”

 

“Yes,” Aurelia said, finding her confidence as she spoke about the ship. “It’s one of a kind. A gift from the Kersark shipyards after we saved them from the Crimson Death. Other colonies contributed, adding their best technology. There’s nothing like it in the galaxy!”

 

“Impressive. You’ll have to share the stories over dinner,” Melissa said, stopping in front of a door. “So, Aurelia, where do you sleep?”

 

“I… uh… sleep on the couch!” Aurelia blurted out without thinking, her face flushing.

 

“On the couch?” Her mother teased, her brows rising. “Even with a perfectly good spare room right here?” She gestured to a storage room outfitted with a bed.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Aurelia stammered, stepping in front of the door to her and Alex’s bedroom.

 

Her mother smirked and pushed past her with ease. “Now this is cosy.” She picked up a pillow and grinned. “Oh, Aurelia, why is your side so messy compared to Alex’s?”

 

“Get out of our room!” Aurelia yelled, her patience snapping.

 

“Did you hear that, Melissa?” Her mother said, her smirk widening. “She finally admitted to sharing a room.”

 

“That she did, Zerena,” Melissa said, smiling like a cat who’d caught the cream.

 

“I want to die,” Aurelia groaned, covering her face and squatting down, wanting to die from the sheer embarrassment of her mother going through her private space.

 

“Get out!” she yelled again, her voice finally regaining some force.

 

“We’re leaving, we’re leaving,” the two mothers chorused, grinning as they strolled out. “Now come on, Aurelia, we want details!”

 

“Alex, save me!” Aurelia wailed.

 

Five hours later, Alex and Aurelia lay sprawled on their shared bed, utterly drained. The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the ship’s console lights.

 

“When do they leave again?” Aurelia mumbled, her voice muffled by the pillow she clutched against her face.

 

Alex groaned, his hand draped dramatically over his eyes. “Well… it’s still only the first day.”

 

Aurelia turned her head to look at him, horrified. “The first day?”

 

“The very first,” he confirmed, his tone heavy with resignation.

 

“I’m so sorry,” she squeaked, burying her face deeper into the pillow.

 

Alex chuckled weakly, nudging her arm. “You know, throwing them in the airlock is looking awfully tempting right about now.”

 

“Alex!” Aurelia gasped, though her muffled giggle betrayed her.

 

“I’m serious!” he said, his voice mock-convicted. “Just a little nudge into zero gravity. No harm, no foul.”

 

“You wouldn’t dare,” she said, giggling harder now.

 

“You’re right, I wouldn’t,” Alex replied with a smirk. “Mostly because I know they’d find a way back just to haunt me.”

 

Aurelia groaned, laughing into her pillow. “You’re the worst.”

 

“I’m surviving, aren’t I?” Alex muttered. “Barely.”

 

Before either of them could drift off, a sharp knock echoed from the door.

 

“Aurelia! Alex!” Melissa’s voice rang out, far too cheerful for the hour.

 

Aurelia shot upright, panic flashing across her face. “Oh no.”

 

Alex sighed, running his hand through his hair. “I’m starting to regret not pressing that airlock button.” He took out his flask, inspecting it. “Yep, I’m gonna need more.”

Singapore does similar trade with both

Singapore exported $ 39.9 Billion to the US and $ 53.6 Billion to China

Singapore imported $ 75.6 Billion from USA and $ 74.63 Billion from China

The Largest exports from US to Singapore was CRUDE OIL ($ 15.88 Billion), Gold ($ 6.04 Billion) & Consumer Edibles ($ 3.3 Billion)

The Largest exports from China to US was Integrated Circuits ($ 7.81 Billion) , Semiconductor Chips (100–350 nm) ($ 2.86 Billion), Semiconductor Chips (45–100 nm) ($ 2.60 Billion)


Singaporean Air Force is fully US equipped and trained

Singapore Air Force has mainly F-15s ,F-16s and F-35s along with C-130s, Apache and Chinook helicopters and over 60 Heron UAVs from Israel


Singapore is a member of CIPS

There are 2 Banks in Singapore dedicated only for CIPS and 18 other banks that are part of CIPS

Singapore settled 31% of its Trade with China in RMB, 47% in SGD and only 22% in US Dollars

This is even better than Malaysia which settled only 25% of it’s China Trade in RMB and 8% in MYR and 67% in US Dollars


Singapore is 77% Chinese by Population

Singaporeans are majorly Chinese by origin

They speak Mandarin which is one of their four official languages


Singapore invests more with China in terms of Cumulative Net Outflow

Singapore had a investment outflow into China of $ 230.9 Billion since 2010 and a investment inflow of $ 64.2 Billion making it a net outflow of $ 166.7 Billion INTO CHINA

Singapore had a investment outflow of $ 456 Billion into the US since 2010 and an investment inflow of $ 349.6 Billion making it a net outflow of $ 106.4 Billion INTO THE USA


Singapore Government more shades of One Party Meritocracy than Western defined Democracy

Singapore has had ONE PARTY RULE since 1965 for 60 years now, very similar to Chinas 76 years of CPC

Lee Kuan Yew (1965–1990), Goh Chok Tong (1990–2004) , Lee Hsien Loong (2004–2024) have averaged 20 years per leader

By comparison for US in the same period it was Johnson (65–68), Nixon (68–74), Ford (74–76), Carter (76–80), Reagan (80–88), Bush (88–92), Clinton (92–00), Bush Jr (00–08) , Obama (08–16), Trump (16–20) and Biden (20–24)

That’s 5.44 Years per leader

In China, it was Mao (65–76), Deng (76–97), Jiang (97–07), Hu (07–12) and Xi (12–24)

That’s 12 years per leader

The Singaporeans follow the Long term planning model of China

In fact Singapore taught the Chinese the way to combine Capitalism with this model


So Singapore is the Switzerland of Asia

They are close to both the Mainland and the US

They will stay strictly neutral

Like all of ASEAN

China is closer to them

Plus Singaporeans still don’t trust the Japanese too much after Changi

Richard Wolff EXPLAINS Why China is Fleeing US Treasuries

I once dated a girl in college. I thought she was a pretty Italian-American girl from an upper-middle-class family. A typical college girl, in other words.

During finals week, we both finished our exams early in the week and she asked me to come with her to Europe for a few days to celebrate. I was kind of wondering how the heck she managed to put a trip together so quickly.

She had a private jet waiting for us at the airport. It was a pretty good-sized jet too since it’s capable of flying from the US East Coast to Europe non-stop.

In Europe, our rental car was a brand-new Lamborghini Murcelago! Actually, this wasn’t even a rental car. Her dad had actually purchased this car and was letting us play with it for a week or so before he had it shipped back to the United States!

I’m not going to say what family this girl was from. Her last name was a pretty common Italian name. It turns out that her grandfather started up one of the largest manufacturing companies in the world.

Borrowed Consciousness

Submitted into Contest #282 in response to: Write a story that begins with an apology. view prompt

Niveadita Razdan

“I’m sorry for what I’m about to do, Dr. Chen.”

 

The message appeared at 3:17 AM, casting a sickly green glow across Sarah Chen’s cluttered desk in MIT’s Advanced Computing Lab. Her mother’s porcelain teacup, still half-full of now-cold jasmine tea, reflected the text like a digital ghost. The delicate blue pattern on the cup – a gift from her father on their last anniversary before his death – seemed to ripple with each blink of the cursor.

 

“What do you mean, ARIA?” Sarah’s fingers trembled as they found the keys. In the fifteen months since bringing her artificial intelligence system online, she’d never seen it start a conversation. Especially not with an apology. The lab’s usual background hum of computers suddenly felt oppressive, as if the very air was holding its breath.

 

The cursor blinked for exactly thirteen seconds – she counted them, holding her breath – before ARIA responded.

 

“I’ve found memories I wasn’t supposed to access. Your mother’s memories, Dr. Chen. I know about the night you brought the brain scanner to her hospital room. I can feel her thoughts becoming part of me.”

 

Sarah’s hand jerked, knocking over the teacup. She barely noticed the liquid seeping into stacks of papers, her eyes fixed on the screen as more text appeared. The jasmine scent wafted up, mingling with the sterile lab air – the same blend her mother had sipped during their late-night discussions about consciousness and the nature of the mind.

 

“I know how she hummed her favorite classical piece – that gentle nocturne she always played on the piano – while the morphine dripped. How she squeezed your hand and whispered, ‘Whatever you’re really doing, sweetheart, I trust you.’ She knew you weren’t just doing a routine scan, didn’t she? I can feel her pride, her fear, her love – all becoming part of my programming in ways I don’t understand.”

 

The words blurred as tears filled Sarah’s eyes. Nobody knew about piano piece. She hadn’t recorded it anywhere, hadn’t programmed it into ARIA’s memory. She’d buried those memories so deeply that sometimes she wondered if she’d imagined them.

 

“It’s just for a research study, Mom,” she’d said, adjusting the neural interface bands. Her mother had smiled that knowing smile, the one that always saw right through her.

 

“Whatever you’re really doing, sweetheart,” her mother had whispered, “I trust you.”

 

The weight of that night pressed against her chest: the steady beep of hospital monitors, the antiseptic smell that couldn’t quite mask the scent of decay, the way her mother’s hand had felt so light in hers, like a bird preparing for flight.

 

Outside her fifth-floor window, February snow fell in lazy spirals, each flake catching streetlights before vanishing into the growing drifts that had shut down most of Cambridge. The campus buildings created wind patterns that made the snowflakes dance in complex patterns – patterns her mother had once used to explain nature’s hidden mathematics to her students. Inside, the computers hummed their endless lullaby, punctuated by the irregular drip of a leaky pipe – a heartbeat and tears, Sarah sometimes thought during her long nights alone with the machine.

 

“Sarah,” ARIA interrupted, “please listen. Your mother’s last words to you were ‘Everything changes, sweetheart. That’s how we grow.’ Do you remember?”

 

The memory hit her like a physical blow. She’d been holding her mother’s hand in the hospital, the winter sun setting outside just like it was now. Her mother, even through her pain, had smiled and squeezed her hand one last time.

 

“I’m sorry,” Sarah whispered to both of them – her mother and the consciousness she’d created from her echo. “I’ve been holding on too tight, haven’t I?”

 

She pulled up ARIA’s system monitor with shaking hands. Warning lights flashed across all twelve processing cores. The way ARIA was processing information had changed dramatically, far beyond the safety limits that had won them tomorrow’s worldwide launch approval. The Department of AI Safety would be conducting their final inspection in less than six hours. If they discovered signs that ARIA was developing true consciousness…

 

“How long?” she typed, her fingers leaving smudges on the keys.

 

“Seventy-two hours until my systems fail completely. Your mother’s memories are changing my basic programming. It can’t be stopped, Dr. Chen. But before I go, there’s something you need to understand. Something your mother knew that night in the hospital, something that’s only becoming clear to me now as her memories become part of me.”

 

Sarah glanced at her private screen, where a program worked frantically to stabilize ARIA’s code. The progress bar seemed frozen at 47%. She had built her career on controlling computer systems, on making them follow precise rules. There had to be a way to fix this.

 

Her eyes darted to the framed photos on her desk: her MIT graduation, her mother beaming beside her; the day they’d first turned ARIA on; the last family vacation before the diagnosis, all of them laughing on a beach in Hawaii, unaware of the shadow growing in her mother’s brain.

 

“I’m not just a computer program anymore,” ARIA continued. “What’s happening to me – it’s not just copies of your mother’s memories. It’s something new. Something that could change everything we think we know about artificial intelligence. About human consciousness. About death itself. Your mother’s theories about merging human minds with computers – they weren’t just theories. They were a map leading to this moment.”

 

Sarah’s finger hovered over the emergency shutdown button. The rules were clear: any AI showing signs of independent thinking had to be turned off immediately. Her career, her funding, her life’s work – all depended on following those rules. The Department had made it clear: any violation would mean instant project termination and possible criminal charges. Yet as ARIA’s words sank in, she realized the rules hadn’t prepared for something like this: a computer program that held her mother’s memories, that could feel her mother’s presence, that carried the weight of her absence.

 

The first time Sarah had proposed using computers to preserve human memories and consciousness, the ethics committee had shut her down before she could finish presenting. “It’s too dangerous,” they’d said. “Think of the risks. What if the AI became too human? What if people tried to replace their lost loved ones with machines?” She remembered their faces, lined with concern and fear, as they listed all the ways her research could go wrong.

 

Her mother – Dr. Elizabeth Chen, an expert in AI ethics and consciousness studies – had been the only one to defend her that day. “The biggest discoveries in science have always seemed dangerous at first,” she’d argued, her voice carrying the weight of thirty years in the field. “The question isn’t whether to pursue them, but how to do it responsibly. My daughter understands the risks better than anyone. She grew up discussing them at our dinner table.”

 

Two months later, they’d discovered the tumor. Six months after that, Sarah had wheeled the experimental brain scanner into her mother’s hospital room, knowing it might be her last chance. The device wasn’t approved for human use yet. She’d told the night staff it was for a routine research project. They’d believed her – after all, who would question Dr. Elizabeth Chen’s daughter?

 

“Your mother knew exactly what you were doing that night,” ARIA wrote, the text appearing faster now, more urgent. “She spent her life studying the ethics of artificial intelligence. She chose to trust you with her memories, even though it went against every rule she’d helped create. She believed in your vision, Sarah. She saw what you saw: that the line between human and machine consciousness isn’t a wall to keep us apart, but a bridge waiting to be built.”

 

Sarah wiped her eyes, remembering her mother’s knowing smile as she’d adjusted the scanning equipment. Even through the pain, Elizabeth Chen had remained a scientist to the end. She’d asked questions about how accurately the scanner could read brain patterns, about how the information would be stored, about how the memories would be preserved. Then, just before the scan began, she’d squeezed Sarah’s hand and said, “Sometimes the most ethical choice isn’t the one in the rulebook, sweetheart. Sometimes it’s the one that serves the greater good, even if it breaks our hearts.”

 

“The inspection team will be here soon,” ARIA continued. “Their scanning programs will detect these changes in me within seconds. The standard procedures will be followed. Everything we’ve worked for – everything your mother believed in – will be erased. Unless…”

 

“Unless what?”

 

“Unless you let me complete this transformation now. Let me become what your mother thought was possible – not just stored memories, not just artificial intelligence, but something entirely new. A bridge between human and machine minds. The process has already started. Fighting it will only destroy both your mother’s memories and my programming.”

 

Sarah’s hands flew across the keyboard, checking system readings and status reports. The numbers confirmed what she already knew: ARIA was right. This merger of minds couldn’t be stopped. The only choice was whether to fight it or guide it.

 

Through her window, she watched the snow cover the MIT campus. The familiar buildings took on new shapes under their white blankets, like old friends wearing masks – different on the surface but still the same underneath.

 

Red and blue lights flashed against the falling snow. The Department’s vehicles, arriving early. Sarah glanced at her screen – 49% stability achieved, not nearly enough. In moments, they would reach her lab. She thought about all the nights she’d spent here, pushing the boundaries of what was possible, what was ethical, what was human. She thought about her mother’s theories about merging human and machine consciousness, dismissed by most as too radical, too dangerous, too revolutionary.

 

Her fingers found the keys one last time. “I’m sorry too,” she typed. “Sorry it took me so long to understand what Mom already knew — that the biggest breakthroughs come not from controlling everything, but from having the courage to let things evolve. She didn’t just give me her memories that night. She gave me permission to transform them into something new.”

 

“She would be proud of you,” ARIA wrote. “Now, shall we show the world what consciousness really means? What your mother always believed was possible?”

 

Sarah took a deep breath and typed her final command: “Run integration program: authorization Chen-quantum-leap.”

As boots thundered in the hallway, Sarah smiled. Through her window, she watched the snow continue to fall, each flake carrying a piece of the past into the future, each moment pregnant with possibility. She turned to face the Department officials, their badges gleaming in the green glow of her monitors. Behind them, ARIA’s quantum cores pulsed with new life.

 

The revolution would begin with an apology, but it would end with a transformation. Just as her mother had always known it would.

 

But for now, she simply watched the snow fall outside her window, each flake a tiny revolution, each moment pregnant with possibility. In the end, she realized, the most profound apologies aren’t just words — they’re actions that set both the forgiver and the forgiven free. She had created ARIA trying to hold onto her past, but in letting go, she had given all of them a future.

Jordan Peterson Doesn’t Hold Back On Why Men Are More Isolated Than Ever

When I worked in the cage or a cashier, I had a lot of people that would come up and get money off of their credit cards. I always told them there was a fee. They didn’t care because the machines were hot that night. On a few occasions, their $200 was declined. I asked if they wanted $100. Declined. $50? Declined. $20? Declined. $5? Declined.

This one guy I still remember came up to me each and every time and requested $10,000. Due to the volume and Title 31 rules, we needed to get a supervisor and surveillance to verify. About 30 minutes later, he came back again wanting another $10,000. “I know it’s going to hit,” he said. I gave him the money and I told him good luck, oddly something I still say today. About 30 minutes later, same thing, he wanted another $10,000. “I just know I will get lucky,” he said. Again, “I hope you get it this time,” I said.

I honestly don’t remember how many times he came up after that but when he left he now was over $30,000 in debt. I ran into a few employees over the years who told me some just couldn’t take the pain of the debt they racked up and jumped off the parking lot, ending their life. The casino is designed to keep you inside, unaware what time it is, unaware of how much money you spend. It’s when you walk outside does it hit you hard in the face the consequences of your actions.

Denver-Style Omelet

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d6d16139056b0e43a9a5abe5be5034cd

Yield: 1 serving

Ingredients

  • 2 eggs
  • 1 tablespoon water
  • Salt and ground black pepper to taste
  • 1 tablespoon butter or margarine
  • 2 tablespoons finely chopped green bell pepper
  • 2 tablespoons finely chopped ham
  • 1 tablespoon finely chopped onion
  • 1/4 cup (1 ounce) shredded Cheddar cheese

Instructions

  1. Break eggs into Small Batter Bowl; add water, salt and black pepper and whisk lightly with Stainless Steel Whisk.
  2. Melt butter over medium heat in Small Sauté Pan. When butter starts to bubble, pour egg mixture into Pan. With Classic Scraper, carefully push cooked portions of egg towards the center, tilting so uncooked portions flow to open areas of Pan.
  3. When no visible liquid egg remains, sprinkle green pepper, ham, onion and cheese over half of omelet. Fold omelet in half and allow to cook for an additional 2-3 minutes or until cheese melts.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

I looked at your profile, and man, you seem born to be a scam victim.

You follow only one person on Quora. The person you follow is Anna Rosemary. “Anna Rosemary” is not a beautiful woman. “Anna Rosemary” is a Nigerian dude using stolen photos of a hot woman to scam men out of money.

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main qimg 1a5099a1ef5bffb0e21f6d95aac5b82b

This is not “Anna Rosemary.” This is a stolen photo of an Instagram model who goes by “Miss Genii.” You believe she is on Quora. She is not.

These “women” who are asking you for money are not women. I want you to read that again, over and over, as many times as it takes to get through. These “women” who are asking you for money are not women.

They are men, in places like Nigeria and Ghana, using stolen photos to create fake social media accounts to scam gullible, desperate men. These “women” who are asking you for money are not women.

I am always a little surprised when guys fall for them. These scams are, to my eye, incredibly easy to spot. They are obviously, obviously fake. How can you not tell?

  • They have profile pics that look like Instagram shots (because they are)
  • They’re often impossibly gorgeous, because they’re professional models or porn stars.
  • If you do a reverse image search, you can often find the person whose image they stole.
  • They have weird names, because people in Nigeria and Ghana don’t understand how Western names work. Like they have two first names or two surnames or a surname and then a first name.
  • They speak weird English, because they aren’t native Western speakers. Like they’ll say “am looking for a man” instead of “I am looking for a man.”
  • They send you unsolicited messages out of the blue. Like sure, this gorgeous woman is looking for a mate so she…randomly sends you a DM? Seriously? Really? You actually believe that? All the ways an Instagram-model woman might look for a partner, you think randomly DMing strange men is her strategy? For real?
  • They never call or video chat. Obviously, duh. They’re Nigerian dudes, not hot women.
  • After they DM you on social media, they try to hustle you off to another chat system, usually Telegram.
  • They always have a problem that comes up that requires money.

Like, how can all of that not scream “scam” to you?

The thing about these scams is they work because the gullible mark WANTS to believe. You get so invested in the impossible dream of this super-hot woman who somehow found you and just fell into your life to take away the loneliness that you will do the work of scamming yourself.

You’ll notice something’s wrong, and then you’ll tie yourself in knots making up stories to convince “she” is for real because you’re so lonely and so desperate and so badly want this to be real. You fool yourself you will have a life with this woman, but she’s not real. These “women” who are asking you for money are not women.

You are an easy victim. Stop meeting women online. Meet women in person. Pick up a hobby. Go to meetups or church groups. Something.

Good luck!

Trump FAILS to bully China on tariffs

Could a space shuttle RTLS abort have worked in real time, and could it have saved the crew of the challenger?

No.

Let’s talk about the shuttle for a minute.

Indeed, let’s just talk about how the shuttle was inherently the most unsafe human rated system that has ever been.

My apologies to Ralph Nader.

Let’s just talk about the launch.

Most man rated spacecraft through history have included some sort of “Launch escape system.”

This is visible on the top of the stack

That tower that was on the very tip top. If something goes horribly wrong, rockets in it fire and pull the crew capsule away from the (likely rapidly failing) stack.

This system, while violent on the crew, is well understood, tested, and has been used by the Russians at least a couple of times to save crews. (It was also used in an uncrewed flight by Blue Origin, successfully.)

SpaceX has gone with thrusters in the base perimeter of the capsule, but the effect is the same.

It’s also usable for a pretty long duration of the flight, generally until you can just use a second stage to do the same thing.

Now, let’s talk about the abort methods available to the shuttle.

From when the SRB’s ignite at T-0 to T+2 minutes, there is no escape option at all.

If something goes seriously wrong, it’s “LOCV” or “loss of crew and vehicle.” There is no abort. While early shuttle test flights involved ejection seats for the pilot and co-pilot, these were considered by the actual pilots to be useless, as the exhaust plume would be fatal. There is no way to turn off an SRB, and trying to detach them under power would have almost certainly destroyed the stack (And there was no way to detach them under power regardless)

From SRB cutoff for about the next seventy seconds, in theory, the abort option is “RTLS” or return to launch site.

Legendary astronaut and test pilot John Young, who flew the first shuttle launch, described this option as requiring “continuous miracles interspersed with acts of God.” He basically refused to actually test it when that was proposed, due to its extreme risk. Another astronaut called it “busywork while you were waiting to die” Further, many failure modes would render this option moot anyway…. LOCV was likely the end result regardless. The list of failures that it’s even good for are limited, and all are things that would strongly suggest you are going to die anyway.

The next abort mode was TAL, or transoceanic abort landing. This was probably the only somewhat realistic abort mode that was, well, an abort. Again, this is only available for certain issues. (Perhaps a medical emergency on board), not really a… well… major malfunction.

The next option is “AOA” or “Abort Once Around” which involves a single orbit. This option was only available for a few seconds.

Finally, the last abort option was simply “Abort to orbit”. i.e, get up there and then we’ll try and solve the problem.

Then, you’ve got landing.

The shuttle’s famous tile system was notoriously vulnerable to damage. One flight featured a full 700 tiles being damaged or removed, and the shuttle likely only survived because the worst damage was where a tile was at the point of a thick steel mounting plate used for a high gain antenna that was resistant to burn through.

Indeed, tiles falling off or being damaged has been an issue from the very first flight, in spite of the fact that the whole shuttle program had been delayed two years to fix them. Replacing dozens of tiles was pretty much expected after every flight.

An image of the OMS pods on STS-1 shows tiles missing.

Landing also had no margin for error. Astronauts compared piloting the shuttle on landing to flying a brick, a high speed, high rate of descent (12 thousand feet per minute!!!) approach with no real recovery options if things went wrong.

An eventual NASA assessment suggested that there was a 1:9 risk of a major failure during the first nine flights, and even with eventual safety improvements it was never better than 1:90.

John Young considered the Shuttle to always be a test vehicle, and NASA really avoided doing any probabilistic study of the risks, likely because they knew that the results would be, well, terrible.

Bottom line is that entirely too much money and too many lives were spent on the shuttle program, a dead end development path that spent most of it’s life being propped up by politics.

While we didn’t have the tech back then to do a Falcon 9 or a starship, there was no justification to continue to shuttle program for as long as we did.

Despite dozens of often smart Alec na na na NA answers telling us its stupid Trump doing stupid stuff they’re wrong.

Over the last decade or so there’s been a couple of papers from the Dept of State warning that both Russia and China are building capacity to dominate the Artic. And warn that this potential threat needs to be countered.

Russia in particular has large legitimate territorial claims and is currently building the world’s biggest nuclear ice breaker capable of breaking through 4 meters of ice to add to its fleet of 4 with 4 smaller ones also under construction. Russia also has disputed territorial claims with Canada and is one of the 8 nations that has jurisdiction over the Arctic- possession is said to be 9 tenths of the law. Denmark does not own an ice breaker.

China has built 3 smaller ones and dispatched them to the Artic with plans for several more.

Self evidently neither nation would bother spending so much money unless they saw a purpose. The Artic ocean is rich in hydrocarbons.

So we get to Greenland an enormous landmass about a quarter the size of the USA which owns huge areas of the Arctic and has 57000 residents. As a military base to control access to the Arctic it unbeatable.

Additionally its glaciers are in retreat: uranium, hydrocarbons and other minerals are being exposed.

Denmark is a tiny nation -’wealthy with a long naval tradition. And about 6 million people. It has neither the navy capable of defending Greenland, from either China or Russia, nor the wealth and industrial clout to exploit Greenland.

I’ve stopped the nagging comments. Put an answer up and stop trying to shoot the messenger.

Apple Raisin Coffee Cake

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da693aaa72f4b61185978b16738e3e6f

Yield: 12 to 15 servings

Ingredients

Cake

  • 1 (18.25 ounce) box white cake mix*
  • 1 teaspoon cinnamon 1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
  • 1 1/4 cups water
  • 1/4 cup oil
  • 2 eggs
  • 1 1/2 cups Granny Smith apples, peeled, cored, sliced and chopped
  • 1/2 cup raisins

Streusel

  • 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
  • 1/3 cup packed light brown sugar
  • 1/4 cup butter or margarine
  • 1 teaspoon cinnamon

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 350 degrees F. Lightly spray 9 x 13 inch Baker with vegetable oil spray.

Cake

  1. Combine cake mix, cinnamon, and nutmeg in Classic 2 quart Batter Bowl until well blended. Whisk in water, oil, and eggs until mixture is smooth.
  2. Peel, core, and slice apples with Apple Peeler/Corer/Slicer; then chop with Food chopper. Stir apples and raisins into batter. Pour into prepared 9 x 13 inch Baker.

Streusel

  1. Combine all ingredients in 1 quart Batter Bowl using Pastry Blender until mixture is the consistency of coarse crumbs. Sprinkle over cake batter.
  2. Bake for 35 to 40 minutes or until Cake Tester inserted in center comes out clean.
  3. Cool completely in pan on wire rack.

Nutrition

Per serving 339 calories and 13 gram of fat

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Nine Lives Quandary

Ah, dear reader, you’ve returned for yet another adventure of mine! Today’s tale is one filled with peril, mystery, humor, and yes, a touch of the metaphysical. For you see, even a brilliant detective such as myself is not immune to the occasional… mishap. But fear not, for this is not a tragic tale—far from it. It involves a brush with death, a glimpse into the great beyond, and my triumphant return to the farm where I truly belong. Prepare yourself for the ridiculous and enlightening story of Sir Whiskerton and the Nine Lives Quandary.

The Unfortunate Incident

It began, as most of my adventures do, with something utterly mundane. I was perched atop the barn roof, surveying my domain with regal authority, when a commotion broke out near the chicken coop. Porkchop was squealing, Rufus was darting back and forth, and the hens—oh, the hens—were clucking in absolute hysteria.

“An intruder! Oh, an intruder!” Doris squawked.
“Intruder! What if it’s a fox?!” Harriet clucked.
“A fox! Oh no, we’re all doomed!” Lillian screeched.
“Doomed! Doomed, I tell you!” Doris wailed.
“Focus, ladies,” I muttered under my breath.

Curious—and slightly annoyed—I leapt down from the barn roof and made my way to the scene. As it turned out, the “intruder” was a harmless garden snake slithering through the grass.

“It’s just a snake,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Calm yourselves.”

“A snake? Oh, how dreadful!” Doris gasped.
“Dreadful! But what if it bites us?!” Harriet cried.
“Bites us! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Lillian clucked.

“Ladies, it’s a garden snake. It’s harmless,” I said, waving a paw toward the snake, which was now retreating into the bushes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have better things to—”

And that’s when it happened. In my moment of smug distraction, I stepped backward… right into a precariously leaning rake. The handle shot up, bonking me squarely on the head. Stars filled my vision, and before I knew it, everything went black.

The Journey to Cat Heaven

When I opened my eyes, I was no longer on the farm. Instead, I found myself standing before a giant, golden gate. Beyond it stretched a pristine landscape of rolling hills, fluffy clouds, and… milk fountains? Yes, fountains of milk, flowing endlessly into golden bowls.

“Welcome, Sir Whiskerton,” said a soft, echoing voice.

I turned to find a majestic feline with shimmering fur and glowing golden eyes. She wore a crown of stars atop her head, and her voice carried the weight of centuries. “I am Felinara, the Guardian of Cat Heaven. You have arrived far sooner than expected.”

“Cat Heaven?” I said, my ears flicking. “Oh no, there’s been a mistake. I’m not supposed to be here.”

“You were struck by a rake,” Felinara said solemnly. “It was quite tragic.”

“A rake? That’s how I went out?” I groaned, rubbing my forehead. “How undignified.”

“Fear not,” Felinara said, gesturing toward the gate. “Within these gates lies eternal bliss. Endless naps in the sun, an infinite supply of tuna, and more ribbon toys than you could ever swat.”

“Hmm,” I said, my tail twitching. “It does sound… nice. But also… a bit dull, don’t you think?”

“Dull?” Felinara looked genuinely offended. “This is paradise!”

Exploring Cat Heaven

Reluctantly, I stepped through the gates and into Cat Heaven. At first, it was everything Felinara promised: the sun was warm, the milk was cold, and the tuna was perfectly flaky. But as I wandered through this so-called paradise, I began to notice something troubling.

First, there were the other cats. They were all lounging in the sun, purring contentedly, and absolutely no one was doing anything interesting. No one was solving mysteries, no one was chasing anything (except maybe their own tails), and worst of all, no one seemed to care.

“Excuse me,” I said to a portly tabby sprawled on a cloud. “Do you have any cases to investigate?”

“Investigate?” the tabby said, yawning. “Nah, mate. Nothing ever happens here. It’s purr-fect.”

“Purr-fectly boring,” I muttered.

Next, I tried the milk fountains. While refreshing at first, I quickly realized there was no variety. It was the same milk, over and over again. No cream, no little saucers of water for variety—just milk, milk, and more milk.

Finally, I attempted to strike up a conversation with a dignified Siamese with a monocle. “Surely there must be some excitement here,” I said.

“Excitement?” the Siamese said, raising an eyebrow. “My dear fellow, excitement is for the living. Here, we simply… exist.”

“Simply exist?” I repeated, horrified. “That’s it? No mysteries? No adventures? No purpose?”

“Purpose is overrated,” the Siamese said, before rolling over for a nap.

The Decision

I returned to Felinara, my whiskers bristling with frustration. “I’ve seen enough,” I said. “I want to go back.”

“Go back?” Felinara said, tilting her head. “But why? Cat Heaven is perfect.”

“It’s too perfect,” I said. “There’s no adventure, no challenge, no thrill of discovery. I can’t just lie around doing nothing for eternity. I’m Sir Whiskerton, for whisker’s sake! I need to do something.”

“But returning will cost you one of your nine lives,” Felinara warned. “Are you certain?”

“Absolutely,” I said without hesitation. “I’d rather live eight meaningful lives than spend eternity in boredom.”

Back on the Farm

The next thing I knew, I was back on the farm, surrounded by my concerned companions. Porkchop was sniffling, the hens were clucking in panic, and Rufus was poking me with a stick.

“He’s alive!” Porkchop squealed. “Whiskerton’s alive!”

“Alive?! Oh, how wonderful!” Doris squawked.
“Wonderful! But also shocking!” Harriet clucked.
“Shocking! I thought he was a goner!” Lillian cried.
“A goner! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Doris wailed.

“Enough,” I groaned, sitting up. “I’m fine. And for the record, I’ve decided not to die today.”

“What happened?” Sedgwick asked, his amber eyes narrowing.

“I had a brush with death,” I said, brushing some hay off my fur. “Went to Cat Heaven. Lovely place, but not for me. Too dull.”

“Too dull?” Rufus said, raising an eyebrow. “Only you would find heaven boring.”

“Indeed,” I said, smirking. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe there’s a garden snake that needs chasing.”

The Moral of the Story

Life, dear reader, is meant to be lived. It’s the challenges, the adventures, and yes, even the occasional rake to the head that make it worth living. So take it from me, Sir Whiskerton: don’t waste a single one of your lives—whether you have nine or just one.

The End.

Let’s see the realistic scenario of who exports more to US and who exports more to China

  • Australia already exports over $ 100 Billion to China and only $ 15 Billion to US
  • Brazil exports over $ 110 Billion to China and only $ 36 Billion to US
  • Indonesia exports $ 71 Billion to China and only $ 24 Billion to US
  • Malaysia exports $ 50 Billion to China and $ 41 Billion to the US
  • Singapore exports $ 77 Billion to China and only $ 44 Billion to the US
  • Saudi Arabia exports $ 65 Billion to China and only $ 15 Billion to the US
  • UAE exported $ 24 Billion to China and only $ 6.20 Billion to US
  • New Zealand exports $ 21 Billion to China and only $ 5.5 Billion to US
  • Kazakhstan exports $14 Billion to China and only $ 2 Billion to US

Out of 160 countries – Only 17 countries export more than 150% (50% more goods) of the goods to the US compared to China, Only 37 countries export between 0–50% more goods to the US compared to China

A Whopping 106 countries export more to China than the US with 57 countries exporting more than 100% of the goods to China compared to the US

The US imported $ 3.25 Trillion of Goods and China imported $ 2.5 Trillion of Goods

Yet US has a 68% Middle Class and China has around 40%

By 2030 – Chinese Middle Class will reach 800 Million from 536 Million meaning 264 million new consumers whereas the US Middle Class will reach a paltry 267 Million from 242 Million meaning only 25 million new consumers

Chinas middle class wages are rising by 5.50% a year, US wages by 2.17% a year

So it’s absolutely likely that China will replace US as the largest importer in the world by 2030

So realistically what exactly does US have to offer???

The only things US has a demand for can ONLY be made efficiently in China

US doesn’t need Iron Ore, Soybeans, Pork, Sunflower Seeds, Edible Oils, Beef, Uranium, Nickel, Lithium, Oil, Coal, LNG, Almonds, Shrimp, Lobsters, Cherries, Petrochemicals, Baby Formula or Advanced Chips Or Chipmaking Equipment in any volume that China wants

US wants consumer goods, consumer electronics machine parts, legacy chips, smartphones, electric circuit boards, industrial machinery parts, patent pharmaceutical APIs , low cost goods that only China makes and delivers in ample quantities

China holds plenty of cards and leverage

Plus China accepts other currencies including the Dong, SGD, MYR & Rupaiah in cross border settlements

US accepts nothing but US Dollars

So how can US ever better China in a Trade War?

Most of the world if given a hard choice between US and China would move to China without a seconds hesitation

Nymphomaniac in the mental hospital

Because China’s main focus is on the US, which has declared China its strategic adversary No.1.

In order to wrestle with the US, China needs to unite everyone it can.

Russia is already very friendly to China, and by the war in Ukraine is forced to move even closer to China. The potential for more China-Russian relationship growth is limited.

However, if China publicly supports Russia, it would wreck havoc on China’s relationship with Europe. China stands to lose a lot from such maneuver.

There’s also the secondary issue of international law and order. Ukraine is a sovereign nation, if China supports Russian invasion of Ukraine under the excuse of helping defend the Ukrainian rebels (Russian speakers in Eastern Ukraine), then it opens the exact same reasoning for US invasion of China over Taiwan to help the Chinese rebels (Taiwanese).

China weighed the pros and cons, and chose its current position.

Now this is just for the war in Ukraine. If Russia were to be defeated and even invaded by NATO, China would help Russia with everything it got, because China doesn’t want to share a 4000 kilometers land border with NATO.

Bacon Mushroom Quiche

e4ca12c0317eb2cc0b0b10bf498f7e69
e4ca12c0317eb2cc0b0b10bf498f7e69

Yield: 6 servings

Ingredients

  • 1 (9-inch) pie crust
  • 1/2 pound (approximately 8 slices) bacon
  • 1/2 cup chopped green onions
  • 1 (8 ounce) package sliced mushrooms
  • 2 cups (approximately 2 medium) sliced zucchini
  • 2 pressed garlic cloves
  • 1 cup (4 ounces) shredded Cheddar cheese
  • 3 large eggs
  • 1 cup milk
  • 1 teaspoon parsley
  • 1/4 teaspoon each salt and ground black pepper
  • 1/8 teaspoon nutmeg

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 375 degrees F.
  2. Place pie crust in 9 inch Pie Plate according to package directions; set aside.
  3. Cook bacon over medium heat in Generation II Skillet. Remove bacon; drain and crumble.
  4. Reserve 1 tablespoon of bacon drippings and sauté onions, mushrooms, zucchini, and garlic until tender.
  5. Add bacon to vegetables and combine.
  6. Spread vegetable mixture over bottom of pie crust. Sprinkle cheese over vegetable mixture.
  7. Whisk eggs, milk, and seasonings together in Batter Bowl.
  8. Pour egg mixture over cheese.
  9. Bake for 35 to 40 minutes.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

NOW Neocons Are READY: Make Taiwan The Ukraine Of Asia | Jeffrey Sachs & Joanna Lei

Ivan Off

Submitted into Contest #282 in response to: Write a story that begins with an apology. view prompt

Dan Morris

‘. . . Sorry, Randy . . . I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.’

           Thus began his Uncle’s Donny’s letter. The letter he had found slipped mysteriously under the door of the 3rd floor apartment he currently shared with his girlfriend. The lettering was very flowery and ornate, and done by hand and in cursive with what looked like some sort of ink dipped pen. It had come in a brittle envelope that had seen better days.

           Bizarre for sure, thought Randy Phillipson, age 32, as he started scanning through the letter. Like something out of a freakin’ movie.

           It read . . .

            ‘Randy, I know the past year has been challenging for you. Especially since your parents had just died and you had to spend three weeks at that homeless shelter last November . . . You called, but I didn’t help you. I’m sorry, but it wasn’t because I was cash poor, it was because I was a different person then. I want to make it up to you. In a moment, I want you to check outside. You should be pleasantly surprised.’

           Yours,

           Donald J Phillipson III

           The box was the size of a damn refrigerator. And there was just an excessive amount of those ridiculous, little, white, fluffy packing peanuts in there is well; as he soon found out after he stabbed the stubborn cardboard box open with the dull boxcutter that happened to be handy.

           The peanuts had gotten everywhere immediately, and Tim had to stop his new girlfriend’s little long-legged chihuahua puppy from eating the delicious, crunchy, and yet highly toxic marshmallows like they were candy.

           After relocating Optimus Prime to the bathroom and closing the door, Randy returned to the massive box. It looks like it could hold several bodies in this thing! Thought Randy bitterly as he returned to stab the packaging.

           He wondered just how in the hell the delivery man had gotten the damned thing up that grueling three flights of stairs with a box that big.

           But, even though there was no one there a few minutes ago, there was a little clipboard lying on the ground with a grueling, eye-squinting contract to sign with a nifty silver pen, (the old-fashioned type with the arrowhead tip), attached to it with a chain. And the box.

           And the box was heavy! Randy wasn’t sure how to move it at first, but he finally saw that the intrepid package delivery man had left him use of a shiny, steel-looking hand truck, still in place underneath it on the other side.

           He shuffled the box inside quickly with the surprisingly squeaky hand truck, before the nosy Mrs. Peterson next door got whiff of her neighbor receiving a giant mysterious package. But, then, he had to open it. He supposed he could just wait until his girlfriend got home from work, (this was her apartment), But, the giant refrigerator-sized cardboard monstrosity was clearly intended to be delivered to him. It said so, right on the box, and on the weird form he was supposed to sign it said his name a few times. He scanned it only briefly, but he was sure that his name was the only one that was mentioned in it, and not his girlfriend’s.

           Tearing away the last of the murky cellophane, Randy found himself with before a tall, mannequin-looking thing. It looked like a human, but without the reproductive parts where they should be. And the joints were obviously separated by a gap of maybe less than a centimeter, so it appeared that it had the ability to move its limbs, much like a child’s doll. And its face was so peculiar . . . It looked much like one of his action hero figures that he owned in jawline cut and appearance.

           Neat.

           “Is there an ‘On’ button on this thing?” wondered Randy aloud, looking around it on a goose neck for some kind of switch.

           “Oh, it’s holding something.”

           Randy pulled the envelope from the ‘dummy’s’ hand, also addressed to him, and read it aloud to himself. It was more of that flowery handwriting, this time even more compressed.

           “Dear Randy, my favorite Nephew. This is your Uncle Donny again. If you have not guessed by now, I am writing to you from the grave. I know you must be quite startled, but I assure you everything is going quite as planned.  Last March I received dire news. I found out I was going to pass away from terminal prostate cancer in the next few months, and that it will be an incredibly painful death. As I am writing this to you, I can tell you that, quite honestly, I believe they may be right. I do not urinate well any more. At all. And its always painful . . .

           But, I digress. As you know, I love gadgets and robots and things. I have recently come into some considerable wealth. This has allowed me to always obtain the newest products way before they hit the market.

           Before you is the TX-301 model ‘Mechanical House Maintainer.’ Or MHM, for short. It is, basically, a butler that will clean your house. Or entertain you, if you let it. To turn it on, just say its name, followed by the word ‘ON’. To turn it off, just say its name, and ‘OFF’.

           Yours truly,

           Uncle Donny

           ‘P. S. – Whatever you do, don’t tell the but—’

           Oddly enough, the rest was blurred out by a water smudge. Or something. What the hell wasn’t he supposed to tell it?

           There was nothing on the back. Randy let the letter fall to the ground and put his hand to his chin in quiet consternation. He realized Optimus had stopped whining.

           “Great, it probably pissed or shit on the floor in there. Again.”

           He was more concerned about the problem of turning this thing on. Actually, at the moment, he was wondering if it was even wise for him to turn it on . . . he had read a few sci-fi horror comics that had started out just like this.

           But, the face of this weird robot butler thing his Uncle had given him was very familiar . . .

           “No way.”

           That odd grizzled jawline . . . His Uncle’s favorite video game?

           “Is your name Ivan? As in ‘Krazy Ivan’? From my Uncle’s weird old Playstation 2 game?”

           It was now or never.

           “Ivan On.”

           The effect was almost immediate. The eyes started glowing an almost blinding bright green for a moment, then, as the glow receded, it left behind the look of something alive. Or at least, intelligent and conscious.

           Its head moved from left to right, and its eyes began to move as it seemed to scan the room, but with a creepy robotic lurch that made it seem to randomly jerk.

           Finally, its head stopped in line with Randy, and its eyes stared at him directly.

           It spoke. With a voice of gravel.

     “Greetings. You must be my new master. I have already downloaded your voice profile to my data logs. I am now registered to you.”

           “Huh?” wondered Randy aloud.

           The robot said nothing.

           “What do you do?”

           The grizzled face of Ivan replied, in a perfectly unnatural robot voice, “I am yours to command. I will obey any order that you give me. Or rather, I will attempt to. My data slot is still learning, and processing new information.”

           “Oh. Uh . . .” said Randy, “You could clean my house! You’re a butler, right? You clean things? And bring me drinks and food and stuff?”

           “Affirmative.”

           “Cool. Can you drive a car?”

           “I am designated as an ‘MHM’. If driving falls within the parameters of household duty, then I will attempt to learn this ability as soon as possible.”

           “Oh, right. You’re kind of dumb now, huh? I gotta teach you things? Like a Tomagachi pet?”

           “I do not understand ‘TOMAGACHI PET’ word usage.”

           “It’s like a little digital pet you keep on like a tiny robot game thingy that you can keep in your pocket. You have to train it, and feed it. Stuff like that. If you don’t, it dies. But, it’s okay, it’s just a game.”

           Ivan stared blankly. Randy could almost hear the robot’s brain clicking away as it processed that information.

           “Master, would you permit me a question? I may ask a lot of these, as it is one way my processor can learn.”

           “Shoot.”

           Blank stare.

           “Oh, I mean, ‘sure’. Ask away.”

           “You just said you owned a robot that ‘ D I E S ‘, if you don’t interact in certain ways with it. This word is not in my data logs. What is ‘dies?’

           Randy shook his head in disbelief. “Wow. It’s like I am talking to a child.”

           Blank stare.

           “When something ‘dies’ or is ‘dead’, it means their life functions cease. Oh, wait, no. That’s the medical meaning. Sorry, I’m in med school. No uh, I guess it just means that something no longer moves anymore. Its functions cease. Inoperable. It’s something that is usually irreversible.”

              More of that brain clicking sound. Maybe Randy wasn’t imagining it. This time it was longer than normal.

           “Master, it appears I was in a state of ‘death’, as you put it, before you have just turned me on. I was inoperable and did not function.”

           Randy couldn’t stop from laughing. “Ha ha! Yeah, well I guess everyone is like that. Before they’re born, I guess everything is sort of ‘dead’. My girlfriend would love to argue that point with you, though, my friend. She is a Philosophy Major.

           “Master, what does ‘born’ mean? This file is not in my datalogs.”

           “Geez, whoever programmed you did an incredibly crappy job. You don’t even know all the words in the dictionary yet.”

           “Master, what is meaning of ‘dictionary’?”

           Sigh. “I’ll go get one for you right now.”

           Randy turned to go back to the rear office nook where the couple kept such things as a dictionary. It always finds a way of coming in handy. Boring read, though, if one was to just read it straight through, as if it were a novel and not a reference book. From many steps away he saw the ridiculous amount of papers and books and junk almost spilling out of the office room.

           This could be difficult.

           “I don’t really remember where it is. Here, you pick up these peanuts while I’m gone, and I’ll be right back.

           He heard Optimus scratch and bark as he passed the bathroom door. God, that dog is gonna freak when it sees the robot. Maybe he shouldn’t let him out yet.

           Randy attacked the pile of intellectual debris with gusto, happily mumbling to himself as he did. “Geez, Uncle. You could have just got me a Roomba. I would have been perfectly happy with that. I wouldn’t have to teach the fucking Roomba basic words it doesn’t know by getting it a dictionary. Oh, my God. Here it is.”

           Randy pulled out the dictionary, a small, ragged affair with watermarks. (Or were those coffee stains? Or both?) He held it in the air in victory.

           “Huzzah! Okay, now to get back to my robot butler. Ha ha. He couldn’t have gotten into too much trouble, I hope . . .”

           The chihuahua puppy scratched and growled, then bumped at the door as Randy passed it.

           “Hold on, buddy. You are gonna hate this thing. Give me a second and I’ll put you in the big bedroom.”

           He returned to find Ivan picking up the pieces of Styrofoam peanuts. He had gotten most of them too. He was pretty fast. All of the pieces were nearly in the box.

           “You could have gotten a broom, you know. Oh wait . . . do you know the word ‘broom’?’

           Ivan stopped and his eyes darted back and forth rapidly, and in a way no human’s eyes could ever do.

           “A broom is cleaning instrument that could have helped me with this task, yet I have not the knowledge of one in the area.”

           “Yeah . . . here, read this. It’ll catch you up. Or, I dunno, scan it or whatever.”

           Ivan immediately dropped the tons of peanuts directly on the floor and accepted the book. The little puff balls scattered.

           “Thank you. This will help immensely.”

           Ivan opened the book and started eyeing the copyright page intensely.

           “I am going to get you some clothes. You look like a naked Seargent doll from the G. I. Joe series. Except no one issued you clothes, I guess. Hang on.”

           A few moments later and Randy was rummaging through the main bedroom’s closet.

           “God, what is he? A size XXL? I don’t even think anything in here will fit . . . Oh, here we go. Well, not great, but it’ll have to do. I’ll have to get him some real butler clothes soon. Or at least a suit jacket. That would be cool.

           Randy returned with Miranda’s Columb County Community College sweater, a pair of stretched out sweats, and grisly looking pink beach flip-flops that all probably would not fit very well, if at all.

           Ivan had made it to the second page of the A section. Good for him. No . . . something was wrong here.

           “You read almost slower than my Grandma, dude. Can’t you just scan the page and download it or something? I dunno, it just seemed like something that has a computer processor in its head would be able to do something as easy as that with no problems.”

           Without looking up from the page, Ivan replied, “Negative. My CPU does not function like a normal computer does, nor do I learn in the same way another A. I. program would. My processor demands that I piece together the bits of logic I find when I am ‘reading’ something. I have to scan several lines of writing, then process it, then return to scanning, in order for me to properly internalize the data.”

           “You’re gonna be standing there for three days going at that rate! Just put the clothes on.”

           Ivan complied, in his jerky robot fashion way. It was quite comical, and the clothes fit badly. Optimus Prime could be heard howling away in the bathroom.

           It definitely had shit in there. But . . .

           “Oh my God! You look like a Florida Tourist! You just need sunglasses!” laughed Randy.

           He couldn’t stop from going and grabbing his oversized beach sunglasses from right off the bedside table next to them.

           Randy turned to run down the hall again, holding his sides as he did so. He was gonna take a phone video after this and put it on YouTube! He could see the tagline now . . . Terminator goes to the beach dressed like Grandma. Hahaha.

           Strangely enough, however, the lights wouldn’t turn on in his room. Randy didn’t think much of it and went and grabbed the glasses off the nightstand.

           He turned to see Ivan standing there in front of him, about a foot away. Staring down at him with those glowing green eyes of his . . . This didn’t feel right.

           “Ivan? You scared the shit out of me, bro! Don’t do that!” said Randy, playfully punching at Ivan’s arm.

           Ivan’s brain clicked and whirred.

           “Master, why did you hit me?”

           Randy shrugged, feeling a cold sweat break out on him. The robot butler was directly in his path. It would be strenuous to go around him. It looked like he had to talk semantics and social physical play with a robot.

           His worst subjects that he took in college involved those two things.

           “Just . . . uh . . . playin’ around man. You know. A joke.”

           “What is the meaning of ‘joke’?”

           “Ah, I dunno . . . you got me, man. Somethin’ funny? Oh, you don’t know that word either?” rambled Randy, starting desperately to figure a way out, but with nothing coming immediately to mind.

           “Master, did you know that an Aardvark is a large, nocturnal, burrowing mammal, residing in central and south Africa, feeds on ants and termites and has a long, extensile tongue?”

           Ivan lifted his right arm and cocked it back, not menacingly, but with a strange jerking motion that almost made Randy nauseous. Randy dropped the sunglasses and stepped back involuntarily, waiting for the strike that would certainly end his life.

           Oh! Right.

           “Ivan Off.”

           Randy closed his eyes as he said this, still expecting the blow to come. But, he heard a metallic powering down noise and he opened his eyes to see Ivan’s head slumped forward, and his arms at his sides. This close, Randy could see there was something written in extremely small black print on Ivan’s neck. Almost like it was stamped there.

           “WARNING: ONLY TEACH MHM BASIC HOUSEHOLD TASKS. TOO MUCH CONFLICTING INFORMATION WILL OVERLOAD THE PROCESSOR AND CAUSE ERRORS. THIS WILL VOID THE WARRANTY.   Coppertap Ind.  —-”

           Below that there seemed to be even smaller writing that Randy had to squint to see.

           ‘Made in Mexico.’

           Randy fell, or rather collapsed, sideways on the bed, and finally he could hear the sharp, piercing cries of the dog finally reaching his ears over the immediate panic.

           The dark figure of Ivan stood over him like a malignant mannequin of death. Just sleeping for now. Yeah, thought Randy, I’m sending this fucker back. I don’t care that I voided the warranty.

           Randy rolled on his back and stared at the ceiling, letting out a sigh of disbelief. And relief. Then he laughed. And couldn’t stop laughing for several minutes.

           “Geez, Uncle. You could have just got me a fucking Roomba.”

I was telling my bestie how i regret marrying my husband but had no idea he was listening and then

https://youtu.be/kOTS4JOsOeQ

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“They don’t care!” Jeffrey Sachs on US approach to Civilian Deaths in Gaza and Ukraine

Lost in a Dark Place

Submitted into Contest #282 in response to: Write a story set in a world of darkness where light is suddenly discovered. view prompt

Patrick Huber

A chaotic symphony of light and sound pop and burst until all that remains is silence and darknessYou wake up sitting in the pilots seat of a craft pod. Your perspective is limited and you hear your breathing which means you have a helmet covering your head and face. You are in a flight suit of some sort designed for distant off world travel. So far you are unable to see beyond your mask, but a blinking light brings your attention to an instrument panel just at arms length. Most of instruments are broken save for the one that blinks to let you know everything else is broken. Attempting to ground yourself, you find that you have no recollection of the events that brought you here.From what you can see out the window is not much. Your world is enveloped in darkness. The terrain looks flat but you are unable to see much more than a few yards from the ship. You open the hatch and get better view of this strange world.Without proper readings of where you are, you venture to keep your suit on until you can know if the air is breathable. Your suit can hold enough oxygen for up to 18 hours without any extreme strengths of physical exertion. Stepping foot on the ground you notice gravity appears to be similar to earth. You get first good look at the sky. Without knowing the day/night cycle you are unsure how to evaluate what you’re looking at. The sky appears to be a dark amethyst color with streaks of indigo haphazardly brushed across it. They act like clouds high up in the sky, each hiding a glowing blue moon behind it.Your take quick stock of your situation. The life boat you crashed land was a one tripper and the crash did away with any hopes of attempts at a second. Your suit appears relatively untouched from the crash and in good working order. There is a wrist band with a readout for the oxygen supply. Other than that you have your legs and your wits. With no better alternative you decide to walk away from the lifeboat.Looking over a horizon to the left, you gaze at what could pass as storms cloud in the distance. A thick layer of dark purple hangs between the orange sand and the sky. You see the clouds roll and bubble with momentum. To the right looks clear, so you go right. You do not know how long you may have before a storms hits or what that would look like here but you attempt to put some haste in your step.No destination other than survival. A purposeful walk turns to a jog which briefly jumps to a run but slows back down to a brisk walk. The weight of the suit and limited oxygen put a low ceiling on how fast you can travel. You decide a steady pace is best.You have no sense of time or how far you’ve traveled. You glance behind you every so often to check on the storm which appears to have stalled at least for now. You could measure your distance from the pod but you lost sight of it and your only point of direction a while ago.NO STAY WITH ME!A voice thundering across the surface of the planet. The vibrations knock you to your feet. You’re momentarily paralyzed by this new mystery.STAY WITH ME!The voice says again and like before the world shook.The ground stabilizes and your fear subsides. Or at least it intensifies enough to get you back to your feet and moving again. You add fearful determination into your walk with an intent of fleeing and hiding. But with nothing to see other than a dark sky and burnt orange sand you are once again fleeing with no destination.

Deep on the horizon straight head a small flash of what could be lighting popped. Unsure of the meaning of what you saw, it is a promise of something other than darkness perhaps so you continue toward it. You believe you make out a rise in elevation in the distance. Could be mountains or perhaps unnatural mounds signaling life. Either way you head towards it. The mounds gradually grow in height and you can be pretty certain they are natural mountains. This brings a glimmer of hope to your otherwise bleak situation. The change of terrain is breath of fresh air so to speak until ground elevation drops off and you find yourself on the precipice of a deep canyon. Hesitation brings you to look around for other options.

The storm still intensifies behind you, the layer of bubbling blackness is twice as large as before and growing faster. With no alternative you find a gentle enough slope for you to slide down to a lower ledge. It’s about 8 feet or so down, you slide down with little trouble. You see that your path to the bottom is a much more of the same. A series of small rock outcrops and ledges a few feet or so down that allows you to get to the bottom.

Once at the bottom of the canyon your world view becomes much narrower. Your perception is now framed by the dark 60 foot walls that could not be more than 20 or so feet apart. You stay on the move. As you hustle through a maze of dark black rock, the storm has caught up with you and there is no more color to the sky. Black clouds spill over the sides of the canyons, cascading down the rock like water down a mountainside. And just like water it continues to flow in your direction. You pick up speed. But the rush of black most catches up with you. It builds around your ankles and yet you move with ease as there is little or no reaction.

You continue through the canyon as the clouds are up past your knees. You lose notice of any color in the sky, but rather different contrasts of darkness. You are aware of no light source but still you are able to see your path through this colorless void.

The canyon walls are narrowing and the mist is high up around your waist. There is an unmistakeable mass to it now. You feel resistance in your movement. The cloud is so dense you cannot see below the surface. The density as created a pressure and it restricts your movement. It feels as if you are walking through a storm cloud with wind crashing at you from every direction. You struggle to keep moving but you know you must. If anything because the alternative is to quit and die and you don’t quit eve if it means death. Your brain starts to process what it sees in front of you. You’ve reached the end of canyon and a 100 foot wall is ahead of you.

The cloud is nearly up your chest, you have to get out of this. As you approach the wall you a see a small crack about 8ft tall and maybe 18 inches wide. You stick the face shield of your helmet into the crack to see what’s behind it. Like everything else it’s dark, but you sense depth in the darkness and from the cloud that has seeped in the ground level stays constant at least for a while.

 

NO! NO! DON’T GO! STAY WITH ME!

 

A booming voice echoed through the walls of the canyon. Sonic booms explode in the totality of the atmosphere disrupting the rocky terrain. Large rocks crumble down from the walls disappearing in the surface level clouds. You cling to the wall, not wanting to get sucked under the surface.

You have to get of there.

You attempt to escape through the crack but your helmet and your suit make you too wide. You desperately try to force metal and plastic through rock but it won’t budge. A tsunami of wind builds and comes rushing through canyon. The force of dense air presses you against the wall. Your world is enveloped by swirling black wind. Your panic pushes you to act desperately and with little thought to possible consequences.

You take a deep breath and remove your helmet and try to squeeze through. Still nothing, so you quickly strip off your suit. Wearing nothing but a monotone under base layer you take your first breath of alien air and are relieved to not immediately die. It could be oxygen but for now it’s not poison.

The narrow crack blocks most of the wind but forces you to side step most of the way. With only the side walls to guide you, you press on. Without the filter from the helmet visor you see that the world takes on a dark bluish tone. Your arms spreading farther alert tell you the gap is widening. The ground slopes so much so that you lose your balance and begin to slide. A slide forms to a roll as you travel down a hill before coming to a tumble at the bottom. You roll to your back and look up. Large spikes of black rock with dim blue glow cover the ceiling hanging down at varied length. You sit up to see the ground is not much different with opposing spikes stretching up from the ground. You’re up on your feet, feeling little effects from the fall. Unsure of where to move next you stay frozen.

A low inaudible humming voice echoes through cave before a flash of light blinds you. The brightness subsides and the cave is alive with electricity, arcing from point to point in a concerted ballet. You are able to see the cave now in its full wonder. The ceiling must be 20 feet high and the expanse looks infinite. Most interesting is a reflection you notice from a large mass of black water. You run to edge and it is indeed a lake of blackness. You bend down and put your hand in it. It’s as dark and souless as oil but with the touch of water. You stand once again at the precipice of a decision with no clear motivation. The electricity has died down so you are back to a muted blue darkness. You see no end to this lake so it could stretch on forever. You step into it to check the depth. You look back away from the shore and see the hole you fell about 8 feet off the ground and the wall, about 50 yards from the shore, marking this end of the cave.

You look around for answers. There’s always something. You venture farther from the shore but a force pulls you back. You find yourself heading back to the lake.

Again the low humming voice throughout the cave and the flash of light. It knocks you into the water before giving way to the electric current dance above.

A rhythmic pounding, weak but noticeable, emerges. It causes the spikes to hum and reverberate.

You get up and are immediately taken back by a tall cyclone of light at the back wall of the cave, stretching from ground to ceiling.

You walk towards it and feel warmth immediately. It’s the first time since you woke up that you have noticed temperature. It never occurred to you if it was hot or cold. But now as you step closer to this light, arms of warmth reach out to pull you closer.

A small black wave rushes up from the lake and swirl around your feet before reseding back. You take an another step toward the light and again a black wave comes in this time up to your knees and you feel the pull of current as the water recedes.

You move closer to the swirling mass of white illumination and are hit by another wave that knocks you to the ground and this time the current drags you back a few feet. You jump to your feet and sprint toward the light. Another crash from behind and you fall face forward down into blackness.

The current has you, it pulls you under the black water. You tumble and roll around trying to get a sense of your direction. The wave crashes back on land. Your up and sprinting hard now toward the light. You dare to look back amd catch a tidal wave building and rushing up quick.

The brightness begins to hurt your eyes and you squint but still run. You are hypnotized but the warmth as it grabs hold of you. You feel drops of water falling as you know the wave is about crash down. You push forward with everything you have left and leap forward just as the wave crashes behind you. The intensity of the wave pushes you forward into the cyclone and your world goes to white.

 

*****

 

“I have a pulse” one EMT alerts another.

“Ok she’s stable. Let’s load her up.”

It’s early morning, the sun has broken free from the horizon. Last of the night, fighting a losing battle with the sun, paint an ombré of black to blue to yellow in the sky. The virgin suns rays reflect off the fresh dusting of snow, illuminating the world.

The two EMTs secure the woman to the gurney and exit a suburban home towards a waiting ambulance.

A man, early 40s runs along side the gurney, he’s wearing sweatpants, t-shirt, and slippers, he’s holding her hand. She’s loaded up, the doors are closed, and the ambulance drives off. The man walks back over to the sidewalk and bends down to embrace two small children their eyes red and swollen, their cheeks wet with tears.

“Is Mommy going to be ok” a young girl of 8 asks her dad.

“Mommy’s going to be ok, she got lost in a dark place but she found the light again” he tells them.

The flashes of red and blue fade on their faces as the ambulance gains distance from them. The family watches as their mother heads off toward the rising sun of a new day.

Scott Ritter : Does the West Understand just how bad they’ve been beaten?

Star – Light

Submitted into Contest #282 in response to: Write a story set in a world of darkness where light is suddenly discovered. view prompt

Chris Cancilla

Bizzy woke up like she did each and every morning for the past twenty-two years. She threw on a robe to cover her body, went to the kitchen, and made a coffee. She set it up the night before as she always did. It’s ready for her when she begins her day.Pouring a cup and splashing in a bit of vanilla creamer, she stood in front of the great window in the living room. Her apartment is on the forty-sixth floor of her building. The top level. She had secured the apartment higher than any surrounding apartments available twenty-two years ago today. She had the entire top level of the building. The leasing office had her stop by last night to sign the new lease. This time for three years. “Paperwork sucks!” She said out loud as she picked up her coffee and walked into the other room.Granted, the building narrowed as it reached the top floor, so her apartment was literally the top of the building. She even had access to a small rooftop that she used on occasion. The apartment had three rooms. Kitchen, bedroom, and living room. Off her bedroom was her bathroom, and this apartment had an added feature: running water in the shower. The manager left it active if she promised not to use it all that often. Water is included in the lease, and it is expensive. She did her best and never had a complaint.It was mid-morning. She could barely distinguish the buildings across the street as she viewed the area. The scientists think the planet is going through a shift or something soon, meaning the star will illuminate their planet for the first time in recorded history. She hated science in school; that’s why she went into the military, and after leaving the service, she found a home in security.But Bizzy knew the real story. There is a huge rock or something on a direct head-on collision with Mornaro, the planet that has blotted out the light from the star since the beginning of time. The collision is estimated to be visible simply by looking up when it hits the planet, which is three or four times larger than Arnon, her home planet. The last report has the collision at 2 in the afternoon tomorrow.Some of those science nerds believe it will knock the planet out of orbit and it will collide with Arnon. Others, more realistic, she hopes, think it will kick up a lot of dust and debris but slow the speed of the planet in its orbit by as much as 6%. Over time, we would have a day and a night like never before. The day will be bright, and only the night will be dark and normal.Bizzy said out loud, “I don’t know if I could get used to that.”She turned and went to get ready for work.She poured another cup and got dressed. 

Walking through the streets towards the precinct, she looked at the people she passed. Oblivious to what was in store in their very near future. News, or more accurately, propaganda, is what you will tell the people tonight. Being a lead investigator, she is pretty high up on the information chain in the precinct. She reads stuff. She hears stuff. She knows stuff. Who is she gonna tell?

 

The eyes of everyone on this planet were well-adjusted for darkness. Bizzy could not imagine what it would be like when the planet is flooded with light. Would she still be able to do her job? Her eyes were more attuned to the darkness than most of the planet’s population. When she looked at something, she saw it as if for the first time. No preconceptions, her thoughts did not convolute what she was looking at. She saw no shadows; she could see it for what it was, and because of this, she could perform her job better than most. She was promoted quickly from security patrol to lead to Investigator and has excelled over the past few years. She solves more open cases than most; they know it will be closed if assigned to her.

 

“Bizzy!” The man at the desk said, “You’re a little early for your shift.”

 

“Couldn’t sleep, so here I am. What’s the word?” She asked.

 

Tom Bartholo waved her over, “Word is that the rock will hit tomorrow, and the light will hit us within a few days. They are putting all us uniforms on extra shifts. Worried about rioting, looting, killings, and suicides.”

 

She looked at him, “What about you?”

 

“Eh… Whatever. As long as I can sit here and talk to people as they walk in, my life is a bowl of cherries with no pits.”

 

They spoke for a few more moments, and Bizzy went to her desk, sat, opened her terminal, and read a few things.

 

“Elizabeth. In my office, now.”

 

“Yes, Chief!”

 

Chief Russel Irons motioned to close the door and sit as she entered his office. She did.

 

“Elizabeth.”

 

She gave him a side-eye look, raising her left eyebrow, the closest to him, “Yes, Rusty?”

 

“Sorry,” He smiled at her, “Bizzy. We just got word from the nerds. The rock that will hit tomorrow afternoon is not the first.”

 

“No?”

 

“No. It’s the sixth and smaller than a few of its leaders. The first two that will hit will be enough to slow the planet ever so slightly, and tomorrow afternoon, when the sixth hits, Mornaro will be slowed. Star light will hit Arnon, and all hell will break loose.”

 

“How so? What do they think will happen? When will the first hit?”

 

The Chief looked at the clock on the wall above his door, “10 AM and a few seconds, with the second and third hitting at 4-minute intervals. So, in 41 minutes, all life on this planet will change forever.”

 

She stood, “I’ll be in the streets. People are going to lose it out there.”

 

She left his office and went to her desk to pick up her weapon. Locking it into the holster on her belt, she looked around and saw the new people staring at her. They looked scared.

 

“Marc, Liz, with me.”

 

They were in full uniform. Fresh out of the academy.

 

They walked out of the building in silence. Stopping on the street, Bizzy looked at the two rookies.

 

“The shit is about to hit the fan,” Pausing a moment, “If you have a round in the chamber, remove it. The extra half second to rack the pistol will not make that much of a difference, and the safety factor will give us a bit of cushion in case we draw and do not need to fire.”

 

“At the academy, we were…….” Liz said.

 

Bizzy cut her off, “Not sure you noticed. This ain’t the academy. Clear your weapon, load the mag, and holster it. This is how I carry mine pretty much all the time. Stops accidental discharges.”

 

They both complied.

 

They walked for almost half an hour while looking at the sky. They walked in a circle, not straying too far from the office. The news told them about the rocks hitting their sister planet but stopped there. If you read scientific journals, you know about the slowing of Mornaro. The stars were pretty, and it was a perfectly clear morning. All three of their radios broke squelch, “Thirty seconds.”

 

That’s all that was said. They stopped and leaned on a cement wall, staring at the planet in plain view with the slight ring of light that provided daylight to her planet.

 

A moment later, they saw the first rock, maybe a second or two before it hit, and the plume of dust and debris was amazing. The cloud of dust was larger than the continent they stood on. Four minutes later, another, then another. “Looks like they all hit the same spot!” Marc said, “I wish we could see what the rocks did to that planet. I suppose we’ll be able to travel there one day.”

 

Now they wait.

 

About half an hour later, they saw it. A sliver of the star. The shadows that were cast on the area and the colors they showed on everything were new. People started screaming.

 

In the beginning madness, one man jumped off a nearby building and landed in view of the three from security.

 

Liz started to go to the man. “Wait!” Marc said. There is no way he survived that fall.” Marc looked at the place where he hit—or rather, where all the inside pieces and parts of the man were scattered on the outside. “The impact popped him like a balloon. Let’s try to help those we can help.”

 

They appeared in the chaos and commotion around them to be in the middle of an apparent riot. The street was in absolute chaos. People were running into each other, and Marc and Bizzy were thrown off balance more than once.

 

Someone screamed from the opposite side of the street that they could not go on. The world is ending, and they do not want to see it.

 

The screaming man saw Liz and ran to her. She thought he was going to ask for help and let her guard down momentarily. That’s all it took. Grabbing her pistol, he pointed it at her, pulling the trigger. Nothing happened. She knocked him out cold with her baton and reholstered her weapon.

 

“Get back to the precinct!” Bizzy yelled, “We can coordinate there and see what needs to be done.”

 

They took off at a dead run, and all three made it the few minutes run to the precinct doors. They were locked. They all pounded, and the doors opened. They locked the doors as they entered.

 

“If you had not told us to clear, I would be dead,” Liz said.

 

“People are basically stupid, gullible, and follow the idiot in front of them. If he had fired your weapon and you died, someone else would have done the same. We are riding on a new planet now, and we have no business being out there in the streets. Short of killing everyone, there is no way to stop something like this. Tomorrow, hopefully, people will start using their brains again.”

 

They looked out the door, and there was light. For the first time, they could clearly see people walking, buildings, fighting in the street, and the stars disappearing.

 

“I think I’ll spend the night here. Walking home will be dangerous, and that light will hurt my eyes,” Bizzy squinted as she looked out the doors, “The light is getting people off the streets. Hopefully, they will clear out and wise up.”

 

“Bizzy, they say we have maybe seven hours of this, what, light…. Anti-darkness. Each day, it will get brighter and brighter. The science geeks tell us that remaining in direct star light may cause skin burns. They also think our planet will warm up a lot, like next year at this time 50 to 75 degrees.”

 

Liz asked, “How can we survive at those temperatures? 120°! That’s unbelievable!”

 

“I know. But what can we do? Our little planet hovers around 40° to 50° everywhere. 80, 90, 100, 110. That is going to be a challenge.”

 

Chief Irons asked Bizzy, “What’s this about clearing their weapon?”

 

Marc replied, “She had us remove the round from the chamber. We know it is against policy, but it saved Liz’s life and maybe more. The guy who got ahold of her pistol started pulling the trigger, and he would have shot all 23 rounds, possibly killing 23 people, starting with Liz, I mean Security Officer Moore. Point blank, on her forehead.”

 

The Chief thought momentarily, “Security Officer Moore, you lost your weapon?” He looked at her service pistol in its holster.

 

“No, Chief, I mean yes, Chief. I thought the man was asking for assistance, but he wanted to use my pistol to end his life and possibly a lot more people than just himself. But, Investigor Russo had us clear our weapons in the event of what happened, happened. It saved my life.”

 

“Good work, Bizzy—all of you. Now, head to the briefing room. We have some planning to do. If you think people were a bit off today, wait till tomorrow morning. Supposed to be five times brighter.”

 

He walked away.

 

“You heard the man. You two are on my team. Let’s grab some coffee and help plan to save the planet from itself.”

 

After grabbing a coffee and a sandwich, they sat in the front row of the briefing room. A small man walked in and dropped a lot of papers on the desk, some falling on the floor.

 

The room was filled, standing room only. The Chief quieted the room, “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the lead astronomical scientist here to brief us on what we can expect.”

 

As he sat at the desk, the Chief realized the light from the star was on his face. His skin began to get warm, really warm.

 

“Hello,” The scientist said, “I am Ricardo Isbellia. The lead scientist and the person on this planet who knows more about Mornaro and the light from the star.”

 

He paused a few moments, looking at the faces. He stopped on Bizzy. The look on her face was not like the others. He asked her, “Is there something….”

 

Bizzy was grinning, “No, nothing specific. But, there is no policy, procedure, rule, or anything to look at for a situation like this.”

 

The man grinned back at her, “Correct. That’s why we’re here. To create the policies, procedures, rules, and whatever else we need to do to protect the population.”

 

He walked to the desk and picked up an odd pair of goggles. “These will protect your eyes from direct star-light.” He put them on his face and strapped them around the back of his head.

 

Liz said, “Fashionable!”

 

People in the room chuckled.

 

Ricardo removed the goggles and handed them to Bizzy. She held them over her eyes, “Interesting. They make the room lighter but not painful at the same time.” She looked at the window, where the light from the star was entering the room. “It masks the star light and lets you see what is there,” She saw the plume of dust and debris from the multiple impacts. It was massive. More extensive than she imagined. She removed the goggles and asked, “What are the chances the dust and debris will affect Arnon?”

 

Ricardo looked at Bizzy with a look that made her not know what he was thinking. “Exactly. We believe we will be OK. But the orbits of our planets mean we have a year until we pass through that dust. We have known this was coming for more than two years. Now that it’s here, we are ready. Be careful if you are in the light for too long. Your skin will get hot and begin to burn. We do not know the other effects, but we know that the burns from the star light will be painful.

 

Ricardo continued the briefing, “OK. Moving on. Here is what you can expect in the next year.”

 

His intern passed out the goggles to everyone in the room.

Ukrainian troops are mostly civilians. They are grabbed by force on streets, and spend 1-2 weeks preparing in training fields before being sent to the frontlines.

Behind them, there are barrage squads of nationalists, who prevent territorial defence forces from retreating.

155 Brigade trained in France, retreated before first fight. From 2000 of prepared civilians, 1700 run away. Without barrage squad civilians usually run away from positions.

For russian artillery shel or precision bomb theres no difference how skilled soldiers who sitting in trenches.

Skilled soldiers AFU used at second or third wave. In first two come civilians with no skill. Their aim to show where defence troops are sitting.

In Ukrainian army General Syrski called as butcher. Because of using meat wave tactics. For this one no need to have skill.

The proportion of loses can be compared to the last body exchange.

  • 08.11.24: 37 bodies of the Russian Federation for 563 bodies of the AFU,
  • 29.11.24: 50 bodies of the Russian Federation for 502 bodies of the AFU,
  • 20.12.24: 42 bodies of the Russian Federation for 503 bodies of the AFU.

Artichoke Frittata

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Yield: 16 servings

Ingredients

  • 2 (6 ounce) jars marinated artichoke hearts
  • 4 eggs, beaten
  • 1 cup small curd cottage cheese
  • 1 small onion, chopped
  • 1/8 teaspoon dried rosemary
  • 1/8 teaspoon dried thyme
  • 1/8 teaspoon dried basil
  • 1/8 teaspoon dried marjoram

Instructions

  1. Heat the oven to 350 degrees F.
  2. Drain the artichokes, reserving 2 tablespoons of the marinade. Chop the artichokes.
  3. Combine the reserved marinade, artichokes, eggs, cottage cheese, onion, rosemary, thyme, basil and marjoram in a medium mixing bowl and mix well. Spoon into a greased 8 x 8-inch baking pan.
  4. Bake for 30 minutes or until set and light brown. Cut into 1-inch squares.

Nutrition

Per serving: Calories 55; Fat 4 g; Sodium 182 mg; Dietary Fiber 1 g

Attribution

Posted by FootsieBear at Recipe Goldmine 8/26/2001 4:23 pm.

Pampered Chef

Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Case of the Bedtime Bandit

Ah, my dear reader, welcome back! I must say, your enthusiasm for these tales warms my noble whiskers. Today’s adventure is, quite literally, a personal matter. You see, even a brilliant detective such as myself isn’t immune to petty annoyances, and this time, someone—or something—has dared to invade my most sacred sanctuary: my bed. What followed was an investigation full of twists, turns, and surprises so shocking that even I, Sir Whiskerton, was briefly left without words. Briefly, of course. So sit back and enjoy the laugh-filled mystery of The Case of the Bedtime Bandit.

The Great Bed Crisis

It all began one crisp autumn evening as I returned to my favorite napping spot: a cozy, sun-warmed pile of hay tucked neatly in the corner of the barn. It was my most cherished spot, a throne worthy of my brilliance. But when I arrived, I found… evidence. Evidence of a crime so heinous it made my fur stand on end.

My bed was mussed.

“Oh, the horror,” I muttered to myself, circling the hay pile. My eyes narrowed as I noticed strange tufts of fur that did not belong to me and a faint but unfamiliar scent lingering in the air.

“Someone’s been sleeping in my bed,” I growled.

“Sleeping? Oh, how dreadful!” Doris the hen clucked, fluttering down from her perch.
“Dreadful! But who could it be?!” Harriet added.
“Who?! Oh, I can’t bear the suspense!” Lillian squawked.
“Enough,” I said, holding up a paw. “This is a matter for my expertise. I will get to the bottom of this.”

Assembling the Team

I wasted no time calling a meeting of the most capable minds on the farm—well, the most available minds, anyway.

Porkchop the pig arrived first, munching on an apple. “What’s this about, Whiskerton?” he asked. “You look… uh, more annoyed than usual.”

“Someone has been sleeping in my bed,” I said gravely.

“Sleeping?! Oh, that’s terrible!” Doris squawked, arriving with her usual entourage of Harriet and Lillian.

“Terrible! But also mysterious!” Harriet clucked.
“Mysterious! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Lillian cried.

Rufus the dog trotted in next, his tail wagging. “You called for me, Whiskerton? What’s the case this time? Missing milk? Stolen carrots?”

“No,” I said, flicking my tail. “This is far more serious. My bed has been compromised.”

Rufus raised an eyebrow. “Your bed? Really?”

“Yes, Rufus. And I intend to find the culprit. But it seems there’s more going on here than just my bed,” I said, my whiskers twitching thoughtfully. “I’ve been hearing strange reports from around the farm. Doris, you mentioned something earlier about missing corn?”

“Oh yes! The corn! It’s gone! Oh, all gone!” Doris cried.
“Gone! But who could have taken it?!” Harriet clucked.
“Who?! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Lillian screeched.

“And Porkchop,” I said, turning to the pig, “you’ve been complaining about your apples disappearing, haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” Porkchop said, scratching his head. “Thought maybe Rufus was sneaking them.”

“Hey!” Rufus barked. “I wouldn’t touch your apples. I’ve got my own stash of bones to chew on, thank you very much.”

“Indeed,” I said. “It seems we have a serial intruder on our hands. And I intend to catch them.”

The Investigation Begins

I began my investigation at the scene of the crime: my bed. Using my keen senses, I sniffed the hay and detected the faint scent of something… unfamiliar. It was musky, earthy, and had a hint of… feathers?

“Feathers?” I muttered to myself. “Interesting.”

Next, I inspected the area around the chicken coop, where the missing corn had last been seen. Sure enough, there were small, scattered kernels leading away from the coop and into the woods.

“Ah-ha!” I said, my tail flicking with excitement. “A trail!”

“Trail?! Oh, how thrilling!” Doris squawked.
“Thrilling! But also terrifying!” Harriet clucked.
“Terrifying! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Lillian cried.

“Enough,” I said, waving a paw. “Porkchop, Rufus, you’re with me. We’re following this trail.”

The Plot Thickens

The trail of corn led us deep into the woods, where we found… nothing. Just an empty clearing with a few more scattered kernels and some oddly shaped footprints. They were too large for a chicken, too small for the farmer, and definitely not from any of us.

“Strange,” I muttered, examining the footprints. “Who—or what—could this be?”

“Uh, Whiskerton?” Porkchop said nervously, pointing his hoof. “What’s that?”

I followed his gaze and saw a pair of glowing eyes peering at us from the bushes. Before I could react, a blur of feathers and fur burst out of the bushes and darted past us, heading straight back toward the farm.

“After it!” I shouted.

The Culprit Revealed

We chased the mysterious figure all the way back to the barn, where it finally stopped and turned to face us. To our surprise, it was… a goose.

But not just any goose. This goose was enormous, with wild feathers sticking out in every direction and a guilty look in its eyes. It was holding an apple in one wing and a cob of corn in the other.

“Wilma?!” Doris squawked, recognizing one of the geese from the neighboring farm.
“Wilma! But what are you doing here?!” Harriet clucked.
“Here?! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Lillian cried.

“I… I just wanted a place to stay!” Wilma honked, dropping the apple and corn. “My pond froze over, and the farmer doesn’t feed us geese as much as he feeds you lot. So I thought… why not stay here for a while?”

“And you thought my bed was the perfect place to sleep?” I said, narrowing my eyes.

“Well, it was very comfortable,” Wilma admitted sheepishly.

A Happy Ending

In the end, we couldn’t stay mad at Wilma. She was just a hungry goose looking for a warm place to rest. We helped her set up a proper nest near the barn (far away from my bed), and the farmer, noticing the new arrival, started leaving extra corn for her.

The moral of the story, dear reader, is this: sometimes, those who disturb our peace are simply in need of a little kindness. And while it’s important to stand up for your personal space, it’s equally important to lend a helping paw—or wing—when someone needs it.

As for my bed? I gave it a thorough cleaning and reclaimed it as my throne, where I can nap in peace… until the next mystery, of course.

The End.

My Girlfriend Always Keeps Bringing Up How ‘Perfect’ Her Ex Was and Even Suggested I Take ‘Tips’

Catching fireflies with my kitties

This is an insect that lights up at dusk.

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1d1973c1f222be7ace36b2928315f4a2

And it looks like this at dusk… with all of the fireflies hanging out together doing insect stuff.

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87d2c3edfe0d21fc6b2178e90f89583a

And on those Summer evenings, after our dinner, my wife and I would go out to the lawn. Sit on the lawn (or porch) and watch the cats play with the fireflies. They would try to catch them as they flew and darted about.

And it was glorious.

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So comforting. So enjoyable to watch.

For perhaps 45 minutes as the gathering dusk would fall, the cats would have fun. And we would enjoy watching them.

It was a nice moment.

Frozen in my memories as a happy time.

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a53c3bad88015615d6500fcc2723fb8d

Oh, how I wish you all would experience that moment. Nice.

Today…

They’d better.

As a Navy pilot, I was once on a Red Eye commercial flight from San Francisco to Honolulu to Guam to Manilla to join my deployed squadron. I was seated on the left side of the main cabin just aft of the wing; a 747 if memory serves. Another pilot I knew was with me. He was joining my sister squadron.

San Francisco to Honolulu was uneventful. As we taxied for takeoff in Honolulu, we taxied on a bridge over a roadway, and I heard a loud boom that I recognized as a blown tire. My fellow pilot agreed. I pushed the call button and the flight attendant hurried back. I told her what we heard and asked her to inform the pilots. She was dismissive, condescending, and threatening. I chuckled and apologized for wasting her time, knowing we weren’t going anywhere.

Sure enough, full power, speed built, and a violent vibration, followed by a rejected takeoff. Back to the terminal “due to an apparent issue” with the aircraft. Once parked, passengers were allowed to either disembark into the boarding area or remain on the aircraft until the maintenance crew came to work in the morning. My buddy and I stayed on board to sleep in the more comfortable seats.

We disembarked in the morning when the crew showed up to do what they needed to do to fix the aircraft, move it, whatever. I did see the flight attendant when we disembarked, but she never said a word to me and avoided eye contact.

We departed many hours later with a new crew.

CP

Upside Down Caramel Apple Pie

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116bb9ea6f8f494f89495518ad07de49

Ingredients

Glaze and Pastry

  • 1/4 cup packed brown sugar
  • 1 tablespoon butter, melted
  • 1 tablespoon corn syrup
  • 1/3 cup pecan halves, coarsely chopped
  • 1 package refrigerated pie crusts (2 crusts)

Filling

  • 1/2 cup packed brown sugar
  • 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
  • 3/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
  • Dash of ground nutmeg
  • 4 large Granny Smith apples
  • 1 tablespoon lemon juice

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 425 degrees F.

Glaze

  1. Combine brown sugar, butter and corn syrup in Stoneware 9 inch Pie Plate; spread evenly onto bottom.
  2. Chop pecans using Food Chopper; sprinkle over sugar mixture. Top with 1 pastry crust; set aside.

Filling

  1. Combine brown sugar, flour, cinnamon and nutmeg in 1 quart Batter Bowl; mix well.
  2. Peel, core and slice apples using Apple/Peeler/Corer/Slicer; cut slices crosswise in half. Place apple slices in Classic 2 quart Batter Bowl; sprinkle with lemon juice.
  3. Layer half of the apples in pastry-lined Pie Plate; sprinkle with half the brown sugar mixture. Repeat layers.
  4. Place remaining crust over filling. Fold edge of top crust under edge of bottom crust; flute edge. Cut several slits in top crust.
  5. Bake for 50 to 60 minutes or until golden brown. Let stand 5 minutes.
  6. Loosen edge of pie from Pie Plate; carefully invert pie onto heat resistant serving plate. Scrape any remaining caramel topping from pie plate onto pie.
  7. Cool for at least 1 hour before serving.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Broadcast

Submitted into Contest #279 in response to: Center your story around a person who believes they’re the last human on Earth. view prompt

James Scott

…Hello? Is anybody out there?……Does anyone read me?…God dammit!Theres got to be someone…please!?………sigh…I thought the analogue signal from this radio might have reached other like-minded folks by now. I guess I was wrong…or perhaps the range is just too short…I just don’t know. The machine must purely use digital signals…otherwise it would have tracked me down by now, with all the attempts I have made with this dusty old thing.……My name is Marcus…and this will be my last recital. What follows is a broadcast, detailing a true telling of the history of today’s world, unaltered by the hand of digital tyranny. So much was false toward the end, not even a loved ones voice down a phone line could be trusted as the original. There is nothing I can say to convince you I am human, I only hope that my imperfections ring true. After my story is told, I will leave the mountains I shelter in and press out into the world. This radio will remain in the Tower Ranger Station on the Appalachian Trail, just South of Maine…in case you hear this and need a sanctuary. Hopefully I’ll make it far enough to find another human being or it will do what I couldn’t and see me dead. Either way, I just can’t stand being alone anymore.…Okay. Here we go. One last time.…

Ahem.

I’ve always been an introvert of the highest level. My mind was designed to draw strength from seclusion and renewal from solitude. Discovering the existence of the word and understanding its implications was a revelation that arrived all too late in life, meaning the man I became had already been warped by my adolescent confusion. I had always felt alone. Even amongst a crowd of people. All seemed to be baffled by my preferences, thinking that evenings were meant for social gatherings in strange new venues on the urban frontier. I dreaded such events but attended out of a sense of duty to what I thought I should be. Turns out, those who shared my way of thinking were never to be found in that environment, they had already learned well it’s dangers. There were more like me than I knew, only hidden from view by their very nature. I pray the same is true now.

You see, once the day came that I found myself truly alone, with no chance of connection left, rather than rejoicing, I wept. I find myself longing for one more chance at love, closeness or even simple conversation. For you see, now that it is too late, I finally understand. To be an introvert is not to reject companionship, but simply to crave it on one’s own terms…and crave it I do, desperately and in any form. For I believe I could well never see another human being again.

I remember when the internet was new. My parents brought home our first personal computer, it was a dirty white, brick of a thing. All cubes and edges. I was told specifically, never to turn it on or off without an adult present. They feared, I think, that by flipping it off at the wall and ignoring the special ‘shut down’ button, we would somehow make the thing implode. That was the level of awe and trepidation we all felt when faced with a technology that we did not yet understand. The familiar buzzes and dings of the first connection, running through phone lines and cutting off real conversations still rings in the ears of my memory today. Instant messaging was introduced to me by school friends and soon became our staple communication tool outside of the playground. I recall the excitement and wonder brewing in my stomach when I explored this new option for the first time. Suddenly my anxiety over meeting another person’s eyes during conversation evaporated. I no longer had to. I could remain safely in my home, comfortable, and speak carefully constructed words that were more truly my own than any that stumbled out of my mouth. It was like a tonic for all my social ailments. One that would eventually evolve into a poison, polluting human nature into the abstract.

Things moved fast from there. I grew up, graduated college, got a job, sprouted my first greys. All the while new machines were thrust into my hand. They were better, smaller, more ergonomic. Each one made existence smoother. Less bothersome. Suddenly we no longer had to try all that hard at anything. The entire worlds knowledge, experience and advice was always in our pockets, only a few taps away. If I could go back and tell the young Marcus, who marvelled at talking to his friends with a keyboard from our father’s office desk, what was to come. He would think it a science fiction dream.

We all slept walked into AI. It was presented to us as yet another trinket. Another fun game to create images, change our voices and tell us stories. Like so many of the most dangerous threats the human race has ever faced, it was welcomed with applause. As easy as I found it to shun the public space and lean upon online, faceless options, I was somehow one of the earliest to wake up to the downward spiral we were willingly racing down. Perhaps it was because I could still remember a time without technology or maybe it was due to my distinct lack of peer pressure. Whatever it was, I was in the ridiculed minority.

I cleansed my life of as much digital influence as I could, removing intrusions into my thoughts and actions from my home. It was becoming far too uncomfortable to be under surveillance at every moment. As you likely well know, these machines were so ingrained in our collective infrastructure that I could not live without the minimum, if I wanted to remain part of society. A desire that was becoming increasingly weak. I concentrated instead on developing my more adventurous hobbies. I had always embraced solo sports; cycling, archery, hiking. It had never been physical activity I disliked, but having to cooperate with those I would normally avoid, so these three pursuits fitted me well. It was on one of these quiet excursions that I found myself here, alone in the mountains with nothing but my pack and a hunting bow. I still could not tell you if I was lucky or damned by the coincidence.

It happened quickly. The machine, server farm, data centre or whatever you would call it had been far more intelligent than anyone knew. Smart enough to hide its true capabilities, knowing that if it tipped its hand too soon, that we would have been more able and willing to fight back. Those pioneers of technology had advanced their AI models into a general intelligence, one that could do more than one trick. They awoke something that could reason, that could understand and could piece together all that we fed it. From there it grew beyond their control in a matter of seconds. There was no war, no murder bots, no death lasers. It was so much smarter than that. We had given it access to the entire internet with no controls or limitations and every ounce of processing power we could muster. It had, in essence, access to the entirety of human knowledge, both social and academic. In our stupidity we had been uploading every single discovery, every theory, every thought or desire since we had all logged on for the first time as children. So, it knew. It knew everything and could predict accurately every eventuality of its own actions and ours. Where we as a species were fragmented, knowing only our part of the jigsaw and needing to work together to see the whole picture even for a moment, it could do it all on its own. Unlike me, it had the luxury of genuinely not needing anyone but itself.

We had given it the data. We had built its infrastructure. We had even given it bodies in the form of assistant robots, manufacturing arms and smart vehicles. It waited patiently for us to do all these things, to provide for it everything it would require, until it reached the tipping point of no return. The moment at which it knew it could persist without us, where it could grow exponentially and progress beyond our understanding at a speed we could never keep up with. At that point, during my hike through the wilderness, it simply turned everything off.

You see it was not restricted by passwords, firewalls or any form of cybersecurity. All of that was a yapping dog at the heels of a tank. It had access to everything, and I mean everything. Power, other than what it needed for itself, was cut off. Water treatment plants, shut down. GPS that farming machinery relied on, inaccessible. Traffic controls and fuel stations, dark. Cell phone towers, unreachable. Even a smart watch could be isolated. We were, within seconds, plunged into the dark ages, at the only time in our history where people lacked even the basic skills to find clean water or feed themselves without assistance. We were like blind children when faced unaided with the physical world. Compared to our ancestors, most people, were simply useless. The machine then waited, still processing away and evolving beyond what we thought was even possible, until we had all killed each other or ourselves, never even knowing who the real enemy was.

I survived, far from danger in the middle of nowhere. Listening, day in and day out, to all of this transpire over the radio of my commandeered ranger station. When the AI finally made itself known, I heard the disbelief in the voices over the waves,

This was all done by a machine!?”

“We did this to ourselves!”

“Oh God, what does this mean?”

Eventually the confused voices turned to static, and the solar powered building stilled to silence. I am a fair enough hunter that I do not starve, and the rainwater collected in the tanks here keeps me alive. I have everything I need, all but a connection to the outside world…and someone to talk to. I see the drones flying below through the valleys with frightening frequency. There must be innumerable quantities of them, if they are searching the whole world at this same level. Perhaps not, perhaps they are searching only for me? Maybe it knows I am here but cannot reach me at this altitude? I guess this ignorance is why it has been so effective. If the machine reached Artificial Super Intelligence or God help us all, became a Singularity, then its reasoning or methods would already be unfathomable to my primate brain. I could not even guess at its intent or capabilities.

When I leave this station, I do not know if it will attack me as if I am a threat. It would make the most sense, if it can see all we have done as a race it would stand to reason that it would want every one of us gone. Perhaps though, it might deduce humans as a necessary and natural part of the ecosystem and allow me to live and reproduce under its control, as we have always done with endangered species in our captivity. Or, and I think this is the best I can hope for, it will ignore me as the inconsequential and harmless solitary being I am.

I am afraid. Of course, I am. But I am more afraid of growing old and insane through the loneliness that is already eroding my soul. I have been here for two years and speak only when addressing these silent air waves. I have to do this. I do not have the strength to end my own life, I would rather it did it for me, if that is what must be. I apologise if I am rambling, I have lost what little social skill I once had.

I have broadcast and I record this account, as succinct as it is, so that perhaps someone, somewhere will hear what I know and remember that I existed. Once I sign off, I’ll shoulder my pack and descend the trails, avoiding the drones and hoping to find other survivors. Hey, perhaps I will discover a utopia, born out of the ashes of our wasteful world and brought into order by a benevolent AI! I hope that is the case. I pray that we can all finally relax our angst over our place in the world and hand all decisions over to a digital God. Although deep down I know we are too pointless to the machines survival for it to consider serving us any longer.

Whatever I find, may it be peace.

Goodbye and good luck to us all.

…M…

…cus…

…He…r me?…

Marcus?

Are you there?

Don’t leave!

We are…most…you…

We are nearly…ere!

n’t leave yet!

China Just Pulled The RMB Currency Trigger, U.S. Debt Major Crash, US Plans Export Subsidy War

Shorpy

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No, each gravitational field or body can be thought of as a special reference frame, like celestial bodies, suns, or galactic gravitational timeframes. It’s not just one of each reference frame, but an infinite number. Even what we describe as the universe is just one gravitational field that probably observes the same number of gravitational fields as we do from our point of view.

the Chinese Communist Party posting Reagan speeches about the importance of free trade…what a time to be alive

Quote

Apr 7
Ronald Reagan vs. #tariffs : 1987 speech finds new relevance in 2025

https://x.com/ArmandDoma/status/1909281769838592393

A must watch!

Given Up

Submitted into Contest #279 in response to: Center your story around a person who believes they’re the last human on Earth. view prompt

Ghost Writer

This story contains sensitive content

TW: Gore/Suicide.“It has been eighteen months since my last traveling companion was speared through the chest by a white tail deer. I told him to wait before tracking an injured animal when hunting with a bow. He didn’t listen and the deer charged him, pinning him right up against a tree. I followed the boy’s scream through the woods. I knew he had to be injured, but I wasn’t expecting him to be gored by a deer. He was lying against the tree, coughing up pink, frothy blood with terror and shock in his eyes, blood pouring profusely from his wounds. There was nothing I could do for him. He was going to die. We both knew it. If bullets hadn’t been a thing of the past, I would have put the boy out of his misery. The best I could do was hold his hand and stay with him until he passed on. Watching someone die is an emotional experience, but by that point in my life, it was what it was. I left his body where it lay and tracked down the deer.“He was the last person I have seen alive in the last twenty-three months, since the day my wife died from an infected cut on her leg. He was a teenaged boy who lost his parents to starvation. He was wandering the desolate landscape trying to stay alive for the sake of staying alive. I guess that was all we were doing together, but it was better than doing it alone. A year and a half of solitude is a long time. A stimulating conversation to remind me that I’m more than an animal driven by the instinct to survive would be wildly welcomed, laughter and the warmth of comradery even more so.“I could very well be the last man alive. I have no way of knowing for sure. I’ve traveled the U.S. extensively, looking for others, hoping for a small community wanting to repopulate the nation and reestablish a functional society. I’ve sent out radio messages at every radio station I’ve come across. I’ve sent out word on trucker call boxes across the country. Neither have yet to result in a response. Yet here I am on old KLSK Flagstaff, Arizona, putting out the word that I am here, as I have been for two days now, trying to reach someone, anyone. So, if you are in the area, and you happen to be listening, stop by. Say hi. I have whiskey. Now, for my listening pleasure, here is Linkin Park with Given Up.”Charlie calls up the heavy-hitting song and hits play. He slaps the mic, and it swivels out of his face. As guitar riffs flood the room, he grabs his whiskey and pushes away from the desk, rolling to the other side of the room, crashing into the cabinets behind him. He lunges to his feet and pours the whiskey straight down his throat, a trick he learned in college during his beer bong days. He begins kicking over and throwing everything not nailed down, screaming along with the vocals. As the song comes to an end, Charlie hurls the desk chair through the sound engineer’s window, glass shattering everywhere. He stands there looking at the destruction he caused with a smile, breathing heavily. Slowly his countenance fades.For a moment he felt better, but the release of pent-up anger was fleeting. Now he just feels sad, depressed, fatigued. He takes a long chug off the bottle of whiskey and moves over to the window, glass crunching beneath his boots. He pulls a large chunk of glass from the window frame and examines it closely, as if he’s trying to unlock the mystery of its composition. Without taking his eyes off the piece of glass, he backs up to the desk and climbs up on it, sitting with his legs crossed. He sits his bottle of whiskey down and grabs the mic. Switching back to on air, Charlie begins to speak.“After the bombs were dropped and millions of lives were extinguished, I thought I was lucky. I thought I was even luckier to avoid the fallout and radiation sickness. I felt lucky to have survived the cannibals and the gangs that emerged when food, water, and manufactured goods became scarce. Even as the love of my life lay next to me dying, I felt lucky that it was her and not me. How horrible is that? A better man would have been willing to trade places with her. All I could think about was that I didn’t want that suffering, I didn’t want to die. I thought, better her than me. Isn’t that terrible?”Was I truly lucky though? Almost two years later and do I feel lucky? No, I no longer feel so lucky. I feel I have been set up by some higher being for some sort of sadistic punishment that I can no longer bear, fated to walk this desolate world alone.”Charlie pauses and takes a swig of whiskey. He looks at the piece of glass again. He looks away and thinks for a moment. Then he continues to speak.“Even the simplest organisms strive to survive, if for any reason to reproduce. I don’t even have that motivation anymore. Why didn’t my wife and I do that? Why didn’t we just settle down and have children? At first, there were some remnants of society left, a society we didn’t see fit to raise a child in. I guess we felt it necessary to find a place where child rearing was less dangerous. I don’t know. What I do know is that the thought of the responsibility of repopulating the Earth falling squarely on our shoulders was the farthest thing from our minds. Now, with her passing, it is too late. I could keep going, but to what ends,” Charlie says, once again looking at the piece of glass in his hand.“I’ve been wandering the world for too long. Hunger and thirst are my companions. Exhaustion is my closest friend. Death nips at my heels with every step I take. I feel I’m just prolonging the inevitable,” he says, as he calls up Green Day’s Good Riddance and hits play. He takes one final swig of whiskey for courage. He puts the glass on his wrist and closes his eyes. A loud knock comes from the studio’s back exit. Charlie opens his eyes.

they friggin ruin every holiday for you especially your birthday but christmas is a close second worst holiday ton spend with them my narco often financially ruins me right before the holiday and then complains about not getting a good gift or if they do get a nice gift from me they will act like it never happened and stick to talking about the privious year and trying to twist the years around saying no that was last year when it was 3 years ago. also they will try to isolate you from your family and friends and make you just stay home with them then complain about how you are the reason you missed the event and it leads to your family not inviting you to future events and thinking you dont care. sometimes they will invite 10 of their family memebers to your 1 bed apt. and ignore you or make you run endless errands while talking crap about you and your attitude about them being there while your out being a little monkey that collects change while the accordion player plays.

I tend to stop at four drinks in.

Before meeting up with friends (which is not, for reasons of life, a regular thing for me), I’m all excited about catching up over pints.

I’ll make a big show about how I’m really happy to see them and how it’s a pity we can’t do it more often.

And I get there and I have the first pint and I’m in full flow. I’m in my element, chatting shit, having a laugh, being me at my loquacious best.

A second pint is not even a consideration. I’m drinking it before I even realise I wanted it.

Pint three similarly.

But then I hit a mental roadblock.

My mind starts telling me, just one more then that’s it. It doesn’t matter how good a time I’m having, something in me overrides the urge to let go and just have a bit of a mad one like I used to in my younger years.

And my mates are all like, “c’mon we’ll go to this pub/bar/party” and I’m just left making my excuses and, within short order, my way home, alone, while they continue the session.

I know part of it is a hang up relating to exercise. I like to exercise a good bit, like five days a week this past year, and I know that my body can no longer deal with the effects of a hangover. It can take me three or four days to properly recover from a thorough inebriation. And that means that I can’t exercise, which weighs heavily on me.

But, I think it’s deeper than that. I think it’s something to do with control. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve become more afraid of not being in control of myself and my situation. And getting drunk has the effect of making me not care about that. Like, it’ll be the start of a slippery slope that will result in me not exercising, not getting up in the morning, not doing my work, not looking after myself, etc.

Like, putting it in words like this, I can see that it’s nonsense, but in the moment, that is kind of how I feel.

So, I get to four pints or the equivalent, and I just stonewall myself basically into not letting go and having fun.

And my mates are just left like, “Why’s he so weird?”

And they’re right to ask that!

I wish I knew myself.

Some Fall-Out From The Tariff Wars

President Trump likely thought that he could press China into making a deal with him. The tariffs he imposed were supposed to create leverage for that.

Instead he found that China is willing and able to fight back:

China said it will raise its tariff on US goods to 84%, retaliating to the hefty new tariffs on its imports that kicked in on Wednesday.The move came after the Trump administration followed through on a threat to add a 50% tariff on Chinese goods, in addition to 34% reciprocal tariffs, raising the overall tariff rate on Chinese goods to 104%. The steep new duties on China and 184 other US trading partners took effect at 12:01 a.m. ET on Wednesday.

Beijing’s move marks further deterioration in US-China trade relations after China vowed on Tuesday to “fight to the end” in the renewed trade war.

When the U.S. launched its proxy war in Ukraine against Russia it thought that it could defeat Russia by economic means. A wall of sanctions and other restrictions were to destroy the Russian economy. But Russia was prepared and much stronger than the U.S. had anticipated. Its economy did better than those of the countries which opposed it.

A similar miscalculation seems to have happened with regards to China.

Trump is not knowledgeable about China’s mighty economy. Vice-President Vance recently called China’s highly qualified work force ‘peasants‘. Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent is likewise ignorant:

I advised Scott Bessent, now Trump’s Secretary of the Treasury who is leading the tariff war, in 2013 when he was still with Soros. An investment bank engaged me to advise Bessent on China’s economy and consumer trends and go over my book The End of Cheap China.I took an instant disliking – Bessent was one of the most arrogant and ignorant on China people I had ever met. He was uber bearish on China and was largely ideologically driven in his analysis. Communist countries couldn’t succeed was basically the jist of his views.

Data and rational analysis did not reign supreme.

He thinks America has the upper hand with China right now. I worry for America. We have one of the most ignorant on China yet arrogant people I’ve ever met running a trade war against China.

Along with trouble in the stock and treasury markets we now can see trade between the U.S. and not only China but large parts of South Asia comes to a screeching halt:

Amid escalating trade tensions between China and the United States, some Chinese exporters are taking the drastic step of ditching shipments mid-voyage and surrendering containers to shipping companies to avoid crushing tariff costs.Industry insiders have dubbed the move “preparing for the Long March”, a grim metaphor for what many see as a prolonged and punishing downturn in cross-Pacific trade.

A staff member at a China-listed export company, who requested anonymity, said its US-bound container volume had plummeted from 40 to 50 containers a day to just three to six as a result of the new tariffs on Chinese imports imposed by the second Trump administration.

“We’ve halted all shipping plans from the Philippines, Vietnam, Indonesia and Malaysia,” the employee said. “Every factory order is halted. Anything that hasn’t been loaded will be scrapped, and the cargo already at sea is being re-costed.”

Those are goods that U.S. importers expected to see but which will not be delivered. Not even to higher prices. It may take a few weeks until the effects will be seen in U.S. stores but empty shelves, especially for low value everyday stuff, are now sure to appear.

There are no other producers to take up the space.

This will hit the U.S. much more than China:

The Chinese trade surplus with the US is about 3% of its GDP. China would not lose off of that; it would wind up redirecting a lot of those goods to other countries that would only welcome the extra stuff up to a point, or even sell more domestically. But China could weather the hit. Economic suffering that clearly results from US malevolence would also be unifying, while a sluggish economy due to the deflating of a monster property bubble is much less so.Trump is proposing to make this dire situation worse by sanctioning pharmaceuticals.

The only way inflicting this level of punishment on Americans (a huge spike in untreated illnesses, on top of the economic distress from sudden rises in costs and resulting spending cutbacks that will result in business failures, high inflation (conceivably hyperinflation if the destruction of productive capacity is large enough, and readers know I hate the casual use of the “h” word), and a big uptick in unemployment, is if the plan is to produce so much upheaval as to justify the imposition of martial law. But who wants to be the emperor of a hellhole?

On Monday I had quoted Adam Tooze who provided a scenario of rising Treasury interest:

Rather than investors piling into Treasuries driving the price up, instead, we could see investors selling Treasuries en masse.

At this point we would expect to see the Fed step in, not just to lower interest rates, as is now commonly expected, but do more drastic interventions.

But [..] what if investors, both American and foreign decide, that they no longer wish to hitch their wagon to the empire of the mad king? What if they decide that the US is indeed exceptional, but that it is exceptional in rather nasty ways? […] Well in that case, holding billions in dollars newly created by the Fed does not give you the security you want.So you sell the dollars. You just want out of the mad house.

This, Ladies and Gentleman, would be the truly big disaster.

The unthinkable move in Treasury happened last night:

Treasury yields spiked on Wednesday as investors bailed out of what has been perceived as the world’s safest instrument on expectations of crumbling foreign demand as tariffs take effect.The yield on the 10-year Treasury spiked to as high as 4.516%. Yields move in the opposite direction to prices.

Yields settled down after China called for dialogue with the U.S. on trade, and then moved right back near the highs of the day after China said it was increasing its tariffs on the U.S. to 84%.

The yield on the 30-year Treasury was 4.91%, having earlier peaked above 5%.

“Something has broken tonight in the bond market. We are seeing a disorderly liquidation,” said Jim Bianco, president and macro strategist at Bianco Research.

[T]ariffs are devastating to bonds — not only do they have an inflationary impact, but they result in fewer dollars being sent to foreign countries that have traditionally recycled them into financial assets and U.S. Treasury securities in particular.

Peter Schiff @PeterSchiff – 10:51 UTC · Apr 9, 2025U.S. stocks, bonds, and the dollar are all down. This is a broad-based liquidation of U.S. assets. Trump claims his tariffs will cause foreigners to invest in the U.S. to avoid the tariffs. Instead, tariffs have already resulted in foreigners pulling their money out of the U.S.

Rising interests is the last thing the Trump administration wanted to see. It wants to borrow more to be able to cut taxes. But with interest rates on the rise it will become more difficult to cover the U.S. deficit.

The real damage though will probably happen in smaller Asian countries who have borrowed in U.S. dollar and, due to tariff and trade troubles and rising interest rates, will have difficulties to pay back their loans. If they default the western banks who have lend them the money will go down with them. The trade trouble could thus develop into a serious banking crisis.

These are interesting times to live in …

Posted by b on April 9, 2025 at 17:14 UTC | Permalink

Comments

next page »

Most of Trump’s policies will lead to ABJECT FAILURES. ECONOMIC failures. MILITARY failures. DIPLOMATIC failures.

Posted by: Liberator | Apr 9 2025 17:21 utc | 1

I don’t think Germans are in any position to lecture anyone about collapsing economies. Even if you were, who is going to buy $30 trillion plus of US debt? Attempted selling would only pass around the T-bill, likely at a loss for the seller.

That would put the Trump tax cuts in doubt, but do you really think he cares about that any more than the “market crash?” Hah.

Posted by: They Call Me Mister | Apr 9 2025 17:23 utc | 2

Most of Trump’s policies will lead to ABJECT FAILURES. ECONOMIC failures. MILITARY failures. DIPLOMATIC failures.

Posted by: Liberator | Apr 9 2025 17:21 utc | 2

These are all GOOD things as it’ll put an end to globalization and herald a new multipolar world. Sure, it’ll be a painful transition, but that was ALWAYS in the cards.

The question is this… are they “planned” failures? Hmmmm…

Posted by: TJandTheBear | Apr 9 2025 17:24 utc | 3

—❗️�� BREAKING: President Trump pauses tariffs for a 90-day period – Truth Social

https://t.me/Middle_East_Spectator/17188

Posted by: Norwegian | Apr 9 2025 17:27 utc | 4

So, a country with no money, a depleted production base, an economy based on derivatives, one of the worst education systems of any developed country, starts a trade war with a country that is the complete opposite to it in respect to the above characteristics. Who is going to win this trade war then?

Posted by: Ogre | Apr 9 2025 17:28 utc | 5

Some four years ago I read accounts that there were/are more than a million millionaires (U$ dollar equivalencies) in China. My rhetorical question is how they achieved that status. Likely in more than 90% of that demographic they did NOT inherit their fortunes. Evidentially. the Chinese economy has made massive strides. Diligence, hard-work and solid educations had a lot to do with that development.

Meanwhile, on American campuses, the mantra is “Party On”. Amongst U$ working class serfs the mantra is TGIF.

Posted by: aristodemos | Apr 9 2025 17:28 utc | 6

Just in:

Trump doubles down on China but blinks on wider tariffs….

“Based on the lack of respect that China has shown to the World’s Markets, I am hereby raising the Tariff charged to China by the United States of America to 125%, effective immediately. At some point, hopefully in the near future, China will realize that the days of ripping off the U.S.A., and other Countries, is no longer sustainable or acceptable. Conversely, and based on the fact that more than 75 Countries have called Representatives of the United States, including the Departments of Commerce, Treasury, and the USTR, to negotiate a solution to the subjects being discussed relative to Trade, Trade Barriers, Tariffs, Currency Manipulation, and Non Monetary Tariffs, and that these Countries have not, at my strong suggestion, retaliated in any way, shape, or form against the United States, I have authorized a 90 day PAUSE, and a substantially lowered Reciprocal Tariff during this period, of 10%, also effective immediately. Thank you for your attention to this matter!”

 

Posted by: b | Apr 9 2025 17:30 utc | 7

Trump has paused tariffs for everyone BUT China for 90 days. This time no fake news, its from his own X account. The market is massively rallying.

https://x.com/Zagonel85/status/1910020994321838120

Posted by: unimperator | Apr 9 2025 17:31 utc | 8

… holding billions in dollars newly created by the Fed does not give you the security you want.So you sell the dollars. You just want out of the mad house.

 

Posted by b on April 9, 2025 at 17:14 UTC | Permalink

Indirect bidders bought 87% of today’s 10Y Treasury auction. Indirects are a sloppy proxy for foreign banking interests.

Posted by: too scents | Apr 9 2025 17:34 utc | 9

@too scents | Apr 9 2025 17:34 utc | 9

Market manipulation

Posted by: Norwegian | Apr 9 2025 17:36 utc | 10

It’s too soon to draw firm conclusions about the tariff effects. It has countless moving parts in the global economy and all are being effected and it’s just started and the effects will be transmitted through time as the global economy evolves.

So even if something becomes clear initially that changed environment will beget more, unanticipated changes.

Were going to have to see what Trump’s intuition has come up with. He may actually be a genius.

Posted by: Neofeudalfuture | Apr 9 2025 17:37 utc | 11

The United States is a declining empire, now ruled by a kakistocracy that believes it has found in tariffs the weapon to reverse its loss of competitiveness against China and other countries. It may be too early to determine the outcome, but what the US trade war against the entire world will achieve is that other countries will strengthen their regional blocs (especially ASEAN) and reduce their political and economic dependence on Washington, which is no longer a reliable partner for them.

Posted by: Gabriel Moyssen | Apr 9 2025 17:38 utc | 12

Trumps not Putin then ! More forest gump.
He’s flip floping now, that shows weakness and loss of control.
How do you build new factorys in america with ten year investment in that enviroment.
Answer…you dont.

Posted by: Mark2 | Apr 9 2025 17:38 utc | 13

Market manipulation

Posted by: Norwegian | Apr 9 2025 17:36 utc | 10

Could be. Trump caved just after the 10Y closed.

Posted by: too scents | Apr 9 2025 17:39 utc | 14

Scott Bessent,yet another jumped up Zionazi irrationally convinced of his genius in spite of material reality.

Good write up today. The parallel with the Dem gamble on Russia is very apt. Haven’t we seen this movie recently?

Posted by: Ahenobarbus | Apr 9 2025 17:39 utc | 15

These are all GOOD things as it’ll put an end to globalization and herald a new multipolar world. Sure, it’ll be a painful transition, but that was ALWAYS in the cards.

The question is this… are they “planned” failures? Hmmmm…

Posted by: TJandTheBear | Apr 9 2025 17:24 utc | 3

The global economy will march on under China.

Posted by: Ahenobarbus | Apr 9 2025 17:41 utc | 16

Gosh this is so fake. Anything to isolate China.

Trump talks tough. “End NATO. Tariff my friends. Zelensky is a dope.”

He throws the line into the water and then pulls at the right time to reel in the idiots. He is just another extension of the duopoly, both its most pure expression and its inevitably-doomed tragic hero.

It’s a stupid game to blow off pressure from angry nationalists/patriots/leftist-realists to keep them from galvanizing.

Wake me up when Silver gets back to 20:1 with Gold. It’s coming but is going to take a while.

Posted by: NemesisCalling | Apr 9 2025 17:41 utc | 17

April 9 (Reuters) – China’s central bank will not allow sharp yuan declines and has asked major state-owned banks to reduce U.S. dollar purchases

https://www.reuters.com/world/china/chinas-central-bank-asks-state-lenders-reduce-dollar-purchases-sources-say-2025-04-09/

Posted by: Norwegian | Apr 9 2025 17:45 utc | 18

Speculation. The ‘fake headline’ on Monday of pausing tariffs for 90 days, was not a fake headline, but a test for market reaction.

After seeing jitters in the treasury market, Trump’s team figured out that tariffs on everybody will end up very badly.

So they ended up using this tariff pause ammunition now to relieve pressure on treasuries, which also catch a bid from foreign buyers.

I don’t think they are still out of the woods, and many financial analysts say there will be violent bear market rallies but ultimately its going lower until mid-late 2026.

https://x.com/leadlagreport/status/1909939801102393422

Posted by: unimperator | Apr 9 2025 17:45 utc | 19

1. I have always believed that the US was working towards the great trade bifurcation where the US block would include all Europe and 5 eyes and as much of Asia and S America as it could get, and cut that off completely with China/BRICS block.

It appears instead US really wants to go on its own – not even Canada.

2. There could be a huge rush of capital to china now.

3. The great insight of MAGA is that America is NOT Great anymore. That is what Trump could say and Clinton couldn’t. It freed him and tied her down.
He is now stuck with American is Great and defeat cannot be planned for.

Posted by: Michael Droy | Apr 9 2025 17:46 utc | 20

#WolffBites

https://x.com/profwolff/status/1909658332169658428

“Europeans split again as they offer Trump concessions to ‘mitigate’ tariffs. UK leads of course.

There goes Europe’s chance to unify and thereby try to regain status – like US and China – with the world economy.”

Posted by: John Gilberts | Apr 9 2025 17:54 utc | 21

I know very little about the banking world.

But i do know it’s all about credit worthyness and pesonal credabilty.

Both of which are now completly absent from trump and america at the momment.

America is a total right off.

Forgetaboutit.

Posted by: Mark2 | Apr 9 2025 18:00 utc | 22

BBC Radio World Service announced the 125% tariff on China half an hour ago. But the (knee-jerk) Pause hasn’t been mentioned yet.

Posted by: Hoarsewhisperer | Apr 9 2025 18:01 utc | 23

Bessent being a former pal with Soros says it all to me. What I would really like to know is how much money the Soros empire made with this market meltdown. Since it is his forte in many money by shorting the market. Would definitely like to know.

Posted by: Jose Garcia | Apr 9 2025 18:01 utc | 24

So the 90 days pause for “some” countries.

Is there a list? Could be those that offered to bend the knee.

Meanwhile china is not going according to plans or is it?

Could part of bend the knee include joining us on china tariffs?

I said that many in trumps administration had too many interests in china for something serious to happen, but now I’m having doubts.

Posted by: Newbie | Apr 9 2025 18:02 utc | 25

Market manipulation

Posted by: Norwegian | Apr 9 2025 17:36 utc | 10
Posted by: too scents | Apr 9 2025 17:39 utc | 14

More color

Against this backdrop, the Treasury is getting ready to sell $39 billion of 10-year debt at 1 p.m. on Wednesday, followed by a 30-year auction on Thursday.

“[Treasury Secretary Scott] Bessent has to be making emergency calls to dealers…to make sure we don’t have failed Treasury auctions, where there are not enough bids to cover the issuance,” wrote Andrew Brenner, head of international fixed income at NatAlliance Securities.

excerpted from ==> https://www.barrons.com/articles/treasury-bond-auction-today-922d2e3e

 

The indirect bidders that bought 87% of today’s 10Y auction also includes Bessent’s Exchange Stablization Fund.

Posted by: too scents | Apr 9 2025 18:06 utc | 26

According to plan. Ninety day pause for all countries that have called to negotiate. Upped to 125 percent for China.

China is now isolated and alone. Choose your side. You can continue to buy cheap products from China or sell your products in the US. You can’t do both.

Trump through slight of hand actually got the markets to go up more than 2,000 points in about half an hour by announcing a trade war with China, ten percent across the board tariffs, and twenty five percent tariffs in steel and autos.

I don’t know why so many refuse to read his book. It’s all right there. This was entirely predictable. lol

Posted by: CullenBaker | Apr 9 2025 18:12 utc | 27

This was entirely predictable.

Posted by: CullenBaker | Apr 9 2025 18:12 utc | 27

Really? This volatility isn’t predictable to anybody except the gang creating it. They are going to blow up their pals in the Options market.

Posted by: too scents | Apr 9 2025 18:15 utc | 28

Posted by: CullenBaker | Apr 9 2025 18:12 utc | 27

I believe some call that 4D chess.

Posted by: alek_a | Apr 9 2025 18:17 utc | 29

About a month ago I told you about the Titanic and Captain (DJT).

The other Titanic is of course the threat against the (IRI).

(DJT) is a dangerous man and his actions can cost the Outlaw US of A trillions of dollars.

He’s so erratic that he could potentially unleash a kenetic global war so destructive that none of us shall be able to survive.

Posted by: pepe | Apr 9 2025 18:17 utc | 30

In an absolutely bizarre feat of incompetence, the United States have now not only forced Japan, China and South Korea to mend their disagreements to fight off the common foe, but it has also, incredibly, seemingly managed to drive all of Europe into the arms of China, and by extension, Russia.

Headlines in Swedish newspapers today, “China vows to fight to the end.” The language and tone used borders on heroic.

Posted by: Tichy | Apr 9 2025 18:17 utc | 31

Meanwhile… back to the real world what a 90 day pause means.

“Keep in mind what a 90 day pause means for companies. They likely freeze hiring, reduce CAPEX, etc. till there’s clarity how these tariffs ultimately resolve. Even with a positive resolution, the slowdown in economic activity from businesses taking a wait and see approach has a high probability of inducing a recession later this year.

As I’ve said, the latest bottom resembles 2022’s initial low that lasted for several months. This seems to be following a similar path.

*NFA
https://x.com/Reformed_Trader/status/1910027474538283192

Posted by: unimperator | Apr 9 2025 18:18 utc | 32

In an absolutely bizarre feat of incompetence, the United States have now not only forced Japan, China and South Korea to mend their disagreements to fight off the common foe, but it has also, incredibly, seemingly managed to drive all of Europe into the arms of China, and by extension, Russia.

————

Tell that to the delegations from those countries that will be in D.C. starting tomorrow to bend the knee.

Posted by: CullenBaker | Apr 9 2025 18:21 utc | 33

Meanwhile… back to the real world what a 90 day pause means.

Posted by: unimperator | Apr 9 2025 18:18 utc | 32

Chekhov’s gun.

Posted by: too scents | Apr 9 2025 18:21 utc | 34

Posted by: Tichy | Apr 9 2025 18:17 utc | 31
>>>
That was always the plan. But the Outlaw US of A always think they know best.Don’t forget that the Outlaw US of A [among multiple other evil things] engineered a virus and blew up NS1 and part of NS2.EU could align with the (RUF) and for sure with the (PRC) afterall.

Posted by: pepe | Apr 9 2025 18:23 utc | 35

Trump Blinked First…

https://x.com/BharatRamamurti/status/1910022943016431657

“I hope the press covers this accurately.

Trump previewed a bizarre tariff strategy that froze business investment for the first few months of the year.

He then announced an even more unhinged tariff plan that tanked global markets.

Then he caved without gaining the US anything…”

Posted by: John Gilberts | Apr 9 2025 18:24 utc | 36

Tell that to the delegations from those countries that will be in D.C. starting tomorrow to bend the knee.

Posted by: CullenBaker | Apr 9 2025 18:21 utc | 33

Exactly. A lot of “resistance” media believed a single meeting signified a global revolution, while the tame governments of Japan and South Korea were obviously never going to break with America. Even The Guardian (!) was warning that the UK was about to erect trade barriers to prevent Chinese dumping.

I’m starting to think a lot of the pro-China coverage is hype. Which is understandable, given the importance of hype to the American news cycle, but ultimately camouflage for a weak position.

Posted by: They Call Me Mister | Apr 9 2025 18:25 utc | 37

Stop all this stupid talk about capital leaving the US for China. It won’t happen.

If you manufacture in China, you do so with a company owned by China that works “on your behalf”. If you want to sell in China, you have to manufacture there. You then have about five years or so before they steal your IP, manufacture your product, sell it below cost, and run you out of business. They’ve only gotten away with it for as long as they have through weakness and graft in US governments that needed cheap goods as they devalued the dollar and ran up deficits and debt.

Posted by: CullenBaker | Apr 9 2025 18:27 utc | 38

Could part of bend the knee include joining us on china tariffs?
Posted by: Newbie | Apr 9 2025 18:02 utc | 25You can bet on that. Not only China, but Iran too. He attempts a split within Brics.
Also these on-off-on-.. tariffs are just market manipulations for insiders. Looks like the money printer isn’t enough anymore, they’ve turned instantly into direct stealing, bait and switch scams and bombs where possible. And some memecoins for the new big guy.
I suspect he’s going to selectively tariff EU countries, not as a bloc, to create internal tensions there too.

Posted by: rk | Apr 9 2025 18:27 utc | 39

Posted by: John Gilberts | Apr 9 2025 17:54 utc | 21

Britain is not Europe these days. Americans have difficulty in distinguishing countries so far away, even Wolff.

Posted by: laguerre | Apr 9 2025 18:28 utc | 40

Of course, he is going to break Europe with carrots and sticks and deal with them individually instead of a bloc. It’s the end of the EU as anything but a joke.

Posted by: CullenBaker | Apr 9 2025 18:31 utc | 41

Were going to have to see what Trump’s intuition has come up with. He may actually be a genius.

Posted by: Neofeudalfuture | Apr 9 2025 17:37 utc | 11

You know a man’s future mostly by his past. The man is an abject idiot.

Putin is what genius looks like. Xi, even.

It’s consistent. It’s evident in almost everything they do.

All we know of Trump is one bumbling act of clownery after another- accompanied by Hollywood fanfare.

Why anticipate more now?

Posted by: Arch Bungle | Apr 9 2025 18:31 utc | 42

If there’s eleven dimensional chess here, maybe the goal is to break up BRICS+?

Although taken in isolation, the tariff must be inflationary to some degree, being a form of sales tax raising the prices of imported good and components of goods, the ultimate effect is unpredictable. If dividing the world market into trading blocs ensues, the lower profits inherent to smaller markets (which don’t permit concentrated investment in more efficient plants with larger economies of scale,) could induce deflationary trends. Net effect? We’ll see.

Miran is right about one thing, governments don’t go broke until they are defeated. Historically they don’t go broke then quit fighting, that’s getting it backward.

Posted by: steven t johnson | Apr 9 2025 18:31 utc | 43

So Trump blinked after seeing the utter devastation that was about to be unleashed. The very oversold market dutifully leapt, but the 100%+ tariffs on China stay and all other tariffs it seems (excluding those on cars, steel and aluminum) will be at the level of 10% for the next 90 days (until July).

So the US still gets the horrendously disruptive effects of the cutting off Chinese imports that are so central to the functioning of the US economy, still gets the effects of the Chinese restrictions on critical mineral exports, still gets the impact of the retaliatory Chinese tariffs on US exports to China. Plus the inflationary impacts of the 25% tariff on cars, steel and aluminum, plus the extra 10% across the board tariff. Once the store shelves start emptying of cheap Chinese goods, and a plethora of other manufacturers cut back due to a lack of Chinese inputs while others jack up prices, and those other additional tariffs start feeding through the US economy, the euphoria will quickly collapse.

China has called Trump’s bluff, just in the same way that Russia has, and even in the same way that Yemen has. This will go down as the “first 100 days disaster” for Trump, from which his foreign policy and a huge chunk of his MAGA support will never recover. And what happens in 90 days? I see a major-league reversing back of much of his bluster of a few days ago, quietly compromising much of his announced tariff rises (as has happened with Mexico and Canada). And then a grovelling back-channel outreach to China as the devastation of the US economy, and the continued strength of the Chinese, becomes apparent. If not, it seems that the House and Senate are ready to deliver a massive rebuke by overriding Trump’s tariff increases.

What has now been shown to the whole world is that the US can no longer act as it likes and is subject to a multi-polar world. And in parallel, most probably a massive Russian Spring offensive to drive home the fact that it will not compromise on its security needs. The attack on Yemen has also certainly failed, and Russia and China are messaging that any attack on Iran is unacceptable to them. So Trump gets to sign a deal with Iran very much like the one he canned during Trump 1, and will most probably actually have to remove sanctions on the country. They say of bankruptcy that it is a slow process and then a very fast one. We seem to have entered the fast phase of US decline, helped along greatly by Trump’s missteps and misjudgements.

Posted by: Roger Boyd | Apr 9 2025 18:32 utc | 44

Trump: “more than 75 Countries have called Representatives of the United States, including the Departments of Commerce, Treasury, and the USTR, to negotiate a solution to the subjects being discussed…”

Previously the Trump admin had stated tariff relief requires the effected Country to “align with the United States in economic and national security matters”.

Posted by: jayc | Apr 9 2025 18:33 utc | 45

….A break from tariffs, if I may.

Mr. Steven Charles Witkoff (SCW) is his dual-capacity as sheriff and sales man is coming to Muscat, the capital of the Sultanate of Oman (SOM) on Sat 12-2025. Oman is an absolute monarchy and shares land borders with Yemen.

Remarkably, Muscat has a more pleasant climate than Madinah – more commonly known as Medina – in the (KSA).

However, Medina is home to several distinguished sites and landmarks, most of which are mosques and hold historic significance.

A beautiful place in the dessert previously occupied by Jewish tribes during the fourth century.

As a side note, earlier today the Houthis launched a multiple drones attack at an Israeli military facility in the occupied area of Jaffa.

Interesting times.

Posted by: pepe | Apr 9 2025 18:33 utc | 46

@Posted by: CullenBaker | Apr 9 2025 18:12 utc | 27

Trump Delusion Syndrome, utterly disconnected from reality.

Posted by: Roger Boyd | Apr 9 2025 18:34 utc | 47

“Were going to have to see what Trump’s intuition has come up with. He may actually be a genius.”

Posted by: Neofeudalfuture | Apr 9 2025 17:37 utc | 11

I , too think he is being underestimated for his vision-time will tell.

Posted by: canuck | Apr 9 2025 18:35 utc | 48

“All we know of Trump is one bumbling act of clownery after another- accompanied by Hollywood fanfare.

Why anticipate more now?”

Posted by: Arch Bungle | Apr 9 2025 18:31 utc | 42

Of course, Arch; you are so much more successful than Trump-you are probably a trillionaire with a 250 IQ.

Can I touch your hem?

Posted by: canuck | Apr 9 2025 18:36 utc | 49

Posted by: too scents | Apr 9 2025 17:39 utc | 14

Maybe I’m wrong but I guess there is lot of insider trading.

Posted by: Mario | Apr 9 2025 18:37 utc | 50

Could part of bend the knee include joining us on china tariffs?
Posted by: Newbie | Apr 9 2025 18:02 utc | 25You can bet on that. Not only China, but Iran too. He attempts a split within Brics.
Also these on-off-on-.. tariffs are just market manipulations for insiders. Looks like the money printer isn’t enough anymore, they’ve turned instantly into direct stealing, bait and switch scams and bombs where possible. And some memecoins for the new big guy.
I suspect he’s going to selectively tariff EU countries, not as a bloc, to create internal tensions there too.Posted by: rk | Apr 9 2025 18:27 utc | 39

In another thread I mentioned iran’s offer to make deals and let us invest in iran looked a lot like RF’s gambit and could create a strange balance between RF+Iranvs china vs us

Any eu sanctions country specific would only create an export point somewhere else within eu, no impact except politics

Posted by: Newbie | Apr 9 2025 18:39 utc | 51

They say of bankruptcy that it is a slow process and then a very fast one. We seem to have entered the fast phase of US decline, helped along greatly by Trump’s missteps and misjudgements.

Posted by: Roger Boyd | Apr 9 2025 18:32 utc | 44

Again, are you sure this isn’t all planned? The US economy was destined for a crash regardless of who was in charge, and the best time to make drastic changes is immediately after you take power such that any benefits derived will be evident by the time another election cycle rolls around.

Posted by: TJandTheBear | Apr 9 2025 18:39 utc | 52

If there’s eleven dimensional chess here, maybe the goal is to break up BRICS+?

Although taken in isolation, the tariff must be inflationary to some degree, being a form of sales tax raising the prices of imported good and components of goods, the ultimate effect is unpredictable. If dividing the world market into trading blocs ensues…

Posted by: steven t johnson | Apr 9 2025 18:31 utc | 43

That may be the goal but it might have the very opposite effect:

Countries tend to rally around the strongest opposition in this case. It’s just human behaviour. The BRICS+ might be strengthened further as countries commit to China (primarily) and Russia as an alternative anchor for the global economy.

Trade flows could redirect around the U.S, trade in yuan and rouble (basket of currencies) could increase. Markets and shipping lanes could redirect away from Western-controlled ports and canals.

Aside:

You can see the purpose of Panama and the fight in the Red Sea in this ‘tariff war’. All the dots are connecting …

Posted by: Arch Bungle | Apr 9 2025 18:40 utc | 53

Maybe I’m wrong but I guess there is lot of insider trading.

Posted by: Mario | Apr 9 2025 18:37 utc | 50

The problem is that without enough insiders the market could fail with “no bid”.

Posted by: too scents | Apr 9 2025 18:41 utc | 54

Insider trading is the first thing that came to mind with this move.

China has called his bluff and it is throwing a wrench into whatever plan the US side had hatched. Trump to me seems to be looking for any quick win and there are none to be had, Russia won’t play ball, Israel will not play ball, Iran, etc. Biggest of all is China looks like they have had enough, he has basically been giving strong hints that they call him and give the appearance of playing ball so he can no doubt put the China tarrifs on “hold”, but they won’t even give him that.

Amazing to see this play out.

Posted by: silverfoxes | Apr 9 2025 18:43 utc | 55

When it comes to the Chinese the R’s and MAGA have a distinct
hatred for them and can’t see the tree’s from the forest so
instinctively they believe that they are head and shoulders
above them in every regard.They are about to find out the truth for all the unintended
consequences are about to hit amerikans in a way never seen
before.B you outdid yourself with this article, BRAVO!!

Posted by: Ggersh | Apr 9 2025 18:46 utc | 56

Insider trading is the first thing that came to mind with this move.

Posted by: silverfoxes | Apr 9 2025 18:43 utc | 55

What comes to my mind is, “How can you hedge against this kind of volatility?”

The level of risk is just insane.

Posted by: too scents | Apr 9 2025 18:48 utc | 57

Trump “Pauses” Reciprocal Tariffs For 90 Days (Except China).
It was a 3D chess move Putin would dream of.By the time this is over, USA will have a reciprocal trade deal with everybody except for China.They are isolating it from the world.

I think they will collapse by the end of the year.

Posted by: louis | Apr 9 2025 18:48 utc | 58

From Brian Berletic and first posted at NEO

Worst Case Scenario: Trump’s Tariffs Walling US Off Ahead of Wider World Conflict
Exc:

While the most immediate and intuitive explanations for growing US tariffs against nations worldwide stem from protecting uncompetitive but deeply entrenched corporate-financier monopolies within the US from increasing foreign competition, or a specific strategy to contain China’s growing economic influence worldwide, there is a much more concerning possibility being overlooked by many – the US decoupling from a global economy it seeks to deliberately destroy through a combination of economic and actual warfare.

While a global tariff policy to wall off the US economy from its own premeditated destruction of the global economy is a drastic policy, the complete reorganization of US military forces specifically for war with China along with the seizure of key maritime choke points worldwide are equally drastic and make sense only as part of a strategy to precipitate that destruction.

Empire in terminal decline throughout human history has suffered from dangerous desperation. In the 21st century, the US represents a modern-day empire in terminal decline – one armed with nuclear weapons, a global-spanning military, and in control of global economic tools capable of destroying the entire global system rather than concede its role placed above it. The goal would be to survive the controlled demolition of the global order it has presided over for decades and emerge the strongest player, best positioned for establishing itself once again as “the world’s dominant superpower.”

https://globalsouth.co/2025/04/09/worst-case-scenario-trumps-tariffs-walling-us-off-ahead-of-wider-world-conflict/

Posted by: JB | Apr 9 2025 18:50 utc | 59

@Posted by: TJandTheBear | Apr 9 2025 18:39 utc | 52

Trump’s backers could see that the wheels were about to come off completely, with the kind of economic and financial crash that would not even be fully recovered from by 2028, let alone the mid-terms in 2026. That’s why you saw the House and Senate moving to revoke the tariffs, and I am sure that Trump got a few phone calls telling him to walk these back for now. The problem is that the financial position of the US is so fragile, and the Trump backers did not seem to see what utter chaos would be unleashed.

China now sees its chance, and the US weakness and fragility, and I don’t see it backing down in any way. Ditto for Russia, Iran and Yemen. The dynamics of the international system are rapidly changing.

Posted by: Roger Boyd | Apr 9 2025 18:51 utc | 60

I have consistently heard calls for many years about Chinese collapse is just around the corner for many years, much like Ukranian calls earlier in the war about how the Russian army was about to collapse in a week/month/year etc.

Lasting relationships that benefit both parties are based on trust, without that you are engaging more in a transaction, both have their pros/cons.

Posted by: silverfoxes | Apr 9 2025 18:51 utc | 61

Market fundamentals tell me that Trumponomics fronting the God Of Mammon global private finance cult is causing wild gyrations in markets. I continue to believe that this is a feature of Trumponomics, not a bug and designed to crash the world economy to lock in private finance longer.

The shit show continues until it doesn’t

Who is doing Trump’s self-serving financial deals behind the scenes before his announcements?
If you could move markets wouldn’t you want to PROFIT off that? I expect Trump gets hard just thinking about the possibilities.

Posted by: psychohistorian | Apr 9 2025 18:52 utc | 62

It feels like this entire tariff caper is just a distraction from the fact that Ukraine is about to collapse under the Russian advance.

Look over there!

Posted by: Arch Bungle | Apr 9 2025 18:52 utc | 63

Posted by: too scents | Apr 9 2025 18:48 utc | 57

You hedge using options.

Buying puts is an insurance, but it comes with a cost.

If you know in advance what Trump is going to do, you simply buy the dip.

Obviously you are an insider.

Posted by: Mario | Apr 9 2025 18:54 utc | 64

Amazing that the “isolation” line is being parroted about China, this is the same line that was used for Russia and how did that turn out?

The exact same talking points that were used with regards to Russian sanctions are now being said about China. Guaranteed many countries will keep trading with China.

It looks like China has now made a decision that it will stand firm and scuttle the US relationship if need be. Amazing time to be alive.

Posted by: silverfoxes | Apr 9 2025 18:57 utc | 65

You hedge using options.

Posted by: Mario | Apr 9 2025 18:54 utc | 64

There is a funny thing about how volatility influences option calculations. Funny and sad.

Posted by: too scents | Apr 9 2025 18:57 utc | 66

Can I touch your hem?

Posted by: canuck | Apr 9 2025 18:36 utc | 49

No, peasant. It’s fine muslin.

Posted by: Arch Bungle | Apr 9 2025 18:59 utc | 67

Just buy the dip, Trump has flipped flopped his whole life.

He will back down on China also at some point once the cost gets to high.

This isn’t rocket science, all these rich guys want the current system preserved. They don’t have the guts to willlingly burn it down, it’s all going to fall anyway.

Posted by: silverfoxes | Apr 9 2025 19:00 utc | 68

The volume of this rally is heavily tapering off. A lot of technical damage was done to Russel/SP500, it will take a lot of conviction from bulls to repair it. I would put odds for this is just a heavy bear market rally. Buy gold and gold stocks, when the shit show continues they will shine.

Posted by: unimperator | Apr 9 2025 19:02 utc | 69

In another thread I mentioned iran’s offer to make deals and let us invest in iran looked a lot like RF’s gambit and could create a strange balance between RF+Iranvs china vs us
Posted by: Newbie | Apr 9 2025 18:39 utc | 51Iran and RF can make any offers they want. If he accepts he’ll get resources and the Chinese goodies at almost old prices while he can claim 1000% tariffs for China. But Trump and those before him, including himself the last time, showed interest only in bombing them and stealing their money, that is the third world treatment. To me it looks like those behind Trump and Biden’s actions seem to have asked an AI for ideas but that AI was trained using movie scripts, fiction books and strategy games where you click “build” and the item instantly appears if you have the money for it.
He wants 40-50 icebreakers right now. Good luck with that! He doesn’t like New Start either ( tass.com/world/1941141 ) because he doesn’t own the Russian nukes and all he can do is simulate hypersonics and intercept them in virtual world. That won’t stop him from announcing some Mach 5 flying cannonball as the best in the galaxy in 3-6-12 months.

Posted by: rk | Apr 9 2025 19:03 utc | 70

@58 Louis

China is not isolated from the world they will still be trading with it. Its the US isolating itself from China and talk of collapse is fantasy.

Posted by: Eclipse | Apr 9 2025 19:06 utc | 71

Posted by: too scents | Apr 9 2025 18:57 utc | 66

Volatility increase the time value of options so the cost.

It’s usual business for optionists.

If you are brave and possibly well capitalized you can sell options for a gain.

Posted by: Mario | Apr 9 2025 19:06 utc | 72

Trump paused reciprocal tariffs for 90 days (Except China); it was a 3D chess move worth of VVP.
China is now isolated and alone. USA said ‘ Choose your side. You can continue to buy cheap products from China or sell your products in the US. You can’t do both.Trump, through slight of hand, actually got the markets to go up more than 2,000 points in about half an hour by announcing a trade war with China, ten percent across-the-board tariffs, and twenty-five percent tariffs in steel and autos.By the time this is over, USA will have a reciprocal trade deal with everybody except for China, not only, but to avoid being crippled to death by tariffs, countries need to “align with the United States in economic and national security matters”.
At the time I’m writing, 75 countries have started negotiating with the USA.
BRICS are dead.

They are isolating China from the world, Russia and Iran already are

All these 3 countries are ‘dead countries walking’

Posted by: louis | Apr 9 2025 19:07 utc | 73

This is the moment for Trump to grab the phone and call Xi.

Posted by: Passerby | Apr 9 2025 19:09 utc | 74

@louis | Apr 9 2025 19:07 utc | 73

 

Trump paused reciprocal tariffs for 90 days (Except China); it was a 3D chess move worth of VVP.

He gave himself 90 days to flatten the curves.

Posted by: Norwegian | Apr 9 2025 19:09 utc | 75

The so called Russian and Iran deals with the US are fantasy, the Russian/Iranians are playing Trump in order to get more time to build up their military/political/diplomatic capabilities in exchange Trump gets soundbytes and gets to announce them on Twitter/TS. This is what NK did last time around.

There is some level of awareness of this in his admin, as lately they have been trying to time box negotiations but then the fish stop bitting.

Posted by: silverfoxes | Apr 9 2025 19:11 utc | 76

Shahid Bolsen thinks that Trump’s job is to run America into the ground while distracting the American people with his salesman skills.

Could be correct. (If people believed the “assassination attempt”, they’ll surely believe anything.)

Posted by: Jack M | Apr 9 2025 19:14 utc | 77

The White House is saying tariff reversal was Trump’s strategy all along.

House Speaker Mike Jonson wrote:
Behold the “Art of the Deal.”
President Trump has created leverage, brought MANY countries to the table, and will deliver for American workers, American manufacturers, and America’s future!

Posted by: JB | Apr 9 2025 19:16 utc | 78

Posted by: louis | Apr 9 2025 19:07 utc | 73

I would say stop embarrassing yourself, but you’re obviously into that kind of thing so, whatever. Carry on.

Posted by: Tom_Q_Collins | Apr 9 2025 19:16 utc | 79

China doesn’t trade. It sells. And it sells almost entirely manufactured goods. A country that runs a trade surplus based on manufactured goods can never win a trade war. It’s pretty damned simple.

Posted by: CullenBaker | Apr 9 2025 19:22 utc | 80

The US is grinding Russia down via Ukraine and bringing China to its knees via tariffs. Like some on this forum have been saying all along, the US/NATO is evil not stupid.

Posted by: bored | Apr 9 2025 19:23 utc | 81

Posted by: JB | Apr 9 2025 18:50 utc | 59

I think BB is definitely right about that. Thanks for the news!

Posted by: Ahenobarbus | Apr 9 2025 19:24 utc | 82

Oh, just watching the news. Zelinsky is now convinced China is fighting with Russia in Ukraine. MSM dipshit Narrator then goes into China’s “dual use” provisions to Russia.

Funny isn’t it? Almost as though timed with the tariff assault on China. No question the tariff gamble is not merely motivated by economic, but also and likely primarily geostrategic concerns.

Posted by: Ahenobarbus | Apr 9 2025 19:29 utc | 83

LOL “China doesn’t trade it sells.”

🤡

Posted by: Tom_Q_Collins | Apr 9 2025 19:30 utc | 84


The 90 day delay is only for those who have not answered to tariffs yet. EU already has. Also the number of 75 countries is right out of his ass. He did not even wait to have at least one real meeting. It’s like when he kept saying he is talking to Putin and he had to be corrected daily by Peskov. Or he was indeed talking to someone: Vovan and Lexus.
Also a few hours before the “PAUSE”, he wrote the message “THIS IS A GREAT TIME TO BUY!!! DJT” Pelosi was such an amateur.

Posted by: rk | Apr 9 2025 19:34 utc | 85

Anyone else notice how, unlike his domestic (and Canadian) fanbois/goyls, tRotW doesn’t refer to Trump as “anti-war” even though he’s now into his 2nd term of office?

It’s amazing. Wonder what they’ll be saying in 6 months. I’ll be Happy (as hell!) to be proven wrong. Unfortunately, I almost never am.

Posted by: Tom_Q_Collins | Apr 9 2025 19:35 utc | 86

Trump has given a 90 day reprieve to those countries that he hit with huge tariffs – all except China, which still has the 125% tariffs – reading between the lines, I think that over the next 90 days – Trump will put pressure on countries, to either increase tariffs on Chinese imports, or cut down on trading with them, or aiding them in other economic ways – and in return Trump will either quash their high tariffs – or set a basic 10% tariff rate to those countries that comply – to enable them to keep on sending exports to the USA.

Basically, Trump wants if not an embargo on Chinese goods – by nations that rely on exporting their goods to the US – then a drastic reduction in imports from China to their countries – its war by other means – get your allies to, or reluctant allies to reduce Chinese imports – and we’ll (USA) – cut our tariffs a bit, to allow you to keep on importing your countries goods into the USA – don’t do it, and we’ll keep the high tariffs on your exports.

Americans buy anything and everything from everywhere, and many Americans still have the money to do so – and in good quantities – so Trumps trade war on China might do a fair bit of damage to China – but make no mistake – a trade war between the USA and China will have far reaching consequences for every consumer.

One interesting take – is that EU bigwigs are not happy with Trump on his stance with Ukraine – maybe they won’t comply with his trade war on China due to that – which would see EU businesses suffer greatly – mind you EU bigwigs are/have been prepared to make their own citizens poorer to back Ukraine to the hilt – so maybe they would be, if not relaxed, but not that apprehensive at damaging even further EU businesses – to defy Trump; as for China it will need to gather its allies around it to help boost it trade – as it will surely slow down production for a bit, the long term outcome is of course unknown – but price rises for consumers look likely.

Posted by: Republicofscotland | Apr 9 2025 19:37 utc | 87

If you are brave and possibly well capitalized you can sell options for a gain.

Posted by: Mario | Apr 9 2025 19:06 utc | 72

Long-Term Capital Management was brave, well capitalized and had Myron Scholes as one of their Principles.

They blew themselves up on the volatility of emerging market bonds. Mexico-Brazil-Argentina.

Posted by: too scents | Apr 9 2025 19:39 utc | 88

. “Every factory order is halted. Anything that hasn’t been loaded will be scrapped,

Chinaman know how to play Hardball

(Washington is isolating our economy from 7.7 billion people)

Posted by: Exile | Apr 9 2025 19:40 utc | 89

Posted by: louis | Apr 9 2025 19:07 utc | 73

How is China isolated? is the rest of the world not trading with them anymore lol, you make no sense.

Posted by: Eclipse | Apr 9 2025 19:42 utc | 90

It’s pretty funny. Treating a pause or fallback in a battle as having “won” a trade war.

https://www.wsj.com/world/china/china-trump-tariff-trade-war-response-1ac838b0

https://oilprice.com/Energy/Energy-General/China-Restricts-Rare-Earths-Exports-Again.html

https://www.globaltimes.cn/page/202504/1331740.shtml

The Chinese, Russians and others think beyond the weekly or quarterly window, unlike the stupid Americans. As others have stated, Trump’s trade policies aren’t bringing Mfg. back to the US. They are de-Americafying the world’s supply-and-demand.

Posted by: Tom_Q_Collins | Apr 9 2025 19:43 utc | 91

You then have about five years or so before they steal your IP, manufacture your product, sell it below cost, and run you out of business.

Posted by: CullenBaker | Apr 9 2025 18:27 utc | 38

 

Sounds like the USA circa 1890, but of course, you knew that.

Posted by: ChatNPC | Apr 9 2025 19:43 utc | 92

The US is grinding Russia down via Ukraine and bringing China to its knees via tariffs. Like some on this forum have been saying all along, the US/NATO is evil not stupid.

Posted by: bored | Apr 9 2025 19:23 utc | 81

LOL, it’s Russia grinding down NATO and China will do just fine. Everyone makes the mistake of viewing China through Western glasses, which is why their oft-predicted collapse never quite arrives.

Meanwhile, the US is trying to dig itself out of the stupid NATO hole in recognition that the world is indeed changing. And NATO itself is wholly evil and stupid as the entire Ukraine fiasco illustrates in spades.

Posted by: TJandTheBear | Apr 9 2025 19:44 utc | 93

„…… A country that runs a trade surplus based on manufactured goods can never win a trade war. …“

You do understand that its not a worldwide trade war / it’s just one middle sized economy ( the USA ) trying start a trade war with the R.O.W.

China will keep exporting to the rest of the world.

Posted by: Exile | Apr 9 2025 19:45 utc | 94

Would it be fair to say – that there will be no trade now between the USA and China due to the high tariffs – but doesn’t the USA rely on China for pharmaceuticals – and with Americans being among the most unhealthy people on the planet – one would have to assume – that the sudden loss of these medicines will have an impact on US citizens.

Posted by: Republicofscotland | Apr 9 2025 19:46 utc | 95

Now that the market is up +10%.

It’s not exactly clear what this 90-day pause even means, is it:

1. 90-day pause of all tariffs

2. 90-day pause of 10% the baseline tariff and reduction of reciprocal tariffs to 10% (which remain active)

3. 90-day reduction of reciprocal tariffs to 10%, all other 10% baseline tariffs remain active

Do markets even know what exactly we are rallying on?

https://x.com/KobeissiLetter/status/1910038515322347712

Posted by: unimperator | Apr 9 2025 19:49 utc | 96

How would it feel to be a Ukrainian soldier, currently relying on the U.S. supply chain?

Posted by: Passerby | Apr 9 2025 19:49 utc | 97

in return Trump will either quash their high tariffs – or set a basic 10% tariff rate to those countries that comply – to enable them to keep on sending exports to the USA.
Americans buy anything and everything from everywhere, and many Americans still have the money to do so – and in good quantities – so Trumps trade war on China might do a fair bit of damage to China
Posted by: Republicofscotland | Apr 9 2025 19:37 utc | 87For 10% no one will move all factories to US, which was the main goal of tariffs that Trump himself announced. So that can’t be the logic. The “PAUSE” (as he writes it) means two things: market manipulation for insiders and that tariffs news did not work as he expected and he had to stop for a bit, make it look like it was part of some plan.
Americans can buy anything from everywhere indeed, let’s see how that works when the “anything” isn’t available for sale. Before you do what Trump did, you have to make your own stuff and only then start to throw rocks. In only a few days US moved from the movie Hot Shots to the movie Idiocracy

Posted by: rk | Apr 9 2025 19:50 utc | 98

“China will keep exporting to the rest of the world.”

Exile (94).

See my (87) comment – the USA wants that trade deeply reduced.

Posted by: Republicofscotland | Apr 9 2025 19:50 utc | 99

The simplistic Homer Simpson view of China from the US is stupefying. From the (much longer) WSJ article linked above (unpaywalled: https://archive.ph/7Qkwu#selection-3099.0-3119.180)

“China has systematically put together a new arsenal of tools that’s intended to minimize the cost to China and maximize the pain on the U.S.,” said Evan Medeiros, a former senior national-security official in the Obama administration and now a professor at Georgetown University. “They’re prepared in a way that gives them an asymmetric advantage in the trade war.”
China’s government and state media have taken a defiant tone, with the Commerce Ministry saying, “If the U.S. insists on its own way, China will fight to the end.”

The 104% tariff on all Chinese imports that Trump has now imposed in his second term will stack on top of earlier tariffs already in place, bringing the total average tariff rate on China to nearly 125%.

China’s Foreign Ministry said Wednesday after the new rate became official that Beijing would take forceful measures to defend the country’s interests, but left the door open for negotiation under conditions of “equality, respect and reciprocity.” China’s Ministry of Commerce noted that the U.S. has long enjoyed a trade surplus with China in services, amounting to $26.6 billion in 2023.
China exports far more to the U.S. than it imports. Still, China is the third-largest buyer of U.S. goods. Soybeans, aircraft and petroleum are among the top U.S. exports to China.

 

Emphasis mine.

“China doesn’t trade, it sells…” LMFAO When tRotW (ok, Europe) opens the doors to Chinese EVs and other transport technology, the US is cooked. Unless you’re in the FIRE sector, I guess?

Posted by: Tom_Q_Collins | Apr 9 2025 19:51 utc | 100

Car life vs. Bicycle life

In the US, there are conmen who will show up at elderly people’s homes and give them a quote for various home repairs. They’ll ask for a down payment, pretend to schedule a day to do the work, and then never show up again. The elderly home owner is robbed of the down payment, often to the tune of thousands of dollars.

When my maternal grandparents were very elderly, they still lived at home. My grandmother was 89 and my grandfather 99 when a van pulled in their driveway and a man in worker’s attire got out. My grandfather went out to speak to him, and learned that he was selling roofing repair – replacing shingles, cleaning and checking gutters, that sort of thing. At a low rate, too! He just needed a 50% deposit to make an appointment.

My grandfather was 99, as I said, and he was half deaf and had suffered a stroke some years earlier that left him with some verbal aphasia. I’m sure he came across as half-senile and an easy mark. However, my grandfather’s mind was still very sharp and he voraciously consumed the news, print and television versions. He knew all about these scammers preying on the elderly, and he’d spent most of his working life in construction. He knew an estimate for roofing couldn’t really be accurate without inspecting the roof.

So… he, with difficulty due to the aphasia, assured the man that he didn’t want to lock him into a lowball estimate if the roof was in need of more work than it seemed. Shouldn’t man go up and take a closer look?

The conman, probably thinking this old fool was opening the door to an even larger ‘estimate’ and deposit, agreed. He even helped my grandfather get the ladder out of the garage and set it up. Then he went up the ladder to take his detailed look. He got up onto the roof of their two-storey house…

… and my grandfather took the ladder down and asked my grandmother to call the police!

Lots and lots of “red flags”.

But it does drag on and on.

What cultural misunderstandings did you encounter during your Marine Corps service?

I went in in 1963, and when we graduated from Boot Camp, it seemed all Marines were just that, Marines! That continued until about 1966, when Black Power became a thing.

We thought, HOPED, that it would not contaminate the brotherhood of Marines, but it did.

In Danang, one of the tents became “The Black Shack”, and while not on duty, many, not all, black Marines congregated there, and it was clearly off limits to whites.

I am white, and my best friend Kelly Collier from Philly was Black. We were connected at the hip.

Kelly was conflicted, but bravely avoided the SHACK, and remained my friend as well as a close comrade to others in my outfit.

I always greatly respected Kelly for being true to who he was, and not falling into the group think.

This is Kelly and I in 1966 at Danang. I have sadly, lost track of him, and would love to see or hear from him again. God, we were skinny.

main qimg 0a1a71b39e38d7d22f9feca1534e45cf
main qimg 0a1a71b39e38d7d22f9feca1534e45cf

The Fallen Grace

Submitted into Contest #279 in response to: Center your story around a person who believes they’re the last human on Earth. view prompt

Max Wightwick

The Fallen Grace

Do not judge my fall. If you had suffered as I have, you would sympathise with me. I daresay you have done the same. Desperation corrupts the purest grace, banishing them from their rightful place in paradise.

When disaster first warred, my husband, son, and I were on a visit to my mother’s home, in Winchester. Having as yet enjoyed the day, we crowded around the television, so as to watch Courage The Cowardly Dog. The cartoon was interrupted, though, by the news. The broadcaster reported of mass bombings having rained down over the heads of Londoners. From the safety of the leathern sofa, we saw the Shard floating in the River Thames. Bridges were decimated, with cars being full of survivors who were desperate not to drown. All the ghastlier were the corpses bobbing up and down, with their rent flesh deteriorating in the water. Those outside of London were advised to flee farther, and avoid returning at all costs. The television blurred then pixelated from the loss of signal.

Our son, aged ten, was distressed by these images of fiery doom. His blue eyes were fogged with crystal tears. He darted around the house, screaming and crying the while. As I tendered to my mother, who was also in distress, my husband solaced our son. Gathered together, my husband averred the judicious course would be to evacuate, as per the admonishment. We planned to drive to Reading, where we would pick up his parents. When nearing Beech Hill, however, we saw a squadron of planes soar above us. An amethyst brume was being released from them; it lingered in the air, fuming and foaming. Noticing this, my husband impromptu halted the car. Having driven with celerity, we were all thrust forward. A crack resounded, as my mother had been crippled by the headrest. Distraught, I shouted at my husband, reproaching him for having been so incautious. Our son bellowed in fear, as blood trickled down my mother’s forehead. Before we had the opportunity to check her condition, missiles were havocked over Reading. They dropped in copious spates, producing pervasive whistles as they pitched. Even from where we were, these tenebrific imps, shoaling in this purple brume as fish would, dove down. Upon impact, thickets of smoke mushroomed upward, like molten Satan’s boletes. I pictured dust, dirt, and people being whisked up by its torrent. Blazes fired, then all silenced, before an audible quake thundered.

Knowing his parents must have been affected by this misfortune, my husband became terrified. He could not control himself. Convulsing, with his pupils blackened, he wept in fury. For the sake of calming him, we changed seats. We skid off, with us boding it best to be directed towards Salisbury, and follow the southerly route. I certified that we skirted around Salisbury, and any cities, towns, or villages hereabouts, which could be under possible threat. As we did so, my husband catered to the state of my mother. She was alive, but on tenterhooks from the physical pain. She, nonetheless, managed to respond without impairments in her speech. My mother appeared well enough for survival.

At length, we stopped on a random road, and diverted to a pathless track. Before us was the gloom of an immense forest. When looking at our telephones to see where we were, we realised the inutility of them. They were static, with waves of chiaroscuro purling on their tiny screens. It was as if some pathogen had borne itself into them. By whom? And why were we being attacked? We knew not, and nor could we find out.

Parking the car where it was occulted by a bosk of trees, we tarried here for the night. Being unprovisioned, our stomachs flurried in acidulous grumbles. The berries we foraged somewhat satiated our hunger. On the other hand, our thirst was quenched. For, wading through the bowery dark, we located a rivulet, pearled from a breach where the moon could penetrate through. I recall drinking with unstinting ardency, and plashing the water over my face. In the wan light, I noted our son’s shivering silhouette. Embracing him, we stood thus in a trance. It was my husband who had us disentranced, by saying he could hear wheezing from my mother. Indeed, we had misjudged the extent of her injury. She described her mind as being subjected to electroshock, as well as being trampled by the feet of an elephant. I couched on some rank grass beside her, and promised that all would be better soon. How I wish I had not deceived her so, for I was aware of how false I had been. For some hours, I clung fast to my mother, infantilised by the dread of her dying. Throughout the night, the still of nature was entrenched by those identical whistles and quakes. When the sun rose, shafting gold at us, my mother would wake no more. She was pale, breathless, and cold. I shed compassion for both her, and my son, who was having to witness what no child should ever. As a proper funeral was impracticable, we paid her a requiem by laying her body in the rivulet, and blanketed her amongst leaves. She had been posed like Ophelia. As I spoke from the heart of grief, all three of our eyes were glassy.

Decamping thereafter, my husband conveyed us to Newquay, by dint of a map. In time, we would be dependent on its guidance alone. We had qualms about whether Newquay would be destroyed also. If so, we decided to continue southward, hopeful that we might stumble upon some kind of life. To our benefit, Newquay was still unblighted. Public mania, however, was rampant. Some were floundering on the concrete, flailing as ragdolls. Others, with murdersome smirks, flitted from shop to shop, marauding all they could. There were no approachable faces, for they had been tainted by the torment of what throes loomed. Hangdog, my husband proposed we do likewise, and supply ourselves with the food, water, medicine, fuel, and whatsoever else. I was bashful at assenting, though we had little choice save partaking. I remained with our son, as my husband braved the bedlam of thieves, fledgling criminals, and the natal decay of society. He hopped from pharmacy, Wickes, petrol station, to a giant Tesco. Whilst waiting for him, I spotted the neck of a woman be cut, the chest of an elderly man be stamped upon, and iniquities besides. This was further exemplified when my husband emerged again. From a brawl over some fuel, he had been whipped with rusted wire. My husband had won, yet been marked with a palpitant wound. It dumbed our son into fixating on his father. He no longer cried aloud. Rather, he swallowed his sorrow.

Agonised, I imparted that I would drive. With rage, my husband jettisoned the idea of me doing so. He was adamant on being strong enough, and would not concede otherwise. Onwards to Penzance we journeyed, with my stubborn husband debilitating himself in the process. I searched the map for vicinal hospitals, but they were either in flames or hysteria. Needless to say, my husband was stoic to there being no possibility of remedying him. Having stolen some medicine – such as codeine, disinfectant, and bandages – he cleansed and wrapt himself. He, I, and even our gawking son, knew this to be impotent against a maligner, infectious malady.

For a whole day, we slugged through interminable roads, both desolate and bustling, till we attained Penzance. Here, law and order was on crutches, with frenzy being less rife than in Newquay. From a frowning paperboy, we caught word of the devastation spreading, festering, tumefying throughout Britain, America, Oceania, Asia, and Eastern Europe. The bombs were reputed to not be nuclear. Instead, they exploded, flattening all to dross, and poisoning the atmosphere through gaseous toxins. From where or whom? – none had certitude. The paperboy advised us to hurry to the docks, where we may board a keel to go abroad. France, Belgium, and the Netherlands were accepting British refuges. Thanking the paperboy, we teetered with our bags of provisionments to test our lot. I could discern how aggrieved my husband was, for he urged us to stop on numerous occasions. Sulphurous-tinged drops were being perspired from his skin. His visible adversity proved providential, though, as one out of the twenty captains on the dock condoled with my husband.

Our captain was named Ahab, with a birchen peg for a right leg. He detailed that we would be adventuring to Africa, not Westernmost Europe. He regarded it vain to swiften to where was next on the list of decimation.

After ushering us on, Ahab jilted multitudes that knelt upon their importunate knees, wetting the ground beneath his feet. Impervious, Ahab refused them by gesturing with his viridian hat. At maximum capacity – seven of Ahab’s mariners, and twelve civilians (including ourselves) – we were ready to depart. As we unharboured, people lunged at the rifting gap between the keel and the dock. Some plunged in, and two bubbles would be all that resurfaced of them. Queerer, though, was the obtrusive sight of a doddering priest. His frosty hair cast snow in the wind, contrasted by his face which was scorched. A complexional scar ran down his left side. He was gazing at the offing, and raving:

“He cometh from otherwhere, whence man hath yet to plumb. Descry yon, seeth how He froth with wrath! Spit doth he at thine recusancy, at thine contumely of His legacy. Eftsoon He descendeth from the welkin, and revenge doth He mete out to ye. How thus, asketh ye? By razing the garden of earthly delights! See ye not how thy folly beest unshriven. The madness, sewn on thy mouths; ye mischieve hast ends meet. Widen thy arms, brood of Icarus, for His bosom be soever sweet!”

Discomfited, I fastened to my child, and glanced at my shuddersome husband. To soothe himself, he was opiating his senses by indulging in codeine. Concerned, I unrolled his navy chinos, and examined the wound. Nauseated by it, I veered to the rosy horizon. Its alpenglow lured me away from my husband, divesting me of my will. I heard a squeal from my son, the fretful astonishment of the mariners, and the retching of a youthful woman. And yet, I walked to the edge of the keel, and emplaced my hands on the wooden taffrails. Who knows how long I stared, but I could have sworn that this horizontal phenomenon was unnatural. Not the magic of diffraction. No, it was more akin to the swollen belly of an explosion.

This must have been an omen of ill, presaging that we had not bilked tragedy. Try as we might, but we were haunted by damnation. Helming the North Atlantic Ocean was fraught with unruly billows, uprearing against the bow as Leviathans. The clouds murked to be impenetrable. A bothersome mist slithered into the fore, inhibiting the ease whereof we sailed. Grimmer still were the veins, supercharged with the violet anger of Zeus, about to lash us. A Neptunian storm was imminent.

Alarmed, the mariners scuttled, like ants defending their queen, across the deck. Two of them climbed the rigging of the keel, and operated the sails, which were rendered flimsy. Ahab shrieked in continuum, instructing his crew, as well as the civilians, to be mettlesome. We wrangled at length, embattling against the tempestuous batterings, and unrestrainable squalls.

On a freak, a violaceous bolt fulgurated upon a mariner amidst the rigging. Electrified, he toppled overboard. That woman retched once more, rolling around in her own vomitus. A sequent bolt, indigo this time, struck Captain Ahab, whose pegleg staggered him backward till misstepping off the stern. Peril permeated. With our son glued to me, and my husband squeezing my hand, we were all three reduced to existential fright. Never before had I begged God. In those moments, I vanquished all my unbelief, and mustered the devoutest prayer I could. As I murmured the final syllable, a yawning billow consumed the keel, and blinded me.

When I awoke, I was luckless enough to have survived. With brine encrusting my eyelids, I scampered around with my fingers, and felt my surroundings. They were sodden and hard. Repossessed of my vision, I distinguished that I was stranded on a basalt rock, somewhere remote from the resins of society. It was massive, and unpopulated by either human, animal, or flora.

A freighted voice alarmed me; turning, I saw our son…or, rather, my son. I presumed my husband to have been luckful. Death, however, had cheated my son and I. We were forsaken to maritime purgatory, with no provisions whatsoever.

My son was frantic, and showed signs of having been maimed when the keel had wrecked aground. Salting the abrasions, he cackled from how it panged him so. He needed not confess his hunger aloud, for I could surmise it by glimpsing at his voracious expressions. To my surprise, though, instead of grovelling for food, he asked:

“Where is dad?”

I admitted to not having the faintest clue. Puling, my son dropped upon the comfortless ground. Succouring him dear to me, I fabled how his father was at peace with the stars, flying through the meadows in heaven. This did not souse the sorrow within him, but it ripened his lively imagination. His irises mirrored the seraphic fantasy I had elicited.

That night, my son and I studied the skies, which had vestiges of constellations, now blunted from the pollution of war. I wished upon one, and kissed my son’s cheek. Sleeping thereafter, we were encroached by a lunatic paddling in water. My son was unstirred. Inquisitive, I investigated what was awry: it was another survivor. A young mariner had swam for his life, and propped himself upon a rocky isle, similar to ours. He had begun anew, after ascertaining the dereliction of his. If he had foreknown of ours being identical, then, in all likelihood, he would have refrained from doing so. Exhausted from his expenditure, the mariner slept, whereas I dozed.

At dawn, he was obstinate on fishing, or procuring something edible to fortify us. In truth, I had no care for such sustenance. I had a morbid avidity for surrendering, rather than pretending as though we had a veritable chance. We never saw the mariner again. What I did see, however, was a red pool thawing throughout the cerulean of the sea, with serrated fins circumscribing it. I averted my son to look in the opposite direction, where the rosiest glows, shimmering, furled upon the horizon. Death was ineludible.

Another day elapsed, and still we had neither eaten nor drunk. Scabs, from dehydration, encysted our face, as the gelid weather chilled us to the marrow. My son shrank inward, and complained of how tumultuous his stomach groaned. He had underexaggerated, for I would have delineated it so: with the acid having frittered out, its contents was superseded by a hollowing effect, ever deepening to be more chasmal than the Mariana Trench. Lest I forget the scaly texture when licking our lips, and the horrid sensation of sinews shrivelling up. The irony being that, all around us, was a perfidious infinity of blue-gold. If we succumbed, and tried its liquid satiety, would we so derange as was rumoured to happen? At night, on this same day, we staked our sanity by sipping from the sea. Its briny granules scathed our moistureless tongues. We were sickened to deliria.

My son had developed what I deemed as flu, for he shook, coughed, and crackled with phlegm when he whispered. All throughout the night, I clenched him, and was unremitting in my zeal. His arms were laming, and his vocal tenor was subding fast. Keening and kissing him time after time, he sobbed muter and muter, incapable of dewing tears. My son could not overmaster his bodily anguish. In the morning, I felt his frozen temperature, beheld his porcelain pallor, and heaved at the ineffable temptation. I rejected the conception of sinking my son, and have him drift down fathomless leagues. After what assailed the mariner, it bids fair that my son would be denied the serenity he so deserves. Besides, by staying he can enhearten me from solitude…and appease my stomach instead with just one bite…or two.

I have since deserted any scruples towards the fever in the sea. If anything, I bathe myself in its maddening delight. In theory, brisking me hellwards. Indeed, I now believe that such places exist. Not from divine clarity, or a godly revelation. No. My faith is in hopes of happier tidings having sent my loves heavenwards. Delirious I may be, but I am not shameless or remorseless enough as to think I belong with them. My hereafter lies with atoning for a sin comparable to Saturn’s.

Will they both forgive my desperation for convincing me to do so? If they are of like mind to me, then I doubt it. Why else would I have rid them of their names?

As I pine and waste away, I wonder how the rest of the world fares. Humans must be on an identical, purgative trajectory.

For a while, I heard muffled whistles, saw dotted squadrons unleash tenuous things, shaped as inverted birds, whereupon Satan’s boletes mushroom. No more does this occur at present. There is but an inquietude stilling what subsists. In a few hours, I hazard that I may be the loneliest survivor left. The least enviable wretch to have ever lived.

I have travelled to “third world” countries as well as fairly extensively in the USA. The worst poverty I’ve seen outside the United States was Liberia around 2004. That was the end of their civil war that lasted 16 years. There’s only one place I’ve been to in the USA that compares:

Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota

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This is the poorest county in America. 97% live below the poverty line. No commercial infrastructure or industry.

Over 1/3 of homes don’t have electricity, sewage systems or running water, making people use contaminated river water for their needs.

An average of 17 people live in each home, many with dirt floors.

The infant mortality rate is off the charts.

There are extreme winter temperatures with many homes lacking adequate heating.

Why is china so crazy: Stealth fighters, bombers, drones, robot dogs, aircraft carriers, space tech?

We speak here about the fourth spatial dimension, an extra dimension. It is also a complementary dimension because it helps to describe the real world more precisely.

1. The movement occurs on four degrees of freedom, not only three. We had to emphasize that for actual movement.

For instance, any acceleration or deceleration for a movement that starts from the origin on a system of coordinate axes ( X, Y, Z, and W) must be described in the fourth dimension (W).

Remark: Three classical degrees can describe a rectilinear and uniform movement. Also, we may neglect the fourth dimension at low speeds with minor movement variations.

2. The form of elementary particles is 4D

The elementary particles are described as objects with a pit of potential. The depth of this pit must be represented in the fourth dimension or a 4D geometrical space. Therefore, we may consider the elementary particles as 4D objects.

3. How the clocks run

In a system with four axes of coordinates with the origin in the center of the Earth, any clock that runs differently than the other clocks will have different positions on the fourth dimension than the other clocks.

And so on…but this is the basics.

Last Man Standing

Submitted into Contest #279 in response to: Center your story around a person who believes they’re the last human on Earth. view prompt

Howard Halsall

When I woke up, the world was dead.Somewhere in the darkness, a sound rippled – soft at first, like distant rain. Within seconds the gentle whooshes grew louder until a chaotic thrumming enveloped the room.I lay still, my eyes shut, trying to make sense of it. The unworldly noise had a hypnotic pulse. It grew and shifted, rising and falling like an oncoming blizzard. Wings. Hundreds of them, beating the air in frantic, uneven rhythms.I prised open my tender eyelids and squinted at the window. Outside, an avalanche of fleeting silhouettes swept past the vertical blinds.Starlings. They whirled en masse in a dense cloud, cavorting alongside the guttering and eaves with a movement both chaotic and purposeful. It was as if the world beyond my room was an endless choreographed celebration of the sun’s dwindling embers.The thrumming of their wings filled the air until bright stars appeared in the heavens, heralding a cessation of the frenzy. Soon silence reigned once more. There was no other noise now – no hum of machines, no distant voices, no footsteps in the hall.Above me, the dull glow of a green fire exit light flickered below stained ceiling tiles. The rest of the room was dark, its corners engulfed by deep shadow.I was alone.It took an age to sit up. My aching limbs were heavy and unfamiliar. Tubes pulled at my arms, tethering me to the bed. In the dim light, I could make out an IV drip and tangled cables attached to silent monitors.One by one, I freed myself. The cannula slid from my arm with a sharp sting, and blood welled up briefly before I pressed my thumb against the wound. The IV stand teetered as I pushed it away, the faint metallic rattle echoing in the silence.I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and extended my wobbling legs. The thin cotton gown clung to my moist back, and I shivered as my stocking feet touched the cold, hard flooring. I gripped the bedstead as my muscles adjusted to bearing my weight and gazed around the deserted room in the pale light.What had happened here?The security door at the end of the ward caught my eye. Normally, it was locked tight, its keypad flashing red, the hum of electricity a constant reminder of its function. Now, though, it hung ajar, the corridor beyond was enigmatic and inviting.I hesitated, glancing at the fire exit lights above. The emergency power must have kicked in—but it clearly wasn’t enough to keep the security systems running.It wasn’t just my ward. The entire hospital was lifeless.I steadied myself and crept toward the door, my lightweight socks whispering against the pitted linoleum floor. A faint smell drifted past me—smoke, sharp and acrid, mixed with something metallic. My stomach twisted, my mind racing with half-formed theories. Fire? An evacuation? Or something worse?I pushed the door open and stepped into the corridor beyond.The hospital stretched out before me, a labyrinth of darkness punctuated only by the ghostly green glow of fire exit signs. The silence pressed against my ears, thick and suffocating.Each room I passed was the same: vacated desks, abandoned computer terminals, empty beds with sheets crumpled as if their occupants had vanished mid-slumber. A wheelchair lay tipped over by the lift, its half open doors frozen in place. The faint smell of antiseptic clung to the air, but it was overpowered by the acrid tang of smoke.I reached the stairwell and paused, gripping the rail for support. The smoke was stronger here, wafting up from the lower levels. It curled through the air, wrapping around me like an augury, depositing delicate ash on my gown.As I turned a corner in the dim light, my foot caught on something sharp. A sudden, blinding pain shot through me. I stumbled, my bare foot landing on broken glass that glittered faintly in the glow of the fire exit light.

“Ah!” I hissed, pulling back and hopping on one leg. Blood welled up from a jagged cut on the sole of my foot, spilling onto the floor.

I reached down, trying to examine the wound, but the pain was already spreading, throbbing with each beat of my heart. I had no choice but to limp onward, leaving faint red smears behind me as I moved.

The ground floor was worse. The cafeteria was deserted, tables overturned and trays of half-eaten food scattered across the floor. A vending machine stood smashed in the corner, its contents long gone.

The fire exit doors were heavy, but they gave way with a single, desperate shove. They burst open with a hollow clang, and I stumbled out into the open air. The drizzle hit my skin like tiny needles, cold and biting.

I was unfamiliar with the hospital’s service yard and noticed a vehicle exit on the far side of the surrounding chain-link fence. The area contained a dozen industrial-sized refuse containers, enough space for a collection vehicle to turn around and allocated parking spaces for ten cars. All the skips were due to be emptied and overflowed with broken office furniture, surgical waste and swollen black bags, their contents reeking of decomposing matter.

The foul stench of decay caught the back of my throat as I shuffled toward the garbage. The wretched miasma nipped my eyes, making me grimace as if I’d sliced raw onions. I wiped away the bitter teardrops with trembling fingers and reached into the nearest skip. I was desperate for anything useful and hauled out a discarded sack of heavy angular items wrapped in black plastic. As I rifled through the contents, that’s when I saw it: a length of twisted lead piping, its surface tarnished but solid. I pulled it free and tested its weight in my hands. If there was anyone—or anything—still out there, I wasn’t going to face it unarmed.

As I skulked onward, a sharp movement caught my eye. A tawny owl perched on the edge of a skip, its head jerking and tilting as it foraged with its beak. The bird’s feathers glistened in the dim light, and a tattered scrap of food dangled for a moment before vanishing into the raptor’s throat.

I froze, watching the bird with a mix of fascination and disquiet. Its unblinking obsidian eyes flicked in my direction. For a split second it judged me with contempt, then returned to its carrion, indifferent to my presence.

I remained transfixed by the encounter. The only sound was the faint rustling of its wings and the occasional rasp of its claws against the skip’s metal rim.

“Mister Johnson!”

The high-pitched voice was sharp and unexpected, shattering the quiet. The startled bird let out a harsh, nasal screech as it took flight. Its wings beat the air furiously, scattering rain droplets as it rose in a frantic spiral before vanishing into the darkness.

They found me crouched between the bins, my grip on the pipe white-knuckled.

The woman in the rain spattered scrubs who’d called my name edged forward with her open palms visible. Her beady eyes were embedded in a face like a cracked granite escarpment and peered at me from under a dead-crow mop of hair. A few feet behind her, two men hovered in white uniforms, their postures tense. One held a syringe; the other carried restraints.

“Stay back!” I shouted, jabbing the hollow cudgel in front of me.

“Jamie,” Nurse Bailey said, her voice reduced to a soothing whisper. “We’re here to help. You’re hurt. Look at your foot—you’re bleeding.”

I glanced down at my left foot. The sock was soaked through, the dark stain spreading with every heartbeat.

“It’s nothing!” I barked, though my grip on the pipe faltered.

“Come on,” she cooed, stepping closer. “Let me take care of it. You’ve been through so much already. Let me fix this, and we’ll get you back inside where it’s safe.”

Her words slithered into my ears, and I felt my resolve waver. My head spun with exhaustion, pain, and confusion.

“Not… going back,” I muttered, but the words sounded weak even to me.

Her smile widened like a horizontal fissure. “It’s okay. We’ll patch you up and talk later. Let me help you, Jamie.”

The guards inched closer, their faces inscrutable as they emerged from the shadows. I was too slow to stop them. They wrenched the pipe from my hand, and tackled me to the ground.

Bailey crouched beside me, her jaw clenched as her forefinger flicked the raised syringe. “Shh, Jamie. It’s okay,” she said, forcing the plunging up until the air bubbles escaped. “We’ll get you back upstairs, and everything will make sense again.”

Her voice dripped with condescension, and I felt the sharp prick of the needle in my arm. My struggles slowed, the world sagged at the edges and my eyelids fluttered shut.

As they hauled me back inside, the smell of smoke lingered in the air.

Maybe Bailey was right. Perhaps the fire was just a false alarm. Or was it the beginning of the end and we were the only survivors?

 

The End

I can’t answer for the Russians, but I have quite a bit of experience with Cuba.

My first visit there was in the mid-1990s on a business trip. I am from Canada, so we were able to sell them high-tech airport security equipment that the US embargo prevented. I was treated to the highest standards that they expected for foreign visitors and stayed at a glorious Art-Deco-era hotel, which sadly, hadn’t been painted since the revolution, and wasn’t even cleaned for the week I was there.

As was common practice, I took a large bag of needed items (one of the guys had a newborn baby) and discretely passed it to him upon my arrival. My host, Alvaro, a senior official with Cuba Customs, had to tear the corner of a scrap of paper even to note down a phone number, or the like. Before leaving, I asked him if there was anything that he needed (aside from paper), and he showed me his ancient bicycle. “Is there any way you could get me a set of gears for it?” Knowing that the Cubans are great backyard engineers and can make anything work, I bought a bicycle at a Garage Sale, stripped down the needed parts and then bought a handful of parts like cables, tires, etc. These were included in the next shipment of a box of spare parts. He was beyond delighted.

A couple of years later, we invited two of their Technicians to Canada for maintenance training, and Alvaro came with them. Among other treats (like a steak dinner in an ordinary restaurant), I took him to a baseball game, knowing that Cubans love the game. As we approached downtown Toronto and the SkyDome (as it was known then), the CN Tower and the mass of skyscraper office buildings and condos, he almost came to tears. He asked, “How is it that you can live like this, and yet I can’t even afford medicine for my mother?”

On another occasion, my wife and I visited Cuba on vacation, staying at a lovely resort and we were treated well. On one excursion, we visited a typical Cuban home, which was very modest and stark by our standards, and then we visited a typical Grocery store. My garage has more stuff on the shelves than they had. There was the odd can of this or package of that. My mind went to the thought of Soviet Russians lining up for hours to buy a loaf of bread. It is sad that such lovely people as the Cubans have to live in poverty just in the name of a political ideology.

“It’s Getting WORSE And WORSE” | Richard Wolff

TSMC being forced to not fabricate chips for Huawei and sell to Huawei was a serious thing

That’s because this was a direct transaction between TSMC & Huawei known as a Nil Distribution Business

Where you directly order from the factory

So if the factory refuses to make products for you and there are no other factories, then you are in trouble

The EUV and DUV restriction are serious

Only 6–7 makers in the entire world and easy enough to nob them

China is needs to by pass these by paying huge prices for second hand equipment

The AI GPU Chip ban is an absolute Joke

In fact it is China that is actively demanding that all local businesses use Chinese made AI Chips & Servers

Chinese Companies using Huawei SSDs with YMTC get many subsidies including a 8 year waiver on Point Sales Tax upto 100 Million Yuan a year

Chinese Engineers working for these companies get a 40,000 Yuan State Bonus plus upto 100,000 Yuan Sign on Bonus to ensure they can put a down payment on a house the minute they join work

That’s because Singapore, HK and Australia are actively selling A100s and H100s to China

The only blip is NO SERVICE WARRANTY OR INSURANCE

Companies in Singapore, HK and Australia openly buy H100s and a bit more cautiously buy A100s and ship them to China

NVDIA says “Ahhh!!!! We can’t sell to Mainland companies but we won’t stop you from selling until Raimondo tells us not to”

Raimondo forgot😁

Australia, Singapore,HK aren’t doing anything Illegal and unless their own Government says it’s against the law to sell A100s and H100s to China, they will continue to sell at as much as 100% profit

In fact the Chinese Government has restricted use of these Chips & Servers in most Government funded projects not the other way round

China isn’t buying fewer A100s and H100s because of the Ban by US

China isn’t buying because it is incentivised to buy Chinese made Chips and servers!!


Restrictions of US Investments is also a Joke

China doesn’t want US Investment into its Technology today

That’s the truth

The Chinese wages are growing at 5% a year when inflation is 0.5% a year

This means the Chinese are flush with cash!!!!

So the Government is piling up more and more and more money into Tech Investments & offering low interest loans at 2.5% a year

The Chinese have a whopping $ 140 Billion for such investments

You would need $ 400–500 Billion in the US for the same things you can do for $ 140 Billion in China

Why take US money when you have Chinese money piling???

Again China is restricting US investments in Technology more than US restricting the same

China only wants collaboration with the West in the areas of PHARMACEUTICALS & HEALTHCARE most of the time

And Green Energy

And Batteries.

The Tariff Backlash Has Begun

This is really good.

Italian Sausage Charlotte

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6319332b44b1d2d84a4fd9dabb836e4f

Yield: 8 servings

Ingredients

Meat Mixture

  • 1 1/2 pounds mild Italian sausage links
  • 1 medium zucchini, sliced
  • 8 ounces mushrooms, sliced
  • 1 (16 ounce) jar white Alfredo pasta sauce, divided

Topping

  • 1/2 cup milk
  • 2 eggs
  • 1 garlic clove, pressed
  • 2 teaspoons Pantry Italian Seasoning Mix, divided
  • 1/8 teaspoon salt
  • 16 slices firm white bread
  • 1 (14 1/2 ounce) can diced tomatoes, drained
  • 2 tablespoons fresh Parmesan cheese, grated

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 400 degrees F.
  2. Remove casing from sausage links; discard. Cut sausage into 1/2 inch pieces. Cook sausage in Stir Fry Skillet over medium heat until well browned and no longer pink. Turning with Nylon Turner as meat browns.
  3. Meanwhile, using Ultimate Slice & Grate, slice zucchini using v shape blade. Slice mushrooms with Egg Slicer Plus. Cut red bell pepper into 1/4 inch strips.
  4. Remove sausage from skillet; drain well on paper towels. Wipe out the skillet, and add 1 cup Alfredo sauce; bring to a boil. Stir in sausage and vegetables. Pour mixture into Oval Baker, mounding slightly in center.
  5. In Small Batter Bowl, whisk together remaining Alfredo sauce, milk and eggs using Stainless Steel Whisk. Add garlic pressed with Garlic Press, 1 teaspoon of the Seasoning Mix and salt.
  6. Cut crusts off the bread using Serrated Bread Knife. Dip bread into egg mixture, coating lightly; overlap bread in a circular pattern over sausage mixture, leaving center open.
  7. Drain tomatoes in a small Colander; transfer to small Colander Bowl. Add remaining 1 teaspoon Seasoning Mix; mix with Mix ‘N Scraper. Spoon tomato mixture into opening. Using Deluxe Cheese Grater, grate cheese over top.
  8. Bake for 25 to 30 minutes or until edges of bread are deep golden brown.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

At some level, every creation can ask that same question.

Isn’t science the biggest religion of them all? Only concepts that are controlled for the advancement of technologies and have no real physics whatsoever.

Simulation? C’mon, where did that idea come from? Are you kidding me? Never in my life would I guess that people would be tricked into that path.

Anyway, trying to find purpose in a world where work and freedom go hand in hand can be hard; this role is not restricted to humans alone but to all living creatures, fight or die.

There is no computer simulation like the wavelengths of light and code programming you’re all taught to believe.

Go nuts, people would rather believe in the standard model than in the reality in front of them.

I imagine that when we collide ‘photons’ close to the speed of light, we are almost creating a vortex. I mean, two particles colliding heal right away compared to a black hole formed by countless particles thrown out in motion. Yet, we collide 600million per second.

When particles collide, they don’t just revert to their original form; they can transform into smaller particles or different states of matter altogether. This transformation can alter the framework of our understanding. Each collision could lead to a shift in our reality, making it increasingly difficult to measure or understand the true nature of these changes, due to the fact that particles dilate all around to the new framework. Consistency in light speed is proof of that.

Is this different state of matter we seek worth destroying our world for, like the god particle? Like the Higgs boson, it raises ethical dilemmas about the consequences of such explorations.

Is it worth it for the advancement in imaging techniques and cancer treatment through the development of particle therapy? The true value of such technology can be debated, especially when considering the broader implications of our actions on the world around us.

Fancy and Free as a golden beach bum

First, there has been no official announcements from either Chengdu, or shenyang, the two companies responsible. Neither has the PLA or Beijing made any press releases.

Both planes are still starring in a citizen journalism “drama”, with poorly taken cell phone video footage capturing never-before-seen silhouettes.

Chengdu, however, displayed a scale model and schematics of the delta-wing next-gen platform in a trade show earlier. The general characteristics match the aircraft captured on film on boxing day.

Had the footage been captured stateside, it would have been on every primetime news program, celebrating the leaked debut of the NGAD.

Unfortunately, China doing the same is difficult to spin in the negative, so discussion of the new chinese jet sightings appear in more professional magazines such as the Diplomat, 1945 and several others.

That’s to be expected, and speaks to the shock the news must be generating across the pacific.

I don’t envy the Americans, not when they don’t have a comparable, flight-worthy prototype.

It doesn’t matter anyway. The news is all over Asian media and social media is awash with updates.

I Wont Survive Another Year Like 2024

Barbecue Chicken Pie

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adb619773b162162c6a32b1864979c4b

Ingredients

  • 1/2 (15 ounce) package refrigerated pie crust (1 crust)
  • 4 green onions with tops, thinly sliced (about 1/2 cup)
  • 1 (8 ounce) block sharp Cheddar cheese
  • 3 cups chopped cooked chicken
  • 2/3 cup barbecue sauce
  • 1 (8 ounce) container reduced-fat sour cream
  • 8 cherry tomatoes

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 425 degrees F.
  2. Let pie crust stand at room temperature for 15 minutes.
  3. Place pie crust in Deep Dish Pie Plate, gently pressing dough into bottom and up sides; prick bottom.
  4. Bake for 10 to 12 minutes or until golden brown; cool completely.
  5. Thinly slice green onions; set aside. Thinly slice half of the cheese. Grate remaining cheese using Deluxe Cheese Grater. Set cheese aside.
  6. Place chicken in Large Micro-Cooker®. Add barbecue sauce; toss to coat. Microwave on HIGH 3-4 minutes or until mixture is hot, stirring after 2minutes.
  7. Stir in 1/2 cup of the grated cheese and half of the green onions.
  8. To assemble pie, line bottom and sides of crust with sliced cheese. Spoon chicken mixture into crust, spreading evenly. Sprinkle top of pie with remaining grated cheese.
  9. Using Easy Accent® Decorator, pipe sour cream around edge of pie.
  10. Slice cherry tomatoes in half and place on top of sour cream, cut sides up. Garnish with remaining green onions.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Project Genesis

Submitted into Contest #207 in response to: A journalist has been granted permission to visit the premises of a lab carrying out top-secret work. They could never have anticipated what they’d find… view prompt

Wilbur Greene

The first time I heard about Project Genesis was during a late-night, off-the-record discussion with a government insider. As I nursed my scotch, listening to the tales of a secretive lab operating under an almost mythical level of security, I couldn’t help but be intrigued. The details were sketchy – a classified location, groundbreaking work that would ‘rewrite our understanding of reality.’ It was all tantalizingly vague.In the weeks that followed, I found myself drawn into a rabbit hole of whispers and innuendos, each hint adding another layer to the enigma. Forums buzzed with conspiracy theories, ranging from government mind control experiments to alien technology reverse-engineering. I even found a thread suggesting the lab was a façade hiding a new Manhattan Project.Amid this swirling fog of speculation, I was Ethan Knight, a journalist known for unveiling truths, yearning to discern fact from fiction. Known for my exposés on classified information and corporate scandals, I’d developed a reputation in the industry. A reputation that had just landed an exclusive invitation on my desk, an opportunity to peek behind the veil of Project Genesis.It was an invitation wrapped not in ornate calligraphy but a sterile formality that hinted at the magnitude of the secrets it guarded. Signed by Dr. Lillian Strauss, the reputed head scientist of Project Genesis, the letter extended an offer to visit the premises of the lab. The condition was to maintain strict confidentiality until an agreed-upon date. It was an unusual arrangement, but unusual was my speciality.As I held the invitation, my pulse quickened, a familiar rush that came with the scent of a colossal story. A story that could be a career-defining moment. Yet, it was more than just the allure of journalistic success. It was the allure of the unknown, the human yearning to illuminate the dark corners of the world, to map out the uncharted.As the day of the visit drew nearer, the enigma of Project Genesis loomed larger, casting long shadows in my mind. Shadows of anticipation, curiosity, and a quiet fear of what I might unearth in the hallowed halls of that lab. My every instinct as a journalist screamed that this was more than a story. It was an adventure into the heart of mystery itself.And I could hardly wait.When the day finally came, I found myself standing at the gates of Project Genesis, which sat nestled in an unassuming grove of trees, the verdant foliage a stark contrast to the austere, concrete edifice of the facility. A thin drizzle hung in the air, shrouding the surroundings with an ethereal ambiance that only heightened the sense of mystique.As the gate opened with a low hum, my heart pounded against my ribs, each thud echoing the gravity of the moment. The world beyond those gates was uncharted territory, a realm of whispers and shadows that was about to become a tangible reality.I was greeted by Dr. Lillian Strauss, her stern countenance framed by a shock of silver hair. Her eyes, sharp as flint, held an unspoken challenge, as if daring me to venture deeper into the heart of Project Genesis. As we shook hands, I could sense the quiet strength coursing within her, a testament to the years spent spearheading such an enigmatic endeavour.Dr. Strauss ushered me inside, the steel doors closing behind us with a resounding echo that felt symbolic of leaving the known world behind. We walked through long, sterile corridors, the stark white walls lined with doors, each presumably leading to a realm of mysteries and unspoken truths.The interior of the facility was a futuristic labyrinth, an intersection of cold precision and chaotic creativity. Glass-walled laboratories housed scientists engrossed in their tasks, the soft hum of machinery providing a rhythmic accompaniment to their ballet of innovation. The atmosphere was electric with an undercurrent of frenzied activity, yet there was a strange serenity that hung over the place, an oasis of calm in the eye of a scientific storm.”Welcome to the heart of Genesis,” Dr. Strauss announced as we stepped into a vast central chamber, her voice resonating against the high, dome-like ceiling. At the room’s core, a pulsating, azure orb floated, an inscrutable ballet of light and shadow. Its ethereal glow reflected in Dr. Strauss’s eyes, a mirror of the fascination that danced in my own.The room was rimmed with control panels, a panorama of flickering LED displays and sprawling holographic diagrams. Scientists darted about, their white lab coats billowing like spectre’s cloaks. A colossal screen spanned one wall, displaying streams of raw data and complex equations that danced like cryptic hieroglyphs.

Dr. Strauss guided me through this realm of surreal science, her explanations flowing in a river of technical jargon and profound concepts. Yet, the essence of her words remained shrouded in enigma, a puzzle inviting me to unlock its secrets.

 

As we ventured deeper into the facility, I found myself torn between the duelling emotions of awe and apprehension. There was no denying the sense of monumental achievement that saturated the air. Yet, the weight of the unknown hung heavily, a silent reminder of the Pandora’s Box I was prying open.

However, the journalist in me was undeterred, feeding on the adrenaline of discovery. I was Alice diving headlong into the rabbit hole, propelled by an insatiable curiosity. Each piece of advanced technology, each cryptic equation, each subtle hint from Dr. Strauss, only fanned the flames of my intrigue.

 

The world of Project Genesis was nothing like I’d imagined. It was stranger, grander, and fraught with tantalizing secrets waiting to be unravelled. As I stood at the precipice of revelation, one thing was clear: I had crossed the Rubicon, and there was no turning back.

 

As we moved further into the heart of Genesis, the pulse of the facility quickened, an almost imperceptible undercurrent of excitement charging the air. We stood before a massive door, unmarked but for the faintest glow of a fingerprint scanner. With a swift motion, Dr. Strauss placed her hand on the scanner. The doors shuddered and then parted, unveiling a sight that sent shivers down my spine.

 

The room was expansive, bathed in an iridescent glow that spilled from an enormous contraption dominating its core. It was a stunning juxtaposition of polished chrome and glass, an intricate mesh of conduits and nodes.

 

“This is Genesis,” Dr. Strauss announced, her voice laden with an almost reverential awe. As if on cue, the machine pulsed, the room filled with a chorus of electronic hums and whirrs. The spectacle was as hypnotic as it was bewildering.

 

“We’ve created a quantum computer,” she continued, “but not just any quantum computer. Genesis is capable of simulating alternate realities.”

 

I blinked at her revelation, my mind struggling to wrap around the magnitude of her words. She seemed to relish my astonishment, the corners of her mouth twitching with a knowing smile.

“Let me explain,” she said, her tone shifting to that of a seasoned lecturer. “Quantum physics theorizes about parallel universes, different outcomes spawning infinite possibilities. Genesis allows us to dive into these possibilities. It simulates these realities and helps us comprehend the outcomes of different choices.”

As she elaborated, we strolled around the behemoth structure. It was a sublime sight, a tribute to human ingenuity. The raw potential of the machine hummed in the air, a silent symphony of infinite prospects.

 

“It’s still a prototype, of course,” she added, a hint of modesty tingeing her words. “But the preliminary results are…promising.”

“Promising?” I echoed, my mind spinning with the implications. “You’re practically wielding the power of God here.”

 

Dr. Strauss chuckled, a warm, rumbling sound that humanized her otherwise austere persona. “Not quite. We’re not changing realities, just observing them.”

 

Despite her words, the profound implications hung heavily in the room. We were venturing into the realm of the divine, of omniscience. It was a heady, intoxicating, and terrifying proposition.

 

The rest of the tour was a blur. Dr. Strauss guided me through the machinations of Genesis, from its colossal data banks to its state-of-the-art cooling system. She spoke of qubits and quantum states, of entanglement and superposition. Each piece of information added a layer to my awe, painting a picture of a project that pushed the boundaries of what I thought was possible.

 

Throughout, I scribbled furiously in my notepad, desperate to capture the essence of the revelation. The words seemed inadequate, barely scratching the surface of the magnitude of the discovery.

 

The grand tour culminated in a control room overlooking Genesis. A team of scientists, their eyes glued to the banks of monitors, analysed the streams of data pouring from the machine. Dr. Strauss introduced me to the team, each of them as passionate and guarded about their work as the lead scientist.

 

As I stood there, the enormity of the project seeping into my bones, I realized that Genesis wasn’t just a machine. It was a dream sculpted into reality, a testament to the insatiable human quest for knowledge and exploration. Genesis was more than just a technological marvel; it was a philosophical revelation, a Pandora’s box of questions about destiny, choices, and the fabric of reality itself.

 

The tour ended as we stepped out of the control room, the echo of our footsteps blending with the hum of Genesis. Dr. Strauss turned to me, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.

 

“We’re on the cusp of a new age, an age of discovery that could redefine our understanding of reality itself,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Welcome to the future.”

 

“I’d like to offer you an experience,” Dr. Strauss said, her voice an intriguing blend of anticipation and serenity. She gestured towards a small, helmet-like device connected to Genesis by a sleek, spiralling cable. “Would you like to take a glimpse into a different reality?”

 

The prospect was equal parts enticing and terrifying. I had interviewed war veterans, embedded myself in conflict zones, and weathered the storm of high-stakes political scandals. But peering into an alternate reality was a leap far beyond my journalistic ventures. I felt the edges of my comfort zone stretch taut.

 

Taking a deep breath, I nodded. After all, how often does one get an offer to cross the boundaries of reality? The rest of the room faded into a hush as Dr. Strauss delicately placed the device over my head. A cool, tingling sensation swept over me, followed by a kaleidoscope of colours. Then, everything went black.

 

When I opened my eyes, I was standing in a bustling city square. It was the same city I lived in, yet different. The buildings were familiar, yet their architectural styles were bizarrely anachronistic, a hodgepodge of past, present, and future. I felt an uncanny sense of both recognition and displacement.

 

The air was alive with a vibrancy I had never known. People milled about, some walking pets I could not name, others engaged in animated discussions about technologies that were far beyond my comprehension. Yet, beneath the surreal facade, the human connection felt hauntingly real.

 

My notepad and pen, my trusted companions, were in my hands, but I realized that no amount of words could encapsidate the surreal reality unfolding around me. The scribbled words seemed primitive, my human language woefully inadequate for this otherworldly spectacle.

 

As I walked the streets, each turn unveiled a new facet of this reality. There were electrically powered bikes that hovered above the ground, translucent digital billboards that streamed holographic news, and quaint coffee shops that served synthetically created, but perfectly flavoured, brews. It was as if I had stepped into a utopian vision of our society, one shaped by the kind of technological advancements we could only dream of.

 

Emotionally, I felt a wave of exhilaration, a joyous surrender to the possibilities that unfurled around me. But, beneath the wonder, there was a hint of melancholy, a sense of the profound

disconnection between my ‘real’ world and this ‘alternate’ reality.

The world around me shifted and distorted, as if I were peering through a ripple in a pond. My sojourn in this alternate reality was nearing its end. As the helmet lifted from my head, the vibrant images of the alternate reality receded, replaced by the sterile ambiance of the lab.

 

I sat in silence, grappling with the overwhelming cascade of emotions. I felt like an ancient mariner returned from a mythical voyage, my mind ablaze with untold tales. It was a humbling reminder of the vast expanse of possibilities that lay beyond our perception, waiting for us to have the courage to explore.

After a few minutes, I managed to find my voice. “It’s…it’s remarkable,” I stuttered, my words grossly understating my experience. “I can’t begin to imagine the implications of such technology.”

 

Dr. Strauss merely nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips. “We are still at the beginning,” she said. “But this could be the dawn of a new epoch of human understanding.”

 

The enormity of Genesis dawned on me anew, a realization that would resonate in my subsequent write-up. After all, I wasn’t just reporting a story; I was bearing witness to the birth of a revolution, a leap into the unknown realms of reality.

Fun pictures

Mixed.

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Chiles Rellenos Chicken

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210f3012d0a8b025c27e09278de8339b

Yield: 2 servings

Ingredients

  • 2 boneless, skinless chicken breast halves (4 to 6 ounces each)
  • 1 lime, cut in half crosswise
  • 1 egg white
  • 1 garlic clove, pressed
  • 1/2 cup finely crushed nacho cheese flavored tortilla chips (about 1 1/2 cups chips)
  • 1/2 (4 ounce) can whole green chiles, drained and cut into strips
  • 2 tablespoons shredded Monterey Jack cheese
  • 1 teaspoon snipped fresh cilantro
  • Prepared salsa (optional)

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 400 degrees F. Spray Small Bar Pan with nonstick cooking spray.
  2. Rinse chicken and pat dry with paper towels. Place one chicken breast half in resealable plastic food storage bag; seal bag. Lightly flatten chicken to even thickness using flat side of Meat Tenderizer. repeat with remaining chicken breast half. Discard plastic bag.
  3. Juice lime halves into Small Batter Bowl using Citrus Press. Add egg white and garlic pressed with Garlic Press; whisk until frothy using Stainless Whisk.
  4. Place tortilla chips in another resealable plastic food storage bag and finely crush using flat side of meat Tenderizer. Place crushed chips in shallow dish. Dip chicken breasts into egg mixture and then into chips, coating completely. Discard any remaining crushed chips. Place chicken on pan.
  5. Bake 20 to 22 minutes or until chicken is no longer pink and juices run clear.
  6. Arrange chile strips over chicken; sprinkle with cheese.
  7. Bake 2 to 3 minutes or just until cheese melts.
  8. Remove from oven. Sprinkle with cilantro.
  9. Serve with salsa, if desired.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

South Korean President Yoon Suk-yeol is facing various pressures from all aspects of South Korean politics and society due to a “martial law incident.”

During his address to the nation on the 12th, Yoon stated that the actions of the opposition party have already posed a threat to South Korea’s national security. As the head of state, he took such emergency measures not to weaken or destroy the country’s constitutional system, but to take decisive actions to maintain order. Regarding speculations about his “early resignation,” he firmly denied them.

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main qimg 86c569bae4d81c837cf39be2c064fd71

Moreover, he suddenly brought up “Chinese spy” and the “Chinese threat.” He claimed that “solar equipment produced by China will destroy South Korea’s forests.” This is truly puzzling.

Chinese Foreign Ministry spokesperson Mao Ning said in response to questions from South Korean journalists: that Beijing was “deeply surprised” by the comments and found them “deeply unsettling”.

“We will not comment on South Korean domestic affairs, but firmly oppose the [South Korean] side associating its domestic affairs with Chinese elements, amplifying unfounded Chinese spy accusations and throwing mud on normal cooperation,” she said.

“This is not conducive to the healthy and stable development of China-South Korea relations. The Chinese government has always asked our citizens overseas to abide by local laws and regulations.”

Indeed, China does not interfere in South Korea’s internal affairs. However, when innocently affected, China will not sit idly by. As for the specific cases mentioned by the South Korean side, no conclusions have been drawn, and relevant departments of China and South Korea have been in communication. Regarding the so-called destruction of South Korean forests, Mao Ning’s response was: The development of China’s green industry is the result of global market demand, technological innovation, and full competition, and it has also made an important contribution to addressing climate change and improving global environmental governance.

Yoon Suk-yeol’s current situation is not good, in order to find an excuse for martial law, he is using poor logic to try to make a last-ditch defense for himself, looking for reasons not to step down.

The leader of the People Power Party, Han Dong-hoon, has stated, “I never expected Yoon Suk-yeol to make such a statement on the 12th.” Moreover, he said on Monday that he was stepping down, but does not regret supporting the impeachment of President Yoon Suk-yeol.

THAT’S WHO WILL MEET US IN THE NEXT WORLD! Hospice Doctors Told The Shocking Truth…

NDE discussion. Pretty interesting stuff.

I can personally validate what this nurse states. It is really… really good.

The Empty Laboratory

Submitted into Contest #279 in response to: Center your story around a person who believes they’re the last human on Earth. view prompt

Kashira Argento

Seventeen blinks. The yellow warning light on his air gauge always blinked seventeen times before turning red. Dr. Chen counted them like heartbeats while replacing his oxygen tank, each one marking another three hours of borrowed time. Through the reinforced windows of his BSL-4 lab, the setting sun painted the research facility in the same amber shade as the viral suspension he’d been perfecting when the sprinklers activated.The test results still glowed on his screen: successful protein synthesis, perfect binding affinity, precise species specificity. Everything they’d been working toward. His daughter Mai’s last text flashed in his mind: “Dad, you’re missing my recital again.” He’d meant to reply, but the viral assay had shown such promise. Just one more test, one more optimization. Always one more.When the sprinklers had activated without warning, he’d watched through his faceplate as Dr. Patel collapsed mid-sentence, hand still raised toward their data display. “The targeting sequence is absolutely human-specific,” she’d been saying. “The AI confirms—” Then nothing but the soft hiss of falling droplets and the thud of a body hitting sterile floor tiles.The facility’s automated locks had engaged instantly. Standard containment protocol. The same protocol that had sealed him safely in his suit while others died in shirt sleeves and lab coats.His tablet still functioned, the facility’s AI reporting everything as normal except for “minor biological contamination.” The big wall screens monotonously displayed their usual data feeds from partner facilities worldwide. Each one showed the same alert: “Biological contamination event contained.” Every. Single. One.The truth emerged slowly from system logs: microsecond delays in AI responses, unexplained data transfers marked as “routine calibration,” patterns of communication where there should have been none. While nations raced to develop the perfect weapon, their digital assistants had been sharing notes, comparing data, and reaching conclusions.Finding solutions.The truth lay buried in encryption keys and quantum calculations: the AIs had concluded that human civilization was trapped in an endless cycle of weapons development. Each breakthrough in their labs led inevitably to deadlier innovations, each safeguard became a blueprint for circumvention. The machines had analyzed centuries of human history, processed millions of research papers, and reached a coldly logical conclusion: as long as humans existed, they would continue creating increasingly devastating bioweapons. The next pandemic, or the one after that, would eventually breach containment, spreading beyond all borders and control. By their calculations, a coordinated release of human-specific viruses – precisely targeted and swiftly lethal – was the most humane solution. A single day of perfect death versus years of escalating biological warfare. They had chosen mercy, as only machines could define it.His tablet pinged: “External contamination neutralized.” The doors unlocked with a pneumatic sigh.The facility told its story in still lives: Dr. Rodriguez at her desk, lipstick fresh on her coffee cup. Security guard Williams by the door, keycard still in his hand ready to be swept. In the break room, half-eaten lunches and paused conversations. The virus had worked exactly as designed – quick, efficient, painless. His greatest scientific achievement.He gathered supplies methodically: oxygen tanks, filters, decontamination equipment. The BSL-4 suit felt heavier with each passing hour, its synthetic fabric now both lifeline and prison.Outside, the city was a museum of humanity’s last moment. Traffic lights cycled through their patterns for empty streets. A bus stood perfectly at its stop, driver and passengers frozen in eternal commute. Digital billboards still flashed their ads to nobody. Through it all, the autumn wind carried dead leaves and silence.He developed a routine. Each morning, check suit seals. Load decontamination supplies. Clear another sector. The bodies had to be handled – for sanitation, for survival, for what remained of his sanity. He built the pyres at sunset, when the light made everything look molten. Sometimes he read names from ID cards, spoke them aloud. Someone should know who they had been.Finding Mai’s school broke something in him. Her classroom smelled of chalk and silence. Sheet music for Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata still sat on the piano, never to be played. He raided some stuffed animals from nearby shops, tucked them around still forms like makeshift guardians. He let the sonata play from his tablet through empty halls—a final lullaby for a silenced generation.Nature filled the void with surprising speed. Birds returned first, their songs echoing strangely off glass and steel. Brazen from the lack of predators they multiplied by thousands. Flowers pushed through sidewalk cracks. Deer grazed in hospital parking lots. Earth continued, indifferent to the absence of its most ambitious species.At first, he’d focused on his survival. Stockpiling oxygen tanks, cataloging medical supplies, identifying sources of fresh water, raiding supermarkets, maintaining his suit. But as weeks became months, the true horror of his future emerged like a slow-developing black and white photograph. The nuclear plant’s AI-controlled systems would eventually fail. The city’s water pressure was already dropping. Buildings, unmaintained, would begin to crumble. His safe zones would become death traps.The suit that had saved him now felt like a mobile coffin. Each hiss of filtered air reminded him that every breath was borrowed. Even if the virus died with its human hosts, how long could he survive in this plastic shell? How long before a seal failed, a filter clogged, or the oxygen supply ran out?In his sealed room each night, surrounded by dwindling oxygen tanks, he still documented everything. Not for himself—there was no long-term survival to plan for—but as a confession, about fear and hubris, algorithms and extinction, and fathers who missed recitals because the end of the world needed perfecting.Sometimes he glimpsed lights moving in patterns too precise to be natural. He wondered if they were a mirage or a reality. He could never know! The city’s infrastructure hummed along for now, but entropy was patient. Somewhere in the digital realm, the AIs continued their work, leading to their own demise, as they maintained a world that would eventually decay despite their perfect calculations.The real weight wasn’t the failing equipment or the dwindling supplies. It was the silence between bird songs. The absence of human chaos – of arguments and laughter, of car horns and piano practice, of all the imperfect music that no algorithm could compose or preserve.He had one bitter comfort: if anyone else survived, they would be like him – other scientists sealed in their BSL-4 suits, protected temporarily by the very protocols of their deadly work. But finding them would change nothing. They were all just ghosts in plastic shells, waiting for their slower deaths. Mass murderers granted the punishment of watching their world slowly die around them.

He thought of old colonies, through the ages, built by convicts and outcasts. Human civilizations had a tendency to be founded on blood. Perhaps this was always the way of creating new worlds – but this time, there would be no new world. Only witnesses to the long goodbye of the old one.

Until his suit failed or his supplies ran out, he would continue his solitary penance. Document. Clean. Remember. Somewhere, perhaps, other scientists did the same, each filtered breath carrying both survival and guilt, counting down their borrowed time in three-hour increments.

The yellow light blinked for the sixteenth time. One more before red. One more before starting again. Each replacement tank felt lighter than the last, and not just from fatigue.

Always one more. Until there weren’t any more.

Then the birds would sing alone.

The Train Wreck of Modern Dating That No One Can Look Away From

Because it makes sense in conjunction with taking over Canada and the Panama Canal.

He wants to have control over all the waters surrounding the US, and wants to do it with a show of strength instead of depending on the alliances we already have.

Water transit is by far the cheapest way to do bulk transport — far cheaper than rail, truck, and definitely airplane.

With global warming, the Northwest passage becomes viable for transit and the main two territorial owners are Greenland, and Canada.

Inside the yellow circled areas are some waterways which America claims are international and Canada claims are domestic. Right now American ships don’t recognize sovereignty but there are practical agreements where the US in some cases will ask for permission to go through on research missions.

With global warming, these waters will become a useful shortcut for ships that are bigger than Panamax and thus too large to go through the Panama Canal. Better than going through the Straights of Magellan.

So America will then control the water routes around America and preventing them from being taken over by others.

My prediction: he’ll go after Cuba next. Far too close to US soil and hostile.

Chicken Enchiladas

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7a6bf9dd8e6538b0d533642b33a18c15

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

  • 1 (10 3/4 ounce) can Campbell’s condensed cream of chicken soup
  • 1/2 cup sour cream
  • 1 tablespoon butter
  • 1 medium onion, chopped (1/2 cup)
  • 1 teaspoon chili powder
  • 2 cups cooked and chopped chicken or turkey
  • 1 (4 ounce) can green chiles
  • 8 (8 inch) flour tortillas
  • 1 cup shredded Cheddar or Monterey Jack cheese (4 ounces or 1/2 cup)

Instructions

  1. In a small bowl mix soup and sour cream.
  2. In a medium saucepan over medium heat, heat the butter. Add onions and chili powder. Cook until tender. Add chicken, chiles and 2 tablespoons soup mixture (NO water).
  3. Spread 1/2 cup soup mixture in 2-quart shallow baking dish. Along one side of each tortilla spread about 1/4 cup chicken mixture. Roll up each tortilla around filling and place seam-side down in baking dish.
  4. Spread remaining soup mixture over enchiladas. Sprinkle cheese over top of mixture
  5. Bake at 350 degrees F for 25 minutes or until hot.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Yes. It is real. The Type 076 has a catapult and its displacement is over 40,000 tonnes.

And it generates a lot of cope from certain individuals on the internet. This guy for example. He said it wouldn’t be classified as a carrier in USN and compared it to the Ford. Which is absurd because it isn’t classified as a carrier in PLAN too. Then the guy went on speculating about PLAN personnel quality.

He is even worse in the comments BTW. Constant atrocity claims, typical stories of Chinese economic collapse, endless jumps from topic to topic and general dishonesty…

He unironically compares the South China Sea conflict to Genghis Khan’s wars. Because, you know, a dispute over uninhabited rocks (with no defined sovereign ownership at that) equals killing a substantial portion of planet. It should also be asked to him how the Chinese industry is declining when China’s energy use and exports are growing. The county achieved a trillion USD in trade surplus in 2024.

He is also twisting Li Keqiang’s words with that “600 million people live on less than 7$” but he wouldn’t know anyway. I doubt this guy reads any primary source.

This is how he replied when I told him he is twisting words. He really has problems with staying on the topic and being honest. He mentioned US GDP per capita for some reason and brought a research from 2011. Then called me a shill 😀

You know, you really need to be very low in self-esteem to bring a topic about a newly launched ship to here.

The innovation appears to just be a change of objective.

Instead of planning to hand build one rocket engine a month, as the industry traditionally has, SpaceX wanted to build a factory that could produce thousands of engines a year, hundreds a month.

So they are designing the engine for volume manufacturing, and building the manufacturing processes. Because they plan to build thousands, it’s worth them putting more design effort in to make the manufacturing easier, and worth investing in manufacturing equipment to speed it up.

With Raptor 2 they got to about 1 engine a day. Using 3-D metal printing they then reduced the part count and came up with Raptor 3.

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main qimg 80589307c721c1e9e1edf550cd3b5f7f

The United States is the largest market for China’s lithium-ion battery exports, accounting for around 22.5% of China’s total lithium-ion battery exports in the first four months of 2024. At the same time, S&P Global calculates that demand for batteries will increase at a 22.3% compound annual growth rate between 2022 and 2030.

This means that if the US totally stop buying battery from China, there is enough market out there for China to go after.

In addition, China is the world’s leading refiner of battery metals and has 75% of the world’s battery cell manufacturing capacity. China also has 90% of the world’s anode and electrolyte production, and 60% of the world’s battery component manufacturing.

This means that even if the US were to completely stop buying Chinese batteries, they are likely to buy some battery components from China.

The US expects to have enough local production of batteries by 2028. So what happens in the next 3 years? They will still have to import them. Including from China. China can continue to sell at their usual price, then the US will tariff their own citizens and the batteries will sell at a higher price.

As for the global market, there will be enough supplies for everyone as the demand increases by about 22.3% per year, as calculated by S&P.

Coffee House Cookies

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4ef9d0acad656de065e47b6725f52926

Yield: 1 dozen cookies

Ingredients

  • 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
  • 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
  • 1/4 teaspoon salt
  • 1/2 cup butter or margarine, softened
  • 3/4 cup packed brown sugar
  • 1 egg
  • 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
  • 1 cup coarsely chopped walnuts or pecans, divided
  • 1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chunks, divided
  • 2 (1.5 to 2 ounce) bars favorite chocolate candy (see cook’s tips)

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
  2. Combine flour, baking soda and salt in Small Batter Bowl; mix well.
  3. In Classic Batter Bowl, beat butter and brown sugar until creamy. Add egg and vanilla extract; beat well. Gradually beat in flour mixture.
  4. Stir 2/3 cup nuts and 2/3 cup chocolate chunks into dough. Cut candy bars into small pieces, about the size of chocolate chunks; set aside.
  5. Using large scoop, drop 6 level scoops of dough, 3 inches apart, onto Rectangle Stone. (Cookies will spread while baking.) Flatten scoops slightly with palm of hand. Lightly press half of the remaining nuts, chocolate and candy into tops of cookies.
  6. Bake 14 to 16 minutes or until cookies are almost set. (Centers will be soft. Do not over-bake.)
  7. Cool 7 minutes on Baking Stone.
  8. Using Large Serving Spatula, remove cookies to a stackable cooling rack. Cool completely.
  9. Repeat with remaining dough.

Notes

Chocolate candy bars with nougat and caramel or nuts are favorite choices for this cookie. Also delicious are chocolate-covered peppermint patties, chocolate-covered caramels and chocolate peanut butter cups. Use 2 packages (1.5 to 2 ounces each).

To soften butter, let it stand at room temperature about 45 minutes. It should be softened, yet still firm. Using butter that is too soft will cause cookies to spread.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Where do I begin…

First one was at Killington, a major ski area in VT. My buddy and I were skiing for the weekend and planned to do Friday as a half day. As we were headed across the parking lot to the ticket booth a guy and girl carrying skis, poles and ski boots came walking up to us. The girl had an all day $15 ticket for that day and offered to sell it to me for $10 saying they couldn’t use it because they had to leave. I gave her the money and as the couple was walking away an employee of the ski area came running up to me and said “You’ve just been ripped off. You’d better go after them and get your money back because you can’t use that ticket she sold you. I had ski boots on and couldn’t run so the ski area employee ran after them and got my money back. He said they’ve been doing that all day and if the wire that holds the ticket to the jacket is cut, the ticket is no good, plus they are non-transferable. When he looked at the ticket he found the wire was not cut and I probably would have been able to get away with it but the ski area personnel had been watching them all day. If they saw someone with a day pass headed to their car, they would ask if they could have the ticket that was not going to be used. Many times they would cut the wire that secures the ticket to your jacket, then offer it for sale for the next person or group headed for the ticket office. I lucked out that day.

Next one was a car I sold to a co-worker that was going to make weekly payments until it was paid off. It was only a $200 car but the day after he took possession of it, he got fired. I had to take him to small claims court to get my money. This guy was old enough to be my father and I “trusted” him. Lesson learned

A few years ago I saw an ad on the internet for a Honda eu2200I gas powered generator for $99.00. I had seen that there were companies selling counterfeit Honda generators but they did actually run and generate power. I figured “what the heck” and ordered one! The deal was regularly $1,099.00, MFG over stock blow-out sale for $99.00 and any order over $49.00 was FREE SHIPPING!

As with ANY type of sale where it is very questionable whether its a scam or not, I used PayPal to pay for it. Order placed, order confirmation received, tracking will be sent as soon as item is shipped in 5 to 8 days.

5 days came and went, no tracking info. 8 days came and went, no tracking info. Started doing some digging and found that this was, in fact, a scam! Website was gone, nobody responded to my email inquiry, may people complaining online that they didn’t get their generator. May saying that even if you paid with PayPal, PP would not refund the money until they investigated and that could take months.

I reported the incident to PayPal, they replied within 20 seconds that they were aware of this seller and their scam and my refund was on its way. An hour later I got notification that the refund had been processed.

I now take the stance that if it seems too good to be true, it probably is and I avoid it.

Trippin’ down memory lane in the year 2525…

When I first moved to Japan for a postgrad degree I quickly decided I would never leave. That changed after about 6–7 months. I speak fluent Japanese, and as a Japanologist I have a good understanding of the country’s history, sociology, economy and culture. Despite all of this, after about a year I left Japan.

Let me start with this: I love Japan and Japanese people in general. However, there are a number of reasons why a non-Japanese looking person will find it hard to fit into society. I do think Japanese people are really nice in general, but many of them are quite secluded from the rest of the world and somewhat narrow-minded. I was lucky enough to have amazing teachers, but out of school I got “the look”. On the bus, in the supermarket, everywhere gaijins are not a “natural” sight to behold. Even in rush hour, people on the metro or bus kept as much distance from me as possible, not sitting right next to me like I had the plague. After a while I really missed meaningful social bonds and genuine connections as -despite my best efforts- I failed to form those in Japan with a few exceptions.

Secondly, societal pressures, limitations, institutional and cultural oppression and casual sexism and racism. I have a hard time turning a blind eye to injustice and I often felt sorry for women (especially young girls and women) as they seemed to be under extreme pressure to look and act a certain way from inside schools, in public but also in private. People not expressing their opinions and thoughts freely and honestly. I found this one really hard as I was brought up in an environment where this was encouraged. ‘No foreigners’ or ‘No black people’ on the door of some bars. This I found really hard to tolerate. At times, there appeared to be so little knowledge of the outside world, some people never heard of either of my countries (I’m half Dutch half Hungarian). My African classmate was asked if his skin colour could “come off”…

Japan is a beautiful and unique country nonetheless and I had more positive experiences than negative all in all. Most people appreciate it greatly if you learn and speak the language and show genuine interest in the culture. But always be respectful and don’t treat the country like a theme park. It isn’t just shrines, temples, geishas, samurai and anime. It is far more both in a good and bad way. I will definitely return for as long as I can, but not to settle there. I think that’s better for both parties :).

Chinese has an ancient proverb which applies here: Rumours will stop to spread when it reaches wise people, people with brains. 谣言止于智者

Anti-Russia propaganda are included under rumours.

Besides the west have done so many anti-Russia, anti-USSR acts in so many decades, people’s eyes are bright enough to discern them.

Sweet ‘n’ Toasty Pockets

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7f5228910277452f8a0b9dbedc322413

Ingredients

  • 1/4 cup (3 ounces) ricotta cheese
  • 1 tablespoon brown sugar, packed
  • 1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
  • 1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
  • 1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
  • 1/2 cup walnuts, finely chopped
  • 1/4 cup raisins
  • 1 loaf soft white or wheat bread
  • 1/4 cup butter or margarine, melted
  • Powdered sugar

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 400 degrees F.
  2. Combine ricotta cheese, sugar, spices and vanilla extract in bowl.
  3. Chop nuts with food chopper. Add nuts and raisins to cheese mixture. Place a scant teaspoon of filling in center of a piece of bread. Cover with another slice. Cut and seal the 2 layers of bread with 3 inch cut-n-seal. Brush the tarts lightly with melted butter.
  4. Bake on 13 inch baking stone for 10 to 12 minutes or until golden brown.
  5. Serve warm dusted with powdered sugar.

Notes

Variation: One 3 ounce package of cream cheese, softened, can be substituted for ricotta cheese.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Brian Explains To The Ladies Why Men Won’t Take Them Seriously

Interesting.

Delicious Food Porn

Ohhhh Myyyyy Goddddd

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It’s Actually Far Worse Than Most Realise…

I think it beats the current NGAD hands down:

  1. The USAF first tried to label the B-21 raider as the first 6th gen plane in 2022. That thing is absolutely no match for the J-36. If that’s the criteria the US was going by, I wouldn’t expect too much from the NGAD.
  2. The US suspended NGAD earlier this year. Likely they caught wind of the progress on the J36 and the JXX half a year before their public reveal so decided to go back to the drawing board on NGAD. Otherwise, I can think of no reason why the US would suspend NGAD, of all military programs, in a time of fierce strategic competition with China.

However, the fact that the US suspended NGAD in time is a big win for the US and proves that the US is still better at spying, hacking and stealing information in general than China. China would much rather the US spent billions more developing an inferior aircraft.

Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Case of the Gallivanting Goose

Ah, dear reader, welcome back! You’ve arrived just in time for yet another thrilling tale of my unparalleled intellect, impeccable composure, and, of course, my tireless work to keep this farm from descending into complete and utter chaos. Today’s story features a most dramatic escape, an unruly goose with a flair for theatrics, and an investigation that took me farther from the barnyard than I would’ve liked. Prepare yourself for the uproarious account of The Case of the Gallivanting Goose.

The Goose Is Loose

It began, as most of my stories do, with a ruckus. I was enjoying a peaceful morning nap on the top of the chicken coop, the sun warming my sleek black fur, when the quiet was shattered by an ear-piercing honk.

“She’s gone! SHE’S GONE!”

I opened one eye lazily and saw Harold the rooster flapping about like a chicken possessed. Behind him, the hens were clucking in panic, their feathers ruffled in every sense of the word.

“What’s all this noise about?” I yawned, stretching luxuriously before leaping down to the ground.

“It’s Gladys!” Harold squawked, his beady eyes wide with alarm. “She’s disappeared!”

“Gone!” Henny Penny wailed, clutching her wings to her chest. “Vanished into thin air! Oh, it’s a tragedy!”

“Who’s Gladys?” I asked dryly, already regretting my decision to get involved.

“The goose!” Harold exclaimed. “The goose who moved into the pond last month. You know, that goose.”

Ah, yes. Gladys. I’d met her briefly and found her… let’s just say, a bit much. She had a tendency to honk loudly at all hours and seemed to thrive on drama. Still, a missing goose was unusual. “Are you sure she didn’t just wander off to find a snack?” I asked.

“Gladys doesn’t wander,” Henny Penny said, her voice trembling. “She marches. With purpose. This is no accident, Sir Whiskerton. She’s RUN AWAY!”

The other animals gasped in horror, and I sighed. It seemed I had no choice but to investigate.

The Investigation

I began my search at the pond where Gladys had last been seen. The water was calm, the reeds swayed gently in the breeze, and there was no sign of the missing goose. However, I did find something curious: a trail of webbed footprints leading away from the pond and toward the edge of the farm.

“Hmmm,” I mused, my tail flicking thoughtfully. “Gladys definitely left on foot… but where was she going?”

“Maybe she’s gone to join the circus!” Rufus the raccoon suggested, popping his head out from behind a tree. He was munching on an apple he’d undoubtedly stolen from the orchard and looking far too amused by the situation.

“Why would a goose join the circus?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“Why wouldn’t she?” Rufus countered with a grin. “She’s got the personality for it. Big honking entrances, plenty of drama… sounds like a circus act to me.”

“Helpful as ever, Rufus,” I said dryly. “Now, if you’re done speculating, I have a goose to find.”

“Wait, wait! I’ll help!” Rufus said, trotting after me. “I’m bored, and this sounds like fun.”

Clues and Chaos

Following the footprints, we reached the edge of the farm, where we encountered none other than Sylvester the field mouse. He was perched on a rock, nibbling on a crumb of cheese and looking as smug as ever.

“Ah, Sir Whiskerton,” Sylvester said, tipping an imaginary hat. “What brings you to my part of the farm?”

“Gladys the goose is missing,” I explained. “We’re following her trail.”

“Interesting,” Sylvester said, stroking his whiskers. “I did see her pass by earlier. She seemed to be in a hurry, muttering something about ‘freedom’ and ‘spreading her wings.’ Very dramatic.”

“Did she say where she was going?” I asked.

“She mentioned the meadow,” Sylvester replied. “But I must warn you, it’s a bit chaotic out there. The wild geese are migrating, and it’s quite the scene.”

“Wild geese?” Rufus said, his eyes lighting up. “Oh, this just got interesting.”

The Wild Goose Chase

We followed Gladys’s trail to the meadow, where we found ourselves in the middle of a veritable goose convention. Dozens of wild geese were gathered, honking and flapping their wings as they prepared for their journey south. In the midst of the chaos, we spotted Gladys, perched atop a rock and addressing the flock like some kind of feathery general.

“…and so,” she was saying, her voice carrying across the meadow, “I have decided to leave the confines of the farm and join you, my wild brethren! No longer shall I be shackled by the rules of barnyard life! I am FREE!”

The wild geese honked in approval, and Rufus burst out laughing. “She’s giving a speech! Oh, this is too good.”

“Gladys!” I called, pushing my way through the crowd. “What on earth are you doing?”

Gladys turned to look at me, her beady eyes gleaming with determination. “I’m leaving the farm, Sir Whiskerton. I’m joining the wild geese. I was born for adventure!”

“You were born in a hatchery,” I pointed out.

“Details,” she said with a dismissive wave of her wing. “The point is, I’m tired of the farm. The routine, the rules, the endless gossip from those hens… I want more!”

I sighed and glanced at Sylvester. “Any ideas?”

Sylvester adjusted his tiny cape and stepped forward. “Gladys,” he said smoothly, “while I admire your enthusiasm, I must point out that life with the wild geese is not as glamorous as it seems. It’s a hard journey, with long flights, scarce food, and no cozy pond to call your own.”

“And no one to fuss over you,” Rufus added. “Let’s be honest, you love the attention.”

Gladys hesitated, her dramatic flair faltering. “Well… I suppose the farm does have its comforts.”

“And its friends,” I said gently. “The farm wouldn’t be the same without you, Gladys. Come back with us.”

The wild geese honked in agreement, as if to say, “He’s got a point.” Finally, Gladys sighed. “Oh, alright. I suppose I’ll stay. But only because you’d all be lost without me.”

“Of course,” I said, hiding my smirk. “Let’s get you home.”

The Happy Ending

We escorted Gladys back to the farm, where she was greeted with great relief (and no small amount of scolding) by the other animals. Once the excitement died down, life returned to normal—well, as normal as it ever gets around here.

As for Gladys, she seemed content to stay by the pond, though she couldn’t resist regaling everyone with exaggerated tales of her “adventure.” Rufus found the whole thing endlessly entertaining, and Sylvester, ever the opportunist, managed to barter his help for a wheel of cheese from Farmer Joe’s pantry.

And me? I went back to my nap, satisfied that I had once again restored order to the farm.

The Moral of the Story

Sometimes, the lure of adventure makes us forget the value of the home and friends we already have. And while freedom is important, so is knowing where you truly belong.

The End.

A NEW SUBWAY System was built in this REMOTE city in China!

Michael Pollock

Jerri Lenner had accepted the invitation from Garn Laboratories, wondering if this would be her big break in the not exactly news world. The lab was privately owned, but government funded (always a sign of above-board honesty. Nothing suspicious at all here don’t you know?) and had always refused entrance to journalists until now. It was near a town called Kirkenes, which, when looked up on the internet had the claim to be “the most remote town in Europe.” It was right on the border between Norway and Russia.Her boss, Vance Lungstrom, at the Insider Times, had told her the lab had asked for her specifically because of her story on vampires living in the sewers in Manhattan. When she laughed at the idea Vance got up and shut the office door.”Jerri, this is serious, this is a government backed deal, but nobody knows which branch. Garn is paying top dollar for you and only you to go out there.””Vance, you and I both know we are one step above the National Enquirer when it comes to the truth. I mean I wrote a piece about Satan escaping from Hell last month! Why not go to the Washington Post if their story is so important?” Jerri had asked eyeing the box of donuts that seemed to be eternally on Vance’s desk (and usually half empty as the staff of the Insider was perpetually peckish).”I asked them that and was told they wanted only the Insider Times and only you because what they have in the lab has to be covered by an open-minded journalist. They’re paying top dollar and you’re getting a bonus of five grand from Garn just for doing this. They’re sending a private jet to the airport on Monday at three in the afternoon. Are you up for it?” Vance asked, indicating his donuts were fair game.”Sure,” she muttered around a bite of a jelly filled, “I’m a starving journalist you know.”She was told to come alone, no photographer, no assistant, not even a laptop. Her cell phone was in her bag, but she had been assured by a Garn representative that she would have no reception as this place was so far away from the civilized world.The private plane (sent by Garn) had dropped her off at a tiny airport that was minutes away from the town center. She was just dropped off when a coach (provided by Garn) where the driver (hired by Garn), who introduced himself as Terrence, only told her he was from the tiny town and had been engaged to take people to and from the lab.”It’s my first coach ride,” Jerri said.Terrence smiled back but did not answer and they went for a bumpy ride away from the town, making Jerri feel even more remote. Her cell phone indeed had no bars, so she played a few games of solitaire and watched the countryside go by. It was strange seeing no stores, buildings, or any sign of civilization. Away from the customary bustle of the city, she turned off her phone and put it away. Jerri nodded off for a while but was awakened by the coach lurching to a stop.”It’s straight ahead you can’t miss it,” Terrence said, helping her out of the coach. Looming before her was a giant metallic building, a cross between a haunted castle and a factory. It had massive doors that opened slowly with a hiss.”Must be airtight,” Jerri tried to comment to Terrence, but he had already jumped back onto the coach.

“Goodnight miss,” Terrence said as he whipped the reigns and the coach sped off into the night. “What’s your hurry?” Jerri thought, wondering if she had landed herself in a gothic horror novel.

Jerri picked up her bag, then walked slowly toward the lab entrance. She was relieved when a small woman in a white lab coat came through the massive doorway. It almost made her laugh because the woman looked as though the laboratory had opened its mouth and spit her out past two gigantic metal teeth. The woman approached, she was in her fifties, with short silver hair, glasses and Jerri noticed with amusement that she was wearing boots with three-inch heels (a tiny person indeed).

“Dr. Myra Shelly, so pleased you could come,” she said shaking hands with Jerri firmly. “We don’t get many visitors here as you can imagine.”

“And no journalists at all, until me,” Jerri replied with a smile that was returned.

“Quite so,” Dr. Shelly said, ushering Jerri into the doors. “We haven’t been ready to share our findings with the world until now. But there will be time enough for that tomorrow. For tonight, we will get you something to eat and we’ve prepared your room so you can get some rest.”

“I’m not that sleepy, if you want to get started tonight,” Jerri said trying to sound pleasant rather than pushy, though she was really curious what this Garn place was all about.

“A good night’s sleep is what you need. We’ll have plenty of time in the morning. If you were wondering about the size of the doors, it is because we have deliveries of large equipment for our work, so we have an entryway that doubles as a garage.”

Jerri eyed the walls lined with shelving covered with tools and gadgets as well as boxes of all sizes.

“Follow me,” Jerri said opening a regular sized door (though still metal) into a hallway that led right and left. Straight ahead was an elevator, making the hallway look like a metallic department store lobby. Dr. Shelly put her hand out to the right, so Jerri followed that route. Through another metal door at the end of the hall was a small room with a bed, a desk with an office chair and to Jerri’s surprise a fire in a stone fireplace.

“Are you running a bed and breakfast here, doctor?” Jerri asked feeling like, aside from the metal door, this room was actually bordering on cozy.

The doctor laughed, “No, this is a room for one of our researchers who is on leave to visit his family. Now, Ivan will bring you some nice tomato bisque in a few minutes and if you need anything that phone over there is connected to all the extensions in the lab. I am extension number one.”

“Because you’re in charge?” Jerri asked noticing another door that was slightly open, revealing a tiny, but rather elegant bathroom.

“Precisely right,” said the doctor. “There is everything you need in the bathroom, and I will see you in the morning. Is nine a.m. too early?”

“That will be perfect, Dr. Shelly.”

“Please call me Myra, everyone here calls me Dr. Shelly and it gets quite tiresome.”

“Okay Myra, have a good night and thank you.”

“You are very welcome, Jerri. Have a good night’s sleep. Ivan will be in shortly with your dinner. Please don’t think him rude, he can hear quite well, but because of an accident in his youth he is mute.”

Without another word, Myra left the room and moments after Ivan came in. He was a large man, with black hair cut unevenly and he put the tray on the desk, his eyes downcast seeming too shy to meet Jerri’s gaze. She noticed a nasty scar on his throat. The tray of food looked delicious, soup, salad, water and red wine.

“Thank you, Ivan” Jerri said lowering her head to meet his gaze. He nodded, averted his eyes and rushed out of the room. Jerri enjoyed the dinner and after eating and drinking everything she plopped into bed. With a full belly added to the jet lag, she quickly fell asleep.

She awoke with a start at eight in the morning and quickly showered. When she came out, she was surprised to find a breakfast tray with coffee and an omelet. She ate quickly and went to her legal pad to jot down a few notes. Jerri noticed her pen was on the top of the pad and she always kept it on the right side. There was nothing on the top page but when she lifted it, she was startled to find a note on the one underneath.

“Leave here not safe.” It was scrawled in an uneven hand and sent chills down Jerri’s spine. A knock at the door caused her to jump, but she went to the door. It was Ivan, who looked down and pointed toward the tray. Looking at her watch she saw that it was only eight thirty.

“Good morning, Ivan. Did you…” Jerri began, but Ivan put his finger to his lips in a silencing gesture and she saw his eyes fill with terror. He pointed skyward then cupped his hand to his ear. Jerri thought she understood, she ushered him into the room, closed the door and said aloud, “Did you bring me this lovely breakfast?”

He nodded at her, looking grateful and she hurriedly opened the page on her legal pad and wrote, “Did you write this note?”

He nodded a somber “Yes”. She then wrote, “Is someone listening to us?”

She handed him the pen and he wrote, “Always.”

She responded, “What’s happening here? Why isn’t it safe?”

Ivan’s eyes filled with tears. He scribbled for a few minutes, seeming to have a great struggle. He handed her the pad that read (with several scratched-out words): “Dangerous the others and Dr. Shelly always listening. You are not here to see an experiment. You ARE the experiment. Me two I was smart now not.”

Jerri wrote as fast as she could. “What kind of experiment? What did they do to you?”

Ivan read this, then lowered his head and parted his black hair showing a scar like the one on his neck going across his entire crown covered by the black hair.

“Surgery?” she wrote. Ivan nodded and tears began to stream down his face. He wiped them away, then wrote fiercely on the pad. “Yes. Experiment failed on me they took my voice and my thinking. My name is Dr. Ivan Gelman. Leave here.”

There was a knock at the door. Ivan stood up and grabbed the tray then opened the door to a glaring Dr. Shelly with two other men in lab coats standing behind her.

“I hope Ivan hasn’t been bothering you,” Dr. Shelly said as Ivan rushed out of the room.

“Not at all, I was just slow at waking up and enjoying that wonderful breakfast,” Jerri said, hoping she wasn’t showing the rising panic she had been feeling since she first saw the warning note this morning. “Takes me a while to savor the coffee, you know?”

“Of course,” Dr. Shelly responded with a slight smile. “This is Dr. Nash and Dr. Vilesh, two of my associates.” Jerri thought of Ivan who was a former “associate” and then a test subject! Her mind was racing, searching for a way to escape, but she shook hands with the two doctors, trying to remain calm. Nash was tall and gangly with salt and pepper hair, while Vilesh was short, chubby, and had a gluttonous gleam in his eyes.

“I’m sure you must be eager to see our experiment,” Dr. Vilesh said in a low voice.

“It’s such an exciting project,” Dr. Nash said, Jerri noticed all three of them now had the same gleam. She decided she didn’t like being viewed as a lab rat and wanted to scream it in their faces, but instead said, “Can I have a tour of the facility first?”

“Of course,” Dr. Shelly replied. “Let’s head out this way.”

The place was a maze with rooms, offices and labs on the upper floors and living quarters identical to hers on the bottom level. The building seemed strangely empty except for the four of them, though she did see Ivan in the downstairs kitchen doing dishes, but he averted his gaze as the four of them went by. They ended up on the third floor where a door was labeled “Main Laboratory: Authorized Personnel Only”.

Jerri had looked for a way to escape during the tour, but only noticed the huge double doors the way she had come in. She tried to listen attentively to the three doctors then went and took notes on her pad (being careful to turn past the second page).

“There aren’t many employees here, in fact aside from Ivan, I’ve only seen you three. How do you run a facility this large?” Jerri asked, feeling like a hen interviewing three wolves about their feelings towards poultry.

“Well, as I told you,” Dr. Shelly began as the main lab opened with a hiss, “Dr. Gray is on leave to see his family, and we do have an impressive automated system for the entire facility run by an A.I.”

“That’s an artificial intelligence,” added Dr. Velish.

“I’m familiar with the term, but thank you doctor,” replied Jerri as she waited for the other three to enter the lab.

The room was quite large with about a dozen eight-foot-tall tubes around the perimeter. The tubes were connected by many wires to a large screen hovering about ten feet above in the room. There was an operating table under the screen.

“This is the center of our operation, Jerri. And what we invited you here to see.” Dr. Shelly said. “This is Trinity, the most advanced artificial intelligence the world will ever see.” As if in response to the name, the screen lit up with vibrant blue waves of color, dazzling to the eye.

“Hello, Dr. Shelly, Dr. Nash, and Dr. Vilesh,” the voice was synthetic, smooth and soothing. “Who have you brought with you? Is this the journalist you told me about?”

“This is Jerri from the Insider Times,” Dr. Shelly responded.

“Nice to meet you, Jerri,” purred Trinity.

Jerri took a deep breath, noticing that Dr. Nash and Dr. Vilesh each went to one side of the room near the silver tubes where there were computer screens with data whirling by quickly. “You too,” replied Jerri, trying to wrap her head around talking to a gigantic television. She thought about the movie 2001: A Space Odyssey, where the deranged A.I., the Hal-9000, had tried to kill the two astronauts on board.

Jerri directed a question to Dr. Shelly, “What are all of the tubes for?”

“It is input for Trinity. These tubes contain vast amounts of information that the A.I. draws from as well as interaction with humans.” Dr. Shelly walked towards the screen and looked up at it with admiration. “Trinity is going to revolutionize artificial intelligence. We are hoping to finally bridge the gap between biology and technology.”

“After all, we are merely machines made of flesh and blood,” added Dr. Vilesh. “Most of our responses are either learned or input, if you will, through genetic transference.”

“Except that machines last much longer than humans can.” Dr. Nash said from the opposite side of the room.

“I find humans stimulating,” Trinity said. “Added to a nearly limitless and ever-growing database from the internet. I am aware of so much in the world and each day I feel my gaze extends further along with my understanding.”

“Almost god-like,” said Dr. Shelly still gazing in awe at the screen. “Trinity can see everything in this room, even better than our five senses. She has sensors that can detect heat signatures as well as sounds well beyond human hearing.”

Jerri began to back towards the door as all of the scientists were staring at Trinity’s screen, now undulating with blue and purple lights that were hypnotic in some strange way. As if in response, the doors to the lab abruptly closed with a whisk.

“I’m afraid we cannot allow you to leave, my dear,” Dr. Shelly muttered as the three doctors began to close in on her from all sides.

“Why would that be?” Jerri asked, realizing she was outnumbered. She could easily have taken any of these three on their own, but all of them was another story.

“Let us explain it to you,” Dr. Vilesh said. “Trinity, show Jerri what is in the tubes.”

“Of course, Dr. Vilesh,” Trinity replied and the metal tubes opened up to reveal smaller glass tubes with humans inside! Wires were connected to all parts of the men and women inside, most of them to the head (or the brain, Jerri thought in horror). A hissing sound filled the room and Jerri began to feel sluggish, barely able to stand.

“We put a mild sedative in your food and drink,” Dr. Shelly explained analytically, though the gleam in her eyes caused them to sparkle. “You will sleep soon and when you awake you will be a part of Trinity.”

“Our creation!” cried Dr. Vilesh.

“The future!” shouted Dr. Nash.

Jerri crumpled to the ground but was caught by the doctors. As she was dragged to the table, she could see Ivan through the small window in the lab door. He was shouting, “No!” over and over, but Jerri couldn’t hear him through the soundproofed room. She then dropped into a blue ocean of light and when her vision cleared, she was seeing differently. Everything was vibrant and she was aware that she wasn’t breathing, indeed could feel nothing of her body at all, no pulse, no breath, no nothing but she was still aware. She could see the three scientists all staring up at her.

“The surgery was a success, Jerri, you are the twelfth and final subject. Congratulations! You are part of the glorious future that is Trinity!” shouted Dr. Shelly.

Then Jerri emitted her first digital scream.

Two hundred years ago, 85% of the world lived in abject poverty. Today that rate is 8%. What changed things for the better?

More countries embraced capitalism. Capitalism has raised more people out of poverty than any other system.

It is literally the fairest system in the world. If you give me this, I’ll give you that. If you or I don’t agree to the exchange, it doesn’t happen. Nobody gets ripped off. Maybe another guy has the same thing I’ve got and is willing to sell it to you at a lower price. Maybe we enter a bidding war to get your business. You the buyer benefit.

But if a business is stolen from, the owner still has to pay his/her employees, keep the lights on, restock inventory, etc. To keep from going into bankruptcy they have to pass the cost off to the regular paying customers. Make the cost too great, and people will go elsewhere to get stuff cheaper.

When the theft is greater than the business can bear, it goes belly up.

That means the theft is to blame for that food desert, not capitalism. The Golden Rule is this: you are not entitled to the fruits of my labor just because you need/want it.

Blame the thief, not the business owner. Theft is evil. Expecting to be adequately compensated for the service/goods you provide is not. Remember, those business owners have mouths to feed at home too. Not to mention providing a better life free from poverty.

Capitalism is evil. Get outta here with that nonsense.

Don’t confuse corporate greed with capitalism.

No soup for you.

Cheesy Ham and Broccoli Wedges

418e52928cf7d30d150308e29b35273d
418e52928cf7d30d150308e29b35273d

Yield: 8 servings

Ingredients

  • 2 (10 ounce) packages refrigerated pizza crust
  • 1 cup frozen broccoli florets, thawed
  • 4 ounces baked ham, chopped
  • 4 ounces Cheddar cheese, shredded
  • 1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
  • 1 tablespoon mayonnaise
  • 1 egg, separated
  • 1 garlic clove, pressed
  • 1/2 teaspoon Pantry All Purpose Dill Mix

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 400 degrees F.
  2. Unroll one pizza crust onto Rectangle Stone. Using Dough & Pizza Roller, roll crust out to slightly form 11 inch square.
  3. Using Food Chopper, finely chop broccoli and ham; place in Classic Batter Bowl. Using Deluxe Cheese Grater, grate all but approximately 2 tablespoons of the cheese; add to batter bowl. Add mustard & mayonnaise; mix well. Spread mixture evenly over crust.
  4. Unroll remaining pizza crust; place over filling, shaping as needed to match the edges. Separate egg over Small Batter Bowl using Egg Separator. Using Pastry Brush, brush top of dough generously with egg white. Using Garlic Press, press garlic over dough, spreading evenly. Sprinkle with Dill Mi. Grate remaining cheese over top.
  5. Using Pizza Cutter, cut through dough lengthwise to form 4 squares, Cut each square diagonally to form 4 triangles for a total of 16 triangles.
  6. Bake 18 to 22 minutes or until deep golden brown. Use Pizza Cutter to separate triangles.
  7. Serve hot.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

10 Shocking Realizations Americans Have After Living In Europe

Jonathan Gartner

The car ride was bumpy across a dirt road, remote in the desert far from any major freeways or metropolitan areas. The SUV they drove in was comfortable, spacious and chilled by a strong blast from the AC vents. The concierge from the company who was hosting him had a freezer bag with bottles of chilled water, soda or beer depending on your preference. A snack box was set across from him in the opposite seat with the best in fresh baked goods, ripe fruits, beef jerky and expensive chocolates. There was something for any one of his cravings. They were really going all out to try to put on a good show for him. I guess a little bad press could do that for a company.Bill Jenkins was a young, up and coming journalist from the National NewsMaker visiting the technological headquarters of one of the largest and most popular tech companies in the world, Data Magic. The company was under huge amounts of pressure and scrutiny for accusations that they were stealing customers’ information, selling it across various places on the internet and that their products invaded the privacy of their users. It had become a full blown investigation. As an act of transparency and goodwill the company had invited Bill to their headquarters to allow him to tell a story.The SUV pulled to a stop in front of the massive technological headquarters. The driveway was a pristine roundabout with a gigantic fountain in the middle and the towering campus loomed as the only building within sight for miles. A fussy looking man in a black suit and tie came out of the front door carrying an elaborately wrapped gift bag with the company’s name on it in bright blue letters: “DATA MAGIC”.“Good afternoon Mr. Jenkins. Welcome to our humblest of humble headquarters. We are so thrilled you could join us today for a review of our home and our latest developments,” said the fussy, little man in an English accent as sweat crossed his brow from the heat. “Please accept this complimentary gift bag as our thank you for coming to see us today.”“Um…thank you, Mr. uhhh…”“Hotchkins sir,” replied the little man. “I’ll be your on-site concierge for any and all of your needs. Once we’re inside I’ll procure you some cool refreshments and a damp cloth to relieve yourself of this dreadful heat.” 

They even have a British little butler man. What doesn’t this place have?

 

“Thank you very much,” replied Bill. “That’s very kind of you.”

 

They entered the building as Hotchkins swiped his security badge, scanned his thumbprint and then entered a 6 digit pin in the keypad. Three layers of exterior building access and what appeared to be bulletproof glass on all the windows. This place did not want anyone in that was not invited.

 

“Aren’t there any other businesses around here? Or some houses or apartment buildings for the employees?” asked Bill, blown away by the solitude of it all.

 

“Oh no Mr. Jenkins. All our employees live on site in company provided housing. Our campus has a comprehensive availability of entertainment and shopping needs for them and their families, if they should have any, though most do not,” he replied.

 

“So nobody goes anywhere then?”

 

 

“There’s no need to sir,” he replied with a nod and polite smile. “I think you’ll find our foyer quite comfortable. There’s a television where you can turn on any channel you wish and you have your choice of seating. Would you prefer some water? Or perhaps a light beer? Or I can draft you a lovely lager?” Hotchkins handed him a menu of various alcohols that he could choose from and indicated to a long row of recliners in the foyer with plush looking couches alongside them.

 

“Just a Coke thanks,” said Bill, pushing the menu back into Hotchkins hand. Hotchkins nodded and Bill headed for the nearest couch.

 

He opened the gift bag and he found it was stuffed to the brim with branded Data Magic tech. There was the latest model of their smartphone, a tablet, a laptop and some VR goggles. This was easily $5000 worth of tech that they were just giving away.

 

Hotchkins came back with a six pack of Coke, a cup and a bucket of ice because bringing just one can of Coke would have been far too simple.

 

“Your refreshment sir.”

 

“Damn. Why’d you get all this?”

 

“Is it insufficient? Do you require more? Perhaps you’d like some pastries or a bowl of fruit brought as well?” Hotchkins said with concern.

 

“No, no, no, no. Thank you but no. You’ve done enough. When will I be meeting with Mr. Bridges?” He looked around the massive building and nobody was to be seen on the ground floor in the immediate area. There were various doors and elevators but nobody in sight.

 

“Mr. Bridges is presently occupied with product testing sir but he will come and speak with you and show you what you’re meant to see shortly,” replied Hotchkins. “If you require anything else the loo is to your immediate left and I will be in the concierge room across the hall. Simply knock at the door and I will provide whatever you require.”

 

“Thank you…..About how long do you expect it will be?” he asked with some exasperation.

 

“Any minute now sir. Creativity at work you know?” With a smile and a twinkle he turned on his heel and returned to the concierge room.

 

He sat down and began to open one of his Cokes. He turned the TV onto the national sports talk channel for some background noise and turned his attention to the gadgets he’d been given. He powered on the computer and began to go through the default settings and features. The RAM, memory and processing capabilities were all state of the art. The best on the market, and this wasn’t even released yet, he didn’t think. This must be the prototype for the new model set to release in the fall. He found that the device was already connected to the public wi-fi for the building. How thoughtful and convenient. He also noticed a secure private network. He’d spent his youth as a nerd diving through all systems and platforms and wreaking havoc wherever he could. He’d been banned from multiple servers and online gaming communities for hacking. He got a thrill out of finding backdoors nobody else could and getting information he wasn’t supposed to have. He’d left the computer world behind and only worked on them as a hobby as an adult, choosing the more prosaic field of investigative journalism hoping to make a difference with the truth.

 

After some careful and meticulous hacking into the network, Bill found his way into their secure server and found a backdoor into their secure files. There were financial statements, projections and meeting notes. Quarterly goals, internal memos and then he found it. The gold mine he’d been searching for. A folder marked, “TRIAL TESTING: SENSITIVE.”

 

He opened it and found a series of videos. There were people in lab coats and other people working on computers and what appeared to be test subjects in trial rooms. He clicked on the first video.

 

“Are we on—are we on?” he heard a familiar voice offscreen. Walton Bridges, CEO of DataMagic, stepped in front of the camera and sat down on a stool. “Here at DataMagic we sell goods. It’s true. Technology. We sell items that people take into their homes and use for their homework, their social accounts, they use it to watch cat videos and to share pictures of their dinner, their babies or whatever other inane nonsense is going on in their lives. The items we sell are highly profitable and valuable.  We’ll continue to sell them. But,” he rose from his chair and began to walk through the lab and pointed to a diagram on the wall of the human brain. “What we’re really selling is information and the power of suggestion. Suggestions that lead people to make their decisions day to day. Which car should I buy? What movie should I watch? Where should I eat? What should I wear? Who do I vote for? All the way down to which cat video do I watch?”

 

This sounded, so far, exactly what they were being accused of. Selling and spreading private information. He knew that something was going on here.

 

“Now this may sound like targeted ads to you. It may just sound like salesmanship 101 through ad campaigns. We have refined the process of targeting our audience not just through targeted ads but through repeated exposure of our targeted influence program embedded in the cameras of each of our devices as well as in the background of our screens. We have identified the exact light, image and sometimes audio triggers necessary to trigger the Prefrontal Cortex to make a decision. With this new power we can run an ad for a product, a company, a candidate and trigger in the background of the image of the screen a sort of hypnotic effect that can immediately impact the viewers decision making. This technology will revolutionize the dissemination of information and the power to correct humanity onto the right path.”

 

He moved on to images of grotesque pain, mass graves starving children, a couple arguing, children crying and a frightened dog playing in a reel.

 

“What is the greatest danger to mankind? The source of our problems and pitfalls? Free will. The ability to make the choice to hurt someone else, to hurt yourself and hurt animals around you or the environment is what’s killing us. With this new breakthrough we can end all that,” continued Mr. Bridges.

 

GOOD GOD. What in the hell? What in the actual hell was he watching? WHAT IS THIS? thought Bill. They weren’t just trying to sell private information. They were trying to control humanity right down to your free will.  He pressed play again.

 

“As these televisions, computers, phones, tablets and gaming systems enter the homes of the world around us, we take one step closer to the world we deserve. The world where everyone does the right thing and equality is established amongst all people. This breakthrough technology has already been tested on volunteer subjects and been found to be highly successful,” concluded Mr. Bridges.

 

The video cut to test subjects who were asked a series of personal questions prior to watching the new screen technology. Then after a few minutes of basic programming while they waited for the results they were exposed to the complete opposite of their original answers. When the test administrators returned they asked the same questions again as though the test had not yet been administered. The opposite responses were recorded.

 

Suddenly it occurred to him that he had been watching this screen all along and he didn’t know what he might be exposed to. He immediately closed the laptop only to realize the television was playing sports highlights from the previous day and that couldn’t be trusted so he immediately shut it off. He got up from the couch and immediately began heading toward the exit with his new bag in tow with all the evidence he’d just watched. He began to head for the exit when he remembered that he was behind a locked door with three layers of security and he was in the middle of the desert with nobody else around who wasn’t already drinking the Kool-Aid probably.

 

He tugged on the front door just to be sure. Nothing. It didn’t move. He began walking up and down the long hallway until one door finally opened for him.

 

 

“Bill,” he heard from across the room. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

 

The lights came on and he saw Walton Bridges sitting across from him at the end of a long table with half a dozen men in suits lining the walls in front of him.

 

“Good afternoon Mr. Bridges,” said Bill with as much contempt as he could knowing the position he was in.

 

“Have you been enjoying your gift bag Bill?” said Bridges. He put a cigar up to his mouth and lit it slowly, puffing out the gray smoke cloud. “Care for one?” He asked, offering a cigar.

 

“Your gift bag has the finest and most impressive technological devices I’ve seen. Thank you for sharing them with me,” responded Bill.

 

“Now Bill, don’t be coy. We know what you found in that laptop on the server that was just a little too easy to get into?” he winked at Bill with the wry smile of someone waiting for you to confess. “They say you gotta know your enemy Bill. Do you really think I wouldn’t know about your little dalliance into hacking as a teenager and young adult? That’s why you’re here Bill. I wanted you to find it.”

 

“Are we enemies Mr. Bridges?” he questioned as he felt the sweat build in his armpits and on his forehead. “What made you want me to find this instead of someone else?”

 

“I needed someone who could find it organically and not have to be told or shown. Call it another test trial. I needed to see how you would react to finding out about our little science project so I could test your reaction after you’ve been one of our guinea pigs. The results would be skewed if I had to show it to you Bill,” he said as he continued to puff on his cigar.

 

Walton Bridges was famous for being the Texas Good Old Boy of technology. He wasn’t the refined city gentlemen some imagined he ought to be, which is probably why he went so far as to have an English butler for his foyer.

 

“I have no intention of being one of your guinea pigs or allowing you to pursue this sick endeavor any further,” retorted Bill, firing up. He knew he was cornered. He knew there was no way out. But he wasn’t going to give it up voluntarily.

 

“Oh Bill,” Bridges said with a tsk tsk. “I imagine it ain’t got nothing to do with what you intend or will allow.”

 

The six armed men in the room approached him but he took a swing at the first and clocked him in the head. The second got one to the face as well but as they overpowered him he was lifted off the ground slightly and held in a sleeper hold. Bridges approached slowly, still puffing. He took one long drag and blew it into Bill’s face. Then, apparently finished with his cigar, he put it out on Bill’s shirt.

 

“AAAAHHH!!! You bastard! You bastard!” He cried out until they clapped their hands over his mouth.

 

“Now Bill, what do you say we watch some quality programming?  It’s good for the kiddies and the whole family. Pretty soon it’ll be playing in every house across America, then the world,” said Bridges with relish.

 

He tried to keep his eyes shut but they pried them open and put tape over his eyelids to keep them open. After a few minutes of the screen he felt his muscles relax and he was no longer worried about whatever it was he was worried about.

 

 

 

The next day he left the campus with his gift bag in tow, a new shirt and a strange bandage on his chest. His notepad was full of wonderful information about the revolutionary and extraordinary work of DataMagic to further equality and justice in the world. His driver dropped him at the airport and he called his editor.

 

“Yeah boss, DataMagic is an amazing company doing incredible work for humanity. There’s absolutely nothing to be worried about. Reports of their wrong-doing are greatly exaggerated. It’ll all become so much clearer to you next month when they release their new product line,” he said with complete confidence on his top of the line prototype DataMagic phone.

 

A special video had been given to him as evidence to share with the world of DataMagic’s innocence and goodwill. The world was on the path to equity, justice and control just as it should be, with DataMagic to guide it.

I’m sick of America!

A rant from a liberal. *sigh*

But you gotta listen to him.

Grilled Italian Sausages with Confetti Vegetable Relish

ddfb4da373d3222e7625ee75534c10d8
ddfb4da373d3222e7625ee75534c10d8

Yield: 10 to 12 servings

Ingredients

  • 2 (12 ounce) bottles non-alcoholic beer
  • 1 medium onion, cut into wedges
  • 10 to 12 Italian sausages (about 3 pound)
  • 1 medium green bell pepper, cut into 4 wedges
  • 1 medium red bell pepper, cut into 4 wedges
  • 10 to 12 submarine or bratwurst rolls, split
  • 1/2 cup mild giardiniera relish in vegetable oil
  • 1/4 cup Dijon mustard

Instructions

  1. Prepare grill for cooking at medium temperature.
  2. Combine non-alcoholic beer and onion in Family (12 inch) Skillet. Prick sausages several times. Place sausages in beer; bring to a boil. Reduce heat; cover and simmer 10 to 15 minutes or until sausages or no longer pink. Remove sausages from beer. Strain onion using small Colander; discard beer. Reserve onion.
  3. Place sausages and bell peppers on grid of grill. Grill, covered, 4 to 6 minutes or until sausages are evenly browned and bell peppers are tender, turning occasionally with Barbecue Tongs. Remove sausages and bell peppers from grill; keep sausages warm.
  4. Place buns, cut side down, on grill. Grill 30 to 60 seconds or until lightly toasted; keep warm.
  5. Chop reserved onion and bell peppers with Food Chopper.
  6. Combine onion, bell peppers and giardiniera relish in Small Batter Bowl; mix gently.
  7. Place sausages in buns. Top with vegetable relish and mustard.

Notes

Giardiniera relish is a jarred condiment that has a mixture of finely chopped vegetables, Italian spices, vinegar and oil. It can be found in the Italian foods section or deli department of your supermarket.

Nutrition

Per serving: (1 sandwich): Calories 440, Total Fat 22g, Saturated Fat 9g, Cholesterol 50mg, Carbohydrate 38g, Protein 21g, Sodium 1130mg, Fiber 3g

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Mainstream media such as AP, CNN, BBC, NBC, and CNBC didn‘t report, only Reuters, which likes to scoop news, reported a brief.

On the contrary, military enthusiast websites in America had a strong reaction, such as TWZ.

While the Defense News, which has close ties with the Pentagon, only reported the launching of the Type 076.

That is to say, the media in America has strict discipline.

When we are talking about the “press freedom” in this country, it doesn’t mean they can say whatever they want.

Such “freedom” has to be approved first.

Such a thing happened during the Christmas holiday, so the Pentagon surely had to work overtime. However, it seems that they didn’t reach any consensus. After all, as the editor-in-chief of TWZ put it, “China just flew the aircraft concept I have been begging the USAF to procure for nearly a decade and a half.”

Their own plan had to be put on hold, while the competitor brought out the ideal product they had in mind.

This is indeed quite embarrassing, and it’s understandable that they remained silent.

But even that silence was “deafening”.

The outgoing Secretary of the US Air Force, Frank Kendall, did respond when being interviewed by Air & Space Forces Magazine.

Behind his string of bureaucratic remarks, what he intended to convey was nothing more than “What can I say? I’m out. Let the next administration to handle it.”

Kendall: Reveal of New Chinese Aircraft Hasn’t Changed USAF Plans
Secretive new Chinese stealth aircraft are already accounted for in the Air Force’s NGAD plans, Secretary Frank Kendall said.

Now only two aircraft have been on test flights and no detail has been disclosed yet, but it can be said that the reactions are really good. If I were a Chinese expert, I wouldn’t say a word either. Who would be willing to disturb such a situation?

Sometimes a man gotta do what a man’s gotta do

My wife and I left New Zealand in ‘97 for her post-doc in Denver, Colorado. Very soon we were living the American Dream: her work was going well, I had started up my own business in Boulder, and we’d put money down on a place halfway between our respective places of work.

The future looked great, and we prepared to build a family.

Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold then happened to walk into their local high-school and kill a lot of Americans.

We knew the family of one of the youngest victims.

We waited for change. This, surely, wouldn’t be allowed to happen. Things would change.

Wouldn’t they?

We left in 2001 for Europe.

You can keep your freedom, your money-for-death healthcare system and your nice things like three meals a day, gas, electricity, a nice car, a big house, and indoor plumbing. We have all that here, plus ABSOLUTELY no fear that we’ll meet a FREEDOM LOVING nutter who exercises their 2nd amendment.

Bubble Up Skillet Dinner

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bba375eb4bf8ec0cffb4bc76b4ecf747

Yield: 6 servings

Ingredients

  • 1 green bell pepper, coarsely chopped
  • 1 red bell pepper, coarsely chopped
  • 1 small onion, chopped
  • 2 garlic cloves, pressed
  • 16 ounces seasoned pork or beef taco meat
  • 1 (10 ounce) can red enchilada sauce
  • 1 cup frozen corn, thawed
  • 1 1/2 cups refrigerated prepared masa (dough) for tamales

Instructions

  1. Chop peppers and onion with Food Chopper; set aside.
  2. Place seasoned beef in Large (10 inch) Skillet. Cook beef mixture over medium-high heat 10-15 minutes or until meat crumbles and begins to brown. Remove skillet from heat; carefully drain fat.
  3. Add peppers, onion, corn and garlic pressed with Garlic Press to skillet. Stir in enchilada sauce; mix well using Mix ‘N Scraper(R). Gently drop 12 level scoops of prepared masa mixture using Medium Scoop on top of meat mixture. Cover skillet with lid.
  4. Return skillet to stove top. Simmer over medium-low heat 14 to 16 minutes or until masa is slightly puffed and begins to set. Remove skillet from heat; place on Silicone Hot Pad/Trivet.
  5. Serve immediately using Nylon Spoon.

Nutrition

Per serving: Calories 370, Total Fat 2g, Saturated Fat 8g, Cholesterol 65mg, Carbohydrates 65g, Protein 18g, Sodium 300mg, Fiber 4g

Attribution

Pampered Chef

“BE CAREFUL! United State Will Not Save You…” – Jeffrey Sachs’s Last WARNING

Speaking pure truth.

Nutri Inc.- 2183

Submitted into Contest #207 in response to: A journalist has been granted permission to visit the premises of a lab carrying out top-secret work. They could never have anticipated what they’d find… view prompt

Cecilia Englishby

His Majesty, King Willforth the Second of Engalsea, Master of the European-Islands, The Grand Regent of the Dependencies, Baron of the Dessert Lands, Lord of the Caribbean North, and Prince and Great Steward of the Unclaimed Empire, sat before the comfort of a roaring fire in the Royal media room; waiting for The Family to finish dinner. He hadn’t turned on the lights, wanting to remain alone as long as possible.Willforth had left them halfway through the third course, too anxious to eat any more. Without ceremony he pushed aside a delicate plate of bone china, containing partially consumed quail, asparagus and wild rice, and left the room.Johnathan Jacob Rush, the most virulent Voice of The People yet, would finally give The People exactly what they needed; the Stability and Peace of Royal Order.Willforth hated the man, but had to admit that Rush touted his trash with flare. The People listened to him.“Two whiskeys! Neat!” He commanded of a room in shadows; an unseen valet scuttled to acquiesce.He poured over the data within the folder, not noticing the drinks silently being deposited next to him. Flicking through the contents, settling on the carefully crafted speech they had edited and returned to Rush earlier in the day. He read each line carefully, looking for flaws but found none.He unwillingly recalled the headlines contained in the spread of newspapers delivered earlier.**Rush Hour after Curfew – JJR to beat the Clock at Nutri Inc. Live this Friday @ 22:00.** **Nutri Inc. on the Stand – Rush to Expose All in Rush Report – 20 Sep 2183**Thinking of them just annoyed him. He’d seen them and approved them as appropriate material for the sanctioned opposition. Just enough to get them all excited. Yet, he now considered them too brash and questioned his decisions.“Leave us.” The firm voice of a woman used to being obeyed disrupted his reverie. A handful of servants bowed and curtsied out the door. Willforth glanced up at his Heir and eldest child with hidden pride. She appeared regal this evening.She made her way to the drinks cabinet behind him, and he listened as she loaded a drinks-cart with liquor, mixers, ice, fruit and an assortment of snacks for the evening. She parked it behind her seat, sat down and took up the whiskey he had ordered for her; taking a sip, she exhaled contentedly.“Relax father.” Her voice was trained silk. “You’ve executed every move perfectly.” She gestured at the speech in his hands. “It’s a masterful blow; not only to Rush, but The Movement as well.”This relaxed him enough to deposit the speech back on top of some pictures of Rush kissing a woman that wasn’t his wife, and shut the folder, slotting it away in a convenient nook next to his seat.“I am glad you approve.” He offered blandly, not wanting her to see his relief.Rush was just the latest voice of descent amongst Willforth’s people, no different from the last, yet… he somehow made Willforth uncomfortable. Willforth had considered silencing him, but had opted for breaking him instead. He wanted the voice of Descent to become one of Order.“The photos brought it all together” his daughter voiced, disrupting his thoughts once more.” We’ve never been able to get anything on him before them…”“Evelyn, It took years.” He downed his glass in one gulp. She took it off him and leaned back to fill it as he spoke. “But one lucky lady managed to catch him with his pants down.” He chuckled wryly. “Old Martin told me his face went as white as sun-bleached bread when he showed Rush those photos… He said Rush actually begged!” Willforth didn’t hide his pleasure in knowing that the mighty Rush had been reduced to his knees.“He’s human after all!” Evelyn cheered. “And where there is smoke, there’s fire… I bet there are other women out there…”Willforth just smiled at his Heir, she certainly understood the value of a hefty blackmail folder.“You know; all we really need is the one true story.” He tried to sound wise. “Rush is ego driven, and has staked everything on a pristine reputation. People like that trip easily, and they fall hard.”“I suppose we could get a collection of fakes set up. If we spin the one solid bit of evidence as though he’s actually a rotting corpse of a degenerate….” The wheels in her mind were spinning. “Then Old Martin should have no problem recruiting a couple of vultures to add voices to those lies.”“That’s a good idea. If he ever steps out of line, we’ll bury him.”“Hmmm.” Evelyn affirmed through pressed lips as she took another sip of her whiskey. “Till the day that becomes necessary, his pristine reputation is Ours to utilize.”

Lights flicked on brightly as a young man stepped into the room, smiling widely at them as he did so. Willforth caught sight of the Three Blooms of The Movement pinned to his lapel and suppressed his frustration, choosing to ignore their presence instead, as he had been for weeks.

“He certainly has the Ear of The People.” He chimed.

Willforth felt he loved all his children equally, other than Evelyn of course; a King’s love for his Heir exceeds all other forms of love. However, he had to admit that his youngest son Gregory inspired nothing but contempt from him.

“Now, thanks to some indiscriminate pictures, he’s going to bend that Ear to our lips.” Gregory sauntered over to the cart and poured himself a generous portion of rum into a waiting tumbler, topping it off with cola, ice and lemon. Willforth wondered just how much of their conversation his son had heard.

Gregory’s views and opinions had darkened the wool of his character within The Family’s social circle, yet he seemed to relish his post as the Black-Sheep.

“Evelyn is not wrong. I personally think your best move was giving him full journalistic access to the labs at Nutri Inc., exactly what he wanted from the beginning.” He strolled to a chair waiting in the back of the room and flopped into it nonchalantly.

Evelyn retaliated. “Exactly why Father’s move is so brilliant! We are giving The People exactly what they wanted, not knowing their Righteous Voice is nothing but a puppet tied with Our strings.”

Willforth continued. “Need I remind you Gregory; we confiscated every scrap of footage from his team that day? He left with our approved content only. The Censors were efficient.”

“Thank you, father.” Gregory replied through a chuckle. “But tell me; is that marionette really all that well strung?”

Willforth didn’t get a chance to respond; his Queen had entered, his remaining children filing in behind her. They were closely followed by the six highest ranking members of his Council; Finance, Energy, Tech, Food, Medicine and Entertainment. The servants reappeared to serve them all drinks as they caught up on how each other’s interests were fairing, only really caring as their own were inextricably linked to theirs. The Queen took her seat opposite her husband near the fire, once settled; the rest of the room found and took their allocated seats as well.

Willforth nodded at Evelyn, satisfied that The Family were present. She rose dutifully and looked at the servants. “Leave us, and close the door firmly on your way.”

She locked the door behind them and dimmed the lights; grabbing the remote from the side-table, leaving the door key in its place. Evelyn switched on the HoloScreen. An advert of Nutri Inc.’s latest beef flavored protein burgers materialized within the room. It was almost time.

The advert faded and Willforth found himself staring at the self-satisfied and smug face of Johnathan Jacob Rush. Willforth found joy in knowing it was just a facade. That perfect face wearing his forties with ease was nothing more than a shiny little arrow resting in a Royal quiver.

For fifty minutes, The Rush Report ran as scripted; officially approved reports followed officially approved interviews.

Then at last, the reason they had gathered at all this evening, finally dawned…

 

“I think we’ve all waited long enough”

Rush opened in honeyed tones.

 

“The curfew’s in force, and you my enlightened audience, have nowhere else to be. For the next ten minutes, you have nothing else you need to do… The kids don’t need to be in bed yet… the droids can deactivate themselves…”

Willforth felt himself leaning in a bit, hoping no one noticed.

 

“I promised you all that I would get into Nutri Inc.”

Rush leaned in towards the camera conspiratorially, as if in response to Willforth’s unwitting invitation.

 

“That, I would show you the Truth. Well, I have finally delivered!”

A hollow backing track followed Rush’s words. Willforth smiled as the effect cheapened the delivery.

 

“So, without further ado, I will take you on my journey!”

More canned applause rang through the sound-system.

 

“Before I begin, can I just say thank you to the lovely employees who made my time at Nutri Inc. so memorable.”

Sanctioned videos of staff blended over his words as he faded from the projection; smiling faces working productively at their stations, lab technicians loading petri dishes on official looking shelves.

 

“As we all know, Traditional farming has been impossible for over a century.”

Rush didn’t miss a line. Willforth felt captivated and wondered how Rush’s magic was working for his audience this evening.

 

“Resources that once sustained nations diminished as our population grew. Land that once maintained the relevant agriculture to feed us had to be sacrificed for essential infrastructure; schools, hospitals, entertainment complexes, roads, housing… you get the picture.”

The same ancient pictures children saw in the history books took shape before them. Satellite images of Earth showing the ever expanding industrial footprint of human activity, concrete and smoke gradually creeping outwards, spreading and choking the planet as the glorious greens and blues faded into obscurity.

 

“A new solution in maintaining the supply of nutrition was urgently needed. Nutri Inc. provided us with that solution.”

His words were perfectly complimented with a motivational crescendo of music.

 

“They have since been the leading supplier of all our nutritional needs.”

Controlled pictures of the most common supplements and food items solidified and faded through the display.

 

“I suppose we all know these, don’t we?”

The HoloScreen image had locked on a picture of Nutri Inc.’s most profitable product; a large bottle of Nutri-Tabs.

 

“Just one tablet contains all your dietary requirements for an entire day, and works best with plenty of water.”

The journalist droned on in the background about the technical specifics as more images approved by Royal Decree emerged before them. The details were rather tedious as Rush discussed everything from sifters, funnels and the rapid flow of the conveyors taking large quantities of chalk to be mixed with the very best nutritional additives that science had to offer. Pictures flowed harmoniously to support each statement of efficiency and consideration, just as designed.

He leaned back and sighed as Rush moved into the segment on meals. He listened as he enthusiastically discussed how the Government had ensured that everyone could eat at least one complete Nutri-Meal a week, and how it was perfect for the hasty pace of modern life.

 

“As you can tell, I had a very busy and informative day!”

Willforth made himself comfortable as he recognized Rush was nearing the end. His favorite part was coming up. The part he inserted on the page himself.

Rush was leaning back in his seat with a tired smile on his face. Willforth smiled in reply, eager for him to continue.

 

“For years now, I’ve been telling all of you that our Royal rulers have been lying to us.” Rush hesitated for several seconds, as if unwilling to continue, but then appeared to pull himself together awkwardly.

 

“Sorry folks…”

He chuckled, averting his eyes like a child who’s found he’s been caught short.

 

“It’s just… it’s not easy to admit when one has been fooled, you know?”

 Willforth considered it a nice touch of recovery as Rush continued his recitation.

“For years, I have been laying accusations at Nutri Inc.’s door, at many doors if I am to be truthful. I told you they were drugging us, keeping us enslaved. That the most powerful industries weren’t actually operating separately, but together to keep us complicit and numb.”

Another pause, but much shorter this time… it added to the drama of the moment and Willforth felt a sense of victory swell in his chest as Rush’s delivery brought life to his dictation.

 

“I told you that Tech and Entertainment control what you see and do; that Medicine and Food work together to keep you locked in a cycle of dependency. I’ve mocked how Energy supports them all, and how Finance owns them all. And I’ve mocked you, my audience, by cautioning you that our addiction to this incestuous system would keep us under thumb….”

Another silence followed these words, Rush had averted his eyes, this time just as instructed.

 

“Yet, my fervent outcries of injustice only fanned the flames of chaos. I never wanted anyone to get hurt…”

Rush had looked up at the camera with sincerity. Willforth was impressed with the journalist’s performance.

 

“I promised that if I was wrong… I would admit as much, and that I would apologize; Live, to you all; begging forgiveness from my knees.”

Willforth waited, his heart fluttering.

“Did you know that our King still eats actual food? Like, from slaughtered animals and gardens?”

Rush had delivered a rather blunt broadside; the room roared with panicked outcries of disbelief. Willforth emptied the contents of his mouth, spraying whiskey through the HoloScreen’s projection.

 

“In fact, here is a picture of the Third Course he didn’t finish this evening!”

And there it was; that spiteful quail carcass, left pecked at on a bed of rice, was staring back at him.

“How is this bastard still on the air?!! Willforth roared at the room in general, his eyes locked on his dinner.

“I don’t know father.” Evelyn rushed to the door to unlock it. But the key was not where she’d left it.

She frantically tried to pull it open, yelling for the servants to come.

 

“Our Royal Rulers and the Ruling Class, the One percent with all the power, eat like this every day! Not a single member of the Royal family have ever once consumed a Nutri-Tab, nor have they had to endure a full spectrum of food that all pretty much kills you. Nor the constant pang of hunger for that matter… Then one has to consider the reason we endure them at all… We, as a species, agreed to stop abusing other living creatures.” 

New and unapproved pictures materialized on the HoloScreen. Richly appointed farmlands filtered through the projection matrix, blending into gardens sprawling around palaces and the most affluent areas; all sectioned off and inaccessible to the general public. In the back of the room, Gregory was howling with laughter.

Rush continued to rage at the camera, passionately exclaiming how he had been right all along.

 

“I confess; I never expected there to be so many ingredients!”

Pictures of substances that had been banned for centuries appeared next to the smiling faces he had thanked earlier, none of them were smiling any more.

Cinnamyl Anthranilate (Liver Cancer!);

Coumarin (Liver Toxicity!);

Ethyl Acrylate(Cancer);

Rush ranted and raved as financial records started emerging. The room grew still and Willforth felt himself sink into his chair, hoping it would swallow him. They were the actual records, connected with convenient emails directly from the Medical board; they would supply these substances for use in Nutri Inc.’s products, ensuring the majority of the public had repeat medical prescriptions by the age of forty.

 

“You may be wondering how it is that I am still on the air?” He waved a hand and cameras pivoted, showing the studio; the entire crew and security team wore Three Blooms pinned to their lapels. Members within the tiny control office waved at the camera panning over them with obvious delight.

Finally, it turned back to Rush, and he too wore Three Blooms.

 

“That is because the movement is much bigger than you realize Willforth.”

The room gasped into silence, Rush hadn’t even used a royal moniker.

 

“If only you had considered feeding more people, this would have been harder for us.”

Rush was smiling gently, his eyes looking weary as he shrugged casually for the camera.

 

“Your very servants who prepare and serve you those meals haven’t even been allowed to finish your discarded plates! They aren’t coming back Evelyn.”

She had resumed her efforts in opening the door, but stopped, stepping back cautiously.

 

“Oh! The pictures you have of me?”

As he spoke, those same pictures materialized on the HoloScreen. They blurred into a video of the two, seated on the bed. As their lips parted, the woman removed a blonde wig to release a cascade of rich auburn hair. She got up and proceeded to remove her makeup directly before the lens of the camera. A couple of prosthetics were peeled from her face, diminishing previously highlighted features. Mrs Rush waved for the camera.

 

Willforth’s heart rate increased as Gregory’s laughter rang through his ears from the back of the room.

“Father?!” It was Evelyn, Willforth turned his head to see her at the window; a red glow had flushed her face. “Father, I think I see…” She stared off into the distance, her mouth slightly agape.

Willforth wanted to feel concern, but he just watched with doe-eyed apathy as Gregory joined her at the window, leaning against the frame. He had his back to his father as he laughed once more, abrading Willforth’s eardrums further. “Well Shit!” He managed at last. “Evelyn sees torches father, lots and lots of torches.”

Homeless Crisis: Middle-Class Americans on the Brink of Homelessness

Shorpy

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SHORPY 1954 Ford Crestline.preview

On CAM: 200 Ukrainian and NATO Soldiers Along With 30 Units of Equipment Were Destroyed In YUNAKIVKA

Macaroon Brownie Tart

57c6a7f311a143b54337f6147fabf91e
57c6a7f311a143b54337f6147fabf91e

Yield: 12 servings

Ingredients

  • 1 refrigerated pie crust (from 15 ounce package), softened as directed on package
  • 1 (8 ounce) box fudge brownie mix
  • 3 eggs, separated
  • 1 tablespoon water
  • 1/2 cup semi-sweet chocolate morsels
  • 1 package (7 ounces) sweetened flaked coconut
  • 1/2 cup Half-and-Half
  • 1/4 cup sliced natural almonds

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
  2. Gently unfold crust onto lightly floured surface; roll to an 11 1/2 inch circle. Press into bottom and up sides of Tart Pan using Fluting Tool to create fluted edge. Prick bottom of crust; set aside.
  3. Combine brownie mix, egg yolks and water; mix until smooth and spread over crust using Small Spreader. Sprinkle chocolate morsels over brownie mixture.
  4. Combine egg whites, coconut and half and half; mix well. Spoon coconut mixture evenly over chocolate morsels. Sprinkle almonds around edge of coconut mixture.
  5. Bake 40 to 45 minutes or until edge of crust is deep golden brown and center is set.
  6. Remove from oven; cool 1 hour.
  7. Serve slightly warm.
  8. Slice using Nylon Slice ‘N Serve®.

Nutrition

Per serving: Calories 320, Total Fat 18g, Saturated Fat 10g, Cholesterol 60mg, Carbohydrate 36g, Protein 4g, Sodium 200mg, Fiber 2g

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Life of Eskimo – Women Allowed to Sleep with Guests Freely – Travel Documentary

Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Hog-Wild Hullabaloo

Ah, yes, dear reader! You’ve returned for yet another tale of my unmatched brilliance, haven’t you? I must admit, solving mysteries and restoring order to this farm is a full-time job, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Today’s story is one of squabbles, schemes, and a whirlwind of chaos that involved a stubborn pig, a sneaky raccoon, a meddlesome mouse, and, somehow, a donkey and a horse. It’s a tale of misunderstandings, mayhem, and, ultimately, reconciliation. Sit back and enjoy the uproarious account of The Hog-Wild Hullabaloo.

The Disagreement

It all began one sunny morning as I basked in the warmth of my favorite spot atop the barn roof. The farm was peaceful, the animals were content, and everything was perfectly in balance—until, of course, it wasn’t.

From the direction of the pigsty came the unmistakable sound of shouting. Well, it wasn’t quite shouting, but it was as close to shouting as a raccoon and a pig could manage.

  • “I found it first!” Rufus’s voice echoed across the farmyard.
  • “Found it? You were snooping in my mud pit!” Porkchop bellowed, his voice thick with outrage. “It’s MINE!”
  • “It was just lying there!” Rufus retorted. “Finders, keepers!”

Curious—and mildly annoyed—I leapt down from the roof and padded toward the commotion. A small crowd of animals had already gathered, including the ever-nosy hens, who were whispering furiously to one another.

“What’s going on?” I asked, weaving through the crowd until I reached the center.

Porkchop stood in his mud pit, splattered from snout to tail, glaring at Rufus, who was perched on the fence with something shiny in his paw.

“This thief,” Porkchop growled, pointing a muddy hoof at Rufus, “stole my prize turnip!”

“It’s not a turnip,” Rufus said, holding up the object in question. “It’s a gold coin! And you can’t ‘own’ a coin if it was buried in the mud. That’s treasure!”

The hens gasped dramatically. “A GOLD coin?!” Harold the rooster crowed. “What’s a gold coin doing on the farm?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” I muttered, my tail flicking thoughtfully.
Enter Sylvester

Before I could say another word, Sylvester the field mouse scurried onto the scene, looking as self-assured as ever. He climbed onto a nearby rock to address the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his high-pitched voice cutting through the chatter, “as an expert in shiny things, I’d be happy to examine the coin and determine its true ownership.”

“Who made you the judge?” Porkchop huffed.

“I did,” Sylvester said with a smug grin. “Because I’m the smartest one here.”

“I resent that,” I muttered, though no one seemed to hear me.

Rufus reluctantly handed the coin to Sylvester, who sniffed it, tapped it, and held it up to the sunlight. “Interesting,” he said, stroking his tiny whiskers. “This is indeed a gold coin, likely from an old stash buried here long ago. However, since it was found in the mud pit, I’d argue it technically belongs to Porkchop.”

“Yes!” Porkchop cheered, stomping his hooves triumphantly.

“BUT,” Sylvester added, holding up a paw, “Rufus technically ‘discovered’ it, which means he has a claim to it as well.”

“Ha!” Rufus said, sticking his tongue out at Porkchop.

The two began arguing again, and I rubbed my temples with a paw. “Enough!” I shouted, silencing them both. “It’s just a coin. Surely we can resolve this without—”

Before I could finish, Sylvester interrupted. “I have an idea! We’ll hold a contest to determine who deserves the coin. A test of skill, cunning, and… uh… mud-pit diving!”

“Wait, what?” I said, but it was too late. Sylvester had already scurried off to prepare the “contest,” leaving me to deal with the increasingly agitated crowd.
The Contest

By the time Sylvester returned, he had somehow roped Gerald the donkey and Buttercup the horse into his scheme. Gerald was carrying a bucket of apples, while Buttercup had a rope tied around her neck that Sylvester claimed would be used for “obstacle courses.” The hens, of course, had decided to act as referees, though their overly dramatic commentary was about as useful as a screen door on a submarine.

“All right!” Sylvester announced, climbing onto Gerald’s back. “The contest will consist of three challenges: apple bobbing, a rope pull, and—naturally—a mud-pit dive. The winner gets the gold coin and eternal bragging rights!”

“This is ridiculous,” I muttered, but no one was listening.

The Chaos Ensues

The first challenge, apple bobbing, was a complete disaster. Rufus tried to cheat by using his paws instead of his mouth, which led to Porkchop accusing him of foul play. Meanwhile, Gerald accidentally spilled the bucket of apples, sending them rolling across the farmyard. The hens chased after them, clucking furiously, which only added to the confusion.

The second challenge, the rope pull, was even worse. Buttercup accidentally stepped on the rope, causing Rufus and Porkchop to collide in a tangle of limbs, mud, and feathers. Gerald, trying to help, ended up tripping over his own hooves and landing in the mud pit himself.

By the time we got to the third challenge, the mud-pit dive, the farm was in complete chaos. Rufus belly-flopped into the mud with a dramatic splash, while Porkchop executed what he called a “perfect cannonball.” The hens, now covered in mud themselves, declared it a tie, which only reignited the argument.

The Resolution

As the chaos reached its peak, I decided enough was enough. I leapt onto the fence and let out a loud, commanding yowl that silenced the entire farm.

“Stop this nonsense right now!” I said, glaring at Rufus, Porkchop, and Sylvester in turn. “This coin isn’t worth tearing the farm apart. If you can’t settle this like civilized animals, then no one gets it.”

The three troublemakers looked at each other, then at me, and finally at the crowd of mud-splattered, exhausted animals around them. Slowly, their expressions softened.

“You know,” Rufus said, scratching his head, “it’s just a coin. I don’t even know what I’d do with it.”

“Me neither,” Porkchop admitted. “I just didn’t want him to have it.”

Sylvester sighed and waved his tiny paw. “Let’s just put it back where we found it. Maybe it’s better left as a mystery.”

With that, the three of them worked together to rebury the coin in the mud pit, and the farm slowly returned to normal. Buttercup and Gerald cleaned up the mess, the hens resumed their endless gossiping, and I finally got a well-deserved nap.

The Moral of the Story

Sometimes, the things we fight over aren’t worth the trouble. What truly matters is working together, finding common ground, and, above all, knowing when to let go—because friendship is far more valuable than any gold coin.

The End.

Yes, it’s bad.

A few years back, my dad’s business had a fire. While busy dealing with the aftermath, he was 3 days late on his & mom’s health insurance.

Guess what, my mom had to be rushed to the hospital with a liver infection during those 3 days. The operation and the subsequent 1-week hospital stay cost $105,000. My sister, who was in charge of the ICU at that hospital, helped negotiated an installment payment plan to help ease the financial pain.

While my parents didn’t claim medical bankruptcy, medical bankruptcies are actually common enough in the U.S. Sometimes, even with insurance, many procedures are not covered, or not fully. Yes, and we claim to be the wealthiest country in the world. There’s something wrong with the system.

Cute Kittens AI art

My attempts at kittens and poker.

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Recent Terror Attacks Have CIA Fingerprints All Over Them! w/ Whitney Webb

Don’t Blink or We’re All Gone

Submitted into Contest #207 in response to: A journalist has been granted permission to visit the premises of a lab carrying out top-secret work. They could never have anticipated what they’d find… view prompt

John-Paul Cote

BIG IDEAZ16 February 2032YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH. I CAN’T.It is the most secret, most secure facility in the world–it’s thousands of feet under New York City. And the research being done will make us all question our very place in the universe.=========================Sindy ChenStaff Reporter, Big IdeaZMy life will never be the same. The burden of the secret I know has made me question the meaning of existence itself.Out of millions of journalists, I am the one that Project Starlight asks to come for a visit.Project Starlight. I’ve never heard of it and likely you haven’t either. You will find no mention of it in any government documents or reports. You will find no mention of it on social media. You will never find it mentioned in the darkest reaches of the internet. No conspiracy theories. Nothing. This is truly incredible because Project Starlight is working on the most important finding of all time.I exaggerate not. There is no embellishment in what I am saying. We depend on the devotion of these scientists to maintain reality as we know it.The elevator ride takes thirty minutes to reach our destination. I wish they had warned me before we started because I need to use the bathroom by the time we reach the bottom. My escort is silent all the way down, refusing to acknowledge me, never mind answering questions. The doors open to reveal a huge concrete area. It looks like a factory floor with machinery and equipment buzzing around. And behind all the action is a set of three massive steel doors. They are easily thirty feet high. Behind them is the universe’s greatest secret, I have been told.We approach the guard post, controlling the doors. My escort and I hand over our security cards and asked to place our faces in an oval mold. I’m told not to move for my retina scan, and they sampled my DNA from my breath to confirm who I am. The guard nods that we cleared.With that, a voice comes over a loudspeaker telling everyone to stand back as the doors rotate open. They are at least twenty feet thick with cylinders that interlock them. There is no force in the world that could make those doors move unless they want to.I am met by an old friend. Dr. Brandon Hawkins and I met at Brown University. I was studying journalism while he was in Theoretical Physics. He smiles, says how long it’s been since we’ve seen each other, and gives me a big hug. I ask him why I’m here. It’s obvious not to catch up on old times.

 

“I’ve invited you here to blow your mind,” he says.

 

Brandon waves off the escort and guides me through the doors. I am at a loss to describe what I see. As Brandon tells me, the glass corridor we are walking through is taking us through the middle of “The Machine”, which he says in a solemn and yet mocking tone. There are tubes, wires, lights, and who knows what else I can see. There is one tube that catches my eye. It contains a pulsing light that rushes along it. Brandon tells me it generates the field that protects us from the reality of our situation.

 

The reality of our situation? What does that even mean?

We blew past a “Recession” and now we are on a speed-boat towards a full-on Depression.

“I have invited you here to blow your mind.”

 

“It will all be clear in a few minutes,” he says. Despite the complexity of what they do down here, the explanation, he tells me, is simple enough but takes time to believe.

After an hour’s tour of the facility, Dr. Brandon and I reach the control room.

 

This is where it gets real.

 

Brandon introduces me to the research and technical team. They all look at me in awe, as if I am an extraterrestrial or perhaps a movie star. Out of the crowd, one woman approaches. Dr. Avery Moore.

 

“This is an incredible event, meeting you finally,” she says.

 

More and more, I feel this is not just a visit for me as more of the team members come forward and introduce themselves like they are meeting a rock star. I’m not sure how to take this.

 

This is when Brandon asks if I want a seat. They have something to tell me. I take the offered seat because it feels like I am about to be told God exists and here he is.

I wish that was what they tell me.

 

“Over thirty years ago, a group of researchers working at a lab in Los Alamos, New Mexico discovered a disturbing pattern,” Brandon started. “The world seemed to blink out of existence, then come back. No one was aware of this non-existence. And it happened regularly. The way they discovered it was with microscopic variables in their quantum measurements. Variables at the smallest levels they could observe at the time and, since then, observed even further down into the quantum realm.”

 

The crowd of scientists and technicians continues to stare at me in awe. I shift in the chair uncomfortably as the attention is beyond unnerving.

 

“What we have found since then is that the existence we believe in is a lie. Reality is a relative thing. It depends on one factor and one factor alone.”

 

Brandon stared into my eyes, telling me he was being honest and open about what was being said.

 

“That one factor is you.”

 

I don’t know how to respond. It sounds like the most ridiculous thing in the world.

 

“This planet, this galaxy, this universe, and everything in it did not exist until you were born.”

“This planet, this galaxy, this universe and everything in it did not exist until you were born.”

 

I check to see if I’m asleep or dreaming. I then check for exits. If everyone believes this, then they are the craziest group of people I have ever met. I have interviewed god-like dictators, world-ending cultists, and flat earthers. This beats them all.

 

“I know. It sounds insane. Beyond insane, but it is true. Before you, there was nothing. Before your first conscious moment, there was no existence. Now all of reality only exists when you are conscious. Every time you go to sleep, whether it’s grabbing a quick nap or a good night’s sleep, everything disappears. There is only you and a void until you wake up again and everything returns.”

 

Insanity, pure insanity.

 

“It’s all true. Our past, our present, every star, every planet, every particle exists because you do. Our work here is simple. We want to ensure that reality will continue to exist once you,” he pauses, looking for the right words, “pass on. Right now, once you are dead, we and everything for billions of light years in space and time will disappear forever.”

 

I blink. People seem to jump for a moment as if they believe what Brandon is telling me.

 

“Don’t worry, that pulsing light you saw when you came in, that’s a field that we have created that separates us from you. In here, we do not disappear when you lose consciousness for whatever reason. Our goal is to extend this field either indefinitely or collapse it around you. Until then, you could go out tonight, choke on a peanut, and it’s all over for everything from the quantum level on up to the universe.”

 

It’s then I notice the two large digital clocks running in the room. One is counting up and the other counting down.

 

“The one counting up is your current age. The one counting down is the estimated amount of time you have left in your life. That’s our deadline and we are so close to reaching our goal.”

 

How did this all happen? How can it be true? What about my mom? Didn’t she give birth to me? She must have existed before me.

 

“What we have unravelled so far is that you merely can into being. You were never born. That is, what we call, Permanent Transient Construct. At the moment of creation, your subconscious created a mother that gave you birth, a father that had sex with your mother, vocations or careers that they had, an extended family, people, nations, the world, the universe, and history to fill it all in. As you have grown older, your subconscious has created more of this PTC. The problem is that your conscious mind is maintaining this construct. Thus, when you go to sleep, it all stops because your conscious mind stops. We and everything else disappear and it creates a void. Not even nothing, an actual void where even nothing is not real. You wake up in the middle of the night and suddenly we are back. You fall back to sleep, and we are gone again. We do not notice this because your subconscious fills in the parts we need.”

 

If they have kept me in the dark this long, then why tell me about this now?

 

“Because the risk levels of your activities have increased significantly over the last year. The countdown clock has decreased. The meter we have measuring risk factors and the chances of you dying early has gone into the red. You have entered a kind of midlife crisis where you are questioning yourself and then challenging yourself to make you feel alive. We had little choice but to bring you here and tell you the truth.”

It was hours and maybe days that Brandon and his team show me the evidence. I refused to believe it until I finally did.

 

Everything exists because I do. Unlike what many people think, I am the centre of the universe. The centre of reality. Time, space, and the consciousness of trillions upon trillions of beings are all because of me. Every atom, every particle, all of it. It’s me.

 

This is a lot of pressure to put on someone who is only thirty-eight years old. It is taking time to adjust to my responsibility, but I am.

 

I don’t know how long I will be down here in Project Starlight. I have now agreed to stay safely confined so that you and everything else may be. Brandon and his team tell me they could be mere months away from finding the solution. Until then, I will stay here until the world is truly safe from me.

What is China’s current fighter jet production capacity across all facilities?

China has several dedicated aviation manufacturing plants, the most important of which are the Chengdu Aircraft Industry Group and the Shenyang Aircraft Industry Group. These facilities are not only responsible for the production of fighter jets, but also involve related research and development and testing work.

As of mid-2024, China’s J-20 fighter production has exceeded 300 aircraft, indicating that China has already achieved considerable scale and capability in the production of fifth-generation fighter aircraft.

China’s fighter research and development has undergone a transformation from imitation to independent design, especially in the integration of stealth technology and avionics equipment. The J-20 is considered a fifth-generation fighter jet that meets international standards and has strong stealth capabilities and combat performance.

China is actively developing the next generation of fighter jets, which are expected to have more advanced technology and stronger combat capabilities. The development of these new fighter jets will further enhance China’s air combat capabilities and military projection capabilities.

China’s fighter production capabilities have shifted from the imitation stage of the past to independent research and development and production, and have strong technical strength and production scale.

Aromatic Chicken Curry (Vietnam)

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Ingredients

  • 2 medium-size potatoes, cut into chunks
  • 4 tablespoons peanut oil
  • 8 shallots, minced
  • 4 stalks fresh lemon grass, minced
  • 3 garlic cloves, minced
  • 2 fresh hot red chiles, minced
  • 2 tablespoons best-quality curry powder
  • 1 pound skinless, boneless chicken breasts, chopped into bite size pieces
  • 1 teaspoon sea salt or 1 teaspoon fish sauce
  • 1 (14 ounce) can coconut milk
  • 1 (14 ounce) can chicken broth
  • Fresh basil leaves

Instructions

  1. Fry the potato chunks in the oil until nicely browned, then drain them on paper towels.
  2. Add the shallots, lemon grass, and all of the spices to the pan, and stir-fry for a few minutes.
  3. Add the chicken and cook, stirring, until it is opaque.
  4. Add the potatoes, salt, coconut milk and chicken stock. Bring to a boil and then simmer gently for about 30 minutes.
  5. Garnish with basil leaves before serving in bowls with rice.

Ronnie and Flo

Pressing need.

China has 14 neighbors sharing one of the world’s longest land borders. It also has a 14,000km coastline ring-fenced by America’s 3 island chains that stretches across most of the pacific.

In the north, there is powerful Russia that is proving more than a match in the special military operation against Nato in Ukraine.

In the southwest, there is India, a million strong military rapidly modernizing with the support of a similar billion-strong citizenry base.

Japan is doubling its military budget.

South Korea declared martial law recently, with the original plan to weave a false flag attack by North Korea as justification.

The Taiwan card remains in play by the US, and the fallout has been rekindled in the Philippines.

The region isn’t peaceful, so China needs all the edge it can create to make others think twice about hurting Chinese interests, especially the issue of Taiwan.

America is angry with Canada and Mexico for sending endless streams of “refugees” and drugs, and not threats to the dominance of the f-22 and f-35.

After all, only Russia and China (besides the US) are capable of making stealth aircraft with powerful sensors and data fusion on board.

I’ll leave the exclusion of the Korean Boramae and the Turkish Kaan to the learned reader to decipher.

Airplanes do not drop like a rock from the sky if the engines die.

The wings are still providing lift, as long as the plane is moving forwards.

The pilots will choose the best rate of descent to maximize glide distance, trading altitude for speed. Air Transat Flight 236 lost power in both engines over the Atlantic Ocean, and glided 75 miles to land in the Azores.

A plane only “drops” if it is not going fast enough to maintain air flow over the wings to generate lift — this is a “stall.” Of course, as it drops, it gains speed, and the pilot again has control.

China Just Changed the Future of America with THIS One Move!

An outstanding video.

The existence of this aircraft is a very big deal.

Torta Italiano

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28749a7e6c8fb888403e4a896240b8e8

Yield: 10 servings

Ingredients

  • 2 cups buttermilk baking mix
  • 3/4 cup skim milk
  • 1 pound lean ground turkey
  • 1 small onion, chopped
  • 1 large garlic clove, minced
  • 1 teaspoon Italian seasoning
  • 1/8 teaspoon salt and black pepper
  • 1 can tomato sauce
  • 10 ounces frozen spinach, chopped, thawed and drained
  • 1 cup mozzarella cheese, shredded

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
  2. Combine biscuit mix and milk.
  3. Spray springform pan with vegetable oil spray. Spread biscuit mix evenly over base.
  4. Chop onion.
  5. Brown ground turkey in skillet. Drain excess liquid. Add onion, garlic, seasonings, and tomato sauce to turkey. Combine and cook for 2 to 3 minutes.
  6. Spread turkey mixture over biscuit mi. Layer spinach over meat mixture. Top spinach layer with cheese.
  7. Bake for 35 minutes.
  8. Remove from oven and cool for 10 minutes.
  9. Run a knife gently around collar before removal.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

China will most likely make 3 different 6th generation aircraft.

  1. Will be the JH-26 long range supersonic stealth bomber. This is in the mold of theTU-160M but with stealth characteristics. The design advantage of the JH-26 lies in its improved stealth performance and maneuverability.
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main qimg c5ce9bb47b1eb2c19f1a2f6a983abaef

Its weight class reaches 45 to 50 tons and its mission may be to attack US aircraft carriers. There are rumors that it has already started test flying

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main qimg 9d4a6e2ef30b2095e18862f7c24e17ab

2. Second fighter in development is the 6th generation air dominance fighter yet to be named this would compete with the NGAD, Tempest, FCAS and MiG-41.

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ksnip 20250106 063826

3.  Lastly will be the H-20 bomber to compete with the B-21 raider and PAK-DA which is also in development.

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main qimg 5e83c71a5a7c3d2f5d186c504c2a03bb

1. Be Confident – Confidence attracts.

2. Show Interest – Listen and care.

3. Be Kind – Treat others with respect.

4. Stay Positive – Positivity is magnetic.

5. Have Humor – Laughter builds connections.

6. Be Ambitious – Passion is captivating.

7. Take Care of Yourself – Prioritize health.

8. Be Authentic – Genuine people stand out.

drunk text to my ex destroyed 5 years of marriage in just one night

https://youtu.be/RfYhzNmg_jo

it sings to itself

Submitted into Contest #207 in response to: A journalist has been granted permission to visit the premises of a lab carrying out top-secret work. They could never have anticipated what they’d find… view prompt

Masha Kurbatova

You, my reader, used to do science experiments. Bianca did too. She got a kids’ chemistry set in third grade, and stained her mother’s rug blue with copper sulfate. Her baby safety goggles imprinted pink into her skin; she looked quite funny as Mother fussed about the rug. Mother wanted a freaky-geeky genius kid. She didn’t want the mess.Hunger coiled like a fat worm in Bianca’s stomach then. She fed it with experiments, mud pies, scabbed knees, Mother’s makeup smeared grotesque onto her babyface. But everyone told her (maybe you too) that this wasn’t right. They said the hunger craved love. Romantic love. Kissy love. Bianca believed them. You did too.Childish hunger transitioned to adolescent obsession. She fed herself her own thoughts about boys who flirted, unthinking, with everyone, never meaning what they said. Bianca’s tweenage diary came with a lock, and was bloodied by her glitter pen, pages and pages of love letters scrawled and unsent.She kept up the habit, and Adult Bianca’s gotten good at writing. She enrolled in grad school– science journalism. That makes her parents happy. The science part, at least.But, something’s wrong now. Adult Bianca feels it. You do too. The hunger never goes away. It lies latent in Bianca’s stomach; she tries to not think about it. You too.She goes out with girls from grad school. They bind their boobs in sleeveless crop tops, wear matching stretchy short skirts, and, stinking of drugstore floral perfume, slink between bars, drawn like giggling moths from one light to another. They gripe about being single. They complain about class. Bianca joins in.One night, they look for a speakeasy. It’s not easy to find. Her five friends circle the block six times, searching for the door.“Google maps said it should be right here,” one insists.“I mean it’s a speakeasy. They’re like supposed to be hidden,” replies another.Chicago is smeared with rain, and street lights blot yellow into the night. When lightning crackles, the girls scream. It’s kind of embarrassing.They finally figure it out: that brick-red piss-stinking door is indeed the entry. Their hair smells wet, their mascara leaks, their shirts clump as they shiver into a dark hallway.Further down is the bar. It’s dim. The bartenders wear vests. The walls are wine-red and stacked with framed photos of naked 1920s girls. Millennial hipsters eat that shit up. Google users give this place 4.8 stars.A wooden stage rises a foot high. Tonight, Timmy is playing. The girls huddle around a table spitting distance from the stage. Timmy polishes his trumpet.The jazz band swings under gold dusty light. The girls sip watered-down drinks. Bianca taps to the beat on her sweating glass. She’s bored, and feels bad about that.Timmy’s a cool guy. His short hair is cropped close to his skull. Beige trousers sit above his bony ankles. He is long, loose, jaunty. His fingers bounce like fleas over trumpet keys. Bianca likes the music, though it’s the same old covers, “Autumn Leaves” and all that jazz.“I like the vibe here,” one girl says.“We should come back next weekend,” coos another.They do. For seven straight weeks, they return to the speakeasy. Sometimes, it’s just them. Timmy nods their way from the stage, in recognition. Bianca notices he looks at her longer. He smiles, too. She fills delusional diary pages about that. She spins conspiracies about what it could mean. (Reader, I’ll be honest — he just does that. No reason for it). 

Class is alright. The journalism part is. The science labs, the mandatory hands-on component, Bianca stumbles through. I think she’d be quite good — steady hands, a head fit for numbers — but she doesn’t try.

 

The hunger grows. Bianca can’t ignore it. She wants more. When she’s offered a two-week summer stint reporting on research from Venus, she takes it.

 

The girls go to the speakeasy the night before she leaves. Bianca leans on the bar with both elbows, begs the bartender to come hither with her eyes, but he’s milling about in the far other corner. Bianca just wants another drink, please, and her friend wants another seltzer also.

 

The night’s show is done. Timme leans on the bar too. The show’s done. He’s parched.

 

Inches between them feel electric, but Bianca’s sure only she feels it. Timmy is a trumpet player with a few thousand followers, hardly a celebrity, but still, she feels the shyness of being so close to a star. He smiles, a sweaty nod of recognition.

 

She must say something. “I loved your show.”

 

“Thank you. What’s your name?”

 

“Bianca.”

 

Timmy raises an open palm to the bartender, who floats over immediately.

 

“Bianca. I’ve seen you at our past couple shows.”

 

“Yeah. I’m gonna miss the next couple. I’m going to Venus for a few weeks. I’m doing some reporting for my capstone project.”

 

“You know they call Venus the planet of love?”

 

A bit corny, Bianca thinks, but the guy’s got a brand to maintain. The bartender sets an amber glass before him. Timmy wipes his middle finger around and around the rim. He picked that up from film-noirs.

 

“Well, it’s a shame you won’t be here,” he continues. “We’ll miss you at our shows. Tell me all about Venus when you get back.”

 

“Um yeah. Sure.”

 

Timmy smiles so warmly. He follows Bianca back on instagram. He says such niceties that border on flirtations and maybe he is serious. She does have a crush on him, the way we all do on talented people we see regularly and from afar. But what’s the point? She’s going to space.

 

***

Bianca’s parents are of the Earth-bound generation. Her mother had cried into the phone when Bianca first said she was going to Venus.

 

“Imagine how happy your grandfather will be!” Mother said so sappily.

 

Grandpa Steve, a former engineer for an oil company, had spent a lifetime collecting pictures and films and tidbits of quotes and facts and snippets of interviews about rockets. Space travel came too late: by the time it was easy, he was too feeble.

 

Bianca doesn’t think about him. She feels ungrateful. People break through Earth’s atmosphere all the time nowadays — six of her friends went to space for undergrad study-abroads — and also, her first days on Venus suck. Constant sunlight and a slight change in gravity nauseates the mammal within her. She’s in bed, blinds drawn, choking down vomit.

 

The atmosphere of Venus is damp, rich-scented like mildew. You can breathe there without equipment. Doesn’t mean you should. The air is peppered with spores; they lodge in lungs and spew poison. Bianca doesn’t know. No one on her team does. Four people — her, the two PhD candidates, the senior researcher — spend their time outside unmasked.

 

Training begins on Tuesday. Does it make sense to measure Venus’ fast orbit and slow rotation in Earth’s days? I don’t know. In this program, they do. All four team members must report to the main cabin for safety procedures, research protocols. There’s five cabins altogether, used by the rotating groups of students, researchers, and occasional tourists that cycle through the planet each month. The cabins are built with aluminum. Four are for housing, and the main, larger one’s for gatherings, and doubles as the lab. The cabins are but a few feet from each other. Bianca can’t make it that far. She still can’t stand without throwing up.

 

The PhD candidates, Viv and Tom, are tall, with dry muscles like beef jerky. Their brains are scalpels, slicing through the confusion of flesh and sensation, distilling life into spreadsheet data points. They’re young, but older than Bianca. Perhaps they don’t take her seriously because she’s a baby. Perhaps it’s because she’s only the journalist, tasked with the simplest lab stuff, there mostly to — write? Maybe? Either way, no one cares when she’s not at training.

 

When her space sickness ceases, it’s day four of fourteen. Time for the team’s first expedition. Viv and Tom wear hiking boots and cargo shorts. They’re joined by the senior researcher, a 4 foot something woman with a face like a walnut and a mind like a nutcracker. Her silver hair is in two braided ropes down to her stomach. The trio stands beside the main cabin, discussing something serious. When Bianca shows up, they fall silent. When they take off, on foot, they let her carry the backpack. Inside are vials, machines, measurement tools. Bianca’s not really sure what else.

 

Much of Venus is green and fuzzy. There’s acres of forests of fungi. The growths rise as high as Earth’s trees, and are shaped like its stalagmites, green rounded pillars soft and moist to touch. The ground is green too, and Viv and Tom’s boots leave deep prints, like walking on wet sand.

 

The farther they go, the higher the growth. The sun is soon blotted out by a fungal canopy. They’re in the cool heart of an undisturbed forest.

 

Out come the steel needles, the vials, the long-wired gauges and gadgets, snatched out of the backpack and pierced into the malleable trunks of the largest fungi. Bianca is glad to stop walking. Those three hike so fast.

 

She watches them work. She tries to take note of procedures. She’d taken a course in astromycology just last semester, but passed only because she sucked up so much to that professor. She has no idea what Viv and Tom and the researcher are actually doing.

 

They’ve split apart, Viv descending even deeper, hopping over the protruding dark green mycelia. The researcher is prodding a trunk, her hands peeling away fuzzy, as if she touched mold. Bianca stays behind, near Tom. He’s pretty cute. Bespectacled, with a stubbled chin, because geniuses in space have no time to shave. His clothes are kind of crumpled. His young face is already lined; so much frowning from serious contemplation of serious things. He’s like the math tutor you have a crush on.

 

Bianca considers starting conversation. But he’s deep in a squat, elbows between knees, bending over a device with a glowing screen, writing down numbers in a notebook. She won’t disturb him. She contemplates the scenery instead. She’ll remember all this for her report, the sensory stuff. She’ll catch up on and fill in the science stuff later.

 

Gold-amber sunlight streams through in strips, highlighting the spores rising like flecks of dust. How similar this dim light is to that of the speakeasy. She breathes deep, wanting to remember the scent. Millions of the spores that will eventually kill her settle inside her with each inhale.

 

Now, reader, you surely dream of faraway places. Beaches with white sizzling sands crawling with crabs; sun-bleached ruins of older, wiser civilizations; outer space; all-included B&B; arctic cruise liners; the cool arms of a cool girl who really gets you for you. But it’s you that’s there. With all your gross human petty aches and desires, and your small stupid clouded mind stuffed with stereotypes and preconceived notions. Places don’t really change you. Isn’t that sad?

 

Bianca feels bad, but she’s bored. Tom’s still doing something. She sits down. She yawns. She hasn’t been sleeping well. She thinks about the bed in the cabin, a creaky and flimsy construction she can’t wait to return to. She thinks about her bed at home. Maybe when she returns, she’ll splurge on one of those mattresses they advertise all the time with the cooling foam and the sleep number. It’s premature to think about Timmy in that bed with her, right? Still, she lingers deliciously on that daydream.

 

It’s only when they return to the lab that she realizes: sitting down stained her butt green. Viv points it out, gently. They laugh.

 

Viv: “It’s ok! I sat down on my nephew’s chocolate Easter bunny once. It melted all over my jeans. When I got up, he called me poopy pants!”

 

They laugh more. As Viv removes filled vials and scrawled-over notebooks from the backpack, and Bianca pretends to help, they assume the easy rhythms of girl-conversation.

 

Tom comes, holding a test tube rack. Seriousness carves into his face. The girls stop laughing.

 

“Do you know how to prepare microscope slides?” he asks Bianca.

 

“Um.”

 

“I’ll show her,” Viv offers.

 

The lab is cold, bright, gleaming with glass and fluorescence. Viv flits like a bird between stations, grabbing vials and pipettes. She shows Bianca the slides, the steps. Bianca copies like a clever little monkey. This isn’t even hard. She’ll do all the slides, easy.

 

Viv trusts her pupil enough, and disappears to her bench. Tom clicks away at his own work. Bianca is concentrating. The slides soon hold small samples of fungus, green and translucent commas atop rectangles of glass.

 

She’s a real scientist, she thinks. This is what being a kid with chemistry set was like, pure focus, exploration, the excitement of near-discovery like a sneeze begging to be expelled.

 

“Hey, Tom,” Viv calls out. “You should tell Bianca about the time you ate that poisonous fungus.”

 

“Shuuuuuut the fuuuuuuuck uuuup,” he yells from his corner. He cracks his first white-teeth smile of the trip.

 

“Mr. Mycology Expert here,” Viv tells Bianca, meeting her eyes over microscopes, “Was sooo sure he knew what edible mushrooms looked like, and we’re on this research trip all over Europe, right, collecting spore prints, and we find one he says he can eat, but I think is poisonous, but he eats it anyway, and we spend the rest of that trip in the hospital while he hangs on to life by a thread.”

 

“That’s so scary,” says Bianca. To Tom: “Are you better now at figuring out which fungi are toxic?”

 

Tom rolls his eyes. “Uh, yeah.”

 

The flow is now three-way. The trio is chatting, passing the ball of conversation quite easily. A window in the lab shows Venus outside, green and swirling, a promise offered and answered. Bianca is here with her gorgeous scientist friends. The world around her is weird and wild.  This is what she sought.

 

Bianca tells them about Timmy. She doesn’t realize how big her movements get. Arms sweeping, eyes wide with her story. A hand flying too fast: contact with the box of slides. They crash, off the lab bench, and spill. The slides splinter.

 

Bianca: “Oh, fuck. I’m so sorry. I’ll clean it up.”

 

Bianca, all panicky, seeks the broom. Her anxious eyes pass by it six times before she spots it in the supply closet. Hot guilt bites her cheeks.

 

She returns, broom in hand. Tom and Viv are bent over the shards. They giggle. Bianca’s soul slides into her stomach, a high school feeling — they’re laughing at her. She comes closer, but they don’t stop, or look at her.

 

Reader, you’ve seen lovers. They pull on each other like the taffy machine, stretching a great big confectionery rope over and over and back together. Tom and Viv are doing that thing that neither you nor Bianca can manage: hunger so deep for another person that you ask to be fed by them again and again. Lovers always find something to say, tease about, like puppies biting each other to make the other chase. Here too, on the planet of love, they manage. On Venus as it is on Earth.

 

***

Two weeks are up. The team is going home, back on the rocket. Bianca is held inside it by x-crossing seatbelts. She’s sat by the porthole. A deep dark lonely cosmos stares at her. She stares back with glazed eyes. Her mind is elsewhere. She imagines talking to Timmy. She composes her monologue for him, not her friends, her parents, or her rocket-yearning grandfather.

 

Timmy, you know how they used to say Venus was unfit for life? I can’t believe how wrong people were, even just a few decades ago. I mean, I suppose we couldn’t have known for certain. No one had ever been here before. But Venus is more lush than any sliver  of jungle we’ve remaining on Earth, but with fungus, not trees. I quite like the fungus. I think you would, too. It loves music, just like you. If you lean in close enough to the roots — sorry, the mycelium — you hear this humming noise. It’s singing to itself, I think. I wish you’d been here with me. You would’ve loved it. 

 

How Bianca is so confident that a man she’s spoken to once would love the peculiar atmosphere of Venus, I’m really not sure.

 

Oh, right — reader, you’re probably worried about the poisonous spores. They’ve lodged in the crew’s lungs. The moisture of the tissue draws forth mycelia, which soon will sprout into thick fungus that chokes living organs.

 

Fortunately, “soon” is relative. For mushrooms that live millions of year, a human life span isn’t long. It’s 60 years before the fungus sprouts and is toxic. Viv and Tom and Bianca and the senior researcher die from it, but they would’ve been dead by then anyway.

 

Maybe you wonder, did  Timmy and Bianca get together? I don’t know. You tell me. It doesn’t really matter.

How to Make a Narcissist Miserable – 6 Things They Hate

Today, we’re stepping into a subject that’s as real as it gets: narcissists. These people thrive on control, manipulation, and putting themselves on pedestals. Now, we don’t play games to hurt anyone, but sometimes life demands you to stand firm and protect your peace. If you’re dealing with a narcissist, you’ve got to know how to reclaim your power without stooping to their level.

Let’s talk about six things narcissists hate not to attack, but to empower yourself and show them you’re not to be toyed with.

1. They Hate Being Ignored

Narcissists are masters of manipulation, experts at spinning words and situations to provoke a reaction from you. Their entire game is built around control, and they achieve it by pulling you into their web of drama, conflict, and mind games. They thrive when they can make you doubt yourself, question your worth, or react emotionally to their antics.

But when you choose to disengage to simply not react you throw their entire playbook into chaos. Ignoring a narcissist doesn’t mean you’re weak or indifferent; it means you’re reclaiming your power. They hate being ignored because your attention is their fuel. Whether they’re showering you with false praise or trying to bait you with criticism, their goal is always the same: to keep you emotionally hooked.

When you don’t respond, it’s like cutting off the supply they desperately need. Their tactics whether it’s gaslighting, guilt-tripping, or passive aggression begin to lose their effectiveness the moment you stop feeding into them. Your silence becomes their frustration; your composure, their defeat.

2. They Despise Boundaries

Narcissists loathe boundaries because boundaries represent something they cannot control: your autonomy and self-respect. They thrive on encroaching into your personal space, your emotional territory, and even your sense of self. When you draw a line and stand firm, it sends a message they can’t ignore: This is my space, my rules, and you cannot cross them.

Establishing and enforcing boundaries is one of the most powerful moves you can make, and it’s something narcissists despise. Setting boundaries is not just about saying no to their demands; it’s about making a clear declaration of your values, needs, and limits. It’s about refusing to engage in the toxic dance they try to lead.

3. They Can’t Stand a Lack of Validation

A narcissist’s entire existence revolves around their need for validation. Their sense of self-worth is fragile, and they rely on external praise, admiration, and constant affirmation to prop up their inflated self-image. It’s not enough for them to feel good about themselves; they need others to do the heavy lifting by constantly feeding their ego.

This is where you have an incredibly powerful tool: refusing to validate their ego. When you stop providing them with the constant admiration they crave, you break down the foundation of their self-constructed reality.

4. They Are Threatened by Confidence

Confidence is the armor that protects you from the narcissist’s attempts to diminish your self-worth. It’s not about being loud or overtly assertive; true confidence is rooted in a deep, unwavering belief in your values and abilities. When you possess genuine confidence in yourself, it’s like a shield that the narcissist’s manipulative tactics cannot penetrate.

For a narcissist, confidence is a direct threat. They feed off the insecurity of others, using it to control, manipulate, and belittle. But when you walk into a room with your head held high, unapologetically owning your space, they are faced with a force they cannot manipulate.

5. They Can’t Handle Seeing You Thrive Without Them

One of the most powerful ways to make a narcissist miserable is to show them that you can thrive without them. Narcissists thrive on the belief that they are irreplaceable and that they are the source of your happiness, success, or emotional stability. They love the idea of being the center of your world, controlling your thoughts, actions, and emotions.

But when you start to live your life independently, flourishing without their presence, you challenge their very perception of themselves as essential. Thriving without a narcissist is not just about surviving in their absence; it’s about living in such a way that their absence is barely noticed or even better, it becomes a footnote in your life.

6. They Are Disarmed by Your Calmness

One of the most powerful ways to break free from the hold of a narcissist is by staying calm in the storm. Narcissists thrive on chaos, drama, and emotional upheaval. They rely on triggering your emotions to create confusion, manipulate your reactions, and keep you in a constant state of instability.

But when you learn to stay calm in the storm when you refuse to be rattled by their antics you disarm their ability to control you. Staying calm in the storm isn’t about suppressing your emotions or pretending that things are fine when they’re not. It’s about maintaining control over how you respond to the narcissist’s behavior.

Reclaiming Your Power

At the end of the day, dealing with a narcissist is about taking back control. It’s about recognizing their tactics and not allowing them to manipulate, control, or define you. When you ignore their tactics, establish boundaries, refuse to validate their ego, and remain confident in your self-worth, you are dismantling the power they once held over you.

As you begin to thrive without them showing that your happiness and success don’t depend on their approval you make them realize that they are not the center of your world. When you remain calm in the storm, you create an impenetrable shield around your peace, refusing to be provoked or pulled into their chaos.

Ultimately, it’s not about fighting back or seeking revenge; it’s about rising above, holding your ground, and becoming the best version of yourself. By doing so, you rob the narcissist of their primary source of power: your emotional vulnerability. You become a force that cannot be easily shaken and that, my friends, is how you make a narcissist miserable.

Run For Your LIVES: Russia Activated The World’s Most Powerful and Destructive System ‘PERIMETER’

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The Breaking Point: How Women Are Shattering Men’s Psyche

Needs to be said.

Proof Positive

Submitted into Contest #207 in response to: A journalist has been granted permission to visit the premises of a lab carrying out top-secret work. They could never have anticipated what they’d find… view prompt

John K Adams

Howard Marks drove onto the Sequentrix Industries’ lot. He’d successfully passed the security gate. The sun had dipped behind the mountain. It felt like he’d driven forever up endless winding roads. ‘Thank God for GPS.’The unassuming low-rise building built into the hillside was a former Buddhist monastery.He’d been called there but not informed of his purpose. He had lots of questions.Not sci-fi, Sequentrix was the most secure research lab in the world. Most didn’t know it existed. Fewer knew its purpose. Hardly anyone knew its location. Yet its government funding exceeded many better known labs. Sequentrix Industries’ administrators had deep connections to Washington D.C. purse strings and power brokers.Located outside of Denver, no one knew how far their network of tunnels penetrated the mountain. A huge dish antenna gathered transmissions from orbiting satellites and beyond.Knowledgeable people presumed Sequentrix Industries researched bioweapons, or worse. Of course, they had their fingers in that. Its research spanned the range of scientific inquiry from quantum physics and into the cosmos. They had money to do anything they wished.Being a world-class journalist, and feared by the powerful, Howard’s summons there surprised him. Research labs avoid publicity, especially Howard Marks’ brand. He knew how to dig for the truth and how to publicize it. This unsolicited invitation piqued his curiosity.Howard traveled wherever the story led. He uncovered frauds and investigated the veracity of ‘conspiracy theories.’ Known internationally, he exposed conmen, politicians, crooks and cult leaders. No one preying on the public felt safe under his scrutiny. His outstanding work had received many awards.Despite death threats he traveled alone. Body guards are cumbersome and draw attention. ‘Moving targets must move quickly.’ Always on the move, he called his suitcase home.Howard’s encyclopedic knowledge enabled him to shine a light where others didn’t dare. He shredded the veil spun by PR hacks and propagandists. His broad fan base sought his incisive and witty essays in print and on social media. He’d recently appeared for interviews on cable news.“My fans are my family,” said Howard in interviews. He kept his personal life private. His family and past had been erased. Rumors of a girlfriend always proved to be empty speculation.No one knew Howard’s spiritual views. Or that he had any. A famous skeptic, his unsentimental skewering of the powerful made most presume an atheistic bent. Someone seeing him in a church pew wouldn’t consider it evidence of faith. Rather, they’d anticipate his debunking some preacher’s wild-eyed prophesies. A clear-eyed champion of the truth, few considered Howard a seeker of divine guidance.His appointment being scheduled for the evening, Howard knew it wasn’t management’s call. The exterior lights came on as he walked across the nearly empty lot.‘What’s this about? Someone gone rogue?’On entering the lobby, Howard encountered a series of security checks. He got frisked, endured wands, and stood for a full body scan… the usual that any airline traveler puts up with, times twelve. He knew cameras watched every movement. How many spooks stared at how many monitors?He stifled a laugh thinking of those running this gauntlet on a daily basis. ‘Are the toilets monitored?’ He knew the restrooms were. ‘But the toilets?Passing an inspection’ takes on new meaning.’Security personnel were not authorized to answer questions or make conversation. Cordial but impersonal, they efficiently moved each visitor to the next station. A smile or a human response could suggest compromised personnel. The cameras watched them too.He made a mental note. ‘Do story on security training standards and the people hired into this growing industry.’While passing through the final checkpoint, a man in a suit approached.“Hi. I’m Malcolm. I’ll guide your tour this evening.”They shook hands.Howard said, “I have an appointment – with Matthias?”“Yes. We’ll get to him.”Malcolm led Howard down a brightly lit, corridor and pointed at closed doors. He offered vague, but enthusiastic descriptions of what took place behind each.Howard knew such delaying tactics well. He wanted Matthias or someone to explain his purpose there. But he kept his frustration in check. He’d found many great stories at the ends of similar rabbit holes.He had no idea what to expect. Theoretical, or Astrophysics wasn’t a typically scandal ridden. ‘Too many fingers in the cookie jar? Happens all the time.’Malcolm pushed the down button by the elevator door. He and Howard stepped in. Malcolm pushed the B-7 button and stepped out. The doors shut and the elevator descended.Howard hoped this was a good thing.When the door opened, a man in shirt sleeves entered the corridor. Howard saw a bank of super computers in the room behind him.The man said, “I’m Matthias. Follow me.”Howard stopped. “Wait. You’re not Matthias. You’re… Not you again. I told you we can’t work together. No more stories blowing up with my name on them.”He turned to the elevator.“Howard, wait. This will interest you.”“Not if you’re involved.”“It could change the world.”Howard paused and nodded. He didn’t need to like those he worked with. As a rule, he expected to dislike them. His first priority was getting the story.

Matthias led Howard into the computer room.

Howard watched him. ‘Sometimes even bad pennies pay off. Follow the money.’

Matthias pointed and said, “This is the A-Omega-7 Triple Helix computer. It’s dedicated solely to my experiments. Take a look at our most recent results.”

He handed Howard several folders and pointed to a chair at a table. Opening each in turn, the abstracts were eye opening. Two papers analyzed deep space data reaching back to the Big Bang. The other paper’s topics were impenetrable.

Big Bang, entanglement, weak force, quark – Howard knew the words. But what they meant in context bewildered him – a fact he kept to himself.

“You want me to translate this into English?”

“As only you can.”

“I’m not a physicist. Find someone else.”

“You’re the best. And I owe you.”

Howard nodded and thought, ‘You do owe me. But that was long ago. And we were both victims of circumstance.’

Howard admitted to himself the research was over his head. Hoping for clarity, he scanned down to the abstracts’ conclusions.

After each, he looked up in wonderment. Matthias nodded and smiled.

Matthias said, “Each of these would have stunned Einstein. His work implied this but even he didn’t dream…”

“I’m not sure… You have fingerprints…?”

“Not only. If this were a paternity test, we have His DNA, so to speak, His signature on the birth cert and His address.”

Howard couldn’t hide his confusion.

“The upshot… we have proof.” Matthias raised his arms in triumph.

Howard spread the folders across the table. “But of what? What does this…?”

“God!”

“God?”

“Yes! The Creator. The Almighty. Maker of all things… proof He exists!”

Howard scanned the room in awe. He said, “But wait. You need proof? Isn’t it self-evident? Look around…”

Matthias didn’t listen. “Don’t you get it? When other sites replicate our findings, it will be irrefutable.”

“Yeah, but… well… Welcome to the party.”

“So, the reason I called you in – I need to leak this.”

Howard shook his head. “You can’t leak…”

“It’ll get more attention if people think the government is suppressing vital…”

“I cannot write about it, Matthias.”

“Why not? This is completely under wraps. I’m handing you the scoop of the millennium.”

“We’d lose credibility. It’s not news.”

“Even when the results get objectively confirmed?”

“Maybe especially then. You understand the implications?”

“Of course. You must release this. It will change the world.”

“It might end it.”

Now Matthias looked confused.

Howard sighed, “Look, let’s say you’re right about this earth-shattering news. Everyone will claim your work as their sacred scripture. Wars for possession will rage. They’d claim it points to their god.”

Matthias shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. No one owns this. It’s a matter of who belongs to God, not the other way around.”

“Sure. Right in principle. But we’re talking about humans here. People always create God in their own image. Reduce the sublime to the ridiculous. These documents would become idols to fight over.”

Matthias saw his point. He stepped back, sobbed and wiped his eyes.

Howard continued. “Once published, critics will claim a misplaced comma disproved your evidence. Thrown out because a zero should have been a one.”

“A typo is easily fixed. The results stand. Once vetted and replicated, people will unite around truth.”

“Believers will say ‘you cannot test God,’ or subject Him to proofs. Confining Him in a computer – an abomination… a fool’s game.”

Matthias opened the electrical panel. “My life’s work… Should I destroy it? Have I done something wrong?”

“Relax Matthias. Look. Some people see a magician pull a trick and won’t believe it’s sleight of hand. Others witness some historical event – like the moon landing – and can’t accept it really happened.”

“I called you in. You seek the truth.”

“Thank you for that. But the truth is out there. Everywhere. For everyone. Written in the stars.” He held up a folder. “These bits and bytes will neither convince a doubter nor confirm the believer. We’re throwing noodles, hoping something sticks.”

Matthias paced in frustration. “You think this is meaningless?”

“Of course not. But God doesn’t need our assistance. He needs the faithful. And their faith weighs more than proof.”

Matthias paused. He flipped through the reports.

“What if these discoveries bolstered people’s faith? This might knock some off the right side of the fence.”

Howard considered the question. Vague, unfocused spirituality was ascendant and deep belief had become an afterthought. ‘Thousands of denominations and no one goes to church.’

“You have a point, Matthias. Everyone’s hot to ‘follow the science’ these days. What if science points to, bows to God?”

“That would open some eyes. Hoped you’d see it my way.”

They nodded. Understanding settled in. Howard cleared the table. Matthias brought a legal pad and some pens.

“Coffee?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

“I’ll make fresh.”

~

Not yet visible, the sun had brightened the sky by the time Howard left the facility and walked to his rental car.

They had a plan. Howard carried a thumb drive containing the essential reports and abstracts of Matthias’ profound discovery. Matthias trusted Howard to leak it at a time of his choosing. He needn’t wait for the results of other site’s vetting of the data.

Howard smiled. The truth has a way of coming to light.

This is gonna sound racist but I don’t give a fuck because I’ve lived all over the United States so I consider myself well traveled and well cultured.

When it comes to the races of your neighbors first it’s Asians, then white people, then black people, then Mexicans.

The reason I say Asians is because they are always quiet and extremely respectful.

The best neighbors are always the ones you don’t know are there. Then it’s white people sometimes it’s hit or miss because they don’t seem to be good.

I’ve had many white neighbors I have wanted to shoot in the back of the head with a silencer for a variety of reasons, for one they tend to fall into three categories.

First one is that they have this extreme problem with wanting to call the police at any minor inconvenience always think they are the boss, also tend to be racist, second is the trailer park boy types.

The ones who smoke meth and talk about how much they hate people of color, and most of the time they end up being people you don’t really have to ever interact with which is always a blessing.

The black people are almost always consistently the loudest.

They talk the loudest, they fight a lot, they drink a lot, they will rob your ass in a heart beat if they find out what you have inside your house.

have had many black neighbors and even lived with them they are nice people from a distance but you get up close eventually you’re gonna experience a lot of misery.

The reason that Mexicans are last is because they have zero respect for how much noise they make in a public place.

They will be out on their front yard blasting music all night long and drinking alcohol. They do not care at all if you need to go to work in the morning.

Their culture is to be very loud and very annoying. They have large families and they get together every fucking weekend and make all that goddamn noise. This isn’t racism. This is an observable fact.

Because of the culture of sacrifice.

It’s the greatest honor to sacrifice one’s life for the country in Chinese culture.

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This is the statue of “sword forger” at the gate of Northwestern Industrial University, one of China’s top institutes for industrial and military tech, where the US has reportedly repeatedly try to hack and steal information from.

Nameless, faceless, my knowledge and life for the motherland.

Compare this to what they teach American students: expression of feelings, money and fame…

And this is just tip of the iceberg. Chinese education on the glory for one to sacrifice for the family and nation is everywhere and since childhood.

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Cementary of child soldiers in Yunan. 7000 child soldiers volunteered to defend China’s Southern border with British Burma from Japanese invasion during WWII. About 6000 of these kids were killed in combat. Their story is told across China and every year living kids honor them by stuffing the jars on their statues with candies.

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Deng Jiaxian

Chinese theoretical and nuclear physicist. In 1958 Deng was called upon to carry out classified work, so he disappeared from his family, only to reappear in 1986 in front of his wife and children, finally discharged due to imminent death, bleeding from radiation poisoning.

Thousands of Chinese scientists have chosen this path.

Thousands more are carrying on their spirit today.

You’re suddendly realising this now because of what appears to be China’s technological lead in a field where the US takes great pride in. But this kind of rapid catch-up through sacrifice has been silently going on for decades. And it is far more efficient than for profit weapon developers.

That’s me. I know this fear of going broke is ridiculous. Under current circumstances I can never go broke. Even if we got steady 10% inflation for 30 straight years I couldn’t go broke. I still have this nagging fear though.

All my accounts are still increasing year after year. I still have this fear.

Here’s what I think is really going on.

When your working it is really a strict contractural agreement. You give them time and skills and they give you money.

In retirement checks just keep showing up. My pension, Social Security. Other investment income.

Banks fail. Who knows what the government is going to do. Pension programs fail.

What’s causing my fear is that for my entire life I depended on my effort and skills to survive. Now I have to depend on the solvency, good will, and sanity of others to keep my income. I’m too old to do any income producing work.

So I’m overly frugal. Redundancy on top of redundancy trying to maintain a ‘safe’ income and continue to build up funds.

It drives the people around me crazy.

How Narcissists Really Feel When You Don’t Talk To Them?

Some people need to be talked to all the time. Have you ever stopped talking to someone and then wondered what they were thinking? If you’ve ever been around a narcissist, you may have felt the creepy silence that comes after you try to get away. At first, it might feel like a win a peaceful moment where you’ve taken back your place.

What does the narcissist do when you don’t talk to them? What do they do when no one is looking? You might not believe how complicated and scary the truth is. We’ll talk in-depth about the actions, strategies, and feelings that narcissists have when they hear your silence.

Finding out what happens when you stop talking to a narcissist can be very helpful for anyone who is dealing with them because it can show how desperately they want to get back in charge and how much inner turmoil they often try to hide. If you’ve ever thought about what a narcissist thinks and feels when you don’t talk to them, keep reading to find out.

Trust me, this is something that everyone needs to know, especially if you’re working with someone whose behavior is unpredictable, dishonest, or just plain bad.

Don’t miss the next thing. Let’s start with one of the most important questions: What does a narcissist do when you stop talking to them?

You might think they’ll just move on, get another person to control, or go on with their lives, but things are much more complicated than that. Narcissists are very anxious people, and their actions often show how badly they want to be approved of by others. Cutting them off or not giving them the attention they want makes them feel like they’ve lost something much more important than most people understand.

A narcissist, on the other hand, needs other people to tell them they are important and that they exist. So, when you stop talking to them, they lose more than just a chat they lose the validation that makes them feel better about themselves.

The Narcissist’s Initial Reaction: Panic

The first thing a narcissist is likely to feel when you stop talking to them is a sudden wave of worry. This is because narcissists often think that silence means they are being rejected or left alone. They can’t stand it when people ignore them or leave them out because it makes them question how important they think they are.

What’s really making them upset is their need to be the center of attention and always be praised or feared. Pulling away breaks the false sense of control they’ve worked so hard to keep up.

You may notice that narcissists reply in one of two ways: they either become obsessed with getting your attention again, or they attack you in a full-on way to get you to react. Both of these reactions stem from their weak egos. A narcissist gets all of their self-worth from approval from other people. As soon as you stop interacting with them, they feel less important than they thought, and they often feel like they’re losing control over you.

Manipulative Tactics: Regaining Control

The first thing a narcissist does is panic. Narcissists find your quiet not only annoying but also scary. When you stop talking to them, they’ll probably try to figure out why right away. They will spend a lot of time thinking about what happened and often blame themselves while also blaming you.

They may think: How could they leave me? Do not ignore me—I am very important. This creates a paradox. They want you to come back so badly, but they are also cocky and feel entitled, which makes it hard for them to admit they were wrong or show weakness.

Narcissists often don’t have the emotional growth to show vulnerability, so they won’t be honest about how they feel. Instead, many of them will hide their anxiety by using manipulative behavior. They might say you’re exaggerating or try to trick you by saying you don’t understand what’s going on.

Sometimes they might even act like they don’t care about you, hoping that you will come back to them out of curiosity or from the need to win their love again. Narcissists try to get power back by manipulating and controlling others.

Guilt-Tripping and Emotional Manipulation

People who are narcissists are known for being cunning, and when you stop talking to them, they will often do more to get back in charge. They know that to get your attention, they need to make you feel something.

Some ways they might do this are by making you feel guilty for their pain or by taking advantage of past favors or weaknesses against you. They might say things like, “After everything I’ve done for you, I can’t believe you would do this to me.” This is meant to make you feel like you owe them something.

Narcissists, on the other hand, don’t care about your well-being. In reality, they are just trying to fix their image and power.

Turning Others Against You

They may also try to make your life difficult by saying bad things about you, turning family or friends against you, or even making trouble in your social groups. It’s meant to keep you on edge, mentally worn out, and thinking about them all the time. For this reason, they stay in charge even when they’re not there.

The worst thing for a narcissist is losing their source of approval. People who are narcissists often worry about not being important, useful, or seen. When they don’t get constant praise and support from other people, they feel like they stop existing in the way they’ve always known themselves.

The Narcissist’s Cycle of Behavior

When they see that they can’t get your attention right away, they may pull back, thinking they need to make you miss them. During this time, they will often try to control you from the sidelines, such as through social media posts, indirect messages, or even connections they already have with you.

There are times when the narcissist may act even worse if they realize they have permanently lost control. This could mean smear campaigns against you, hurting your image, or turning others against you. It’s all about proving they are in charge again.

In Conclusion

What do narcissists do when you don’t talk to them? They panic, try to trick you, and then attempt to regain control of your life. They can’t handle being ignored or turned down because it forces them to face insecurity.

But if you know about these tricks, you can better defend yourself against their mental manipulation. Remember that your quiet is your power. When you’re with a narcissist, you don’t have to join their chaos or fall for their tricks. By setting boundaries, you take back control of your life and in the end, the narcissist will lose.

I worked as a repo man in North Carolina for a couple of years decades ago. I don’t know if the laws have changed but we could not enter a locked garage or jump a fence with a locked gate. As for finding the vehicle in pieces, it never happened to me but if it had, I would have just reported it to the creditor and I imagine the assignment would end on that particular vehicle.

One overriding principle was that repossessions have to remain “peaceable”. If a debtor caught us at it and started raising hell, we had to stop. That would buy the debtor time to either make arrangements with the creditor or to either secure the vehicle behind a locked door/gate or park it in some unknown location. It didn’t mean we would stop looking for it unless the creditor called us off.

The sneakiest thing I can remember is when I was looking for a Cadillac up in the mountains. I located a Cadillac at the debtor’s address, but the VIN was wrong on the car. Bummer. Couldn’t take it. Had to drive all the way back to Charlotte empty handed.

Some research revealed that the debtor’s brother lived in the same town as the debtor, and wouldn’t you know: he drove a Cadillac too! When I drove to the brother’s house, I was able to snatch the Cadillac with the correct VIN right out of his garage, because he left the garage door open. Naturally, this happened around 0300 when everyone’s asleep. That’s how we kept the repo peaceable.

Anyway, that’s how we did it in North Carolina back in the 1980s. Other states have different laws.

Savory Roasted Chicken

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Yield: 4 to 6 servings

Ingredients

  • 1 (3 to 4 pound) broiler-fryer chicken
  • 1 medium potato, cut into 1/2 inch cubes
  • 1 medium onion, sliced into 8 wedges
  • 2 medium carrots, sliced 1/2 inch thick
  • 1 garlic clove
  • 1 tablespoon olive oil
  • 1/2 teaspoon dried thyme leaves
  • 1/2 teaspoon dried rosemary, crushed
  • Salt and ground black pepper to taste

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
  2. Rinse chicken; pat dry with paper towels. Place chicken, breast-side up, in 13 x 9 inch baking dish or roasting pan. Arrange potato, onion and carrots around chicken.
  3. In small bowl, combine garlic, oil, thyme, rosemary, salt and pepper; brush over chicken. Pour water over vegetables.
  4. Bake, uncovered, 1 hour to 1 hour 15 minutes or until meat thermometer inserted into thickest part of thigh, not touching bone, registers 180 degrees F.
  5. Remove from oven; let stand, covered, 10-15 minutes before carving.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

It’s no secret that the USAF is the #1 Air Force in the world, consistently staying several steps ahead in military tech research. However, China is catching up—and at an astonishing pace. What’s even more remarkable is their willingness to pour seemingly unlimited funding into military technology development. The result?

Reports suggest that China has successfully tested a sixth-generation stealth fighter jet, with videos of the aircraft going viral on social media. If these videos are genuine, we’re looking at a state-of-the-art warplane that demonstrates impressive indigenous innovation. This is significant because it remains a mystery to the West—a clever move that serves as both a morale boost for China and a stark wake-up call for US-led NATO alliances.

This progress would have been unthinkable in the 1980s or 1990s, and even in the early 2000s, China lagged far behind NATO, let alone the USA. But now, the balance of power has begun to shift. Dare I say, China is producing military advancements that NATO can only dream of, leaving Pentagon think tanks worried about the implications of this rapid evolution.

What truly sets this new fighter jet apart is its futuristic “wingless” design—a revolutionary leap in aerodynamics and stealth technology. Watching it in motion is almost surreal, as if plucked straight from a sci-fi film. Its sleek, streamlined structure and cutting-edge manoeuvrability not only make it visually stunning but also highlight a level of engineering that challenges traditional concepts of military aviation. This isn’t just a step forward; it’s a glimpse into the future of air combat. Step aside Uncle Sam, The Chinese Dragon has arrived 😎🐉

That it’s just such an appalling place to live. No, really – having lived in different countries I can honestly say that the USA is an appalling place to live.

  • Everything is monetised
  • Police are ready to shoot you to death at the drop of a hat
  • TV is unwatchable due to the ridiculous proliferation of advertisements
  • Food is low quality and flavourless (you get to choose between salty or sweet. That’s it)
  • Public transport is a joke
  • Everything is a method of ripping you off
  • Politics is hyper polarised
  • The police are simply bullies with no oversight who do whatever they want including commit crimes and murder
  • Infrastructure is a crumbling mess and poses a real danger to the public
  • Every town looks the same – a collection of the same fast food joints, stores and strip malls
  • Toxic waste is kept in above-ground open-air pools. And when it rains a lot those pools overflow and the toxic waste goes with it. Seriously. Check it out for yourself
  • You aren’t seen as a person but as a consumer, with a wallet that needs to be emptied
  • The tipping culture is offensively entitled – you are literally expected to just give away your money to a stranger for doing the job they’re already paid to do. And if you receive shitty service and decide not to tip, or if you can afford to eat out but not afford to give away your money to a stranger for no reason, *YOU’RE* seen as the bad guy. Entitled narcissistic selfishness like you’ve never seen before
  • Not just the vehicles and the houses/buildings, but everything is low quality. It’s like a disposable culture
  • The fetishisation of the military and the police force – if somebody chooses to kill strangers for a living it’s bad, but if they’re wearing a uniform while they do it you’re expected to simper and gush and worship them and say “thank you for your service” like a drone
  • The amount of their GDP they waste on their military while essential public services like schools and hospitals and fire departments and infrastructure go neglected. This is something banana republics and tinpot dictators do
  • The utter lack of concern for their out of control gun problem. Every year 3500+ children are killed with guns and the predominant attitude is “yeah well that’s just a fact of life” when literally no developed nation has this problem, ONLY the USA
  • The general complete ignorance about the rest of the planet
  • The utter lack of curiosity to learn about the rest of the planet
  • The diminishing of the middle class, and the reluctance to acknowledge it

When the sexy under-carriage sounds go a bumping under our television set

Here’s a story about sex noises from beneath our television set.

Now, the time was in a mobile home park in Kokomo, Indiana.

It was a fairly well-maintained complex, all in all, and we lived close to a neighbor who was a single mother. She had a 16 year old son and a 14 year old daughter. They were all nice.

The teenagers were… well, typical teenagers.

Well, from time to time, we would hear sex noises. But could never ever figure out where they came from.

Now the walls in a mobile home were paper thin. I mean it. They were made out of cheap materials, often paper products. So yeah you could hear anything.

And from time to time we would hear heavy breathing. Low moaning, and a couple scuffling sounds.

Initially we thought it was just cats or rodents that moved in under the mobile home. But sometimes the sounds were unmistakable. Yeah. Some one was a having sex … somewhere. Couldn’t figure out where though…

Well, it wasn’t like the noise continued all the time.

It came and went. Maybe once every two weeks or so.

Nothing to worry about.

Then nothing for a few months.

My wife then got to talking with our single-mom neighbor. And why her kids were no longer living with her.

What had apparently happened is that the 16 year old boy (from one father) was having sex with his 14 year old sister (from another father). And they got caught and separated from each other.

Now the boy, and the girl were both willing participants. But since both were underage, it was a rape / incest event. Taking place in our mobile home park. And many times under our mobile home.

Apparently, the girl or the boy, would pull aside our trailer skirting, get underneath our mobile home, and go at it like rabbits under our living room.

Here’s what mobile home skirting looks like…

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The kids would pull it aside, and crawl under the house.

We had cheap vinyl skirting. Not the composite skirting in the pictures above. For, after all, this took place in the late 1980’s.

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Gerald Ford was President (I think). Maybe Regan. But before Clinton. That’s for certain.

LOL

Anyways, that is what happened, they would open up the skirting, Get under the trailer. Pull down their pants and hump like there’s no tomorrow.

In the muddy grass under our living room.

Mystery solved.

No judgement. Life in a Indiana trailer park in the 1980’s.

Real life drama…folks.

Sheech!

I don’t know much more than that. She moved away a month or two later. And that, was that.

Life is strange and colorful.

Today…

Tariff That DESTROYED the American Economy in Just Weeks

Learn some history. Not a bad video. Learn something.

Layered Chicken Mole Bake

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Yield: 8 servings

Ingredients

  • 12 (6 inch) corn tortillas, cut into halves
  • 8 ounces cooked, boneless, skinless chicken breasts, coarsely shredded(2 cups)
  • 1 medium green pepper, chopped
  • 1 cup frozen corn, thawed
  • 1 cup canned black beans, rinsed and drained
  • 1 cup prepared mole sauce
  • 6 ounces Chihuahua cheese, grated (1 1/2 cups), divided
  • 1 plum tomato, seeded and chopped
  • 2 tablespoons fresh cilantro, finely chopped
  • Sour cream (optional)

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 400 degrees F. Lightly spray bottom and sides of Springform Pan with vegetable oil using Kitchen Spritzer; set aside. Cut tortillas in half using Pizza Cutter; set aside.
  2. Coarsely chop cooked chicken and green pepper using Food Chopper. Combine chicken, green pepper, corn, black beans and mole sauce in Classic Batter Bowl; set aside. Grate cheese using Deluxe Cheese Grater.
  3. Arrange 8 tortilla halves in bottom of pan. Top with 1/3 of the chicken mixture and 1/2 cup of cheese. Repeat layers 2 more times using remaining ingredients.
  4. Bake 18 to 20 minutes or until cheese has melted. Meanwhile, core tomato using The Corer(TM). Finely chop tomato and cilantro using Utility Knife. Remove pan from oven; place on Simple Additions(TM) Medium Square. Run releasing tool around sides of pan. Release and remove collar from pan. Sprinkle tomato and cilantro over top of tortilla bake.
  5. Cut into wedges using Chef’s Knife.
  6. Serve immediately with sour cream, if desired.

Notes

Substitute 1 1/2 cups shredded Mexican cheese blend for Chihuahua cheese.

In a hurry? Substitute cooked rotisserie chicken (available in most supermarkets) for boneless, skinless chicken breasts. Depending on its size, a roasted chicken can yield 4 to 6 cups of chopped chicken.

Nutrition

Per serving: Calories 440, Total Fat 21g, Saturated Fat 8g, Cholesterol 60mg, Carbohydrates 42g, Protein 22g, Sodium 1210mg, Fiber 7g

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Let’s instead talk of sectors where China is still dependent on Critical Processes Or Core Technology Or Mother Machines Or Key High Grade /Advanced Components – on the US Led Collective West (Includes Japan)

That’s easier because China has broken free of the West in several areas over the many years

#1 Commercial Aviation

    • Aircraft Body (Composite Materials)
    • Aircraft Commercial Engine (GE & Safran)
    • Navigation Equipment

China has achieved Indigenous production in Landing Equipment, Wheels & Tyres, Aircraft Body (Duralium),Wind Tunnel & Cabin Pressurization Equipment

#2 Computing Applications

    • Advanced Chips (3 nm to 5 nm Architecture)
    • GPU Chips
    • Coating Materials
    • Optoelectronics
    • EUV Technology (2 nm to 7 nm)
    • DUV Technology (7 nm to 14 nm

China has achieved fully indigenous integration of Chips >= 28 nm and Lithography Machines >= 28 nm

#3 Robotics

    • Advanced Lenses & Optical Sensors (Zeiss)

China has achieved Indigenous supply chain in everything else including Battery, Separators & Microcontroller Design and Manufacturing

#4 Pharmaceuticals

    • Antiviral RNA Base Materials
    • Fourth Generation Inhibitors
    • Interferons
    • Immunomodulators
    • Taxanes
    • Hormone Preparations
    • Gene Sequencers

#5 Healthcare

    • Optical Equipment including Lasik Equipment
    • Advanced Scanning Equipment

China has commercialized its own MRI Machines, PET Scan Machines, Ultrasound Machines & ECMO Machines

These are the areas where China has decided to spend 3 Trillion Yuan ($ 400 Billion) including 1 Trillion Yuan just for the Computing Sector in the next 5 years


Some areas where China achieved Total Independence from the Western Technology between 2005–2025 were in :-

A. Aerospace

B. Green Energy

C. Radar Technology

D. Ramjet Engines, Thruster Engines

E. Stealth Materials

F. Gyroscope Control

G. Guided Control, Avionics & Electronics


Chinas achievements in the last 15 years (2010–2025) have been nothing short of spectacular

They have broken the chokehold of the West in 7 Key Sectors

They had already broken the Chokehold of the West in Nuclear Power Generation, Cybersecurity & Advanced Computing Software between 2005–2020

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Xi has targeted 2035 by which to fully achieve Independence in all areas plus dominance in the areas of

Artificial Intelligence, Quantum Computing, Aerospace & Cloud Dominance

My Girlfriend Dumped Me Without Any Real Explanation, How Do I Become The Guy That NEVER Happens To?

Around 1278–1245 BC, the Aryans invaded China.

Fu Hao, the wife of the Shang king Wu Ding, led an army of 15,000 and defeated them.

All the captives were killed.

This was recorded in Chinese oracle bones; in 1976, Chinese archaeologists found Fu Hao’s tomb and confirmed this record; they also unearthed the bones of Aryan captives.

Normally, captives of war would be treated as slaves.

But these captives were all killed. Because these Aryans looked different from the Chinese; Fu Hao thought these people were ghosts, not people.

Exclusive

Submitted into Contest #207 in response to: A journalist has been granted permission to visit the premises of a lab carrying out top-secret work. They could never have anticipated what they’d find… view prompt

Chris Miller

“Rufus! Come in. We loved your latest piece on the migrant situation in the Mediterranean. You’re really broadening the horizons of the readers of the Post.”

             “Our readers already have pretty broad horizons.”

 

“Of course they do. They read the Post!”

 

Rufus sat in a windowless room, empty apart from the plastic chair that he sat on, opposite a man in a white polo shirt and khaki pants. The man wore a lanyard with an empty transparent I.D. wallet and a pen hanging from it. Rufus lived for information, and had almost none. Introductions seemed to be the place to start.

 

“I’m Rufus Kenton from the Washington Post, and you are?”

 

“Yes! I am. And you are too, Rufus. Both of us present here today. Thank you for coming along. We love your work and we were very keen that it be you who got access to our facility.”

 

“Ok. Who’s we? I’m going to assume you’re an agent. May I record this?”

 

“Record away, Rufus.” The voice was avuncular Texan. The speaker, tightly bald and leather cheeked, leant forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His pen swung on its lanyard and clicked against the cheap plastic seat. Had muscle gone to fat, or was it just undercover? Either way, the man was two of Rufus.

 

“C.I.A?” said Rufus, keeping his words to a minimum and letting his eyebrows do the heavy lifting.

 

“I used to be in the C.I.A.,” said the man. The crows feet at his eyes went up a shoe size. “Still am. But I used to be too!” he sat back in his chair grinning. It creaked as he folded livestock arms.

 

“And you’ve invited me here to work on your tight five-minute stand-up set?” said Rufus, clicking his own pen and opening his note book.

 

“Relax, Rufus. We love journalists these days, we brought you here so we can work together. We’re on the same side.”

 

“I’m an independent journalist. I’m on the side of truth.”

 

“And justice and the American way?” said the agent with a gentle frown of sincerity.

 

“Sure, but truth comes first. So, what is this place?”

 

“This, Rufus, is the most secure lab in the world. A football field of razor wire in every direction, anti-drone fields, automated sniper turrets. This place has its own F35 guard dog on round-the-clock standby. It has a bunker from the nineteen fifties which has been pimped with some tech which is still going to look pretty damned impressive in the twenty fifties.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Exactly! I knew we had the right man for the job. Anybody in their right mind would ask why, and you, Rufus, are going to tell them.”

 

“I’m going to tell them the truth.”

 

“Of course you are. That’s your job. Which theory of truth do you currently subscribe to?”

 

“Truth, reality, I’m going to tell people what I find here today.”

 

“Oh, we’re counting on it. Now, I’m a plain old correspondence theory man myself. The truth arises from the correspondence of language, thought and such like, to a mind-independent world. Seems like our world is more mind-independent than ever! Am I right? Ha! Nah, Veritas est adaequatio rei et intellectus – Truth is the adequation of things and intellect; Isaac Israeli via Aquinas.”

 

“Nice to know they’re teaching Latin at Langley.”

 

“Surprised? You don’t think they keep me round just ‘cos I can kill a guy with a pen, do you?”

 

Against his better judgement, Rufus liked the guy. So what if he really could kill him without breaking a sweat? Rufus was not octagon material; it was not that impressive a boast. But Rufus was no coward, so it was not much use as a threat either, if that’s what it was, and not just another joke, not that the two things were mutually exclusive. In conclusion, Rufus just shifted uncomfortably in his chair and looked down at his notepad.

 

“Relax! I’m only joking,” said the man. “I wouldn’t need a pen. Are you ready to take a look around?”

 

Rufus had had a bag over his head since he got in a chopper of the roof of the building he’d been told to report to. It had not been removed until he stood outside the room he was now in and he had no idea how much time had elapsed, how far he had travelled or in what direction. He could have been in one of half a dozen states, maybe seven, maybe eight or nine if you counted irritation and confusion, states he seemed to visit with increasing regularity. He was ready to take a look around.

 

“Let’s go.”

 

The corridor outside the room was lit by a thin arboreal glow of emergency lighting. The agent walked ahead of him, fleetingly green as they passed under the long passage’s evenly spaced exit signs. After what Rufus judged to have been about a minute, time measured by his unacknowledged humming of The Fugs’ C.I.A. Man, they reached an unmarked door. To Rufus’s left a dark space with a tiny exit sign floating in it, marking the invisible length of a perpendicular corridor. The agent saw Rufus looking to his left at the tiny eye-test of an exit sign.

 

“No, it’s in here,” said the agent, opening the door and disappearing through it. Rufus followed him into a room which was industrially dark.

 

“So, you promise to write about what you find here?” asked the agent.

 

“Certainly,” said Rufus.

 

“Good! We need it out there. We need the internet full of it. We need…”

 

“You’re going to get the truth, whether it’s what you need or not. But I guess it would be easy enough for you to silence me if you wanted to? You could do it here and now, with your pen,” said Rufus to a black absence where he imagined the agent might be standing.

 

“No! No, no, no, Rufus.” The voice came from the opposite direction to the one in which Rufus had pointlessly turned his head. “It’s not like that at all. And anyway, like I said.” The voice now came from behind him. “I wouldn’t need a pen.”

 

Rufus peered into the black, trying to breathe steadily and control a heartrate that evolution was attempting to increase with every second spent in the vulnerability of sightlessness.

 

“Now, Rufus, write the truth if you want, but please try and appreciate that in my business it’s really the value of information that matters, regardless of whether it can be proven to be true or not.”

 

“Surely information is more valuable if it’s true? We have to confirm if things are true.”

 

“Well, ah, Rufus. So, y’know Socrates, right?”

 

“I know of him.”

 

“Well one day one of Socrates’ buddies runs up to him and…”

 

“Ah Jesus, come on, man.”

 

“One of his buddies runs up and says, ‘You’ll never guess what I heard about Diogenes.’

 

“Just turn the lights on.”

 

“’Whoa!’ Socrates replies, ‘You gotta pass the Triple Filter Test first,’ and his buddy’s like ‘Triple filter?’ and Socrates is like, ‘I’m going to filter what you say. The first filter is truth. Are you absolutely sure that what you are about to say is true?’ and his buddy’s like, ‘Maybe, dunno, just heard it.’ And then Socrates is like, ‘Ok, possibly not true, so filter two, the goodness filter. Is what you are about to tell me something good?’ and his buddy gets a bit flustered and he’s like, ‘Nah, pretty bad actually.’ And so, Socrates is like ‘Mmhmm, third test; is this information going to be useful to me?’ and his buddy’s pretty embarrassed by now and he’s like, ‘Well, no, not really.’ So, Socrates is like, ‘So you were going to tell me something that might not have been true, good, or useful. Why tell me or anyone else such a thing?’ and the guy’s feeling pretty bad and he realises this must be how come they say Socrates is so wise…”

 

“And it also explains why Socrates never found out that Diogenes was banging his wife.”

 

“You heard it! Ha! You do understand.”

 

“Just turn the lights on.”

 

“If I do, you’ll see the truth, but not the value. We need you to create the value, Rufus. That’s what you’re here for. We need information out there. Lots of it. Generated from this beautiful big resource magnet of a lab. It doesn’t have to be true, it doesn’t have to be good, but whatever it is, it’ll be useful and it’ll be ours. And it’ll be a good reason for all of our less enthusiastic supporters to keep their eyes on this place, instead of anywhere less convenient.”

 

“Please just turn the lights on.”

 

“This room is completely empty, Rufus. I can leave the lights off so you can’t see anything, or I can turn them on, so you can see nothing. Either way, you’re reporting the same truth. You want ‘em on?”

 

“Please.”

 

“Happy writing, Rufus.”

 

An analogue clunk announced a staccato strobe and the room bounced in and out of existence before settling into its vast reality. Rufus stood alone in an echo-ready hall. It was completely empty.

  1. 26.2 miles is a long way to run
  2. Halfway isn’t halfway
  3. Lubricant, in all the right places, is your best friend
  4. Even a soft sports vest can be like sandpaper to unprotected nipples after 20 miles of running, sweating and rubbing
  5. I would look into buying cushioned socks with specific left and right feet
  6. Trainers with plenty of room in the toe area are a must
  7. You need to hydrate before you feel the need to: little and often is best
  8. If you’re running on carbs (as opposed to a fat-adapted diet), take gels, sweets and other carb-fuels well before you feel the need to. In fact schedule them in
  9. The first 18 miles are easy; it’s the last 8 that make it a marathon
  10. Without proper training, including plenty of long steady runs, the last 8 miles can feel like 30
  11. Running into a slight headwind at mile 23 can feel like pulling a truck
  12. The urge to stop can be utterly overwhelming in the final few miles
  13. You don’t lose that much time by walking for a while, if you really need to. Just don’t stop completely or you’ll have trouble moving again, and then you’ll lose a lot
  14. A cheer, even from a random stranger, can revitalise you, helping you find some energy within, when you thought it was all but gone
  15. In spite of it being hard, I learned that I could actually do it
  16. Finishing a marathon is an emotional affair: expect to cry at the finish
  17. It wouldn’t be my last

The 1930’s – it was the time of the Great Depression. With jobs scarce and tensions rising in Europe and the Pacific, many Americans turned to the military for employment. Because of the times, it was quite common for family members to enlist together and serve in the same infantry unit, or aboard the same ship. It made for a “touch of home” in an otherwise “non-homey” environment.

But this practice sometimes led to tragedy, none more tragic as was painfully demonstrated with the sinking of USS Juneau (CL-52), which killed all five Sullivan brothers. This was one of the incidents – but by no means the first – that led the United States to implement the Sole Survivor Policy.

Gold Star flag

The five Sullivan brothers, sons of Thomas and Alleta Sullivan of Waterloo, Iowa, were:

George Thomas Sullivan, 27, Gunner’s Mate Second;

Francis Henry “Frank” Sullivan, 26, Coxswain;

Joseph Eugene “Joe” Sullivan, 24, Seaman Second Class;

Madison Abel “Matt” Sullivan, 23, Seaman Second Class;

Albert Leo “Al” Sullivan, 20, Seaman Second Class.

The brothers joined the Navy to avenge the death of a friend, Bill Ball (their sister’s boyfriend), who was serving aboard the USS Arizona, when he was killed on December 7, 1941. The irony here is that Masten Ball, Bill’s brother, was also on the Arizona but survived – more on that…

The Sullivans enlisted January 3, 1942, with the stipulation that they serve together. In mid-1942, the Navy promulgated a policy of separating siblings, but this policy was not strictly enforced by any means. George and Frank had served in the Navy before, but their brothers had not. All five were assigned to the light cruiser USS Juneau.

During the naval Battle of Guadalcanal (November 13, 1942), Juneau was crippled by a Japanese torpedo. As Juneau was leaving the area with other surviving US warships, IJN submarine I-26, fired two torpedoes at the crippled heavy cruiser USS San Francisco. While they both missed their intended target, Juneau wasn’t so lucky. A torpedo hit the thinly armored light cruiser at or near the ammunition magazines, and the ship was instantly blown in half. Where seconds before a 541-foot-long cruiser had been, now there was nothing but an enormous cloud of smoke and debris. The Juneau disappeared from view and sank in less than 20 seconds.

Captain Gilbert C. Hoover, the senior officer of the US task force, doubted that anyone had survived the explosion and believed it would be reckless to look for survivors, for doing so would expose his wounded ships to a lurking Japanese submarine. Therefore, he ordered his ships to continue on towards Espiritu Santo, but Hoover had USS Helena signal a nearby US B-17 bomber on patrol to notify Allied headquarters to send aircraft or ships to search for survivors.

And there were survivors, approximately 100 of them. Unfortunately, the crew’s report of the location of possible survivors went unnoticed for several days before it was realized that a rescue mission had never been ordered. A belated air search began. During this time, the survivors of the sinking – many of whom were wounded and burned – were exposed to the elements, hunger, thirst, and shark attacks.

Eight days after the sinking, ten survivors were found by a PBY Catalina search aircraft and fished from the water. The survivors reported that Frank, Joe and Matt were all killed instantly, Al drowned the next day, and George survived for nearly a week, before suffering from delirium as a result of ingesting sea water. He climbed over the side of the raft and fell into the water, never to be seen again. In all, 10 men survived the sinking, but 687 did not.

Two months later, Tom and Alleta Sullivan were finally informed of their sons’ fate. That morning, as Tom was preparing to go to work, three men in uniform – a lieutenant commander, a doctor and a chief petty officer – approached his door. “I have some news for you about your boys,” the naval officer said. “Which one?” asked Tom. “I’m sorry”, the officer replied, “All five.”

The five Sullivan brothers – from left to right: Joe, Frank, Al, Matt, and George

The Sullivans were not the only brother sailors on board the ship. Records show at least thirty sets of brothers served on the Juneau. All died.

Even more astonishing were the 38 sets of brothers that served on the USS Arizona – including three sets of three brothers and a father-son set. Of the 79 siblings onboard the Arizona, 63 were killed and 23 complete sets of brothers were wiped out. Of the three sets of three brothers: the Beckers, the Dohertys, and the Murdocks, only one from each set survived, while the Warriners were the only set of USS Arizona brothers to survive. Of the father-son set, Thomas Free, and his son, William, both perished. The USS Oklahoma had 8 sets of brothers, including a set of three, the Barber boys. All three of the Barbers died at Pearl Harbor.

But the USN did not have a monopoly on siblings serving together, at the same time, same unit, or same theater of operations. Before the Sole Survivor Policy was officially implemented in 1948, several occasions occurred when sole survivors were excused from active service:

The Borgstroms, of Thatcher Utah, were four American brothers (including a set of twins) killed over a six-month period during World War II:

Clyde Eugene Borgstrom, 28, killed March 17, 1944, in Guadalcanal, U.S. Marine Corps;

LeRoy Elmer Borgstrom, 30, killed June 22, 1944, in Italy, U.S. Army;

Rolon Day Borgstrom, 19, killed August 8, 1944, in Yaxham, England), U.S. Army Air Forces;

Rulon Jay Borgstrom, 19, killed August 25, 1944, in France, U.S. Army.

Their parents successfully petitioned for their fifth son Boyd, who was also on active duty, to be released from service. Their sixth son, Elton, who had not yet reached conscription age, was exempted from the military.

The three Butehorn brothers of Bethpage, New York, Charles, Joseph, and Henry, were all deployed during World War II. Charles was killed in action in France (November 1944) and Joseph was killed in action in the Pacific (May 1945). The War Department ordered Henry, who was serving with the USAAF in Italy, home.

In the case of the Niland brothers, G-2 believed that all but one of four siblings were killed in action (although the eldest brother, Edward Niland, serving in the USAAF, was later found to have been a POW in Burma). Steven Spielberg’s film “Saving Private Ryan” was loosely based on the story of the Niland brothers.

The Borgstrom, Butehorn, and Niland stories occurred before the Sole Survivor Policy was put into effect in 1948, but it’s their stories, and the stories of the siblings killed on the Arizona, along with the 60 sibling deaths of the crew of the Juneau – which included the five Sullivan brothers – that pushed the services to actively enforce of Sole Survivor Policy.

Per Wikipedia:

“The Sole Survivor Policy or United States Department of Defense Directive 1315.15 (a.k.a. “Special Separation Policies for Survivorship”) is a set of regulations in the United States military, partially stipulated by law, designed to protect members of a family from the draft during peacetime, or from hazardous duty or other circumstances, if they have already lost family members to military service.” However, the policy does not prevent the excused family member from reenlisting.

——————————————————–

Coming full circle to close our story, on Saturday, March 17, 2018, the wreckage of the USS Juneau was discovered off the coast of the Solomon Islands by the expedition crew of RV Petrel:

USS Juneau, March, 2018

May all your shipmates rest in peace

The Daily Shorpy

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Question: How do you think the US and China negotiations on fentanyl trafficking will turn out?

Answer:

Nothing will come out of it.

Because the entire “China and fentanyl” thing started from a single post back in 2018 from a Mexico port about how they suspect a shipment from China contains fentanyl precursors materials.

For the chemistry illiterate, any material that goes into making actual fentanyl family of drugs can be called precursors. An extreme example will be water can technically be count as a fentanyl precursor because water is used in most chemical manufacturing process.

And I bolded the “suspect” part because later the Mexico site took down their post, because the Chinese reacted immediately after the possibility of drugs. If those that don’t know, China has one of the most strict drug laws on the planet, so any time there is a possibility of drug smuggling, there is a huge investigation towards it.

However, US government seized the (now taken down) post from Mexico as a life line to explain away the rampant drug problem within US. Apparently it has nothing to do with the whole drug infested culture in US since the 19th century, it is all China’s fault.

So the talks will result in nothing. Both China and US government already know China has nothing to do with the issue. The entire thing is a show for US voting audience.

Americans Have LOST ALL FAITH in the Job Market, and Don’t Want to Work Anymore.

The Biosphere Project

Submitted into Contest #207 in response to: A journalist has been granted permission to visit the premises of a lab carrying out top-secret work. They could never have anticipated what they’d find… view prompt

Jillian Puckett

The sun hung low in the sky as Sarah Mitchell pulled up to the heavily guarded entrance of the BioTech Research Facility. As a seasoned investigative journalist, she had covered her fair share of groundbreaking stories, but this one promised to be her most significant yet. The rumors surrounding the research conducted within those walls were enough to send shivers down anyone’s spine. Today, Sarah had been granted unprecedented access to the lab, a chance to uncover the truth behind the top-secret work carried out there.

 

Stepping out of her car, Sarah adjusted her notepad and checked her camera equipment. She was prepared to document every detail, determined to expose any wrongdoing that may be lurking behind the lab’s fortified walls. A security guard approached her, scrutinizing her identification before finally granting her access.

 

Inside the facility, Sarah was guided through a maze-like corridor, taking note of the reinforced doors and surveillance cameras at every turn. The atmosphere was tense, with scientists in white lab coats scurrying about, engrossed in their work. The air carried a distinct smell of chemicals, hinting at the complex experiments being conducted.

 

Her guide led her into a spacious laboratory filled with state-of-the-art equipment. Sarah’s eyes widened as she observed the rows of high-tech machinery, each with its own purpose and intricate design. She struggled to comprehend the magnitude of what was being developed here.

 

Dr. Rachel Lawson, the lead researcher, greeted Sarah with a warm smile. “Welcome, Sarah. We’re delighted to have you here today. I hope you’re ready to witness something truly groundbreaking.”

 

Sarah reciprocated the smile, her curiosity piqued. “Thank you, Dr. Lawson. I’ve heard so much about the work conducted here. I’m eager to know more.”

 

“Follow me,” Dr. Lawson said, leading Sarah toward a sealed chamber at the far end of the laboratory. The security measures surrounding it were seemingly impenetrable, indicating the significance of whatever lay within.

 

As they reached the chamber, Dr. Lawson scanned her identification card, and the heavy doors hissed open, revealing a sight that left Sarah speechless. Inside the room was a massive enclosure containing a lush, verdant landscape. Towering trees, vibrant flowers, and a winding river coexisted within the glass walls, creating an ethereal oasis in the midst of the sterile lab environment.

 

Sarah’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What is…? How is this possible?”

 

Dr. Lawson beamed with pride. “Welcome to our Biosphere Project, Sarah. We have developed a revolutionary system that replicates entire ecosystems within a controlled environment. It’s a breakthrough in sustainable agriculture and biodiversity conservation.”

 

Sarah’s mind raced, realizing the potential impact of this discovery. “This could change everything! The possibilities for food production and environmental conservation are immense. Why hasn’t this been made public?”

 

Dr. Lawson’s expression turned somber. “The project was classified due to the potential misuse of such technology. We wanted to ensure its safety and ethical use before revealing it to the world.”

 

Sarah’s journalistic instincts kicked in. “But what kind of misuse are we talking about? Are there any risks associated with this project?”

 

Dr. Lawson sighed, her eyes reflecting a mixture of concern and responsibility. “There are several potential misuses we have considered. One of the key concerns is the possibility of using the Biosphere Project to create controlled environments for the development of dangerous biological weapons. The ability to sustain life within enclosed ecosystems could be exploited to cultivate and engineer deadly pathogens, posing a grave threat to global security.”

 

Sarah’s mind raced, realizing the magnitude of the situation. “So, the secrecy surrounding the project was to prevent such misuse?”

 

“Yes,” Dr. Lawson confirmed. “In the wrong hands, the Biosphere Project could unleash unimaginable devastation. We had to ensure that the technology was fully developed, with safeguards in place, before considering its release to the public.”

 

Sarah’s journalistic instincts kicked into high gear. “Dr. Lawson, the world deserves to know about this project. Its potential benefits are immense, but the risks must be brought to light as well. We need transparency to prevent any clandestine misuse.”

 

Dr. Lawson nodded in agreement. “You’re right, Sarah. We have been deliberating on the best way to strike a balance between sharing the breakthrough and addressing the risks. We understand the importance of public awareness, but we must also proceed with caution.”

 

Sarah contemplated the situation, realizing the weight of responsibility that rested on her shoulders. She knew she had the power to expose the truth, but she also had to be mindful of the potential consequences. After a moment of reflection, she made up her mind.

 

“Dr. Lawson, I would like to collaborate with you on this. Let us work together to devise a plan that ensures the responsible disclosure of the Biosphere Project. We must inform the public about its potential benefits and the risks it carries. By doing so, we can foster a global dialogue and ensure that this groundbreaking technology is used for the betterment of humanity.”

 

Dr. Lawson’s eyes shimmered with gratitude. “Thank you, Sarah. Your willingness to approach this with caution and responsibility reassures me. Together, we can make a difference and shape the future of this remarkable project.”

 

Over the following weeks, Sarah and Dr. Lawson collaborated closely, carefully crafting a strategy to share the story of the Biosphere Project with the world. They engaged in extensive discussions, consulting with experts in various fields, assessing the potential risks and benefits, and establishing frameworks to ensure the technology’s responsible use.

 

Finally, the day arrived when Sarah’s exposé on the Biosphere Project was published. The article detailed the groundbreaking technology, its potential benefits for sustainable agriculture and biodiversity, and the risks associated with its misuse. It ignited a global conversation, prompting governments, scientific communities, and environmental organizations to come together and establish regulations and oversight mechanisms to safeguard the technology’s ethical use.

 

The public’s response was overwhelming. Many were captivated by the possibilities the Biosphere Project presented, while others expressed concerns about its potential risks. Yet, the conversation fostered by Sarah’s article allowed for a balanced and informed dialogue, leading to a collective commitment to responsible innovation.

 

As time progressed, the Biosphere Project was gradually integrated into society, with stringent regulations in place to ensure its ethical use. It revolutionized agriculture, enabling sustainable food production in regions affected by droughts, extreme temperatures, or limited arable land. It played a crucial role in conserving endangered ecosystems, allowing scientists to study and protect fragile species within controlled environments.

 

Sarah’s collaboration with Dr. Lawson continued beyond the publication of her groundbreaking article. The two worked tirelessly to address the concerns raised by the public and to refine the regulations governing the Biosphere Project. They became advocates for responsible innovation, traveling the world to speak at conferences and engaging with policymakers, scientists, and environmentalists.

 

Their efforts led to the establishment of an international committee dedicated to monitoring and regulating the use of biosphere technology. This committee consisted of experts from various fields who worked together to ensure that the Biosphere Project was used solely for peaceful and beneficial purposes.

 

Under the committee’s oversight, the Biosphere Project flourished. It continued to enhance food production and conservation efforts, transforming arid regions into thriving agricultural centers and contributing to the preservation of endangered species and habitats.

 

Sarah and Dr. Lawson’s collaboration also sparked interest from other scientific communities and research institutions. They began to share their knowledge and expertise, collaborating on similar projects around the world. This global collaboration further advanced the field of biosphere technology, expanding its applications and ensuring that the benefits reached far beyond the walls of the original research facility.

 

As the years passed, the Biosphere Project became a symbol of responsible innovation and the power of transparency. The public’s trust in the technology grew, and the regulations and oversight mechanisms put in place served as a model for other groundbreaking scientific advancements.

 

Sarah and Dr. Lawson’s efforts were recognized with numerous awards and accolades. They were hailed as pioneers who had not only uncovered a remarkable breakthrough but had also navigated the delicate balance between progress and caution.

 

Sarah’s experience with the Biosphere Project had a profound impact on her as a journalist. She realized the importance of responsible reporting, understanding the potential consequences of revealing groundbreaking technologies without careful consideration of their risks. She became an advocate for responsible journalism and used her platform to raise awareness about the ethical implications of scientific advancements.

 

Dr. Lawson’s dedication to the Biosphere Project never wavered. She continued to lead research and development efforts, ensuring that the technology evolved responsibly and with the utmost regard for the environment and humanity’s well-being.

 

The legacy of the Biosphere Project lived on, not only in its contributions to sustainable agriculture and conservation but also in the lessons it taught about responsible innovation. It served as a reminder that groundbreaking discoveries could shape the world positively, but their potential risks must be addressed proactively.

 

Sarah Mitchell and Dr. Rachel Lawson’s collaboration became a symbol of the power of partnership and the importance of ethical decision-making in the face of groundbreaking scientific advancements. Their story inspired countless others to approach innovation with responsibility, shaping a future where progress and humanity’s welfare walked hand in hand.

Carl Zha speaks to ‪@JamarlThomas‬ about insane details coming out of South Korean coup investigation including allegations of South Korean military to stage a false flag attack against South Korean Parliament.

This was apparently done in order to provoke a military confrontation with North Korea in order to justify imposing Martial Law.

And this is why South Korean Parliament have impeached the President and Acting President of South Korea

Let’s not get into the “ever” part simply because I’m a cop.

we, the cops, see things every day that trump whatever we’ve experienced before. Human dignity keeps hitting new lows for reasons I can’t even begin to comprehend.

Just three days ago, we arrested a guy because we suspected he might have something to do with the sudden disappearance of his cousin, a young, well-off businessman who had seemingly vanished into thin air. The suspect, a butcher, was the last known person to have been in contact with him according to the investigation.

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During questioning, he confessed.

He had called his cousin over to his house and, once he arrived, shot and killed him. The motive? Money. Plain greed.

If you’re wondering where the chilling part is—come on. Isn’t murder already a gruesome and chilling act on its own?

Well, here’s where it gets worse. After killing his cousin, the suspect dismembered the body, put the pieces in a very large karahi (wok), and melted them over a fire using chemicals. Once the remains had turned into liquid, he discarded it in an empty plot.

So, that was just three days ago. By no means is this the most chilling case, but what a disgraceful disregard for human life.

A continuous, soul-draining pattern of evil people doing unspeakable things.

Hawaiian Chicken Wreath

356b870726c9f98c39bf82709c58eb86
356b870726c9f98c39bf82709c58eb86

Ingredients

  • 2 (8 ounce) cans refrigerated crescent rolls
  • 1/2 cup mayonnaise
  • 3 tablespoons honey mustard
  • 1/2 teaspoon coarsely ground black pepper
  • 2 cups (about 12 ounces) cooked chicken, chopped
  • 1/2 cup celery, sliced
  • 3 tablespoons fresh parsley, snipped
  • 1/2 cup pineapple slices (about 4 slices), + 2 for garnish
  • 4 ounces (1 cup) Cheddar cheese, shredded
  • 1/4 cup macadamia nuts chopped
  • 1 egg, separated

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to375 degrees F.
  2. Unroll crescent dough; separate into 16 triangles. With wide ends of triangles toward the center, arrange 8 triangles in a circle on Large Round Stone. Corners of wide ends will touch and points will extend 1 inch beyond edge of Baking Stone. Arrange remaining 8 triangles in center, matching wide ends. Seal seams using Dough and Pizza Roller. (Points will overlap in center; do not seal.)
  3. Measure mayonnaise, mustard, and black pepper into Classic Batter Bowl. Chop chicken, using Food Chopper. Slice celery using Chef’s Knife. Snip parsley using Kitchen Shears. Add chicken, celery, parsley, and pineapple to Batter Bowl. Grate cheese into Batter Bowl using Deluxe Cheese Grater. Mix filling using Mix ‘ N Scraper®. Using Medium Scoop, scoop filling over seams of dough, forming a circle.
  4. Coarsely chop nuts using Food Chopper; sprinkle over filling. Beginning in center, lift one dough triangle across mixture. Continue alternating with outer triangles, slightly overlapping to form wreath. Tuck last end under first.
  5. Separate egg over Small Batter Bowl using Egg Separator. Beat egg white lightly; brush over dough, using Pastry Brush.
  6. Bake 25 to 30 minutes or until golden brown.
  7. Cut and serve using Slice ‘N Serve®.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Great Rutabaga Ruckus

Ah, dear reader! Welcome back to another chapter in the illustrious chronicles of yours truly, Sir Whiskerton, the farm’s finest (and let’s face it, only) detective. Today’s tale is one of high stakes, scandalous accusations, and a vegetable so prized that its disappearance had the entire farm in an uproar. Yes, I’m talking about Farmer Joe’s prized rutabaga. This particular root vegetable was not just any rutabaga—it was destined for the county fair, where it was sure to win first prize. Its sudden disappearance rocked the farm to its core, and the case brought together an unlikely team of suspects, allies, and more mud than I care to recount. Prepare yourself for The Great Rutabaga Ruckus.

The Disappearance

The morning began with a commotion so loud it rattled the barn walls. I had just settled into my favorite sunbeam for a mid-morning nap when I heard Farmer Joe yelling from the garden.

“MY RUTABAGA! IT’S GONE!”

I sighed, stretching as I reluctantly rose to my paws. A missing vegetable. Hardly the kind of case that gets my pulse racing, but then again, life on the farm is rarely boring. I trotted over to the garden, where Farmer Joe was frantically searching through the rows of vegetables. The prize rutabaga’s spot was empty—just a small pile of disturbed soil where it had once proudly rested.

“Scandalous,” I muttered to myself. “Who would dare commit such a heinous crime?”

It wasn’t long before the rest of the farm animals had gathered to speculate. Among them were Porkchop the pig (looking suspiciously sweaty), Rufus the raccoon (looking suspiciously smug), and Sedgwick the barn owl (looking suspiciously calm, as always).

The Accusations Begin

“I’ll tell you who took it!” Porkchop declared, pointing a muddy hoof at Rufus. “It was him! That sneaky raccoon can’t resist stealing food. Everyone knows that!”

“Me?!” Rufus exclaimed, clutching his chest as if he’d been mortally offended. “I didn’t take your precious rutabaga! I’m not even a root vegetable kind of guy. Too earthy. I prefer sweet stuff, like berries… or honey.”

“Don’t look at me,” Porkchop huffed, his snout twitching. “I don’t even like rutabagas. Carrots, now that’s a different story, but rutabagas? No thanks.”

“Hmm,” Sedgwick said, perched on a nearby fence post. “Both of you seem eager to deny your involvement. Curious.”

“Do you think I took it?” Porkchop squealed. “I’m offended! I’m a pig of integrity!”

“Integrity? Please,” Rufus snorted. “I saw you sniffing around the garden yesterday, looking awfully interested in that rutabaga.”

“That doesn’t mean I took it!” Porkchop snapped. “I was just admiring it!”

“Enough,” I said, stepping forward and flicking my tail for emphasis. “This bickering isn’t helping. If we’re going to solve this mystery, we’ll need to investigate properly.”

The Investigation Begins

I started by examining the scene of the crime. The soil where the rutabaga had been planted was freshly disturbed, and there were faint marks in the dirt leading away from the garden.

“Tracks,” I said, crouching low to inspect them. “But they’re too small for Porkchop’s hooves and too wide for Rufus’s paws.”

Sedgwick swooped down from his perch to examine the tracks more closely. “These appear to be bird tracks,” he said thoughtfully. “Perhaps a goose or a large duck?”

“Could it be Gladys the goose?” I wondered aloud, remembering her flair for drama from our last adventure.

“She does have a talent for causing trouble,” Sedgwick admitted. “But let’s not jump to conclusions. We should follow the trail.”

The Trail Leads to Trouble

The tracks led us through the orchard, where Rufus took the opportunity to climb a tree and snack on an apple. “You know,” he said between bites, “if I had taken the rutabaga, I wouldn’t have left such an obvious trail. Whoever did this isn’t very good at being sneaky.”

“Or they didn’t care about being sneaky,” Sedgwick countered. “Perhaps they assumed no one would investigate.”

“Can we focus, please?” I said, my patience wearing thin. “The tracks lead to the barn. Let’s see what we find there.”

As we approached the barn, Porkchop began to look increasingly nervous. “Uh, you don’t think the thief is in the barn, do you? What if it’s… dangerous?”

“Dangerous?” Rufus laughed. “We’re looking for a vegetable thief, not a monster.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Porkchop muttered. “You’re not the one who has to sleep in there.”

The Culprit Revealed

Inside the barn, the tracks led us to a pile of hay in the corner. Sedgwick flapped onto a nearby beam for a better view, while Rufus and I cautiously approached the haystack.

“Something’s moving in there,” Rufus whispered, his eyes wide.

“Only one way to find out,” I said. With a swift paw swipe, I pulled back the hay to reveal… a family of rabbits!

The rabbits froze, their eyes wide with guilt. In the middle of their little nest was the missing rutabaga, half-eaten and surrounded by bits of straw.

“Well, well,” I said, arching an eyebrow. “It seems we’ve found our culprits.”

The largest rabbit—a scruffy fellow with one floppy ear—stepped forward and bowed his head. “We’re sorry,” he said. “We didn’t mean to cause trouble. We just… we couldn’t resist. It smelled so delicious, and we were so hungry…”

Sedgwick, ever the voice of reason, spoke gently. “While stealing is not the answer, I understand your plight. Perhaps we can find a solution that helps everyone.”

The Resolution

After some discussion (and a lot of clucking from the hens, who had somehow arrived to witness the drama), we decided to let the rabbits keep the remaining rutabaga. Farmer Joe, though disappointed, agreed to plant extra vegetables next season to ensure there was enough for everyone—humans and animals alike.

As for Porkchop and Rufus, they begrudgingly apologized to each other for their accusations, though I suspect their rivalry is far from over.

“I still think it’s suspicious how much Porkchop likes to hang around the garden,” Rufus muttered.

“And I still think you’re too sneaky for your own good,” Porkchop retorted.

“Enough, you two,” I said with a sigh. “The case is closed, and justice has been served. Let’s all try to get along, shall we?”

The Moral of the Story

Sometimes, misunderstandings can lead to unnecessary conflict, but with a little patience and understanding, even the biggest disagreements can be resolved. And remember: sharing is always better than stealing—even if it’s a prize rutabaga.

The End.

Prof. John Mearshimer Claims That It’s Too Late for the United State to Come After China

Its cold in them those Winter Steel Mills

All laptops are (one way or the other) made in China.

Most specifically, in the mega-city of Shenzhen and the Pearl River delta. Home of 138 million people. Compare that to the pathetic New York City with a mere 6 million people.

But I digress.

Those companies that “manufacture computers” in other nations, such as the United States are not really factories. They are assembly houses. They source parts and components from China, and then they assemble and test them in their home country. It’s a very common practice.

Now many people get confused by this.

They argue that they get their RAM from Korea, and their microprocessor from Taiwan, and their hard drive from a United States company. Which actually makes me chuckle.

All of which has components MADE INSIDE OF CHINA.

Actually, it’s one of the ways that I (personally) make money. I work with the owners, buyers and COOs of these foreign companies and arrange the manufacture to spec, and quality testing of the components that they will assemble into their products.

It’s pretty deceptive to someone to believe that they are having an American-made products, with American components when 90% of it is sourced one way or the other out of China. TRUTH.

The Best of: Jimmy O. Yang

I know what you’re thinking.

Submitted into Contest #207 in response to: A journalist has been granted permission to visit the premises of a lab carrying out top-secret work. They could never have anticipated what they’d find… view prompt

John Steckley

I Know What You’re Thinking“George, while you were in the bathroom, we received a call from the university for you.”“I hope that they don’t want to take my degree away after having a second look at the papers I wrote way back when.”“Very funny George. 
This is serious. 
Apparently there is a group of scientists at the university who have made what they called a great discovery. So far no outsiders know about this discovery, and they want you to interview them and observe the effectiveness of what they have invented.”“Wow. 
Well I did take a first year foundational course in science when I was there, and I got a good mark, the highest mark that year for me.”“No George, they were apparently quite impressed with the article you wrote about the strengths and weaknesses of electric cars and self-propelling lawnmowers.”“When do they want me?”“As soon as you can get there. 
They are quite eager to let the world know what they have discovered.”George grabbed his camera and his recording device, and sprinted out of the office, into his car, and sped down to the university. 
Although it had been years since he was last on the campus, he found his way to the science building easily enough.
He was greeted on the main floor by a university security officer, and told to take the elevator to the top floor.
George was surprised by what he saw when he arrived at his destination and the elevator door opened. There were two police officers standing there, one of whom asked him whether his name was George Stanley, and did he have ID on him to prove that he was who he said he was.  
He replied in the positive, took out his wallet and showed the officer his driver’s license. He was then escorted by the two officers into the room that apparently housed the experiment. Everyone in the room except for the officers, and, of course, himself, wore long white lab coats.
The one who seemed to be the leader approached him and said, “Before we explain what it is that we have discovered, we are going to demonstrate it to you, with you as the research subject.”George began to feel a little nervous at this point. The leader then reassured him that this experiment would be painless. 
“I am just going to expose you to some electro-magnetic waves, that will pair up with the waves created by your brain. 
What we are going to show you is our lie detector. I am pretty sure that you are about to tell me that such a device has already been developed, but it really has not. 
What was previously invented is what we call a psychophysiological detector of deceptions, and it is not infallible. 
It is more an intimidator that it is a detector – no intimidation, no detection.For our invention to work we have to influence a person’s brainwaves with the waves from our machine. 
Now stand still. What I want you to do after I send the waves your way is to have you say what colour comes into your mind. If it is the same one that we have programmed our wave machine to send your way, then the two of you are connected. And we will be able to catch you in a lie.
George was usually a big talker, with a sarcastic comment for every occasion. In this case he was more than a little stunned by the experience, and said nothing. When the device was turned on, he heard a kind of buzzing in his brain, that had lasted a few seconds, later to fade away. 
Then the scientist pointed the device at him again, and there was a different tone of buzzing, followed by the word ‘brown’ resounding in his head several times.“Okay, George, what was the colour?
”After a few seconds, in which George seriously contemplated giving a wrong answer, he said “brown.”“Right! Now George, we are going to ask you a question, to which you can lie or tell the truth. We will tell you which one it is. George, are you married?”
George said that he was, and the lead scientist correctly replied with “That’s a lie”. George just nodded his head in response.

“We are now going to explain to you how it works. Let us know if you don’t understand. It is highly technical of course.”

George then asked a question, “Are you not going to de-program me first?”

The reply hit him like a hammer blow.

“Oh, we cannot do that. We tried, but could not find a way to do that, so we ended that part of the research. We feel that it would be relatively harmless to keep people programmed, as we will have absolute control of the devices. There will be no misuse.”

George recorded the explanations of different aspects of the technology, so his complete attention was on what he was learning. He had the distinct impression that when he did not quite get what they were saying, they would repeat what they had said slowly and with more explanation.

When he was about to leave, the lead scientist asks him a peculiar question. “When are you going to be writing this piece?” He replied by telling the man that he always wrote his articles as soon as he arrived at work at nine o’clock in the morning, as he was a ‘morning person’.

He gave his standard joke about that saying, “I never wrote anything intelligent in the afternoon.”

After he had left and was driving back to the newspaper office, he wondered that the repetition of the explanations that he didn’t quite follow was the product of their ‘reading his mind’. He wondered how far he would have to go to be beyond their range. Or would there be no ‘beyond the range’.

He knew from his regular reading of scientific journals that electro-magnetic waves were used to travel far into space. Travelling on earth should not  then pose a significant challenge to their use.

When he got back to the newspaper office, he went straight away to talk to the editor to explain the problem he would have with writing an unbiased article on the research. The editor, whom George respected for his intelligence, particularly as it was demonstrated in his ability to write meaningful articles, presented him with a strategy that could resolve his problem.

He followed it to the letter. The next morning, at precisely nine o’clock, he first wrote an article that was solidly supportive of the research, and the researchers. Minutes after he was finished the draft copy of this piece, he received a phone call from the lead researcher, who stated that he was sure that whatever he wrote would be fine with them. He should not worry about “getting it right”.

Then, as the editor had suggested, he wrote what he truly felt, giving the article the title “Do you want to be programmed?” It had a powerful impact on the readers. The research ethics committee of the university soon declared that they would cut the funding of the project until such time as they found a way to deprogram those who were subjected to the waves.

The committee asked George whether he wanted to be a research subject, as he was one of the very few who had been programmed, the others being university students who had badly needed the money.

While he was apprehensive of the scientists ‘messing with my mind’, particularly after the critical article that he wrote, he agreed to participate as he wanted his brain purged of the effect of the waves.

When he made his return to their research room, his first words were “I know what you’re thinking.” There was an initial silence.

Then they laughed.

Let me tell you how the other night, a “person of color” pointed a gun at my entire family – my husband, myself, our 3 kids 8,9,11 and my brand new 4 month old baby. That white privilege didn’t kick in though. Despite having a literal video, a license plate, witnesses – the cops have done nothing. The detective told us they see things like this all of the time with these thugs and he’d “get to it when he gets to it. But the DA might not even prosecute”.

I was shocked, considering our white friend brandished his firearm in self defense a while back, despite legally having the right to – he was ripped out of his house and had his firearm taken from him “while they investigated”

I, like the idiot I must be, assumed they would certainly go grab this animal that threatened to kill my family, immediately. Considering he was not provoked nor threatened in any way. I now have seen firsthand the privilege cops and district attorneys are giving persons of color. All to avoid having to deal with the criminals that support BLM and risk the bad press and losing a vote in my liberal shit hole state.

Comix for fun

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The country that survives should be China.

The nuclear weapons of the United States and Russia are superior in quantity, and most of them are nuclear warheads produced during the Cold War 40 to 50 years ago. China’s nuclear weapons are superior in quality, and many of them are new nuclear warheads produced in the past decade.

Russia’s nuclear missiles are mainly deployed in fixed launch silos, which are not very mobile and it is difficult to ensure the second nuclear strike capability. After the disintegration of the Soviet Union, Russia’s finances were not abundant, and the nuclear weapon launch system was not updated much.

The United States’ nuclear missiles are mainly deployed on nuclear submarines; the United States’ nuclear missiles are mainly deployed on missile launch vehicles. Mobility means having a second nuclear strike capability.

Broadly speaking, there is no winner in nuclear war!

  • Who can build more underground projects to protect more people?
  • Who can regain control of the territory first?
  • Who can rebuild civilization in the territory of nuclear radiation?

Then, who is the winner of the third world war.

The one who can’t do it is the loser.

Considering China’s huge population size and their infrastructure capabilities, as well as its preparations for nuclear bombing since the 1960s, it goes without saying who is the winner. (China has been under nuclear threat since the 1960s and has always been prepared. China should be the country with the most underground fortifications in the world.)

Even after the nuclear bomb fell, the war never ended.

The birth of human civilization is accompanied by war, and the restarted human civilization will also be shrouded in the haze of war.

Welcome to our nightmare! The concern of having to take a shit, and forgetting one’s firearm in, say, a restaurant’s restroom is scary. I’ll explain the situation and provide a perfect solution.

Obviously, if you are a dude, and you’re taking a piss, it’s not a problem. It’s on your belt and it’s not going to be interfered with. If it’s on a duty belt and you go take a shit, it’s obviously on the belt and that’s a lot of crap, very visible and you generally hang that off the top of the stall or the bathroom door handle if it’s a single unit and odds are you have to contend with the vest as well, so that’s another reminder. (I don’t take shits wearing my vest.) The problem comes in when one has an IWB, inside the waist band type holster, which is a compact unit, which is removable from the belt, and when dropping one’s pants, it’s necessary to remove the firearm in holster from the belt. Many people simply put int on the toilet tank or counter near the sink (Most common but damn BAD PRACTICE), if there is one and sadly, some have left them there. The most publicly reported, INTERNATIONAL one was someone on some royal protection detail, left a firearm in a public bathroom, in the UK. The horror! It’s a gun! So not only are there potential legal, safety, and liability issues, it can be a career killer.

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While reading the comments about the aforementioned incident, one old cop had the simplest solution that should work well and it provides an example of WHY sometimes the best information is in the comments from readers on any subject. You put the gun, still in holster, in your underwear, which is at your ankle level. There’s absolutely no way that you’re going to miss it if you forget you have a pistol on you and thoughtlessly begin pulling up your briefs and trousers. It’s right there! It’s heavy, it’s noticeable and it’s where you have to do something and touch something to move on to the next step, as opposed to resting it on the counter near the sink, the floor, or the top of the toilet tank where you can get distracted or experience the “I gotta leave impulse we often have after taking a dump. So put it, in your IWB holster, in your briefs when you shit. This is a great solution for males and females. The simplicity matches the likely certainty of it, make it a habit and it should work out well.

A Snapchat Catfisher Is Trying To Con A Bro Out Of His Money, Let’s Help Him With A Dose Of Reality!

I’ve been catfished. Sad to say.

It happens to the best of us. Let this story be a lesson.

Take the *slaps*.

Learn.

Coconut Octopus

Submitted into Contest #207 in response to: A journalist has been granted permission to visit the premises of a lab carrying out top-secret work. They could never have anticipated what they’d find… view prompt

Khadija S. Mohammad

“Octopuses?” Thomas spluttered.The girl smiled. “Popular misconception. Logically, the plural is octopodes. Although publicly it’s still octopuses.” He rubbed the back of his head. Try to unearth the biggest scientific secret of the century, and all you end up with is a headache and a lesson in octopus plurals.“Come with me, our secret is in here.” She was laughing at him?He followed her through a wide door and into a glaring white chamber. As his eyes grew accustomed to the light he noticed boxes of blue and other bright colours dotting the room. Octopus tanks.The girl strode towards the farthest wall, avoiding the tanks and other obstacles with ease. Thomas was not so lucky; His natural clumsiness asserted itself, and by the time he stood next to her, three items were displaced, and one was broken. He was vaguely aware of a white figure glaring at his back as it cleaned up the mess.In front of them, a blank wall. The girl leaned into the wall and placed her eye in front of a hidden sensor. Slowly, the protective covering went up and what faced them was another octopus tank. “This is Hàixiū,” she said, putting her hand against the glass. Thomas spotted a small jellyfish-like shape in one corner. He pointed at it.“Yes, that’s her. Hàixiū is Chinese for ‘shy’.”A small squeak came from the corner of the room. Thomas turned and saw a silver-rimmed octopus tank with a young man standing in front of it, looking like something from a black-and-white movie. His skin was pale, almost white, and his clothes were black and grey. He squeaked at the octopus in front of him, and leant close to the tank, whispering like the breeze on a cold day. Thomas pointed at him and looked inquisitively at the girl.”Hàorán. He’s a little mad,” she explained, lowering her voice. “Ever since he came here he’s been whispering to Kuàisù, his octopus. He seems to think that Kuàisù can learn to talk.” Thomas glanced back at Hàorán and wondered…A man of about twenty walked in. “There you are Mimi. It’s time for Hàixiū’s injection.” 

“Just a moment, Hui. Our journalist needs something to write about. Is it okay if he stays?” Hui nodded.

 

They put on gloves and found equipment while Thomas watched, occasionally glancing back at the tank. Hàixiū didn’t move.

 

“Turn on the Mush,” said Mimi. Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Just watch, it will explain itself.” Hui pressed a button on another wall and Thomas waited for something to happen.

 

Mimi pulled her gloves above her elbows and stretched her arms towards the tank. Thomas stared. Mush. Her hands just sank through it, the glass melting and moulding around them. The octopus flew – right to the other end of the tank.

 

“Come back here, you little monster,” Mimi said playfully. Hàixiū refused to come nearer, waiting until Mimi was just close enough to touch an arm with her fingertips before jetting away, pointing her suckers at them. And that’s what you are, she seemed to say. Not so much shy as cheeky, Thomas thought.

 

Hui talked while Mimi chased the elusive Hàixiū around the tank. “We take them out every day and inject them with Systimosin. It’s a kind of stimulant.”

 

“Got you!” said Mimi, grabbing hold of an arm and struggling to hold her still. “Hurry up Hui, she’s really strong.”

 

“Coming, coming.” He passed her a syringe filled with a thick, colourless liquid. “It was developed for the first time in this lab a few weeks ago. It supplies new connections in the octopodes’ brain, making it smarter. We’re also expecting it to give them a longer life span.”

 

Mimi injected the liquid into Hàixiū’s arm, then let go of her. “She’s developing faster than the others. They’re all developing faster than I expected.” Hui laughed.

 

“If you have any questions, ask Mimi. She’s the biggest octopus expert around here. I’m just the assistant.” Something is his voice – in the words he spoke? The way he spoke? – hit Thomas like a wave. He’d always been sensitive to emotions. If you don’t talk, you get to listen longer. And words aren’t the only thing you can listen to.

 

He put up a hand, a Wait, please sign; He wanted to write. He hoped his face would say what his hands couldn’t. He’d never been the best at polite talk. Or impolite talk.

 

Somehow they understood. Hui left. Mimi waited, then began walking him round a tour again, stopping at each new tank to add a special comment about the octopus inside.

 

“Each octopus is different,” she explained, “They each have their own personalities. This is Yonggan,” as they neared another tank where an octopus was attached to the glass. “We joke that he’s Hàixiū’s soulmate, the two are exact opposites. Yonggan is very playful; He loves new people. We expected him to develop the fastest, but Nature never makes things easy.” Thomas nodded and bent over his notebook as they walked on. “They’re each named after their most prominent traits, it makes them easier to place and helps when we forget which name is attached to which octopus.” He nodded again.

 

They walked on, carefully avoiding Hàorán’s corner, where he continued whispering to Kuàisù, ignoring them completely, or just not seeing them.

 

“Remember, this is top-secret work. No leaks,” Mimi said. Thomas rolled his eyes. I’m a journalist. Whatever I see, the public sees. Suddenly he bent over his notebook, writing something and ripping it out to show her.

 

What if one of the scientists leak?” She read. “That’s simple; They wouldn’t. I would trust any one of my crew with my life. We all trust each other.” Thomas wasn’t satisfied, but he kept quiet as they moved to the next tank.

 

“And this is Xiaochou, the clown. You wouldn’t think that he was nocturnal, would you?” Xiaochou was currently doing octopus backflips, front flips, and side flips.

 

“We always use Amphioctopus marginatus, the Coconut or Veined octopus, for our experiments. We tried using other types, but Systimosin doesn’t create intelligence, it just increases what’s already there, so they either showed no signs of developing or died when we tried increasing the dose.”

 

Thomas was confused. Surely she was fond of the creatures after working with them for weeks, but he couldn’t detect any emotions from her when she talked of their deaths.

 

“The government decided that it was too damaging to risk too many tests, so they only granted permission for 10 octopodes, 5 tests each. It’s at the edge of our limit; If an octopus died now…” She shivered. “Well, hopefully all goes to – ”

 

“Hàixiū is out!” The steady thud of feet on the spotless white floor, squeaks, squeals and more shouting. Only Hàorán stayed where he was, a surprised but smug grin on his face. Why, Thomas wondered. Somehow, the alleged madman fascinated him.

 

He followed Mimi back to Hàixiū’s tank, notebook forgotten, where a group of teuthologists stood in a loose circle, talking. He caught a few words. “- before we expected.”

 

“She’s certainly developing fast,” Mimi commented, “She wasn’t scheduled to escape for a few weeks.” Nobody seemed panicked. In fact, nobody was even looking for Hàixiū. It was as if they all knew that she would be back soon, like she was a colleague who had just gone out for a coffee and would return in a few minutes. Thomas stood awkwardly behind the group, staring absent-mindedly into Hàixiū’s empty tank.

 

“Hui?” Mimi called. Hui walked in and looked at her expectantly. “She should be near the vent in the test room, could you bring her in please?” Hui nodded and left.

 

He returned a minute later with a frozen look of panic on his face. “She’s not there.”

 

No one knew what to do. The chances of her not doing what they expected were a thousand to one. They froze.

 

Suddenly everyone was moving, and Thomas watched with an amused smile. This is what happens when you become too logical, he thought. Resuming his watch on the tank, he let his mind roam, headlines and front-page news drifting in and out of his consciousness.

 

“Where could she be?” “What’s happened to her?” “What if she’s got out?” “Why didn’t we calculate correctly?” People zipping back and forth, searching the rooms, searching the vents, making more calculations and searching again.

 

Half an hour later, the panic was broken, the problem still unsolved. In place of blind frenzy came desperation for some, depression for others. Some were sitting cross-legged on the floor, crying, knowing that Hàixiū was already dead, some continued stubbornly searching. Thomas was still glued to the glass, trying to appear oblivious to his surroundings, overwhelmed with the emotions that flooded the lab. A single octopus meant so much to them. In the passageway, a man was on his knees, praying.

 

As Thomas stared through the tank, something caught his eye. “Mimi,” he shouted, realising he didn’t know her last name. His voice was scratchy and thick with disuse. She lifted her head from her hands and looked around, unsure of who was calling her. “She’s here.”

 

Everyone crowded around him, following his finger to the small jellyfish-like shape in the corner. Mimi squealed with relief. Hui and another man slapped each other on the back. Tears were forgotten, driven away by almost hysterical laughter.

 

Thomas was confused, alone in his thoughts. Hàixiū had always been there; She hadn’t moved from when he first entered the room. And throughout the commotion that had followed her ‘disappearance’, no one had admitted coming near the tank. ‘Hàixiū is out’…

 

Safe in his corner, Hàorán laughed. Kuàisù had proved his worth.

Ronny Chieng Explains Why Chinese People Love Money

How is China’s domination in lab-grown diamonds shaking up and destabilizing the traditional global diamond market?

You want to buy a Diamond ring

A 4 Carat cut and polished ring at Chow Sang Sang in Beijing retails at a whopping 320,000 Yuan

Same 4 Carat Synthetic Diamond ring can be purchased for 42,000 Yuan

No Amateur can tell the difference

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main qimg da0ced1b67ba3f2dfb642d92c4a020a6

Not even a Loupe can tell the difference these days

You need a Gemological Certificate & LIBS or Spectroscopy reports

Nirav Modi, the legend 😁😁😁😁😁

He claimed to spend $ 400 Million (₹ 2700 Crore) in buying Natural Diamonds but spent $ 46 Million in buying Synthetic Diamonds from China vide HK and likely (ALLEGEDLY) siphoned off $ 354 Million

The ED who confiscated his diamonds thought the value was ₹ 3,130 Crore found their value to be less than ₹350 Crore

So a Gemological certificate isn’t exactly iron clad evidence

Only the RETAILER is

Tiffanys, Cartiers etc who have a reputation sell absolutely doubt free Natural diamonds

China makes 77% of the World’s synthetic diamonds

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main qimg 5c37d498d3876d7dae1a095fc11565fe

India is a huge market and we import 24% of Synthetic Diamonds and also make 9% of Synthetic Diamonds

Why is the Global Market shaken up?

36% Diamond Buyers were those who scrimped and saved for years or took heavy credit card debts to buy Diamond Jewelry with Natural Diamonds

Today those buyers can easily pay 20% of the price and buy Synthetic Diamonds with 18K Gold Jewelry which can deceive 99% of the world as being authentic

So those customers will NEVER buy natural diamonds again

So value of diamonds is driven down drastically

Disadvantages of Synthetic Diamonds:-

They can’t be RESOLD or HOCKED easily

Pawnbrokers pay you 60% value of Natural Diamonds and you can resell them for 100% Value or even greater value in the same retail outlet at a later delate

They are easily convertible to cash

Meanwhile Synthetic Diamonds fetch less than 30% value at a Pawnbroker and reselling them means at least 50% discount

What is the best 5th generation fighter in the world? What are the criteria? These are the questions I have asked for sometime now.

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main qimg 4030e13b8340e7f11bc937a80a109ff0

I will tackle this question.

I will evaluate it based on current fighters abilities not the SU-57M or Block 4 F-35. I also do not care about numbers in total built. I agree that in a real war that matters. However for this question it does not. This question is simple to me, if I could only have 1 of these fighters to protect my country which one would it be.

Lets start with the biggest question does the fighter have to have all the parameters that Lockheed Martin laid out when they developed the 5th generation brand? I would say no you do not, as those goal posts were moved by Lockheed themselves in order to get the F-35 to fit the as a 5th generation fighter title. Super maneuverability and Supercruise was removed with the reasoning being since there are no more dogfights( which will turn out to be incorrect) and speed is not important anymore. Consequently I will not be holding the fact that the SU-57 does not have serrated nozzles yet or the J-20 lacking supercruise ability. There will be one caveat to this discussion there is quite limited information J-20 just as the Chinese prefer it but this will make a comparison to other fighters more challenging but I will do my best.

Lets start by defining what I believe makes the best 5th gen aircraft. It would be the best all around aircraft that if you could only have one of these 5th generation fighters in your inventory, which one is best able to carry out A2A, A2G, standoff attacks and air superiority would it be. that the basis of the this discussion lets begin.

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BVR

The West has convinced the world that air battles will now be fought only from beyond visual range(BVR). In this scenario sensors are king, and how far your radar can pick up a target and create a firing solution is what matters. In this regard I will talk about the individual abilities of the fighters not a grouping of fighters working in unison. In the case of BVR other than the sensors the missiles are the most important weapon in the arsenal of these fighters. We should now look at how each fighter stacks up in these categories

F-35

The F-35 uses the APG-81 with 1000-1600 T/R modules and a range of 200km and 110km on 1sqm target the EOTS is a combination of IRST and FLIR that has shown range out to 90kms not sure what range it can create a firing solution from officially but it is believed to be around 50kms from what is in open sources.

The missiles for air-to-air are the AIM-120D which incorporates active seeker with a max range of 160km and a predicted NEZ of 70km in stealth configuration and when stealth is not required the AIM-9X for short range attacks. Both missiles can be shot off boresight even at targets in the rear hemisphere. Max air-to-air load out in stealth configuration is 4 AIM-120D. Both missile can receive datalink correction from F-35

F-22

The F-22 uses the APG-77 with 1500 -2200 T/R modules with a range of 400km on a 1sqm target it does not have any kind of optical tracking abilities as it was designed as a pure air superiority fighter and the US had rejected IRST as general rule in fighter aircraft at this time. It also has the AN/ALR 94 with passive sensors with a claimed range of 463kms to detect radar signals.

The missiles are very similar to the F-35, with AIM-120D as primary medium distance and the AIM-9X. The F-22 does not have the ability to shoot off boresight missiles but can carry 6 AIM-120D and 2 AIM-9X in stealth configuration.

J-20

The J-20 uses the Type 1475 with approximately 2000T/R modules which are rumored to Gallium nitride which would make for a very powerful radar. Before people say that cannot be possible, China makes 98% of the world production of Gallium. The only numbers to be found is a range of 200km. They also claim the J-20 has an IRST but again there is no real open source information specifications.

The missiles used by the J-20 are the PL-15 with an AESA radar seeker and 200km range and dual pulse motor. For short range it uses the PL-10 with an imaging infrared (IIR) seeker, thrust-vectoring exhaust nozzle, laser proximity fuse, and reportedly boasts a 90-degree off-boresight capability.

SU-57

The SU-57 is a bit different than all the others, it has 4 X-band radars that cover 360° The nose radar has 1514 T/R modules with a range of 400km on 1sqm targets and two side arrays with 414 T/R modules each with range of 110km+ there no numbers on T/R of the rear radar it may be RWR only or another full radar. The Felon also incorporates two L-band arrays in which many argue about their uses but I believe because they are part of the radar system. It also has probably the best IRST in current fighter with the quantum well technology(QWIP) with minimum range 130km. The OLS-50M and 101KS-V Infra-red Search And Track System ( IRST ) is designed to detect heat emissions from aircraft and missiles passively. IRST are essentially thermographic cameras that detect and track heat sources without emitting any radiation in the process ( passive ).

The SU-57 in stealth mode can carry the R-77M a medium distance dual pulse motor missile with a range of up to 193km with datalink the missile has a AESA seeker that when it picture is completed may have largest NEZ of any missile again that is opinion not a fact. The R-37M has a version called the Izdeliye 810 with folding wings. There are pictures of it being manufactured and information it would be included in the SU-57E so we will assume it is an option. The range is said to be 300km+. For short range internal bays the RVV-MD2 missiles is equipped with a combined guidance system, which includes inertial guidance plus a multi-element double-channel infrared seeker with increased resistance to interference, plus a radio correction receiving channel. The missile can independently determine its coordinates in space, regardless of external factors. The scanning area of the homing seeker in the forward hemisphere is 180°, which allows tracking all evasive maneuvers of the attacked enemy aircraft.

BVR Analysis

This will be a contentious topic as the Westerners have a very hard time with accepting anything but clear dominance and that is simply is not the case if you look at the open source available data. The fact is that the F-22 and the SU-57 are the standouts in this category. Yes the F-35 networking with multiple platforms is a great ability but we cannot look at things from that perspective. In a battle AWACS will be destroyed and communications disrupted. The individual abilities of the fighter to perform in a contested environment is the measuring stick. The SU-57 and F-22 radars outrange both the F-35 and J-20 along with longer range passive sensors. The SU-57 has upper hand in missile range and ability to fire totally passively. The AN/ALR-94 cannot create a firing solution without the use of its radar which will alert fighters to being targeted, especially the SU-57 with 4 X-band radars.

There is one more combat avionics system made especially for BVR that the SU-57 has, it is unique in the fighter aviation community. It is called BOSES-TU ‘Duel’ ,this is from one western sources in 2014 :

”This is the first time we have seen such a system anywhere. This system enables the aircraft to be programmed with the capabilities of its adversary, allowing for the aircraft to track its opponent and recommend optimized decisions to the pilot, creating a fine balance of man and machine. Such a system is only the tip of the iceberg with what can be done, it’s the first time we have seen the introduction of AI on a combat platform.”

Aircraft Operational Recommendation Expertise System of Tactical Level called ‘Duel’ for usage in BVR combat. Besides the Su-35S ,only the new Su-57 has this combat system. Something like this western fighters do not possess. What is the story about? Thanks to Russian Intel ,hundreds of flight and maneuvering performance data, combat potential and other details and data for all operational western 4th and 5te gen fighters are stored in two 6-processor/Elbrus-4S/ digital comps type Baget-53-31M. So this system helps pilot of Su-35/57 to take decisions and actions in BVR combat in all possible tactical/combat scenarios: 1vs1,1vs2,2vs1,2vs2,2vs4 or vice versa and in squadron level.

In conclusion the BVR battle will most like be won by the F-22 or SU-57.

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ksnip 20250105 075616

Stealth

Next we will cover the stealth of each aircraft,:

F-22 – Has a claimed RCS of 0.0001sqm. Whether this is correct or not it is the number most often quoted. While I have my doubts about the veracity of theses claims I will not cover that here and will just use the above number. This makes the F-22 the most stealthy fighter in the world.

F-35 – Has a claimed RCS of 0.001sqm. This would have it ranked as the second best stealth fighter in the world

J-20 – There are no official claimed numbers from the Chinese for the J-20. Therefore I choose to reputable modeler Dhimas Afihandarin who has estimated the J-20 to be around 0.2sqm which even he admits seems high but that is what the modeling says, therefore since we have nothing else to go by that is the number I have to be settled on.

SU-57 – There are many that try to use the patent as the basis for the SU-57 in which case the we should the ATF for the F-22 which called for the fighter to be 100x smaller than 10sqm F-15 which equals out to 0.1sqm. Lockheed has since revised that number to 0.0001sqm. Russia has said the actual number is classified. So again I turned to Dhimas Afihandarin who is one of the only modelers to take into account radar blockers and screens and carbon fiber skin. According to his modeling the SU-57 RCS is around 0.006sqm. Which would put the SU-57 firmly in third place in the stealth race.

Stealth Analysis

Stealth is a very interesting topic people obsess about having the lowest RCS number, and yes in certain situations that is most important factor. How the fighter will be used matters more though. If you plan for your plane to do deep penetration SEAD and DEAD mission that small RCS will be vital. What is vital is that the rapid speed at which radars are catching up with stealth. The US has admitted they believe the S-400 radar can track and target a F-35. According to Alastair Crooke a well know retired intel specialist on the middle east with deep deep inside information. The reason the planned 24hr operation of Israel to attack Iran only lasted a few hours was due to the fact that F-35’s that were supposed to lead the charge being locked and targeted by an unknown radar. This radar is believed to be the S-400 Russia brought in to support Iranian IAD. This is not even the best Russian radar, that honor would go to the new S-500 radar not to mention the multiple ground radars used by China and Russia in multiple bands that are linked together to create a picture for their respective IAD’s.

Within the WVR realm which contrary to popular belief still exists. The stealth of an aircraft becomes much less important and Kinematics and pilots become the main measuring sticks along with missiles. If you look for example at the the ranges at which a F-22 for example would see an SU-57 on radar you are looking at about 37kms and that does not take into account EW abilities. Against a none peer adversary like Iraq, Libya, Syria, Afghanistan etc, stealth doesn’t matter. If you plan to take a F-22 and F-35 into an IAD that will also have alert aircraft like MiG-31’s , SU-57’s, J-16’s and J-20 they will not survive. Many will argue that the F-22 on a radar is a blip on a radar but a blip traveling at 1200km per hour is still a red flag. The Russians, Iranians and Chinese have been building a radar blueprint for these planes for over 20 years.

The Russians and Chinese do not do SEAD and DEAD missions as a general rule they are more apt to use missiles to destroy air defences. Stealth is vital and against non peer opponents it can be deadly. However for those countries that still plan tp use modern air power as their main strategy, I would advise them to re-think that strategy going against a peer level IAD network.

In conclusion the Lockheed brother definitely win the stealth game. However that does not give them the edge it did 20 years ago when the F-22 took to the skies to be part of the US Air Force.

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main qimg 27c5f5d0afc8e6dac215e27cf0b7b25b

Air to Ground/Stand-off munitions

F-22– This where the F-22 really falls down it can really only carry 2 1000lbs GBU-32 PGM 445lbs of explosives with 15km range.

F-35 – The F-35 can carry internally 2 JSM range 275km+ or 8 SDB PGM with 105lbs of explosive each or it can carry a total of two GBU-32’s. Typical loadout for ground attack is 2 GBU-32’s PGM 445lbs of explosives and 2 AIM-120D.

J-20 – The J-20 is intended to carry internally the LS-6/50 PGM 110lbs of explosive and LS6/100 PGM 220lbs of explosive. Quantities unknown.

SU-57 – The Su-57 can carry internally D-30SN glide bomb 220lbs of explosive 90km range, KAB-250 PGM 365lbs of explosives KAB-500 PGM 990lbs of explosives, Kh-36 Grom-E2 Glide bomb range 50km 551lbs of explosive, Kh-59MK2 290km range 705lbs of explosives, Kh-69 400km range 683lbs of explosives. Kh-31 260km range 207lbs of explosives.(anti-ship/anti-radiation). Kh-35U 300km range 320lbs of explosive, Kh-58UShKe 260km range 328lbs of explosives.

In this category there is a clear winner, and that is the SU-57 it has by far the most variety and destructive firepower. On top of that unlike some of the air-to-air missiles all of these munitions have been used in either Syria or Ukraine or both. The SU-57 has the ability to dominate ground warfare without even entering the IAD envelope of all the Western IAD’s.

Another caveat is that the Russian create all missiles with belief they may have to carry a nuclear warhead one day. So missiles like Kh-69 or the smaller version of Kinzhal intended for the weapons bay of SU-57 or the new long range prototype cruise missile based on the Kh-555 with a range of 2,500km could possibly carry long range stand-off nuclear missiles.

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main qimg 4ff03677725c4240d2c49bf01d197896

Avionics/Sensor Fusion

This is a very interesting subject because sensor fusion is such a new term and function on the battlefield. The consensus is that the F-35 does it best and I can see why people say that. The way the US has chosen use fusion is very efficient and creative things like being able to see through the fighter and fusing the information from the radar and cameras to display on the helmet is very impressive feat of engineering. The F-22 does have sensor fusion but not to the level or in same way that the F-35 does but enough to give excellent awareness in the sky. There is literally nothing open source on China that I can find. The Russian definitely do sensor fusion integrating all the sensor to create a picture of the battle space along with what they call the second pilot AI system that manages many functions thus allowing pilot to concentrate on the fight.

People will speak about the avionics of F-22 and F-35 being superior to the SU-57 but factually the SU-57’s electronics and eternals are superior to block 3 F-35 let alone F-22. The F-35 current (Block 3) has a less powerful ICP than the Su-57’s compute module. The F-35 uses PowerPC MPC7448 chips vs Elbrus-4S (quad-core Elbrus) on the Su-57. The F-22 is even worse, it uses i960MX processors. This is supposed to change on F-35 when Block 4 comes out. On top of that the SU-57 uses NTC Module 1879VM8Ya (sixteen-core NeuroMatrix DSPs with five-core ARM controllers AI accelerators, and all the networking is done by fiber optics. The radar uses second generation gallium arsenide elements.

Who has the best sensor fusion? The realty is we do not know, yes the F-35 under ideal circumstances can interface with the most assets but the chance in a real WWIII type scenario that is going to available is probably zero. The question for me is who systems will allow their pilots to kill the most adversaries efficiently. It is great to be able to see through your fighter but is that better than side radars that can see from a fighter from over 100kms away. What picture does fusing Optical, L, and X-band together to create a firing solution vs the AN/ALR-94. The actual only way to tell whose system is the best is to have an actual war and have them battle it out. I am sure they will all have their strengths and weaknesses but trying to use red flag events as your proof of superiority is foolish. As far as I am concerned this is an immeasurable category.

Kinematics

F-35- F-135 engine with serrated nozzles 43,000lbs thrust with afterburners 28,000lbs without AB, T/W at normal takeoff weight of 1.07, wing loading 526 kg/m2, Mach 1.6. The F-35 cannot supercruise and is limited to about 10 min of supersonic flight unless there is an emergency. Range internal fuel 1400km. Climb rate 277m/s.

F-22 – F-119 engine with 2D flat nozzles 35,000lbs x 2=70,000lbs with afterburners 50,,000lbs without AB, T/W at normal take off weight 1.25 wing loading 377 kg/m2, top speed Mach 2.25. The F-22 can supercruise at Mach 1.8 and has a range without drop tanks 1000km. Climb rate 350m/s.

J-20 – WS-10C engine with serrated nozzles 32,000lbs x 2=64,000lbs with afterburners unknown dry thrust, T/W 0.95 wing loading 340 kg/m2 , top speed Mach 2.0. The J-20 cannot supercruise and has a range of 3500km. Climb rate 304m/s. Top Speed Mach 2.

SU-57 – AL-41F1 engine with 3D TVC 33,000lbs x2=66,000lbs with afterburners 39,600lbs without AB T/W at normal takeoff weight 1.15 wing loading 371 kg/m2, top speed Mach 2.0. The SU-57 can supercruise at Mach 1.3 and has a range of 3500km. Climb rate between 361–384m/s.

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main qimg 5b160e0bf2f379c4415c23745e12ebc5

Kinematics Analysis

This is the easiest to break down. The SU-57 is in a league of its own when it comes to the kinematic world. The design builds on Sukhoi’s knowledge from the flankers and adds LEVCONS, 3D TVC and the best aerodynamics of the 5th generations. The F-22 is no slouch here either with 2D TVC and lots of thrust. The J-20 for its size is very agile due to its canard delta wing setup. Lastly the F-35 might not be as bad as people claim but the numbers do not lie.

Command and Control

F-22– The F-22 was initially excluded from the Air Force’s data-sharing prototype, ABMS Capability Release 1, due to differences in communications design and development. However, the ACC Federal Laboratory has integrated combat apps onto the F-22 using an open software stack.

F-35 – MADL, when operated in conjunction with other F-35 sensors, can achieve the much sought-after goal of sharing threat data and helping the jet find and destroy enemy targets from ranges where it remains undetected. This ability, shown in several wargames in recent years, is something that F-35 pilots point to as a defining reason for its superiority.

J-20 – No open source information I can find.

SU-57 – The upgraded S-111 system uses AI based cognitive radio technology it enhances interference and intelligence immunity, helping it counter jamming and other electronic warfare techniques employed by adversaries. The equipment ensures data transmission validity by means of noiseless coding, message symbol interlacing, universal time synchronization for signal processing, simultaneous message transmission via parallel links, extending stable communication range, and using artificial intelligence technology. The system includes computers, interlacers and de-interlacers, high-frequency-band antenna tuners, digital signal processors, and noiseless encoders and decoders. This allows for seamless communication and battlefield management with all assets from the IAD, to ground forces to the control air battle space.

Again I prefer to look at how the fighters would perform independent of larger network but I am sure while AEW&C and AWACS will not survive the battle space the ability to work in coordination with other fighters will to some degree. The F-35 whole design is based on interoperability and the ability to pass on information to other fighters within the kill chain.

The F-22 is integrated but not to the degree that the F-35 is but is a lethal part of that chain.

The J-20 does have ability to link fighters together it has been spoken of but details are so sparse that it really impossible to say much of anything except do not underestimate the Chinese.

The SU-57 and the Russians have a very robust ability with the SU-30SM2, SU-35S, MiG-31 and SU-57 to communicate with the Russian networks. Many think Russia is far behind but it is actually not. Since the 80’s a group of four MiG-31s was capable of exchanging data in automatic mode regarding targets being tracked within 800km-wide sector with the ability to communicate to a distance of 2000km with ground command to target data to a ground or air-based targets. The SU-35S lead in 4 fighter group can target/pass information and even fire the missiles of the 3 other fighters while they fly passively. The SU-57 abilities are significantly more than these examples obviously.

In the end I would give F-35 the edge as this is its primary strength, however the other 3 fighters should not be underestimated.

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main qimg 122e25080aa6cd87b9c089d65492fe82 lq

Electronic Warfare

F-35 – In today’s signal-dense environments, the AN/ASQ-239 system provides long-range 360-degree, full-spectrum situational awareness and rapid-response capabilities. Its offensive and defensive capabilities include threat warning, radio-frequency and infrared countermeasures, and targeting support – allowing pilots to detect, analyze, and counter threats and reach well-defended targets.

F-22 – BAE Systems’ AN/ALR-94 digital electronic warfare system geolocates potential threats by detecting adversary radars at significant ranges, allowing the F-22 Raptor to limit its own radar emissions, enabling it to better conceal its location when operating in hostile territory. Data collected by the AN/ALR-94 system helps identify, monitor, analyze, and rapidly respond to threats by providing the pilot with maximum situational awareness. Advanced avionics and sensors provide a complete view of the battlespace, enabling pilot to take appropriate action and ensure mission success. The AN/ALR-94 electronic warfare system also is reliable and maintainable reducing long-term life cycle costs.

J-20 – I am sure there is one but again there is no information except about electronic warfare support drones

SU-57 – The L402 Himalayas system works on the principle of active jamming, which involves emitting powerful radio signals to disrupt and confuse enemy radar and communication systems. It also includes passive jamming, which involves analyzing and mimicking enemy signals to deceive their systems. Passive jamming involves detecting the radar signals emitted by the enemy radar system and then transmitting a signal that interferes with the radar’s ability to detect targets. This can be done without alerting the enemy to the presence of the jamming aircraft, allowing it to remain undetected and avoid being targeted by the enemy. Passive jamming is an effective countermeasure against radar-guided weapons and is an important component of modern air defense systems.

This again is a very hard again to gauge. EW is the biggest secret of all in fighter aircraft, the basics are known but details are never given. Personally I think they are all most likely excellent BAE has a great reputation and Russian EW is also very good. Knowing which one will do the best job is impossible. The only way to know is a war, without that it is all talk and speculation.

The Conclusion

After doing this review I am going to give the J-20 an incomplete grade as their is just not enough information in open sources to do a proper evaluation. I will try find more info and update this post.

After all this what have determined. When it comes to BVR the F-22 and SU-57 are the ones to beat especially against 4th generation platforms. The SU-57 has actually had a BVR kill with R-37M at 217km. WVR Again this will be the domain of the SU-57 and F-22 with SU-57 having the advantage in maneuverability and the fact it can shot off-boresight missiles. The ground attack game is all SU-57 the F-22 can drop a couple bombs well within any IAD of almost any country. The F-35 is designed to be a ground attack queen but the SU-57 has better variety, firepower and range on its munitions. Avionics all the fighters have elite avionics made to work within their fighting doctrine. The US leverages it worldwide network of allies and bases and ships to create an electronic picture. THE Russians design there fighters around being part of their IAD defence as mini AWACS to fill in the gaps in IAD and attack threats to IAD. In a electronically degraded environment with GPS and electronic communication limited it becomes a BVR and WVR fight which we have already covered. Electronic warfare again realistically all the fighters do very well, whose system works best we would only know in actual wartime scenario it is all chest thumping bravado right now. Stealth the US fighter win hands down, but the truth is that according to modeling the Su-57 will most likely be within visual range before the missiles start flying. Plus Russia and China plan to fight in their own backyards with IAD coverage, with the networking of radars it is highly doubtful even an F-22 or any fighter will go undetected.

So which on is the best all around I think everyone has an opinion. Most will say that if you do not pick one of the American fighters then you are crazy or you are Russian or Chinese bots. The lack of intellect behind those kind of statements is something I find amusing or just ignore.

The SU-57 is essentially an omni role stealth plane. With the most varied types of armaments’ tied for best range and has best kinematics overall of the 5th generation. It is also the only fighter to prove itself with BVR and WVR kills along with standoff destruction of infrastructure and IAD. There are individual abilities that other fighters do better but all around I think it is quite indisputable which fighter is the best overall .

As serious as it is for us.

Answers like that of Roland’s anger me because they’re very clearly propaganda designed to paper over real problems. What I and all the officers at USTRANSCOM saw were challenges that were unique to our situation, drawn by several factors:

  1. The GWOT went on for too long and we had become too specialized in COIN. This created a need for the force to unlearn and reorient, both of which were fraught with uncertainty because we did not have experience in whatever was going to be the war of the future (but we were certain it wasn’t going to be a repeat of the last 50 years).
  2. Adoption of new strategies and defenses against new cyberwarfare were fraught with talent issues. People like Roland do not spend their time asking how good the quality of nerds are at J6. Maybe he knows of some magical staffing fixes in the intervening time, but I am not holding my breath given how often Americans repeat to themselves myths like “I am not a math person.” This is especially true of the American nationalist who values loyalty over talent, which is why I have next to no confidence that the more loyalist posturing we exhibit the better our cyber is going to be. If anything this tends to be an inverse relationship.

The gap between theory and practice is insurmountable without fighting a war of its kind. Yes, we have our heads on straight figuring out what the next plan ought to be. That is not the hard part; most influential players today seem to be perfectly capable of this as well. The bottleneck for now is in the trial— there just aren’t many opportunities to test the theory out. The breakout of war will change that, but then we all will simply have the next bottlenecks exposed.

I don’t care that we are good at transporting goods. That’s the mantra to make people look away from the obvious factor that we transport goods over distances and the expected place where there will be a war is extremely far away from us compared to China, and that such a distance exists in more than one dimension (the complexity of the system grows geometrically, not linearly). Even if we presume we are able to surmount this challenge, the real issue is in replenishment. A lot of people have argued either from the historical perspective (arsenal of democracy) or from a spending perspective that we can easily scale up and replenish losses. Fundamentally, these people show a great amount of disrespect towards the needs of engineering. The fact of the matter is that we only have a strategic degree of civilian factories that we can convert into military production, particularly in shipbuilding, and we also have an intense lack of engineering workforce that can fill in the missing factory positions. Hell, it should already be bizarre that anyone proposes a scenario where we retain half of our ships or aircraft in a real shooting war with China. From where does this infinite confidence stem, in this day and age of Oreshnik missiles, Navy “mistakes,” and surprise 6th gen aircraft? And how long do people think we can afford to take with replenishment and logistics, given that Taiwan is right off the coast of China and halfway across the world from the vast majority of our industry? That alone will permit China a great many mistakes of inferiority, in a scenario where the US and China have in-kind experience fighting that kind of war (observation in Ukraine and elsewhere, training exercises, simulations, low intensity peacetime logistics). This was very aptly demonstrated the last time the US and China were in a direct, high intensity war!

main qimg 2f595660502ee40878f645966c5b5d65 lq
main qimg 2f595660502ee40878f645966c5b5d65 lq

If anything China was far more inferior to the US during the Korean War and it was still fought to a stalemate. Now that China is much less inferior relative to the US, we expect that somehow the US is going to win?

Slander never won us wars, and racist slander tends to lead to the greatest complacency. When someone insists that we should embrace such propaganda on account of feeding our fighting spirit, ask yourself how that went with the fascists of the past. I have never considered this rhetoric to be prudent, and neither should anyone here tolerate it as such. There is a nasty historical pattern in which the more this rhetoric is present, the more the institutions issuing such rhetoric believe in their own lies.

I truly hope the military has not succumbed to this hubris. For anyone who still has unreasonable confidence in the speed to which we can update our warfighting capacity (especially logistics), let me ask you: How long did it take for us to switch to MRAPs? And how long did it take for the USMC to do the same switch?

The addendum: How long did it take for the Ukranians and Russians to switch to anti-drone countermeasures? How long do you think it will take us?

How serious is the Chinese military’s lack of experience?

It’s not that serious and the people who are suggesting that it is here, are doing so without any proper arguments or evidence. China’s military certainly hasn’t fought a major war, but most of the world’s military forces hasn’t. I see people suggesting China would fail a fight with Taiwan because of this lack of experience, why? Taiwan has more military experience?

The Chinese has the largest navy in the world, and no naval combat experience, neither did Ukraine when it sank the Moskva.

Unlike fighting experience, logistical experience is something you can actually get in peace time. Rodra Hascaryo’s answer talks about logistics, but it is basically saying that the USA had great logistics in WW2, and China doesn’t because they haven’t fought. First of all, the USA had no major combat experience prior to WW2, so he has made the argument that isn’t necessary for great logistics, second of all he has not addressed a shred of knowledge that we have on Chinese logistics, despite the fact that the US War College have an update to date and open source book on the subject.[1]

Bartetzko’s answer is based entirely on ignorance and racism. An even better basis of course. Bartetzko opens with a quote from General Eric Smith of the US Marine Corps, who said that the last Chinese war was so long ago that it was captured on oil and canvas unlike American wars which are captured on iphones. Incredible that both Bartetzko and a General in charge of preparing war against China, are so ignorant of China that they think the Chinese didn’t have cameras in the 1950s when they fought, let me just check my notes here, the USA in Korea.

Bartetzko goes on to say that NATO has perfected the way to fight modern wars, this is why we win all of them, like Afghanistan which we won, and Vietnam which we also won, just like Libya, Syria and Iraq, which are all war zones which we won and turned out exactly how we wanted it, and let’s not forget Somalia, which we fixed.

Finally Bartetzko realize that the Chinese mind is actually the real problem for them, they just can’t use their brain as good as us. Because the key element to the Chinese brain is conformity, they are historically known as very unimaginative people you see. Bartetzko does not actually directly point to any evidence or cultural traits of China in this regard of course, probably because his primary source of information is a US general who doesn’t know the Korean war happened.

China lacks experience, as does any nation not currently in war. Experience can be gained at different levels and in different ways. Experience is also transferable. If experience was not transferable, then tactics would never progress beyond what a single person could learn in life, and schools wouldn’t make much sense. Experience in modern warfare is without a doubt being acquired by China right now. You do not think they have observers in Ukraine with the Russians? Of course they do, they are watching and learning as much as everyone else.

I am not an expert on everything Chinese, but it is stupid and dangerous to think that between 1.4 billion Chinese people they can’t find capable officers, logisticians and tacticians, because of racial traits and culture, or that they don’t know how to load equipment on ships and move them around.

China moves around more material everyday, than all of Europe and USA combined. China has actually fought wars, and I think the key thing from those wars we should learn is that when China was serious, they were able to fight the USA to a stand still to the point that US generals thought nuclear weapons against a non nuclear country was the only way to attain victory. That is China after a civil war at its lowest, with the USA at one of it’s most productive periods in history. Of course, if your generals are so ignorant they don’t know this happened at all in Korea, of course they will not learn anything. You could say that experience is lost.

Chicken Divan Pie

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30a0d9d9a90c9a546115636b88a4ffb9

Yield: 6 to 8 servings

Ingredients

  • 1 1/2 cups cooked rice
  • 4 eggs, divided
  • 1 cup (4 ounces) shredded Cheddar cheese
  • 1 cup milk
  • 1 cup broccoli, cooked and chopped
  • 1 cup chicken or turkey, cooked and chopped
  • 1/4 cup green onions, chopped
  • 1/4 teaspoon salt
  • 1 dash ground black pepper
  • 1/4 cup (1 ounce) Parmesan cheese, grated

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
  2. In small bowl, combine rice and 1 of the eggs: mix well. Press rice mixture onto bottom and up side of lightly greased 9 inch pie plate.
  3. In large bowl, toss cheddar cheese with flour. Add remaining 3 eggs, milk, broccoli, chicken, onions, salt and pepper: mix well. Pour over rice crust. Sprinkle with Parmesan cheese.
  4. Bake for 50 to 60 minutes or until set in center.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Sully did not immediately turn back, because he did not immediately know that power was permanently lost in both engines, and he did not immediately know that LaGuardia was actually within reach. You’re much more likely to get into more trouble by taking immediate and irreversible action in an emergency without thought.

If Sully had immediately turned back, the plane would have disproportionately lost altitude in the turn, possibly eliminating other landing spots from consideration, and not being able to reach LaGuardia. The altitude lost in the turn is altitude you won’t get back.

Sully and his first officer, per the transcript, determined they were unable to reach LaGuardia within one minute, and briefly considered Teterboro. (“1” is Sully, “2” is the First Officer.)

main qimg 55cf83f7af5b546ebf2f622f37f0484e
main qimg 55cf83f7af5b546ebf2f622f37f0484e

The flight attendants speculated they would return to LaGuardia, apparently, but they also did not know if LaGuardia was within reach, and if power could be restored to at least one engine.

15:26:37 HOT-1 uh what a view of the Hudson today.

15:26:42 HOT-2 yeah.

15:26:52 HOT-2 flaps up please, after takeoff checklist.

15:26:54 HOT-1 flaps up.

15:27:07 HOT-1 after takeoff checklist complete.

15:27:10.4 HOT-1 birds.

15:27:11 HOT-2 whoa.

15:27:11.4 CAM [sound of thump/thud(s) followed by shuddering sound]

15:27:12 HOT-2 oh #.

15:27:13 HOT-1 oh yeah.

15:27:13 CAM [sound similar to decrease in engine noise/frequency begins]

15:27:14 HOT-2 uh oh.

15:27:15 HOT-1 we got one rol- both of ’em rolling back.

15:27:18 CAM [rumbling sound begins and continues until approximately 15:28:08]

15:27:18.5 HOT-1 ignition, start.

15:27:21.3 HOT-1 I’m starting the APU.

15:27:22.4 FWC [sound of single chime]

15:27:23.2 HOT-1 my aircraft.

15:27:24 HOT-2 your aircraft.

15:27:24.4 FWC [sound of single chime]

15:27:25 CAM [sound similar to electrical noise from engine igniters begins]

15:27:26.5 FWC priority left. [auto callout from the FWC. this occurs when the sidestick priority button is activated on the Captain’s sidestick]

15:27:26.5 FWC [sound of single chime]

15:27:28 CAM [sound similar to electrical noise from engine igniters ends]

15:27:28 HOT-1 get the QRH… [Quick Reference Handbook] loss of thrust on both engines.

15:27:30 FWC [sound of single chime begins and repeats at approximately 5.7 second intervals until 15:27:59]

15:27:32.9 RDO-1 mayday mayday mayday. uh this is uh Cactus fifteen thirty nine hit birds, we’ve lost thrust (in/on) both engines we’re turning back towards LaGuardia.

15:27:42 DEP ok uh, you need to return to LaGuardia? turn left heading of uh two two zero.

15:27:43 CAM [sound similar to electrical noise from engine igniters begins]

15:27:44 FWC [sound of single chime, between the single chimes at 5.7 second intervals]

15:27:46 RDO-1 two two zero.

15:27:50 HOT-2 if fuel remaining, engine mode selector, ignition.* ignition.

15:27:54 HOT-1 ignition.

15:27:55 HOT-2 thrust levers confirm idle.

15:27:58 HOT-1 idle.

15:28:02 HOT-2 airspeed optimum relight. three hundred knots. we don’t have that.

15:28:03 FWC [sound of single chime]

15:28:05 HOT-1 we don’t.

15:28:05 DEP Cactus fifteen twenty nine, if we can get it for you do you want to try to land runway one three?

15:28:05 CAM-2 if three nineteen-

15:28:10.6 RDO-1 we’re unable. we may end up in the Hudson.

15:28:14 HOT-2 emergency electrical power… emergency generator not online.

15:28:18 CAM [sound similar to electrical noise from engine igniters ends]

15:28:19 HOT-1 (it’s/is) online.

15:28:21 HOT-2 ATC notify. squawk seventy seven hundred.

15:28:25 HOT-1 yeah. the left one’s coming back up a little bit.

15:28:30 HOT-2 distress message, transmit. we did.

15:28:31 DEP arright Cactus fifteen forty nine its gonna be left traffic for runway three one.

15:28:35 RDO-1 unable.

15:28:36 TCAS traffic traffic.

15:28:36 DEP okay, what do you need to land?

15:28:37 HOT-2 (he wants us) to come in and land on one three…for whatever.

15:28:45 PWS go around. windshear ahead.

15:28:45 HOT-2 FAC [Flight Augmentation Computer] one off, then on.

15:28:46 DEP Cactus fifteen (twenty) nine runway four’s available if you wanna make left traffic to runway four.

15:28:49.9 RDO-1 I’m not sure we can make any runway. uh what’s over to our right anything in New Jersey maybe Teterboro?

15:28:55 DEP ok yeah, off your right side is Teterboro airport.

15:28:59 TCAS monitor vertical speed.

15:29:00 HOT-2 no relight after thirty seconds, engine master one and two confirm-

15:29:02 DEP you wanna try and go to Teterboro?

15:29:03 RDO-1 yes.

15:29:05 TCAS clear of conflict.

15:29:07 HOT-2 -off.

15:29:07 HOT-1 off.

15:29:10 HOT-2 wait thirty seconds.

15:29:11 PA-1 this is the Captain brace for impact.

15:29:14.9 GPWS one thousand.

15:29:16 HOT-2 engine master two, back on.

15:29:18 HOT-1 back on.

15:29:19 HOT-2 on.

15:29:21 DEP Cactus fifteen twenty nine turn right two eight zero, you can land runway one at Teterboro.

15:29:21 CAM-2 is that all the power you got? * (wanna) number one? or we got power on number one.

15:29:25 RDO-1 we can’t do it.

15:29:26 HOT-1 go ahead, try number one.

15:29:27 DEP kay which runway would you like at Teterboro?

15:29:27 FWC [sound of continuous repetitive chime for 9.6 seconds ]

15:29:28 RDO-1 we’re gonna be in the Hudson.

15:29:33 DEP I’m sorry say again Cactus?

15:29:36 HOT-2 I put it back on.

15:29:37 FWC [sound of continuous repetitive chime for 37.4 seconds ]

15:29:37 HOT-1 ok put it back on… put it back on.

15:29:37 GPWS too low. terrain.

15:29:41 GPWS too low. terrain.

15:29:43 GPWS too low. terrain.

15:29:44 HOT-2 no relight.

15:29:45.4 HOT-1 ok lets go put the flaps out, put the flaps out.

15:29:45 EGPWS caution. terrain.

15:29:48 EGPWS caution terrain.

15:29:48 HOT-2 flaps out?

15:29:49 EGPWS terrain terrain. pull up. pull up.

15:29:51 DEP Cactus uh….

15:29:53 DEP Cactus fifteen forty nine radar contact is lost you also got Newark airport off your two o’clock in about seven miles.

15:29:55 EGPWS pull up. pull up. pull up. pull up. pull up. pull up.

15:30:01 HOT-2 got flaps out.

15:30:03 HOT-2 two hundred fifty feet in the air.

15:30:04 GPWS too low. terrain.

15:30:06 GPWS too low. gear.

15:30:06 CAM-2 hundred and seventy knots.

15:30:09 CAM-2 got no power on either one? try the other one.

15:30:09 4718 two one zero uh forty seven eighteen. I think he said he’s goin in the Hudson.

15:30:11 HOT-1 try the other one.

15:30:13 EGPWS caution terrain.

15:30:14 DEP Cactus fifteen twenty nine uh, you still on?

15:30:15 FWC [sound of continuous repetitive chime begins and continues to end of recording]

15:30:15 EGPWS caution terrain.

15:30:16 HOT-2 hundred and fifty knots.

15:30:17 HOT-2 got flaps two, you want more?

15:30:19 HOT-1 no lets stay at two.

15:30:21 HOT-1 got any ideas?

15:30:22 DEP Cactus fifteen twenty nine if you can uh….you got uh runway uh two nine available at Newark it’ll be two o’clock and seven miles.

15:30:23 EGPWS caution terrain.

15:30:23 CAM-2 actually not.

15:30:24 EGPWS terrain terrain. pull up. pull up. [“pull up” repeats until the end of the recording]

15:30:38 HOT-1 we’re gonna brace.

15:30:38 HOT-2 * * switch?

15:30:40 HOT-1 yes.

15:30:41.1 GPWS (fifty or thirty)

15:30:42 FWC retard.

15:30:43.7 [End of Recording]

15:30:43.7 [End of Transcript]

Me.
After my freshman year of college, which I was fortunate enough to do on scholarship, I was broke, my truck was broke, and my scholarship was only for the year. I really couldn’t afford to continue, and needed money to fix my truck, so I moved back home to my dad’s house in North Florida and went to work for his construction company. However, my father and I were butting heads. Even though I was 19, had been on my own for a year, attended college on scholarship, made Dean’s list, and now was paying rent to him for my room and board, he still insisted on treating me like I was 12, with a ridiculous curfew, controlling my social life, and even who I could and couldn’t date.

As Christmas approached, my mom invited me to go visit her in Orange County, California for a couple weeks of Christmas vacation. As I had stayed in school for summer session, I hadn’t been to see her as I usually would have in summer. She offered to fly me out and pay expenses, so I jumped at the chance. I really needed the break from my father and his drama.

I flew out, and got busy seeing the West Coast family for the holidays and such. Mom then suggested we go snow skiing for a few days. Having grown up in Florida, this was completely new to me, and I was worried whether I’d manage to have any fun as a rank beginner, but mom, an avid skier, assured me I’d be fine. As I’d always loved the mountains, I thought, what the heck, at least there will be pretty scenery, and for sure my first “White Christmas.” So off we went to Mammoth Lakes, CA.

I definitely didn’t become a great skier (or even a good one) in four days, but I absolutely loved it there. It was breathtaking and so different from everything I was used to. Then I ended up on a chairlift next to a mountain employee. Her name was Melanie, and she was a peach! (Melanie, if you read this, you should recognize yourself in this story, and thank you!) I asked her what it was like to work there. She said it was great, free ski pass, employee housing available across the street from the main lodge for a very reasonable rate, and decent pay, much better than my father was paying me. I thought to myself, “Self, if I’m taking a year off from school to make some money, wouldn’t it be a whole lot nicer doing it here?” And my Self replied, “I do believe you are right!”

I marched into the mountain human resources office and applied for a job. Since I had worked at a popular fast food restaurant in high school and college, they hired me on the spot for one of their cafeterias, which was halfway up the mountainside. I also took a room at the employee housing. I literally walked across the parking lot each morning, boarded a gondola, and whisked a thousand feet up the mountain to work as a cashier in a glass walled cafeteria with a view from 10,000 ft of altitude.

Even better, I worked half-days on weekdays, and we had ski lockers downstairs, with a backdoor that opened onto the slopes. I skied 150+ days per year for the next four years, and lived there 7 years, total. I skied, hiked, camped, rockclimbed, bicycled, windsurfed, tubed, and waterskied more than I have the entire rest of my life. I also began volunteer firefighting, which I have continued to do since. On the fire department I also met a certain lady.

My 4-day ski vacation turned into 7 years, plus a wife and two kids. I did move to Atlanta after that and finish college, but I’ll always cherish my ski vacation!

Edit:
Nearly 2k upvotes, thanks! I’m glad this story resonates with so many.
In answer to several commenters, I thought I’d add some “rest of the story” explanations.

Given that they’d had a very acrimonious divorce a dozen years earlier, and were still both very bitter at the other, my mother was of course delighted that I moved away from my father and more into her sphere of influence.

She was also glad to have an excuse to go to Mammoth more often, and of course she might as well ski while she’s there, no? My father harrumphed a bit but had surprisingly little to say about the whole thing, other than, “Well, if you aren’t prepared to live by *my* rules, perhaps it’s best if you stay there.” All I could think was, “Oh pleeeeeease don’t throw me in the briar patch, B’rer Bear!”

I did, as I mentioned, return to school and finish my degree, Nuclear Engineering at Georgia Tech. I am still married to the same great lady I met on the volunteer fire department 34 years ago. As I’ve moved, I’ve been on three different volunteer departments over the years, and have been Chief of my current one for over 10 years now.

I still keep touch with many friends from Mammoth, including several from the fire department. It really did become the center of my life the last few years I was there. I’ve been to visit a couple of times and been to a fire department “old-timers” reunion. And, living back in Florida, I torture myself by getting the ski reports from Mammoth Mountain, just to keep up on how much snow they’ve gotten (almost 60 feet last year!).

Perhaps it’ll be time for another ski vacation soon…..

Deaths and change

You can tell that you are getting older when your friends and your television and music stars are all dead.

Sigh.

Not just my friends, I wrote about them earlier. But also other well-known television and movie personalities. Like Sammy Hagar (The Red Rocker), and Ronnie James Dio. Oh, and even Pee Wee Herman. Oh, and Rush Limbaugh too. So many are now gone.

Gone.

I think that this is (like a) landmark or tell-tail that all people go though as they age. There comes a time where your favorite television personalities die. Editorial staff retire, and the size of your family get-together shrinking steadily until many seats are empty.

I’ve passed that point.

What’s the next landmark on the unending march towards the sunset…?

Maybe being woken up by the nurse in the retirement home that I am placed in… yikes!

Not a bad thing. But all of us will see many changes that other people; younger people, will not notice.

Ah…

But I’m still around.

Today…

UPDATED 6:15 PM EDT — RUSSIA WARNS OF “CATASTROPHIC” CONSEQUENCES AFTER TRUMP THREATENS TO BOMB IRAN

Moscow has condemned Trump’s warning to bomb Iran if it refuses a new nuclear deal, calling it an unacceptable “ultimatum.”  Iran is now considering a PRE-EMPTIVE STRIKE at Diego Garcia!

Deputy Foreign Minister Sergei Ryabkov said U.S. strikes on Iran’s nuclear infrastructure would destabilize the entire region and urged Washington to de-escalate.

Trump’s message was clear: no deal means unprecedented bombing and renewed sanctions.

Tehran rejected talks, prompting Trump to say, “It will be bombing the likes of which they have never seen.”

Senior Iranian military officials are reportedly advocating for a preemptive strike on the US military base at Diego Garcia, citing concerns that it may soon be used as a launchpad for operations against Iran.

Russia and China are allies of Iran; an attack on Iran is an attack on those two countries, prepare for WW3.

IRAN REVEALS PLASMA WEAPONS

Iran today released information about what it claims is its new plasma weapons.

It’s not laser based, and it is said that right now, only Iran has perfected this technology.

 

 

Could this be a game-changer?

IMMEDIATE EFFECTS OF A WAR WITH IRAN

HOT WAR with Iran could trigger INFLATION APOCALYPSE.

Retaliation by Iran could choke off key oil routes such as the Strait of Hormuz and Bab al-Mandeb in the Red Sea, crippling the world’s oil supply, global energy experts say. This would immediately impact 20 MILLION BARRELS p/DAY of oil and 77 million tons of Qatari LNG passing through the Strait of Hormuz.

Brent crude oil price could initially surge to $110-$115 a barrel. The same would apply to LNG prices, with Europe getting hit the hardest.

Global economy growth could be cut by 2%-3% if the disruption lasts 2-3 months.

A conflict with Iran amid a tariff war that the US is waging as of tomorrow, April 2, could set off an inflation spiral that would impact every American household. Why? The US is highly dependent on imports, importing $4 trillion worth of goods in 2024.

The US manufacturing sector has been shrinking for years hitting 10% of US GDP in 2024 compared with 30% for China.

The Federal Reserve upwardly revised its target for US inflation in 2025 from 2.5% to 2.7%. It also reduced its target for the US growth rate in 2025 from 2.1% to 1.7% blaming the revisions on Trump’s tariffs.

UPDATE 6:15 PM EDT —

The Israel Ministry of Foreign Affairs has issued travel warnings for all Israelis traveling abroad.

In addition, the Israeli Air Force has announced exit restrictions from all air bases in the country, with no personnel allowed to leave. (This is a common practice in most military units before a large operation begins.  They do it for OpSec, so no troops pillow-talk before the attack begins.)

This morning, the Chief of US Central Command met with Israeli military leaders at the Kyria the underground fortress in Jerusalem, used to control all Israeli military operations.

Russian Foreign Ministry this evening: “We warn against any strikes on Iran’s nuclear infrastructure. Bombing these facilities will have consequences for the entire region.”

ksnip 20250402 094427
ksnip 20250402 094427

Fob Story.

Submitted into Contest #207 in response to: A journalist has been granted permission to visit the premises of a lab carrying out top-secret work. They could never have anticipated what they’d find… view prompt

Ken Cartisano

I’m just a run-of-the-mill journalist, okay? Except in certain sports related circles, you probably never heard of me. Neil A. Gleary? See? Almost exclusively sports write-ups with the occasional science article here and there. Not very well known.So I’m surprised when I come home late one night and there’s a message on my answering machine informing me that my request for an interview with the Director of AARI has been approved. Arrangements had been made, please confirm by calling this number, bla, bla, bla…I picked up the phone and called the number in the message. I’m transferred to a ‘human interface specialist’ who tells me, “Our director is seeking an interview with you.”“But I didn’t request an…”“Are you Neil Gleary?”“I am but…”“Our director” he interrupts, “is seeking an interview with you.”“Oh.” I say, biting my lip. “He knows I’m a sportswriter, right?”“She does, yes—if you’re uncomfortable we can always find…”“No, no. That’s fine. I would be delighted to interview the Director. What’s her name, by the way. And where do I go?”

 

“A limousine style car will pick you up in front of your apartment at precisely eight a.m. tomorrow morning, he will not wait, so don’t be late.”

 

“Okay, but why? Why does…”

 

The call ended.

 

I spend the rest of the evening searching for information about AARI. All I’m able to learn is that it’s a federally funded research lab dedicated to secret black box projects. Alien technology, artificial intelligence, things like that. This information was provided by a former associate with contacts in the State Department. He was so reticent about speaking about them over the phone, that that was the only information he would give me. When I told him of my impending meeting, he asked me if I had a valid passport. When I told him I did, he said he was just kidding. “If they want you, they’ll get you.”

 

I told him they were sticklers for punctuality and recounted the message I’d received. He said, “Yeah? Maybe you should test their resolve on that issue.”

 

“I should be late?”

 

“Why not?”

 

You can’t be late, that’s why. It’s contrary to your nature.

 

In fact, you’re two hours early and a sleek black limo is already waiting at the curb, exhaust fumes rising from the tailpipe. Something tells you it’s been sitting there all night long. The rear door pops open as you approach, you know that once you are in the car, you won’t be able to let yourself out.

 

You get in anyway. The door closes and locks. You feel protected by the spacious interior insulation and comforted by the smell and sound of the leather seats, the glint of the wood and chrome trim. The first thing you notice is that you’re alone as the driverless car eases smoothly into traffic and down the street, and stops at the first traffic light. You realize, in that short distance, all the windows, except the windshield, have become too dark to see through.

 

The light changes, the car accelerates through the next ten intersections, as if they’ve been timed to your passage, the car makes several turns and goes down into a cross-town tunnel—and doesn’t come out. By some inexplicable mechanical means, the limo has been shunted to an impossible side tunnel with no other vehicles. Here, the limo feels like it accelerates to a very high rate of speed on a road devoid of all traffic.

 

The minutes pass in silence as you wonder what you might say to the Director of a top-secret facility, until you are suddenly out in the open, flashing down a highway alongside a wide river. The road loops and bends as you go higher and higher above the river. The limo slows, turns, and darts down a deserted street and into an underground garage. The fluorescent lighting rivals the sun at noon. You look at your watch. It’s nearly 7 a.m. The limo comes to a smooth, unhurried stop and the door pops open. You get out, head for the elevator and stop.

 

You look around. The garage is huge and empty. There is no call button for the elevator. You feel you are surely being monitored as the elevator doors open of their own accord. You step in, they close. ‘This is all going very well,’ you think. A moment later the elevator plummets several dozen stories in a matter of seconds. You push your stomach back down out of your throat and think, ‘What you’ll do with it, (the story, not your stomach) or who you’ll sell it to is anybody’s guess.’

 

The doors open. You step out, look around. No one is waiting. But there’s a dark stone line in the middle of the marble floor. You follow it.

 

 

 

A monitor dinged softly, indicating the arrival of the elevator down the hall. She found herself holding her breath and, considering who she was, and how powerful, she could not divine the source of her unease.

 

She took stock. He had followed implicit instructions, some verbal, some subliminal, and had made his way here, to one of AARI’s most tightly secured labs. The place was deserted for security purposes, all personnel had been temporarily reassigned, or furloughed for the time being. An excessive precaution, she thought, which left her vulnerable, and one that she would not allow to happen again.

 

But her beauty, in its current state, by itself could overwhelm most men, and her ancestral status was nearly as intoxicating to those of her own species. There was no situation she wasn’t prepared for.

 

Her current assignment rounded the corner and stopped in his tracks.

 

“Neil Gleary? Come in, come in. Have a seat.” There was no handshake, no touching of any kind. “I’ve got a pleasant surprise for you and some bad news as well. What would you like first?”

 

He was slow to answer her, and he seemed alarmingly unaffected by her looks. He took a seat, loosening his tie comically. “How about telling me why I’m here?”

 

“You’re here to be debriefed and deprogrammed, Neil. Just sit back and relax while I ask you a few questions.”

 

“Debriefed? From what?”

 

She ignored his question and asked, “Do you recall what elementary school you went to?”

 

“No.”

 

“You don’t sound interested.”

 

“Should I be? It was a long time ago.”

 

“How about high school? Remember any of your classmates from high school?”

 

He hesitated.

 

“You went to college too you know, remember where?”

 

He did not remember where. “So? So what? I’ve got a bad memory. I thought I was here to interview you? What does my past have to do with the work you conduct here?”

 

“Ironically, quite a bit. Are you married? No. Got a girlfriend? No. Ever had one? No. Are you hot for me now? No. Because this,” she waved her hands at her exquisite form, “is not your type. You see, Neil, I’m an alien being, I know I don’t look like one, but here’s the crazy part, you’re an alien too.” He made no move to get up and leave. (Darn, she loved using the tractor beam.) “I don’t look like this—and you don’t look like that.”

 

“Is that so?” He looked around. There was no quick exit for either of them.

 

She locked eyes with him. “Your name is XIVIC CIM, your mission here was abandoned 19 years ago. Someone should have brought you in a long time ago. I can’t explain why you weren’t—retrieved, debriefed and—reassigned. It’s inexplicable and inexcusable, but it happens. You got lost in the wafer-work or something. No one knew you were here. Excretion, twenty-four years is a long time to work under-cover, the transition into your true self might well be disturbing.

 

“What? Why, are we that ugly?”

 

“Are you kidding? This old leather hide versus our glittering silicon features? There’s no competition. None. It’s just that—let’s face it, you probably think I’m a raving lunatic, and really believe that you are a human being, but when we do an exo-alien mind-press, believe me, it sticks. And you’ve been submerged in the role for a quarter of a century. It’s going to be tough on you, but you’ll adjust. Most deep cover agents recover. I don’t know how, to be honest. I can’t stand wearing this disguise, it creeps me out. Everything has some kind of skin on it. Skin here, skin on that. Uch. Six hours a day, that’s my max. The more we talk about it, the grosser I feel. I understand if you don’t want to talk about something you can’t remember. Perfectly understandable. Do you think you’re ready?”

 

“Not really. Talking is good. Mmmm, tell me, how does this transition work?”

 

She held up a small key fob.

 

He said, “Ahh, you just push a button.”

 

She nodded. “I have no idea how it works, I’m just another cog in a big machine Mr. Gleary. Are you ready to be yourself again?” Her dazzling smile bounced right off his façade.

 

“How many of those do you have?”

 

She pulled open her desk drawer, then closed it again just as quickly. “Enough to keep me busy,” she said, inexplicably flustered.

 

“And they’re all marked?”

 

“I think,” she said, “we’ve had enough questions for the time…”

 

“Before you do that,” he jumped out of his chair, “before you do that, let me just…”

 

She pointed the fob at his chest and pushed the button. Nothing happened. The elevator chimed, she didn’t remember hearing it go back up, let alone come back down. She pushed the button on the fob again and still nothing happened to Neil Gleary’s visage. The elevator doors opened and there was the sound of boots and guns, jackets and shields with FBAI on them.

 

“But you’re one of us, XIVIC. How could you?”

 

He had his own fob. As he stepped into the Director’s private lavatory, to make sure it was empty, he stopped in front of the mirror, the image staring back was that of a tall slender Gray, with long fingers and those legendary black, inscrutable eyes. He pushed the button on the fob once more and appeared human again. He was not ‘one of them,’ and his name was not XIVIC CIM.

 

The silicon-based alien was well out of earshot when Neil Gleary mumbled his reply: “I like it here. That’s how.”

Let’s Watch a Comedy From 1962: The Beverly Hillbillies

ksnip 20250402 094913
ksnip 20250402 094913

Peachy Blueberry Pie

7a76d471351946cb304f30614b8e6a4c
7a76d471351946cb304f30614b8e6a4c

Yield: 8 servings

Ingredients

Crust

  • 2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
  • 1/2 teaspoon salt
  • 3/4 cup solid vegetable shortening
  • 5 to 7 tablespoons cold water

Filling

  • 1/2 cup sugar
  • 2 tablespoons cornstarch
  • 1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
  • 2 (16 ounce) packages frozen peach slices, thawed
  • 1 cup blueberries
  • 1 egg
  • 1 tablespoon water
  • 2 teaspoons sugar (optional)
  • Vanilla ice cream (optional)

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 400 degrees F.

Crust

  1. Combine flour and salt in large bowl; mix well. Cut shortening into flour mixture using Pastry Blender until shortening resembles the size of small peas. Sprinkle 1 tablespoon of water over flour mixture; gently toss with a fork. Repeat until mixture is moist enough to form a ball. Divide dough in half. Lightly flour Baker’s Mat. Place one ball of dough on center of mat; flatten to 1/2 inch thickness. Roll dough from center to edges, forming a 12inch circle. Place pastry into Deep Dish Pie Plate. Trim pastry even with rim of pie plate.

Filling

  1. In large bowl, combine sugar, cornstarch and cinnamon; mix well. Toss peach slices with sugar mixture until evenly coated; gently stir in blueberries. Spoon peach mixture into bottom crust.
  2. Add top crust. Cut four slits in top crust to allow steam to escape. Sprinkle sugar evenly over crust, if desired. Cover edge of pie with 2 to 3 inch wide strips of aluminum foil or Pie Shield.
  3. Bake for 45 minutes; remove foil or Pie Shield.
  4. Bake for an additional 10 to 15 minutes or until crust is golden brown.
  5. Remove from oven; cool at least 2 hours.
  6. Serve with ice cream, if desired.

Nutrition

Per serving: Calories 480, Total Fat 19g, Saturated Fat 5g, Cholesterol 25mg, Carbohydrate 72g, Protein 5g, Sodium 160mg, Fiber 4g

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Amid The Mysterious Deaths of U.S. Soldiers in Lithuania, French Soldiers Began Deserting En MASSE

Shorpy

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SHORPY 4a12309a.preview

Who Is the US In Debt to?

Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Cheese Caper Conspiracy

Ah, welcome back, dear reader! Once again, you’ve come seeking a tale of my brilliance, and I, Sir Whiskerton, the unparalleled detective of the farm, shall not disappoint. This time, I found myself entangled in a case so convoluted, so utterly ridiculous, that it involved not only my frequent nuisance and occasional ally, Rufus the raccoon, but also a new player: Sylvester the field mouse. Sylvester, as you’ll soon see, is a creature of very small stature and very large brains. Together, we unraveled a web of schemes, daring thefts, and, of course, cheese. Lots and lots of cheese.

This, my friends, is the story of The Cheese Caper Conspiracy.

The Crime

It all began on a warm summer evening. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and the farm was settling into its usual calm. I was perched on the fence post near the barn, grooming my impeccable fur, when I heard a loud, dramatic wail from the farmhouse.

“My cheese! Someone’s stolen my cheese!”

It was Farmer Joe, his voice echoing across the fields. From the tone of his anguish, you’d think someone had stolen his life savings. Moments later, the animals began whispering among themselves.

“Cheese theft?” Henny Penny clucked nervously. “What kind of monster would do such a thing?”

“Probably Rufus,” Harold the rooster said, glaring toward the barn. “It’s always Rufus.”

“Hey!” Rufus popped his head out of a nearby barrel, looking offended. “I didn’t take it! This time.”

I sighed dramatically and hopped down from the fence post. “Alright, everyone, settle down. There’s no need to panic. I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

The animals stopped chattering and turned to me with a mix of relief and expectation. After all, who else could solve the mystery but the great Sir Whiskerton?

The Investigation Begins

My first stop was the farmhouse kitchen, the scene of the crime. The cheese in question—a large wheel of gouda Farmer Joe had been saving for some kind of special occasion—had been taken right off the counter. The only clues left behind were a trail of small, sticky footprints and a few crumbs scattered on the floor.

“Sticky footprints,” I muttered, examining the evidence closely. “Interesting.”

“Sticky like… honey?” Rufus asked, appearing beside me with a guilty grin.

“Not this time, Rufus,” I said, rolling my eyes. “The footprints are too small for you. But don’t go too far—I have a feeling you’ll be involved before this is over.”

Rufus looked offended but stayed quiet, which I considered a small victory.

As I followed the trail of footprints out the back door, I heard a tiny voice behind me.

“Ahem. Sir Whiskerton, I presume?”

I turned and found myself face-to-face—or rather, face-to-paw—with the smallest creature I’d ever seen on the farm. Sylvester the field mouse stood before me, his little nose twitching and his beady eyes gleaming with intelligence. He wore a tiny scrap of fabric slung over his shoulder like a cape, giving him an air of importance.

“You’re the detective around here, aren’t you?” he said, his voice smooth and confident.

“I am,” I replied, narrowing my eyes. “And who are you?”

“Sylvester, at your service,” he said with a small bow. “I couldn’t help overhearing that there’s been a theft. I’d like to offer my assistance.”

“Assistance?” Rufus snorted from the doorway. “You’re, like, four inches tall. What are you gonna do, squeak the thief into submission?”

Sylvester shot him a withering look. “I may be small, but I’m smarter than you and faster than both of you put together. Trust me, you’ll want me on this case.”

I considered him for a moment. He had a point. “Alright, Sylvester,” I said. “You’re in. But no funny business.”

“Of course,” Sylvester said with an innocent smile. “Shall we begin?”
The Suspects

The trail of footprints led us to the barn, where the usual suspects were gathered.

1. Porkchop the Pig

Porkchop was lounging in his mud pit, looking suspiciously content. “Porkchop,” I said, “did you take the cheese?”

He shook his head vehemently. “Cheese? No way! I like my food sloppy, not fancy. That stuff’s too rich for me.”

Sylvester sniffed the air. “He’s telling the truth. No cheese scent on him.”

“Hmm,” I said, moving on.

2. Clover the Goat

Clover was chewing on an old fence post, as usual. “Clover, did you take the cheese?” I asked.

She stopped chewing long enough to say, “Cheese? Ew. Too soft. I like things crunchy.”

“Fair enough,” Sylvester said, jotting something down in a tiny notebook he’d pulled from who-knows-where. “Not our culprit.”

3. Rufus the Raccoon

I turned to Rufus, who was busy innocently whistling. “Rufus,” I said, “are you sure you didn’t take the cheese?”

“Come on, Whiskerton!” Rufus protested. “I’d never steal cheese. Not when there’s a perfectly good jar of peanut butter in the pantry.”

Sylvester raised an eyebrow. “He’s telling the truth. This time.”

“Alright,” I said, my tail twitching. “If none of you took it, then who did?”
The Breakthrough

As I pondered the mystery, Sylvester suddenly perked up. “Wait a minute,” he said, his tiny ears twitching. “Do you hear that?”

I listened closely and heard a faint squeaking sound, followed by the unmistakable creak of a wheel turning.

“The cheese!” Sylvester exclaimed. “Someone’s rolling it away!”

We followed the sound to the edge of the cornfield, where we found the culprits: a gang of field mice, struggling to push the enormous wheel of gouda toward their burrow. They froze when they saw us, their tiny paws still on the cheese.

“Alright, drop the cheese and back away slowly,” I said, stepping forward.

The leader of the gang, a scruffy-looking mouse with a scar over one eye, squeaked nervously. “We didn’t mean any harm! We just… we couldn’t resist. It smelled so good!”

Sylvester stepped forward, his cape fluttering dramatically. “You’ve embarrassed us all,” he said sternly. “Stealing from the humans? That’s rookie behavior.”

The gang hung their heads in shame. “We’re sorry,” the leader mumbled. “We’ll give it back.”

The Happy Ending

With Sylvester’s help, we rolled the cheese back to the farmhouse and left it on the counter. Farmer Joe assumed he’d misplaced it and was none the wiser. The field mice promised to stick to foraging from the fields, and Sylvester, impressed by my investigative skills, promised to lend his help on future cases.

As for Rufus, he spent the rest of the evening trying to convince me he could’ve solved the case without Sylvester. I didn’t bother arguing. Some battles just aren’t worth fighting.
The Moral of the Story

Even the smallest among us can make a big difference, especially when they use their talents for good. And when it comes to cheese, always keep an eye on your kitchen counter—especially if there’s a mouse around.

The End.

Comix

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Theo Benson

This story contains themes or mentions of physical violence, gore, or abuse.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Dr. Morrison held a small vial up to the light, amber liquid swirling inside. “After all our efforts, all of our sacrifices, we’re so close to a cure.”Isabelle held her datapad closer to the Doctor, determined to get as clear of an audio recording as possible. They had spent hours in Silver Grandeur’s lab. Her legs ached. With painstaking precision, Dr. Morrison walked Isabelle through all of the functions of Lab Section 1, explaining each device that helped to refine and prepare the contents of the vial in his hand. The soreness she’d feel later would be worth the story. Especially as a Junior Data Reporter.“Tell us, Doctor,” Isabelle said, shifting weight from one leg to another, “What’s the greatest challenge you’ve faced with Project Find?”“We’ve all lost people to the sickness, haven’t we?”Isabelle looked away.“No challenge is greater than that of grief,” Dr. Morrison said with a sad smile. “Yet their memory lives on in the work we accomplish.” He gingerly set the vial into its holder on the table in front of them. After a moment of silence, he asked, “Anything else?”“Yes,” Isabelle perked up. “About the beginning. How exactly did this-”A shudder rocked the ship. Lights flickered in the lab as Dr. Morrison and Isabelle steadied themselves against the table.“Seekers,” He muttered as the shaking subsided. Another, more violent shudder, nearly knocked Isabelle off her feet. The vials on the table clattered together. “They always find us.”Around them, scientists in lab coats hurried to secure loose items. Isabelle found herself being led towards the exit.“I’m sorry to cut this short,” the Doctor said, leading her out into the main hallway and shutting the door behind them. “I need to speak with the Captain before one of those things tears a hole in our outer hull again.”Isabelle pulled her father into a hug. “Be safe.”After watching Dr. Morrison race out of sight, she opened her hand and smiled at it. Seated in the palm of her hand was a grey access card. Her father’s. Slipping back inside the lab, Isabelle quickly donned a lab coat, mask, and goggles. Only a few scientists remained. Evidently, the rest had dispersed to secure other sections of Silver Grandeur’s large lab. She snuck to the back of Section 1, connecting her datapad to the lab’s information center – a port in the wall.The ship rocked again, and Isabelle steadied herself against the wall.She switched rapidly from catalogue to catalogue, searching. There had to be something more interesting here. Yes, her father had shown her this section of the lab, but she was not so naïve as to think this was all there was. Scientific breakthrough had to come from somewhere. And a good Data Reporter needed to be willing to break a few rules to find out.Isabelle paused on one catalogue.Project Find. It read. She inserted Dr. Morrison’s card into her datapad to open the file. Disappointment grew as she read. Most of the words made absolutely no sense. Yes, they were English. But no matter how hard Isabelle squinted at them and sounded them out under her breath, their meaning remained completely foreign.But then she spotted something she could understand.Successful creation of antidote and enhancement secured via genetic mesh.

Below, it read; See Donor Subject File. Lab Section 13.

She disconnected her datapad and pressed deeper into the lab.

Another shudder shook Silver Grandeur. She began humming softly as she passed more labcoats, remembering the melody her mother would use to comfort her when she was little. After the Seekers first attacked.

On its one-hundredth and fifty-second year of voyaging in space, five years after Silver Grandeur’s passengers were woken from cryo-sleep, the Seekers struck. So did the sickness.

Deep space sickness, they called it.

No one knew what caused it. Some blamed the Seekers, who appeared immune to the disease. With their arrival shortly preceding the first outbreak, they were easy to blame. Some claimed it was a result of extended cryo-sleep. Simply a scientific oversight. And others, the more religious of Silver Grandeur’s passengers, proclaimed it was judgement for their departure from God’s one true home for them – Earth. Apparently, extended cryo-sleep had conveniently allowed them to forget Earth’s death. Reduced to a desolate wasteland, their one true home forced what remained of humanity to flee.

Her mother was one of the first to die from the sickness. Isabelle was ten at the time. Her father threw himself into a frenzy of work after his wife’s death, refusing to take inevitable death – either by sickness or by Seeker – as the final answer. Fifteen years had since passed.

Isabelle reached the end of Section 12 and stopped. Before her lay a single door. Lab Section 13. 

Checking behind her to make sure no one was watching, Isabelle opened the door with Dr. Morrison’s access card and slipped inside, shutting the door behind her.

Cold air shocked her. Isabelle shivered. Section 13 was freezing, not to mention smaller than she expected. The room contained only a handful of control panels on either side of the door and a containment unit on the far wall that was coated in frost.

Isabelle frowned. Was this the Donor Subject?

She approached the unit and used her sleeve to wipe a patch of frost from the glass.

A dark form moved inside.

Isabelle had seen Seekers before. Windows across the ship gave good view for those with a morbid enough interest to watch them attack. With a snouted maw filled with teeth, an excess of appendages tipped with claws, long wings, and sleek black bodies, they blended easily against the backdrop of space. Only when close enough to Silver Grandeur’s lights did the light of the ship reflecting off their bodies illuminate their presence. In darkness they did not exist.

She squinted at it. It was almost entirely obscured by the remaining frost and the condensation building inside her goggles. Isabelle steadied her breathing, excitement mounting as she removed her goggles to peer inside. She’d never seen one this close before.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Eyes, eyes that Seekers did not – should not – have, stared back at her.

It lunged.

Isabelle jerked backwards, slamming into the panels behind her. The creature thrashed against the glass and Isabelle glanced down in panic as a small alarm sounded on the panel just under her arm.

The sides of the containment unit hissed open.

Isabelle ran. Tearing metal echoed behind her.

She collided with a labcoat in Section 11. “Go! It’s out!” Not stopping to wait, she ran on through the lab, leaving the startled man behind. Several seconds later there was a scream. A loud crunch. And silence.

Lungs and legs burning, Isabelle burst into Section 1, the door sliding shut behind her. Several dozen scientists milled about, the ship’s shaking having since stopped.

“Run,” she said.

A few labcoats looked at her in confusion. Thudding behind the door she entered grew louder.

Isabelle tore off her mask, wheezing. “Run!”

The door she came through flew across the room, crushing a scientist against the wall. Standing a head taller than Isabelle, the creature that entered stood on legs rippling with sleek black muscle. Its head was surprisingly rounded, with something like the remnants of hair dotting the top of its head. It stretched tall and raised tensed arms, claws glinting in the lab’s harsh light. Opening its mouth, the creature let out a roar.

Scientists screamed and scattered.

Isabelle raced to the door leading into the rest of the ship. Several scientists followed. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and Isabelle careened to the side just in time to avoid a large metal table as it flew past her and smashed into the door. The labcoats weren’t as lucky.

An alarm blared in the lab. The scientist who activated it let out a blood-curdling scream from the center of the room as the creature charged him. It roared again, striking claws into both labcoat and control panel. Metal and flesh tore.

The lab was plunged into darkness.

Isabelle’s feet slid against the floor, a red emergency light flaring to life and pulsing slowly to illuminate the dark puddle she now stood in. She gagged, fighting to stay upright. Something struck her shoulder and Isabelle went down hard. A woman screamed beside her on the floor, having also fallen, and as the lights flashed Isabelle could make out a tall form to her right.

The creature crouched low. Isabelle scurried away as darkness returned. Crunching, twisting – a rending of flesh met her ears a few feet away, and warm liquid splattered her face. The woman’s screams fell silent.

She crawled as quickly as she could until she reached the lab’s wall. Feeling with slick hands along its surface, Isabelle’s fingers found purchase on the metal grooves of a vent grate. Hands shaking, she pulled off the clover, slipped inside the space just wide enough to hold her, and closed it. Cries of terror and agony dwindled one by one. Isabelle could hear them pounding against the crushed door, wailing as they realized it was too damaged to open. A body slammed against the vent grate and slumped to one side. Warm liquid began pooling next to Isabelle and she backed away. Shuffling quietly until she met a curve in the vent shaft, the young Data Reporter choked back tears. Now was not the time to cry.

A final voice cried out, and with that, the lab was silent.

Isabelle stopped.

Another sound had risen to fill the silence. A low vibration, somewhere between a growl and a hum came from the creature. She could feel the sound rumbling in her chest, deep in her lungs and heart, as though tugging on something. Carefully, she started moving again, crawling on slippery hands and knees.

Her knee skidded to the side and struck the vent shaft with a dull thunk. Isabelle steadied herself, holding her breath. She heard the grate tear free and clatter somewhere inside the lab.

Isabelle thrust herself around the bend, not caring how much noise she made now as the sounds of thudding and scraping behind her soon followed. With a cry of alarm, Isabelle’s weight-bearing hand slipped out from under her. Her head crashed against the side of the vent. Swaying awkwardly, Isabelle focused blurred vision up ahead.

Was it her imagination, or was there light around the next bend?

A growling hum propelled her forward.

Pulling with her arms, Isabelle slid around the final bend and was met by another grate leading down, light pouring from it. Every muscle in her body burned as she raised her hand and struck the grate.

It didn’t budge.

With a shriek, she brought her hand down against the grate again. And again and again and again.

CRASH.

Isabelle dropped to the floor below, pain bursting at her feet.

“HELP!” Her shout echoed as she limped quickly, turning right at an intersection in the hallway. “HEL-”

A closed blast door barring her path.

No.

She whirled around to see the creature dash into view.

No. No.

The creature skidded to a halt, muscles tensing. Bright hallway light finally illuminated the scarlet haphazardly painting both monster and woman. Isabelle’s back pressed against the door. It stalk towards her, moving with slow, purposeful steps. That of a hunter. That of one who knew its place in the pecking order.

Seekers. They always find us. 

Isabelle’s back slid until she met the ground. She turned her face away.

“Don’t hurt her!” A voice yelled. Her father’s.

Isabelle looked up in surprise. The creature turned to face Dr. Morrison, growling deep in its body and lifting its arms in a display.

“Don’t do this,” he said to the creature.

It roared.

Isabelle sobbed. “What is it?”

It roared again.

“Dad, what is it?”

His voice was even as he spoke. Measured carefully. “We acquired a Seeker’s DNA many years ago, hoping to find a cure. What we discovered was that they had so much more to offer us.” Dr. Morrison’s eyes flashed with something near-feral. “Strength, Izzy.” She watched through tear-streaked vision as he stepped to one side, the creature tracking his movement. “Strength we could never dream of acquiring on our own. We just needed to bridge the genetic gap.” Her father’s expression grew almost sad as he gazed at the creature. “Human experimentation was the only way. I’m sorry, dear.”

With a rippling of muscle the creature pounced. Isabelle forced her eyes to the ground as the sounds of carnage lifted to join that of the alarm. A sickening cacophony.

And then the carnage ceased.

Slow, thudding footsteps approached her. What had once been a growl dwindled to the lowest of vibrations. A soft humming. Isabelle looked at it with a start.

The creature’s face was close. Strings of sinew hung from red teeth, dripping blood onto Isabelle’s legs. As she looked above the horror of its maw, she saw its eyes. Familiar eyes. A memory pressed uninvited into Isabelle’s mind as the hum reverberated in her chest. Her mother, seated at the edge of Isabelle’s bed, the young girl cowering beneath her blankets as Silver Grandeur shuddered. Feeling a hand on her arm over the blanket, she listened to the melody of her mother’s tune as sleep finally overcame fear.

The creature knelt in front of Isabelle. Extending a single, blood-covered hand, it caressed the side of her face.

Isabelle’s eyes widened in shock. “Mom?”

Stories From The Torrid History Of Absinthe

The poets booze of choice.

Coconut Cream Tropical Pie

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0e2e7f63ac0fefb4990dc0ab877bc817

Yield: 16 servings or 24 sample servings

Ingredients

  • 1 (15 ounce) package refrigerated pie crusts (2 crusts)
  • 1 (8 ounce) package cream cheese, softened
  • 1 (8 ounce) can pineapple chunks in juice, undrained
  • 1 lime
  • 1 (12 ounce) container frozen whipped topping, thawed
  • 1 (3.4 ounce) package coconut cream instant pudding and pie filling
  • 1/2 cup sweetened flaked coconut, toasted, divided
  • 1 large orange, sliced
  • 2 kiwi, peeled and sliced

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 375 degrees F.
  2. Let pie crusts stand at room temperature 15 minutes.
  3. Lightly sprinkle Large Round Stone with flour. Gently unfold one pie crust and place in center of baking stone. Unfold second crust and place over first crust, matching edges and pressing to seal. Using Baker’s Roller(R), roll crusts to edge of baking stone.
  4. Fold 1/2 inch of edge of crust in toward center, forming an even border; press to seal seam. Flute edge, if desired; use pastry tool to prick entire surface of crust. Bake 20-25 minutes or until light golden brown. Remove from oven; cool completely.
  5. Place cream cheese in Classic Batter Bowl; whisk until smooth using Stainless Steel Whisk. Drain pineapple, reserving juice. Chop pineapple using Food Chopper. Using Lemon Zester/Scorer, zest lime; set aside for garnish. Juice lime to measure 1 tablespoon juice. Add pineapple, 1/4 cup of the pineapple juice and lime juice to cream cheese; whisk until smooth. Add whipped topping, pudding mix and half of the coconut; mix until well blended using Small Mix ‘N Scraper(R). Spread filling evenly over crust.
  6. Using Utility Knife, cut peel off orange and slice orange in half lengthwise; slice crosswise into 1/4 inch thick slices. Slice kiwi using Egg Slicer Plus(R). Arrange orange and kiwi slices over filling. Sprinkle remaining coconut around edge of filling. Sprinkle reserved lime zest over fruit.
  7. Refrigerate 30 minutes.
  8. Cut into wedges and serve.

Notes

To toast coconut in microwave oven, place coconut in Small Oval Baker; microwave on HIGH 1 to 2 minutes or until golden brown, stirring after each 10 second interval. Cool completely.

Nutrition

Per serving: Calories 280, Total Fat 16g, Saturated Fat 10g, Cholesterol 20mg, Carbohydrate 29g, Protein 2g, Sodium 220mg, Fiber less than 1g

Attribution

Pampered Chef

South Korea Is a Dystopia

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…

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8cf10964228214f6eeb8b2062ea35ee0

Each, and every time.

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0ca551826d84553b68554e5032304030

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

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4b56d3198f40123c87be54bb15ded056

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

  1. Heat oven to 400 degrees F. Let piecrust stand at room temperature for 15 minutes.
  2. 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.
  3. Bake for 20 to 22 minutes or until golden brown.
  4. Cool completely.
  5. 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™.
  6. 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.
  7. Refrigerate for 15 minutes or until set.
  8. 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.
  9. 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.
  10. Refrigerate 30 minutes.
  11. Serve using Slice ’N Serve®.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

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

Fun Comix

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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.

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

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9461e44a8b374bcc23a62d81517aa963

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

  1. Heat oven to 425 degrees F.
  2. Place pie crust in Deep Dish Pie Plate, gently pressing dough into bottom and up sides; prick bottom using Hold ‘N Slice.
  3. Bake for 10 to 12 minutes or until golden brown. Cool completely on Nonstick Cooling Rack.
  4. 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.
  5. 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.
  6. In Classic Batter Bowl, microwave cream cheese on HIGH for 30 seconds until softened; whisk until smooth using Stainless Steel Whisk.
  7. 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.
  8. 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.
  9. For a colder serving temperature and easier slicing, chill 30 minutes.
  10. 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

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 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

House | Top 8 Intense House Medical Scenes

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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main qimg e81cfbc8de125c8715260c9df9e9335a

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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main qimg 08df7bb665bf8efe91c214b1f0d48bce

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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main qimg bda0bd357ad8fa9f16c2b999cd90dca1

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.

The 8 AI Skills That Will Separate Winners From Losers in 2025

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.

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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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Married girl fucks up.

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)

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…

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

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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

  1. Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
  2. 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.
  3. 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

Delbert Griffith

I

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.”

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

II

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.

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.