One of the first things that I learned to do with my father was being able to “skip a stone across the water”.
Skill of the Week: Skip a Stone

It was a skill that incorporated outside activity, personal bonding, and simplicity of action.
Important things.
Make no mistake.
Today…
Have you ever arrived at a hotel only to find out that the hotel gave your room away?
Yes. On our my wedding night.
We had booked a block of rooms for Friday and Saturday night, and we kept one for ourselves.
We got married on Saturday and, after a long day, tried to check into the hotel only to be told that they’d given our room away since we weren’t there on Friday.
No problem, we’ll just get another room, right? Wrong. It was the weekend of the golf U.S. Open. They called around, but, not surprisingly, couldn’t find anything.
My wife held it together until some college friends walked by. When they heard our problem, they said we could stay WITH them. At that my wife, still her in her gown, burst into tears. The manager suddenly appeared, decided it wasn’t a great look to have a bride crying in her lobby, and gave us the presidential suite.
With the right attitude, stone skipping is a rebellious act that will leave you feeling like you have glitter in your veins
An earthly mistake has been made.
If you are reading this, then something in your playful spirit won today. Something in your body that is both old and young overrode the impulse to use your time more sensibly, and instead said to itself: ‘I will not write that email. No, rather, I will indulge in reading what looks like a very detailed account of throwing smallish flat rocks onto largish flat bodies of water, over and over again.’
As someone who became obsessed recently with the pastime of throwing geological debris across a clear liquidus state of hydrogen and oxygen, I applaud this override. The potential mistake I refer to is a small one; small being about the size that would fit in your hand. After all, I must concede that what I have to offer on the subject pales in comparison with the insight the rocks themselves might have. All of whom have been around a lot longer than I, and whose perspective I imagine being far more illuminating on the brazen endeavour of making heavy things – that should sink – float.
That acknowledgement made, let me be clear about my intentions. I cannot teach you more than what I know, which is inevitably shrinking the more I learn. And because the stones themselves are not here to supervise my potentially biased opinion (for they have quite a busy schedule), I hope you can accept that this rudimentary tutorial is by no means definitive, but only my best account of ‘how to skip a stone’.
Let’s begin.
1. First, you go outside. Because, quite simply, there are no skipping stones inside. Actually, most rocks are outdoor rocks. They are social bodies that congregate in large groups together, and prefer having lots of space to do so. Additionally, it’s unlikely that you would find rocks for throwing at water indoors because, frankly, they don’t fit in with an agate collection or among a centrepiece of glass beads. Unless you know a few folks (ahem!) who hoard flat, wide, palm-shaped rocks, all the skipping stones are outside. What’s more, they are notoriously sedentary and stubborn. There is no delivery service for skipping stones. They don’t come to you. In the year 2023, you must still go to them.
You did not know yet the most essential truth of stone skipping: the best stones are never ‘perfect’
2. As you walk along the paths that seem desirable for finding stones to skip, you will notice that often these are picked over. Everyone wants to find good stones with minimal effort. Everyone at first believes that the object of their desire should be easily within reach. As it turns out, this is both unreasonable and uninteresting. Therefore, after you groom the path several times and let out a sigh, you stumble onto the uneven terrain in the pursuit of sedimentary greatness.
3. You pass hours and days and weeks collecting and tossing rocks at the water, your bucket going from full to empty, then full again. You’ve skipped 200, maybe 300 stones by now, and also ‘not skipped’ at least that many. You start to prefer less and less the ones that attracted your eye as a novice. The blue-green schist, so smooth and perfectly round, is now tedious and in the way. Just debris covering the five-sided, fragmented, slender yet husky shale and sandstone underneath. These beauties you would have never seen before. You did not know yet the most essential truth of stone skipping: the best stones are never ‘perfect’.
4. Then, at some point in late spring, you decide to take the afternoon to go skipping and searching. Because you think of yourself as a rebel but not a radical, you call this a mental health day. You convince a close playmate to join, and the two of you venture to the spot you know will turn a find. With your senses honed to that of ancestral forager, you take your trained eyes to the ground and within the hour you’ve found your treasure. You dig up a divine lump of feldspar and silica from under a large hunk of conglomerate and earth. Gosh, it’s thrilling. So flat and heavy, with a cute little bump for your index finger. You look over your shoulder at me, wondering if I saw what you just found. A flash of possessiveness crosses over you, but then we both giggle with approval. We look at each other’s booty and swap. Sharing is more fun and we both know it.
Side-note to Step 4: this amusement feels strange and a bit like having glitter in your veins. ‘What is this feeling?’ you wonder. It is at about this point you realise something profound, which is that you are not the person you thought you were. Or, better said, you realise you are actually the person you forgot you were. The stones have seen enough to know this truth but, to you, it comes as a surprise. A part of you that had been dormant since the day you stopped wearing stirrup pants is awakened inside. You become aware that you’ve been missing this youthful self for some time.
* addendum to side-note to Step 4: believe it or not, this previous step is crucial to good stone throwing. I’ve seen plenty of great tosses, but if we’re talking about rebellion, which if you haven’t noticed, we are, then culturally, one must preserve a flamboyant playfulness in one’s practice. If you are buying a moisture-wicking 3/4 zip-up the price of my monthly paycheck in order to skip a stone further, we are doomed. That being said, if it were a David Bowie leotard with matching vest and rhinestones, that would be within the scope of stone-skipping professionalism.
Getting to know each stone personally really delights the little crags. They finally feel seen!
5. Now, where were we? Oh yes, while you were collecting stones and discussing David Bowie, you started getting picky and selecting only the most superb stones to put in your bucket. It is not uncommon to attempt to maximise one’s advantage through discerning selection, however it has its drawbacks, and in this case it results in a limited haul. Thirty stones in an hour? You will use them all up practising in a third of that time. The truth is before your eyes. You must expand your search. You remind yourself there is no perfect stone.
6. With this in mind, you try tossing some chunkers and some clunkers. Ones that are twice the size of your palm and the ones that crumble as soon as they hit the water. As the afternoon passes, you note that some of your best throws are with stones that you previously dismissed, and you decide to skip everything and anything you can. (Well, OK – not everything, you have morals. You would never skip a beetle or toss garbage into the lake.) As it turns out, the world of rocks becomes more interesting as you pay attention to each uniquely cemented deposition of sand in your hand. Moreover, getting to know each stone personally really delights the little crags. They finally feel seen! Appreciated as individuals! And, as you throw more and more, you start to wonder if maybe, in the right hands, every stone is a skipping stone.
7. By now you’ve mastered a compelling style and begin to expect a little greatness. ‘Will it be today?’ you wonder, ‘that I throw a stone that never stops?’ You show up undeterred and spritely in hopes of the ‘next best skip’. You believe that you can do better, and you’re hungry to see yourself improve. Improvement, after all, is intoxicating, and we humans spend a lot of time measuring things. Unfortunately, there comes a day, a whole week even, that your tosses are off. Lacklustre, total bombs (the technical term is ‘Kerplunker’). You tank it, over and over and over again, worrying: ‘Oh no, have I lost it?’
Frustrated, your muscles tense. A berating voice in your head grows louder, and soon you notice that your youthful self has altogether stopped coming with you. They stopped coming because they are child-like and smart and aware that you got very drunk on measuring things; that critical voice made you very unpleasant to be around.
8. Thankfully, you’ve read an article about this. You close your eyes and breathe in deep. You go through the steps and soften. You apologise to that part of yourself that fell in love with this game in the first place. This takes a couple of moments because they are unsure of your motives and a little mad at your hunger for achievement ruining their fun. In order to regain trust, you go back to your bucket of stones and touch them all gently, focusing on their texture. You ask which one wants to be thrown next and how hard. You flick one from an upside-down position, after a cartwheel, and then between the legs. You keep skipping but stop counting. You laugh at yourself. You laugh with yourself.
And this is how you throw a stone. Over and over again without much seriousness. Even as professionals, which you and I are now, we know throwing rocks at water should never be taken seriously. Thankfully, the other people who throw rocks at water have been good examples of this. We especially look up to our septuagenarian ‘opponent’ Mike ‘Airtight Alibi’ Williamson. He once threw a rock across the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool. You notice that there is something subversive in this type of play and not taking yourself too seriously. I told you once that this was an act of rebellion, and you start to agree.
Surrounded by people and stones young and old, one midsummer day, you throw a rock at the water and receive some exciting attention for it. It is a good toss at a right time and, wow, in the world of rock throwing, it is special. When asked how you did it, you pause and ponder why the common retort of ‘hard work’ no longer makes sense. The you that knows how to skip a stone whispers that it might be ‘gentle play’ that got you here.
Gentle play, as it turns out, can be tiring. So, after a long day of throwing rocks at the water, you rest. The stones that are yet to be thrown are sitting next to you, as they do, basking in the sun. They don’t say anything, because they can’t, but they tell you all the same: the only mistake would be missing this moment.
And then you go back the next day, bucket in tow, a little lighter than the day before.
Which country has the most unusual capital?
I want to talk about a beautiful and stunning capital city. You may not have heard of it, but it has been around for over 10 years. It cost $5 billion to build, and the results are truly stunning:
If you see it from the air, the view of this city is truly breathtaking.
There are beautiful golden monuments in this city.
Besides, there are also magnificent palaces and beautiful gardens that make it even more charming.
The parliament chamber is also very beautiful and luxurious, regardless of the cost of building it.
But…
Where are the residents?
The city has very wide roads with 20 lanes, as you can see in the photo.
This is Myanmar’s new capital: Naypyidaw. Unlike the more famous Yangon, this capital has only been built in the last decade or so.
Initially, the Myanmar military government decided to build a new capital in the early 2000s, in a remote and isolated place, spending a lot of money for no apparent reason.
The city is four times the size of London, but has a population of less than a million. Many recent publications I read seem confused as to why this capital was built.
Naypyidaw is located about 300km from the old capital, Yangon. Ministers have to drive quite a distance to get to work. Initially, they even planned to build a subway system, but the government realized that it was not necessary.
There are also other photos showing wide and beautiful streets, but very quiet without many people.
Naypyidaw, the virtually unknown capital, is expensive, beautiful and somewhat ghost town-like, and truly unique.
A Nation With NO FUTURE! People are WAKING UP, and Realizing That They LOST EVERYTHING.
How did China became so successful in relatively short time, is it due to CCP Governess and forced labor, Chinese culture and work ethics, Competitive society due to large population forcing every one to work hard to succeed?
Because capital cannot plunder indefinitely.
In China, there is at least one state-owned enterprise in every industry related to people’s livelihood. State-owned enterprises do not aim for profit.
For example, in the express delivery industry, before China Post entered the express delivery industry, the transportation price for 300 kilometers was 8 yuan/kg, and the most expensive price reached 30 yuan, and the freight rate rose very quickly. After China Post entered, it established a benchmark, 3 days to arrive, the price was 6 yuan. Then other express delivery companies either seek faster service to increase prices, or seek greater transportation volume to reduce prices. Now China’s express delivery prices have dropped to 5 yuan/2000 kilometers.
For example, in the insurance industry; there was a period of time when the price of insurance in China rose rapidly; after the state-owned insurance companies entered, the profits of insurance companies were regulated. The insurance claims ratio is also regulated. Now the claims ratio of Chinese insurance policies is around 97%.
When capital cannot plunder, people will have more money to spend on production and consumption.
Li Hua letters move Chinese and US netizens to tears
Seriously.
If you don’t know about this, you MUST. Check it out.
What is the best move you pulled off in a fight?
My best move was preventing a fatal fight.
My partner and I were on an EMS shift, and we were dispatched to an unresponsive male patient on the notorious Cape Flats’ ganglands. We arrived on scene and were greeted by his mother and grandmother who were very concerned because they couldn’t wake their son up. They were incredibly friendly.
My partner and I had been on the roads for years and we also had military and tactical CQB training. We lived the safety protocols. Except that night. That night we made a mistake.
I started treating the unresponsive male. Primary survey intact, all vitals within normal range, for all intents and purposes this guy was just very wasted. Just to make sure though, I gave him a blood-glucose test. This involves a small finger prick. All hell broke loose and when I looked up from administering my test, I was staring down the barrel of 9mm pistol. It was close enough to my face for me to see the rifling in the barrel.
That was our mistake – we hadn’t checked the patient for personal weapons before treating him.
He was a gangster, an amateur. He was holding the weapon too close to me – close enough for me to disarm him easily. My partner and I had drilled a response for this hundreds of times. Move head laterally, control the weapon and double-tap two rounds to the chest. He would be dead before he hit the sheets again.
Expect, I didn’t feel that usual Trauma Cascade, or fight, flight, freeze response that usually comes with staring at a firearm that could potentially kill you any second. The reason? I looked in his eyes and he was more afraid of us than we were of him. Instead of reacting to the threat with our trained response, I remained motionless, locked eyes with him, and assured him that he was safe. I deescalated the situation by being completely non-confrontational. I didn’t get shot, he didn’t get shot, and I didn’t have to explain to his mother why her “sleeping” son was now dead.
Sometimes “less is more.”
Kai Sai Takrai
(Chicken and Lemon Grass)
This dish has a nice poetic name, as the three words of the name rhyme.

Ingredients
- 1 cup chicken, cut into bite size pieces
- 2 tablespoons lime juice
- 2 tablespoons fish sauce
- 2 tablespoons chicken stock
- 1 to 2 teaspoons prik phom (freshly ground dried red chiles)
- 1 tablespoon thinly sliced prik ki nu daeng (red birdseye chiles)
- 1 teaspoon sugar
- 1 bai makroot (kaffir lime leaf), shredded
- 1 tablespoon sliced shallot (purple onions)
- 1 tablespoon thinly sliced garlic
- 2 tablespoons sliced lemon grass
- 2 tablespoons diced Spanish onion
- 1 tablespoon spring onion (scallion/green onion), thinly sliced
Instructions
- Mix the lime juice and fish sauce, and marinade the chicken for about an hour.
- Pound the lemon grass with a mallet or meat tenderizer, and then very thinly slice it.
- Heat a little oil in a wok or skillet over medium high heat, add the shallots, onions, garlic, prik phom and lemon grass, and stir fry until aromatic.
- Add the chicken and marinade and stir fry until it starts to change color. Add the remaining ingredients and stir fry until heated through and the chicken is fully cooked.
- Serve with steamed jasmine rice.
Notes
Those who don’t like chile can always leave it out.
This dish can also be made with shrimp (kung sai takrai).
RedNote is Forcing Tik Tok Refugees to Face Some Hard Truths about Life in the U.S.
Nice overview, and of course a very important video.
My Morning Routine
Submitted into Contest #282 in response to: Write a story where a character relives the same event over and over again. … view prompt
JOHN FERRIGNO
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” the boy said.
“It was just your birthday last week,” she said. “Why didn’t you want a party?”
“I don’t like parties,” he answered. “Big groups of people make me nervous.”
“Who gets nervous at their own birthday party?” she asked. “Why would your friends make you nervous?”
“It’s not who they are,” he explained. “It’s any group. They wouldn’t be my friends anyway.”
“They would be if you weren’t so strange,” she said. “If you acted like everyone else, you could have a party like a normal kid.”
“I didn’t want a party,” the kid pleaded. “Dad said if I didn’t want one, I didn’t have to have one. He said he would give me the money he would have spent on the party so I could buy comics. That was what I wanted. It’s my birthday. Why can’t I do what I want?”
“Because kids your age don’t act like that,” the mother said. “It’s a good thing you like being alone so much. You are going to be alone forever. Nobody is ever going to want to be with you, with the way you act. So just sit here by yourself and read your comic books. That is all you will ever do with your life. You will be the town weirdo everyone talks about.”
The mother stormed off and slammed the door behind her. The boy tried to continue to read his comic book, but couldn’t see through the tears in his eyes.
I walked up to the porch and knelt down in front of the boy. He looked up at me, and even though he had never seen me before, he had an expression on his face of recognition.
They say you can’t really change the past.
“Hi, Tom,” I said.
“Do I know you?” he asked. “How do you know my name?”
“You don’t know me,” I said. “Not yet anyway. I just need to tell you one thing, and it is the most important thing you will ever hear in your life, so I need you to really pay attention. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” he said.
I pointed at the entrance to his house.
“Your mother is wrong about you,” I said. “I promise you. She is wrong. Never forget that. No matter what. She is wrong.”
The boy looked at me and his face broke my heart. I could tell he didn’t really believe me.
I know for a fact that I am telling him the truth. I lived his life, and I know the problems he has. I know the struggles ahead for him. He will have terrible self-esteem and no self-confidence. He will battle depression and anxiety. He will go through life feeling like there is something wrong with him. That he doesn’t fit in anywhere.
He does belong, though. He knows it as an adult. Once he is able to, he goes back in time every single day to try to convince himself of this fact. All he wants to do is stop the hurting inside of himself. He tries every day, and every day he fails. I know he fails, because I still feel the pain of my childhood today.
I walked away from myself, just as my mother opened the door to see who I was. I didn’t want her to see me. Or maybe I didn’t want to see her.
Either way.
They say you can’t really change the past.
Many men have decided to remain single; the BIGGEST reason
This time, the US wields the tariff stick. Why does China refuse to give in and choose to fight back?
China has already won.
They have made other arrangements.
China has not renewed 300+ contracts to supply beef to China. Those lucrative contracts are going to Australia.
China did not renewed contracts to supply soybeans and ginseng to China. Those lucrative contracts went to Brazil and Canada.
China has refused delivery of the first of many airplanes from Boeing.
NOTE: Every American household and business contains LOTS of Chinese products.
Chinese homes and business do not contain American products.
The saying, ‘Do not poke the sleeping giant’ means ‘Disrespect China at your peril’. (Why don’t you and your elected officials know this?)
The U.S. has disrespected China in multiple ways. China makes no fuss. They don’t renegotiate in an environment of disrespect. They don’t badger, threaten, or issue press releases. They simply fail to renew contracts.
You think they should ‘fight back’. You and your president know nothing about international business and you know nothing about China.
China was an honourable trading partner. Now they are a former trading partner.
Keep waiting as products from China become unavailable to your country.
Blame the MAGA types for all that comes next.
Comix









































Trump Tops Tariffs On China With Sanctions
This will be fun:

bigger
This is just another click on the sanction ratchet. The last ones, six or so weeks ago, had no serious impact:
The tightened U.S. sanctions on Iranian oil flows under the Trump Administration’s renewed maximum pressure campaign have created chaos in Iran’s oil exports to its single biggest buyer, China.However, Iranian exports to China, which buys around 90% of the Islamic Republic’s oil, continue as traders and middlemen rearrange tanker flows and increase ship-to-ship transfers, especially offshore Malaysia, vessel-tracking analysts say.
The latest U.S. sanctions have managed to disrupt trade as the number of non-sanctioned tankers is steadily falling. But exports from Iran to China continue at a rate similar to those of the past few months …
The original ‘maximum pressure’ sanctions were solely aimed at Iran:
The Trump Administration .. is actively seeking to collapse these exports – currently estimated at 1.5 million bpd-1.6 million bpd – by ratcheting up pressure on the financial system and governments in the region, which aid Iran’s oil export efforts and oil revenue collection.“We will close off Iran’s access to the international financial system by targeting regional parties that facilitate the transfer of its revenues. Treasury is prepared to engage in frank discussions with these countries,” Secretary Bessent said at the Economic Club of New York last week.
“We are going to shut down Iran’s oil sector and drone manufacturing capabilities.”
That did not work as expected. The new secondary sanctions are targeting Iran’s best customer – China.
I have no doubt that China, despite the threat of secondary sanctions, will continue to buy oil from Iran.
Trump already had to make carve-outs for automobile parts and other irreplaceable stuff from the sky-high tariffs he had imposed on products from China. There are also exemptions for pharmaceutical precursors and products. U.S. healthcare depends on those products from China.
As China is unlikely to give in the secondary sanctions related to Iran will make these exemptions irrelevant.
The fun part of this will come when Trump will have to retreat from it as soon as the results of his bluster threaten to hurt the U.S. economy.
What is poor white trash? Who are the poor white trash of America?
In 1990 I moved into a trailer park in the rural South. I was 30 years old.
I had been raised Lutheran, liberal, in a wealthy family in the Northeast.
Now I was trailer trash. White trash.
I had previously worked in a high end aerospace company. A veteran. Married. Solid middle class.
I’m not going to lie to you. I needed a break. I have some pretty fond memories of being white trash.
Those people were nice to me. They shared everything.
So I did the same.
The town people hated us. We almost never went to town. We were usually too drunk or high to drive anyway.
We made our own ‘white liquor.’ Everyone had a weed patch out in the woods somewhere. It was too hot to cook in those trailers so we cooked outside. Deer, fish, ducks, just something we caught in the woods. So we really didn’t need to go to town much.
We didn’t need birth control because everyone was already pregnant. Lots of babies in that trailer park.
For work we basically did construction side jobs. My rent was $185 for a double wide. I had a roommate so my share was $92. I was always a month behind. Sometimes I picked tobacco. Picking watermelons was too back breaking.
If we called the local police for anything they just ignored us. There was only one cop anyway. He got off at 5pm. After that it was the highway patrol. They ignored us too. We had to settle everything ourselves.
Everybody was armed. Pure 2A.
I stayed there for 8 months.
Being white trash was fun. Finally I had to come back to NJ for court. I had skipped out on my divorce and some motor vehicle charges.
As soon as I got back they threw me in the county jail. So I went from being white trash in a rural trailer park in the South. To being held on contempt in an inner city NJ jail. What a culture shock.
After that was all over they let me out.
I had no money and my family wasn’t talking to me.
I became homeless in NYC. Mostly around Tompkins Square Park.
So I guess now I was white trash in NYC.
It was summer. Winter was brutal. I can tell you from experience. Being white trash in a southern trailer park is way more pleasant than being white trash in NYC homeless.
Finally I solved my alcohol problem.
Got it really together.
Became really wealthy. I live in a gated community in a very exclusive part of town. I’m retired. I’m still a liberal. I like helping others.
Occasionally I go visit that trailer park. Most of them are still there.
They get real paranoid when they see that new Lexus with Jersey plates pulling in the trailer park. Then they realize its me. Always happy to see me. I can’t drink anymore. We do eat though. I don’t smoke anything anymore either. Especially cigarettes.
They aren’t bad people at all. They basically don’t like or want to deal with a fast paced high end life. They like that way. Except for the food stamps, WIC, section 8. They wouldn’t hurt a fly.
It surprises me when they get on a rant about taxes. They’re on the book income is usually around $5000 to keep their benefits. They don’t pay any taxes at all. They usually get the EIC too.
I don’t argue or even mention it to them. They are armed to the teeth and I’m unarmed. Good to keep it civil.
So I visit. We eat. Maybe go out in the woods to fish.
They never come up here. They don’t even want to go to the nearest town. If it wasnt for having to buy gas they wouldn’t go. They’re afraid to come up here. They are convinced that the liberals here are all pedophiles and worshipping Satan. That minorities are ruling over us and having their way with our women . They can’t conceal carry either. They want zero part of this place.
So. I grew up wealthy. Did well. Flamed out and became white trash. Became wealthy again.
I’m guessing maybe 10% of the population down there. From what I saw. It was like living in an episode of Here comes Honey Boo Boo. Except poorer with lots of booze and weed.
the Lightbringer
Submitted into Contest #282 in response to: Write a story set in a world of darkness where light is suddenly discovered.… view prompt
Steven Sommer
As the days passed, they discovered new wonders in their brightened world. Flowers bloomed in vibrant colors, animals frolicked in the light, and the sky above sparkled with stars they had never seen before.
The once-dull and dreary landscape had been transformed into a vibrant, enchanting realm. Lush meadows, teeming with wildflowers, stretched out as far as the eye could see, their petals dancing in the gentle breeze. Majestic trees, their branches reaching towards the heavens, provided a canopy of shade and shelter for the curious creatures that scampered and soared through the verdant foliage.
In the distance, a crystal-clear stream babbled merrily, its waters reflecting the brilliant hues of the surrounding flora. Schools of iridescent fish darted through the current, their scales glimmering like precious gems. Overhead, birds of every color and size swooped and glided, their melodious calls filling the air with a symphony of life.
As night fell, the world took on a new, ethereal beauty. The sky above was ablaze with stars, their twinkling light casting a soft glow over the landscape. Fireflies danced in the darkness, their bioluminescent bodies creating a mesmerizing display. The air was filled with the soothing sounds of nocturnal creatures, a gentle lullaby that lulled the weary travelers into a peaceful slumber.
And Malin, with her glowing egg held close to her heart, continued to explore the world beyond, spreading light and hope wherever she went. For in a world of darkness, she had discovered the power of light, and nothing could ever dim its brilliance.
Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Case of the Missing Billy Goat Who Went Out on a Limb
Ah, dear reader, gather close for another riveting tale from the chronicles of my illustrious life as the farm’s resident detective, problem solver, and unparalleled genius. Today’s adventure is one for the kids (pun absolutely intended), as it involves a particularly mischievous billy goat named Buckley. Now, Buckley wasn’t your average goat. No, this four-legged daredevil had a peculiar habit of climbing trees. Yes, you heard that right—trees. While most goats were content with scaling rocky hills or headbutting fence posts, Buckley had loftier ambitions. Unfortunately, his penchant for heights led to a disappearing act that left the entire farm in a tizzy. And so, it fell to me, Sir Whiskerton, to solve the case of The Missing Billy Goat Who Went Out on a Limb.
The Disappearance
It all began on a sunny afternoon when the farm was abuzz with its usual activity. The chickens were clucking, the cows were munching, and I was enjoying a well-earned nap in the shade of the old oak tree. Life was peaceful… until it wasn’t.
“Sir Whiskerton!” Rufus the farm dog barked, racing toward me with his tail wagging furiously. “We’ve got a situation!”
I opened one eye lazily. “What is it this time, Rufus? Did the hens start another debate over who lays the best eggs?”
“No, it’s Buckley!” Rufus said, panting. “He’s gone missing!”
“Missing?” I said, sitting up and flicking my tail. “Gone where?”
“That’s the thing,” Rufus said, scratching behind his ear. “Nobody knows! One minute he was here, chewing on the fence post, and the next, poof! Gone. The farmer’s been looking everywhere, but there’s no sign of him.”
I sighed, already sensing that this was going to be one of those days. “Alright, Rufus, let’s not get our tails in a knot. Gather the animals and meet me by the barn. It’s time for an investigation.”
The Investigation Begins
The entire farm gathered near the barn, where I stood atop a hay bale, surveying the crowd. Doris the hen was pacing nervously, Harriet was wringing her wings, and Lillian was—predictably—already on the verge of fainting.
“Oh, Sir Whiskerton!” Doris clucked. “You have to find Buckley! What if… what if he’s been goat-napped?”
“Goat-napped! But also so tragic!” Harriet added.
“Tragic! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Lillian screeched, collapsing dramatically into a pile of hay.
“Calm down, ladies,” I said, raising a paw. “Buckley hasn’t been goat-napped. He’s probably just wandered off again. You all know how he is—always climbing things he shouldn’t.”
“Climbing things,” Ditto the kitten echoed, perched on my back as usual.
“Not now, Ditto,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Not now,” Ditto repeated, grinning.
“Alright,” I continued, addressing the crowd. “Does anyone know where Buckley was last seen?”
“I saw him near the orchard this morning,” Porkchop the pig said, munching on an apple. “He was staring up at the trees, looking like he was planning something.”
“Planning something,” Ditto echoed.
“Of course he was,” I muttered. “Alright, team, to the orchard!”
The Orchard Clue
When we reached the orchard, it didn’t take long to find the first clue. There, at the base of one of the apple trees, was a cluster of hoofprints—and a half-eaten apple.
“Classic Buckley,” I said, sniffing the ground. “He was definitely here.”
“But where did he go?” Rufus asked, looking around.
“Up,” I said, pointing to the tree. Sure enough, several branches were bent, and there were bits of fur snagged on the bark.
“That goat’s nuttier than a squirrel!” Rufus exclaimed. “Why would he climb an apple tree?”
“Why does Buckley do anything?” I said, smirking. “Because he can. Let’s keep moving. If I know Buckley, he didn’t stop here.”
The Search Continues
As we followed Buckley’s trail, it became clear that this was no ordinary goat chase. We found evidence of his escapades everywhere: hoofprints on the roof of the chicken coop, a chewed-through rope near the barn, and even a suspicious pile of apple cores in the garden.
“Buckley’s leaving a trail bigger than a loaf of bread,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s like he wants us to find him.”
“Find him,” Ditto echoed, batting at a stray leaf.
“Still not helping, Ditto,” I said.
“Not helping,” Ditto grinned.
A Surprise Encounter
Just as we were about to check the hayloft, a familiar, smug voice interrupted us.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Sir Whiskerton and his merry band of misfits,” Catnip the stray cat said, lounging on a low branch of the oak tree. As usual, his goons, Cluckster the rooster and Billy-Bob the goat, were loitering nearby.
“What do you want, Catnip?” I said, narrowing my eyes.
“Oh, nothing,” Catnip said, twirling a blade of grass between his claws. “Just thought you might like to know that I saw Buckley earlier.”
“You did?” Rufus barked. “Where is he?”
Catnip smirked. “Let’s just say he’s hanging around. But good luck getting him down. That goat’s more stubborn than a mule with a sweet tooth.”
The Grand Discovery
Following Catnip’s cryptic clue, we made our way to the tallest tree on the farm—the old oak near the pond. Sure enough, there was Buckley, perched on a high branch, looking as pleased as a goat could be.
“Buckley!” Rufus barked. “What are you doing up there?!”
“Just hanging out,” Buckley bleated, nibbling on a leaf.
“You’re going to break your neck!” Doris squawked.
“Your neck! But also so reckless!” Harriet added.
“Reckless! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Lillian screeched.
“Alright, everyone, calm down,” I said, assessing the situation. “Buckley, how exactly do you plan on getting down?”
“Uh…” Buckley said, glancing at the ground. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
“Of course you didn’t,” I muttered. “Rufus, fetch the farmer. We’ll need a ladder.”
The Rescue Mission
With the help of the farmer, a ladder, and a lot of coaxing, we managed to get Buckley down from the tree. He landed safely on the ground, though not without a few grumbles about how he “could’ve done it himself.”
“Buckley,” I said, fixing him with a stern look. “You can’t keep climbing trees like this. One day, you’re going to get yourself into real trouble.”
“Trouble? Me? Nah,” Buckley said, grinning. “I’m just living life on the edge!”
“Living life on the edge,” Ditto echoed, giggling.
A Happy Ending
Despite the chaos, all was well again on the farm. Buckley promised (sort of) to stick to climbing things closer to the ground, and the rest of the animals returned to their daily routines.
The moral of the story, dear reader, is this: it’s okay to be adventurous, but even the most daring souls need to know their limits. And as for me, Sir Whiskerton? I’ll always be here to bring the high-flying troublemakers of the farm back down to earth.
Until next time, my friends.
The End.
Have you ever arrived at a hotel only to find out that the hotel gave your room away?
Yes.
We arrived in Paris for a week-long getaway. We’d specifically chosen a small boutique hotel very close to the tour-bus company’s depot where all the tours started from.
We went in the door to the small front desk and said were here to check in. The receptionist shook her head and said they had no rooms. We said we have a reservation. She said we didn’t. We said we did, and we gave our names. She looked it up on the computer, and found where we’d booked, then cancelled 5 minutes later. Then a few weeks later we’d booked again, then cancelled 5 minutes later. Hmmm. No, we never cancelled.
So she phoned her boss, and they had a conversation. Apparently their computer automatically cancelled our booking both when we first booked with our travel agent, and also when we confirmed our booking with our agent. Apparently their computer system and the 3rd party booking system just don’t get along.
Anyhoo, that glitch got fixed, and she admitted it wasn’t our fault, but most likely theirs, because they really should have queried the book/cancel entries on their computer.
However, we still had the problem that they had no room. I was ready to ask if they’d be putting us up in another hotel, hoping it would be nearby. But then she said their entire 5th floor was closed because all the rooms were being painted and repairs were being done. If we were willing to put up with painters on the floor, she could give us a room on the 5th floor. Yes please.
We got a freshly painted bright airy room, and we never did see a painter or any other tradesmen because we were out all day. And because there were no other rooms occupied at night, it was wonderfully quiet.
Chile Chicken with Basil and Coconut Cream
This is one of my favorites! Easy and great for dinner parties. Always a hit!

Yield: 4 servings
Ingredients
- 2 pounds chicken breast fillets
- 2 tablespoons oil
- 1 onion, finely chopped
- 2 tablespoons finely chopped small fresh red chiles
- 1 cup shredded fresh basil
- 2 tablespoons fish sauce
- 1 teaspoon chopped fresh coriander
- 1 1/2 teaspoons granulated sugar
- 1 cup coconut cream
Instructions
- Remove excess fat from chicken, cut chicken into 1cm (half inch) strips.
- Heat oil in wok, add onions and chiles, stir fry until onion is soft.
- Add chicken, stir fry until chicken is tender. Add basil, sauce, coriander and sugar, stir fry for 1 minute.
- Add coconut cream, stir mixture until heated through.
Notes
Best made before serving. Freeze: Not suitable.
I serve this dish with fluffy Basmati rice and a light lettuce salad.
INTERVIEW: TikToking ’bout a revolution
Almost 900 Million Chinese makes $300 a month, how does the CCP create enough money to build high-tech-looking infrastructure?
Median National Income of a Country = (Gross Domestic Product) /(Working Population)
Median National Income of China = 134.9 Trillion Yuan / 849.65 Million = 158,771 Yuan per year = $ 21,660 per year = $ 1,805 per month
Income earned by the Middle Class of a Country = [Total Population / Working Population]^(-1) x 2 x [Median National Income] x [Percentage of Middle Class (National)]
= [1.409 Billion / 849.65 Million]^(-1) x [158,771] * [50.4%] = (1.6583 )^(-1) x 158771*2 x 0.504 = 96,504 Yuan per year = $13,165 per year = $ 1,097 per month
Thus we can establish that 428 Million Working Chinese on an average earn 1100 Dollars a month respectively or close to 51% of them
So it’s a mathematical impossibility for 90% of Chinese to earn $ 300 a month
Now let’s see Rural Chinese alone
Mean National Rural Income of China = (Share of Agriculture and Animal Husbandry in GDP) / (Working Population of Rural China)
Mean Rural Income = (11.14 Trillion Yuan /289.98 Million) = 38,700 Yuan a year = $ 437 a month
The Mean National Rural Income of China is assumed to be $ 437 a month
(The Assumption is that Rural Population only engage in Agriculture and Animal Husbandry but many Agricultural communities in China have factories too)
So even the Rural Workers in China earn an average of $ 440 a month which is almost 50% higher than what you say
So are you talking about the Poorest of the Chinese?
Let’s see the Poorest Chinese
Around 9.18% of the Chinese Population is classified as Poor
Thats 77.99 Million Chinese
Apply the same formula
= [1.658] ^(-1) x [38,700] x 2 * [9.18%/49.6%] = 0. * 38700*2 * [9.18/49.6] = 8,640 Yuan = $ 1,178 a year = $ 99 per month
So the Poorest of the Chinese earn $ 99 per month
Extrapolating, it’s likely around 120–140 Million Chinese earn $ 300 per month
Around 9.25% of the Total Population of China
So it’s not 90% but around 9%
You are off by a factor of 10
How does CCP build infrastructure?
I have written many answers on that. Just check it out
What is it like to be black in Japan?
I have a Nigerian friend. Whenever we ride the subway together, there is usually only one seat empty. My friends and I will point to him, the Nigerian guy, to sit in that seat. Within a minute, the people sitting on his right and left will stand up. My two friends will then be able to sit down. Sometimes more people will stand up. Until we are all able to sit down. The trick always works every time. It works especially well if the person sitting is a young woman.
My Nigerian friend is pretty philosophical about it. He even carries a foreigner’s ID in his front pocket, because he often gets asked for his ID by the authorities. I guess you could call it a racist thing, or you could just ignore it and have fun with it…
If you have African friends living in Tokyo right now, give it a try. It’s really fun.