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.

ksnip 20250125 074450
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.

ksnip 20250125 072443
ksnip 20250125 072443

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

ksnip 20250125 072050
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…