I haven’t eaten a packed lunch for decades. These were replaced with regular proper lunches.
Anyways, now, (being on a diet) I actually eat lunches sparingly.
But back in the day… I used to pack lunches. Generally pathetic ones. Often leftover food, between two slices of bread. Put in a plastic baggie, and then packed in a brown paper bag. I could have done much more, but I was often poor, and busy.
Here’s some fun pictures of brown bag lunches…
Today…
How do you get a place to live in China?
In China, for expats, there are five (5x) primary means of obtaining a place to live within China.
[1] A hotel. You can rent a cheap hotel room. It comes with maid service, all utilities, and everything you might need. Some hotel rooms are efficiencies and includes a small stove and refrigerator. What else do you need?
[2] An Apartment. In China, if you want to rent an apartment, you go to an “apartment rental office” (they are everywhere) and they will show you a selection of apartments, and you choose the one that you want. The cost for the service is 1/2 the rent. You will need to pay first, and last months ent, and sign a contract which is usually one year, but can be extended for a lower rent price for longer periods. Remember that you will need to pay utilities, and management fees when you rent an apartment. Finally, it is possible for you to directly rent from an owner, but by far the most common means of renting an apartment is to use an agent.
How to Rent an Apartment in China 2024 | Tips, Tricks, & Advice Are you going to rent an apartment in China? If so, this 2024 expat guide will give you tips & advice you need to negotiate a fair contract.
[3] Work. By law, all Chinese companies must provide housing and a meal (often three) as part of the work contract. If they are a small company, and don’t have a dorm or apartments for married couples, they will give you a living allowance in your work contract.
[4] Buy a house. If you have the money, buying a home in China offers numerous advantages. As a foreigner, however, the number of homes that you can own are capped by the province you live in. For instance, in Zhuhai, I can only buy 3 houses. In Shenzhen, I can only own three houses also. But in Zhongshan, I can have up to four houses per family member.
[5] Marry a spouse with a home. This is an option if you are of the inclination to date and meet a fine Chinese boy or girl. Once you get married, you can move into the home. Sounds so easy, right? I know, I know. Look, getting married to get a “roof over your head”, is not well advised. So don’t do it. Marry for other reasons… like love, or a shared love of cats. But, for a house? Nah.
John Mearsheimer EXPOSED: Shocking Shift in His China Narrative!
Great video.
What type of prison uniform would you prefer to wear, a two-piece or a jumpsuit, and for what reason? What are the pros and cons of both, which will determine the choice of the prison authorities?
I would never ever pick a jumpsuit over a 2 piece; especially if the shirt buttons because when i was in prison we could wear them open as long as we had out white -light grey actually- on underneath (obviously). And when going to rec or just hanging out your unit, you didn’t have to wear the button up shirt as long as you had your ID on (those were the only two places though, everywhere else the rules were – state grays were mandatory, except in emergencies like a medical emergency or a fire alarm went off – oh and smoke breaks. But they cut tobacco out of Missouri DOC in 2018- the same time they started implementing tablets. Coincidence? Absolutely not. But whenever vrrgʻr mm
How much time do inmates get off of their sentence when they work in prison as a trustee or inmate worker?
In the state of AZ, all prison sentences are imposed with the stipulation that the convict will be working, provided that:
They have no officially recognized medical condition which might prevent them from working
They are not enough of a security risk to prevent them from working (ie: compromised mental health which makes them unpredictably combative, death sentences, with some exceptions… they can volunteer to pick vegetables on the gun gang in Florence for example
The yard they are sent to has prison jobs available to be filled.
Once a convict works his risk score down far enough and qualifies for minimum custody, in many cases they are sent to OT yards (outside trustee) and in these facilities all convicts are put to work… some of them out in town. I have done landscaping at Eastern Az college, mowed grass on wardens row, and worked on the complex garbage truck for example.
Convicts who refuse to work face disciplinary measures up to and including being moved to the CDU (the hole). In the Florence complex this is (or was) CB-6. While in CB-6, convicts are required to…. (wait for it)… work. Only here, there’s only one job available, and it pays a wage of .10 cents per hour. It’s referred to among convicts as ‘the dime crew’ or ‘the gun gang’ because it pays a dime an hour and it is supervised by guards on horseback with 12 gauge shotguns, with a pickup truck towed outhouse for restroom facilities. It entails breaking and raking rocks just outside the complex gate with pick axes, hoes, and rakes all day long, while shackled and chained to other convicts in the Arizona sun.
Most folks are familiar with it’s previous name- the chain gang.
Those who refuse to work when they come around to the cells in the morning are soaked with tear gas or pepper spray, and then asked a second time. I haven’t heard of anyone who needed to be asked a third time to work.
There is no time taken off your sentence for working, you do 85 % in custody and 15% on community supervision (parole), however, being a disciplinary problem may result in losing the three month conditional release (called a “TR”) that some qualified convicts receive.
There are some places where sentences are, whenever possible, handed out with an implied stipulation of ‘at hard labor’. While it’s debatable whether this is truly difficult, my point is that it’s usually best to get yourself used to the idea that you will be working while in prison. Ultimately, it’s not a bad thing, in my opinion. That is all, and good evening to you.
“K.J. Noh ‘Tiktok ban blowback”‘
Great points made here.
What Lies Beyond
Submitted into Contest #280 in response to: Start or end your story with a character asking a question.… view prompt
Bradley Forster
‘The real one or the stuffed one?’ said Jack.
‘The stuffed one, the real one is sitting on me.’ shouted Ethan
Of course he is. Jack put down his book and walked out of his study to the bottom of the stairs.
‘Have you actually moved things and looked for him properly? I’ve told you, you don’t have x-ray vision.’
‘Well yeah but not the basement because you said I’m not allowed in there without you.’
‘That’s true, good lad. The real Russell probably hid stuffed Russell down there. I’ll bring him up.’
Jack went into the kitchen to get the torch before heading down into the basement. The door opened inwards and blocked the stairs which meant he had to close the door behind him before he could go down the stairs to reach the light switch. He was convinced the previous owner switched the hinges around on purpose just to mess with him as he couldn’t believe anyone would be that stupid.
The basement door swung open with a drawn out creak but closed silently, adding to the eeriness of the dark. He switched on the torch and the beam of light bounced down the stairs illuminating a spot at the bottom as if it were highlighting the stairway to heaven. Jack followed it down, widening the highlighted spot until he lifted it up and shone the light towards a work bench on the opposite wall.
‘It has to be down here.’ he muttered to himself as he turned off the torch and turned on the main light. This had became a regular occurrence since they moved into the new house. Over the space of a month his son Ethan had lost four stuffed animals. Jack was convinced it was the dog hiding them but nothing had been buried in the garden and unless the dog was Houdini reincarnated then it was rather unlikely he was the culprit.
He walked over to his work bench to look for his sons favourite stuffed animal, a fluffy black cockapoo. He had the real thing upstairs, the bloody thing won’t leave his side so Jack didn’t really understand why he needed a toy version as well. Without it no one in the house, including the real Russell, would be getting any sleep so it was rather imperative that it was found. He looked in every crawl space, under old dust sheets, in every draw and cupboard in the room but it was nowhere to be found.
Deflated, he turned off the main lights and made to go upstairs to break the news when something in the darkness caught the corner of his eye. In the corner of the room behind a set of golf clubs a purple hue lit up the lower portion of the wall. Assuming it was a toy of some sort he walked over and lifted the golf clubs out of the way, as he knelt down he subconsciously recoiled and stepped back tripping over the golf bag spilling balls and clubs all over the floor. He held his breath and listened for any reaction from anyone upstairs. Nothing, the only thing he could hear was a quiet hum coming from the corner of the room. It looked like a liquid swirling inside of a jar but it wasn’t contained by anything that he could see. He picked himself up and got on all fours and started to slowly crawl towards the substance, he picked up the 5 iron that had landed in front of him and held it out. He poked the swirling purple corner with the tip of the club but felt no resistance, thinking he wasn’t close enough to it he moved closer so he could have touched it with his hand if he wanted. He tightened his grip on the head of the club and lowered his hand so it was hovering just above the floor then jabbed the shaft towards the substance. It went straight through but the first time it happened it didn’t register so he did it two more times before he dropped the club in shock. It was half in the room and, he assumed, half out of the room.
Jack was sat in a squat position looking at the mysterious purple swirl like the first caveman to discover fire. There was no thought in his head, his internal monologue was stunned into silence. After an age of sitting there in total wonder his hand started to move, he knew he was in full control of his body but also knew what he was about to do was totally insane. He clenched his fist and stuck out his index finger, his hand shaking and sweat forming on his brow, he slowly moved his hand towards the target. He couldn’t help but have flashbacks to the first time he touched a womans breast, the only thing missing was the erection.
His finger went straight through as if he was poking a cloud, the same as the golf club except this time the substance glowed brighter and grew in size. He pulled out his finger and poked it with the golf club but nothing happened. This time he put his full hand in and the purple light shone brighter and grew larger again. He moved closer and closer to the wall so his whole arm was in. The light was so bright it was blinding, he turned away and closed his eyes but it was still too much. Without a second thought he pulled his arm out and ran over to his work bench and grabbed his welding glasses before running over to the bottom of the stairs, no noise, with any luck they had fell asleep waiting for him to find the toy. With the welding glasses on he stuck his arm back into the substance, with the welding glasses shielding him from the light he could now see that it was big enough for his whole body to fit through.
I mean, I’ve came this far and I’m not dead yet. One quick look and then we’ll go upstairs and call someone.
He wasn’t sure who exactly he would call to come and deal with a mysterious glowing hole in his basement but he’d figure it out. After a couple of deep breaths he pushed his face through the substance and was met with pure darkness. There was no bright purple light on this side, there was no dull hum. It felt cold and dangerous, he felt like he was being watched, he felt like prey. Much like in a nightclub after 2am, nothing good happens in the darkness. He made to turn around and get up but as he put his hand on his leg he realised he had the torch, once again reminiscent of his caveman ancestors curiosity carried him onwards. He switched the torch on and lit up what looked to be an animals den, there were roots poking out through damp black soil, he traced the light around the soil walls until it reached the bottom. Down on the floor just out of reach were his sons lost toys, including Russell. He couldn’t lean down as he had nothing to grab onto with his other hand so he put the torch in his mouth and lay on his stomach, inching forward but being careful to not go far enough that his pivot point would cause him to fall headfirst into the den he reached as far down as he could but the toys remained just out of reach. The light from the torch reflected back at him from Russell’s eyes, it looked remarkably like the real one currently upstairs. The same white markings on it’s stomach, the same purple collar.
Don’t look at me like that buddy.
He let out a deep sigh and backed out of the den and stood up in the basement, the substance shrank back to it’s original size. He walked over to a shelving unit next to his workbench where he kept his work out gear and took out his battle ropes from a box on the bottom shelf. He then piled all five of his 20kg plates on top of each other about five steps away from the substance. 100kg in total. He weighed approximately 88kg so once the battle rope was tied around the plates they should hold his weight and allow him to climb down into the den and back up.
With the torch in his mouth he threw the other end of the rope through the substance into the den, again he got down onto his stomach but this time he shuffled backwards so his legs went in first. Just like before the more of his body that went into the purple swirls, the larger and brighter it got. Holding on tightly to the rope he kicked the tip of his shoes into the soil until the felt secure, he then leaned back as far as he could to apply plenty of pressure through his feet into the soil wall to prevent him from slipping. Slowly but surely he made it to the bottom, he hadn’t realised it before but there was a puddle and all the toys were soaked through. He picked each one up, rung it out and threw it through the now shrunken gap into the basement. He picked up Russell last and as he did so he heard the creak of the basement door.
‘Ethan?’ he paused and waited for a response but none came. ‘Ethan if that’s you bud just go back to bed. I’m bringing Russel up for you right now.’ he paused again but heard nothing.
He couldn’t blame Ethan for being curious as he felt like he’d been down in the basement for days. He threw Russell up through the hole and as he did so the light from the torch in his mouth lit up the face of the real Russell. His head was poking in through the substance with the other end of the battle rope in his mouth.
He looked Jack square in the eyes and dropped it down into the den, hitting the puddle and throwing up cold, dirty water.
‘Hi Jack. Bye Jack.’ Russell disappeared, as did the hole created by the substance.
Jack stood motionless, the light shining on where his son’s dog’s head was not 2 seconds ago. He began to frantically shine the torch on every inch of the den walls, his breathing was becoming laborious, his head felt light. There was no hole, there was no door, there was no way out. He bit down on the end of the torch and scratched and clawed at the soil until his nails became bloodied stumps and his fingers snapped. He then resorted to kicking. When his feet became numb and his legs stopped moving he spat out the torch and took out chunks of earth with his teeth. When his gums could no longer get any traction on the soil he lay back into this watery grave and floated, finally allowing for the darkness to carry him away.
Caught Wife About To Taste Lover’s Salami But Instead B*rfed On His Junk When She Saw Me!
Oddball book covers
Wife Insisted On Being A SAHM, Throws Tantrum When Overworked Husband Refuses To Lift A Finger
How do prisons stop escapes if they know about them beforehand?
They don’t.
Prisons and county jails have psychologists and intelligence units but still are saddled by wardens who are at best political appointees and an archaic prison bureaucracy who are just looking forward to retirement.
Murderer David Sweat, who was serving LWOP for the murder of a Sheriff’s deputy (Above, Right) and Richard Matt, serving 25 to life for killing his elderly boss and fleeing to Mexico- where he killed a second time, literally worked for months with tools the prison gave them to tunnel out of the ‘honor wing’ at Clinton Correctional Facility in upstate New York.
Matt and the already pipe-cleaner thin Sweat even took off weight- with Matt losing fifty pounds off of his bulky frame- because they knew that they would have to squeeze through a tiny hole made in a locked sewer grate underneath the facility in order to make it out of the prison.
Matt and Sweat had more help from guards and workers in the facility itself than they did from other inmates in effecting their escape from the thirty-foot-high walled prison.
It’s more of an embarrassment to the prison, but they really don’t care because even if if a prisoner escapes- where’s he going to go?
Are there secret Muslims in China?
Ha ha ha.
Oh my goodness! They are everywhere. They’re thicker than flies here in China.
China is super friendly to Muslims. And they are welcome in what ever pedigree that they prefer. China is, and always been a very pro-religious freedom government. Though if you are stupid enough to actually believe the flood of lies out of Western “news” media and the NED / NID you might think the absolute opposite.
But heck!
All you need to do is go on Xiao Hong Shu and check out the millions of videos of China there. Them Muslims are everywhere; and lordy! They have the best BBQ in the world. I’ll tell you what!
The biggest concentration of the Muslim minorities is in the Western Chinese provinces, such as XinJiang. Now, I have been living in this neck of the woods for over 20 years, and have been all over China. Now, truthfully I don’t know of any “secret Muslims”. They pretty much are proud of their history, their traditions and their lives. And I don’t blame them. Muslims are marvelous!
Ugh.
Here’s what the Uighur Muslims look like inside of China.
And this is how they are portrayed in Western “news” media… here’s Google.
Here’s Bing…
Seriously you all, if you are still watching and using Baby Boomer Media, you need to change your diapers. It’s just non-stop lies and distortions. Get a friggin’ life!
Only idiots, morons, and the chronically stupid allow themselves to be MANIPULATED by the kakistocracy that runs the United States and Western proxies…
Is it really possible that the “American Leadership” are morons?
Oh, yes. Most certainly.
That Bozo is Senator Cotton of Arkansas.
Here’s his voting base…
So…
I’m getting a little sidetracked.
You DO KNOW, right?
There’s a blanket of lies and massive funding to make sure that BRICS+ access to BRI assets in XinJiang be interrupted by CIA-led war. And the Uighur Chinese minority is targeted for defamation.
Phew!
Anyways. Let’s talk about REALITY.
Real Chinese Muslims inside of China.
REAL life.
Muslims inside of China…
So…
Let me answer this question.
Are there any “secret Muslims” in China?
No. Not that I know of.
- Uighur Muslims are PROUD of their heritage. They do not need to hide.
- Non-Uighur Muslims are very, very comfortable in China. China is a pro-religious freedom nation. They make SURE that religion is kept out of governance.
And besides…
- Secrets are unknown to those outside of the “secret circle” of confidentiality.
So if you want to know about the “secret Muslims of China” you can watch the BBC, FOX “news” and CNN. They will fill your brain with enough horse manure to keep you going until the next batch of artificially generated fear-narratives.
FIRST TIME HEARING LYNYRD SKYNYRD – FREE BIRD (REACTION)
Divine Blood
Submitted into Contest #280 in response to: Write a story in which two or more people have a conversation — without using any quotation marks.… view prompt
Acorn Gaffer
There is no need for that here. Your voice is meaningless. I can hear you either way.
Macy closes her mouth, swallowing bile. She clenches her fists, thinking as clearly as she can.
Where is she? Where is my sister?
Its tendrils unwrap slightly.
She is with us. She is happy now.
Bullshit.
It narrows it’s many eyes.
What do you see when you look upon me?
A monster.
A beat passes.
You are a nonbeliever.
Yes, I am.
Another beat.
Your blood is devoted to me now, yet you choose to be faithless. Tell me why, mortal? Why do you defy me?
Because I see through you. Now give me my sister.
Its tendrils fully unfurl, touching the ground, allowing it to move freely.
She is happy. She does not wish to leave.
Macy snarls.
I don’t care. Give her back, now!
Its tendrils slither over to her, climbing over her, curling around her. It feels disgusting, yet something makes the touch feel warm and comfortable, like a drug.
I can take you to her.
Her breath hitches as she finds herself unable to move.
I can make you my disciple, just like her…
Tears run down her cheeks as more of its flesh envelops her, its writhing form splitting.
Your unhappiness is fixable. If you simply submit, you will live in eternal bliss, just like her. A part of me, of us, forever safe and comforted.
Her limbs feel so weak, the pulsating flesh fully around her, making it hard to breathe.
Join me, and you will be safe from all the pain…
She sobs weakly as she conjures all of the strength she can bear, reaching into her pocket, barely able to move due to the pressure on all sides. She can feel a prick on the back of her neck as her fingers curl around cool metal.
Let me guide you, my lamb…
She screams out as she forces her drained muscles to push forward, taking the knife from her pocket and slicing at the flesh in front of her. The thing screeches, recoiling, tendrils flailing as a disgusting mix of blood and pus splatters and smears on her clothes. She keeps hacking, her muscles screaming in protest as she carves her way out, gasping for air as she reaches its surface.
It makes horrific screeching and wailing, multiple voices layered over each other, all screaming in pain. Macy coughs and sputters. Everything in her wants to collapse and sob, but she forces her legs forward, still gripping the knife as she runs through the woods, only vaguely aware of where she needs to go. Everything burns and aches, begging her to just die and end the suffering. Behind her, she can hear it as its tendrils wrap around trees and destroy shrubbery, destroying everything in its path to get to her. She keeps going, winding around trees.
It’s all a blur as she runs. She doesn’t dare stop, even as the screeching fades into the distance behind her. She keeps running until she gets to the edge of the forest, collapsing on the gravel of the side of the road where she parked.
The gravel digs into her skin, gashes on her arms from her collapse, but she hardly notices over the burning of her muscles. She sobs, bloody and broken, shaking on the ground.
It feels like years, laying there, sobbing and gasping for air, but, in reality, is only mere seconds before pain shoots through her aching body once again. She screams as she feels a sharp pain in the back of her neck.
She drags herself up, every inch of her body aching in protest as she gets in her car. She rips the rearview mirror off its mount, angling it to see the back of her neck.
She gags as she sees a small wound with a large, wriggling mass under the skin. It senses its host’s realization, crawling down and around to the front of her neck. She screams in pain, feeling it separate skin from muscle to force its path. She scratches at her skin desperately, trying to get it out, causing its path to shift and change to avoid capture, slithering down her arm. She yanks up her sleeve, grabbing the knife that she had nearly left on the gravel. She watches as it moves under the surface of her skin, her eyes following its painful path to her wrist.
Macy raises the blade, bringing it down on her wrist.
Is it true that some American men travel overseas and look for a foreign wife?
That is a silly question.
[1] Travel. Firstly, MOST American men do not travel. Most have never set foot outside of their state, let alone their nation. The United States is the most insular of nations, and it’s society the most closeted.
[2] Purpose. If a man travels outside of the United States, it’s primarily for work. That includes being a soldier, sailor or airman. mean, at least until they rich their 50’s do not have the kind of money for casual international travel; this is either financially or limited to their work environment. At most, an American male would get ten days vacation a year.
[3] A wife. Most American men are not searching for a wife. In the United States, the laws and culture penalizes the male for being married. It’s just simpler to be single. The man will stay single, and save money unless he meets a woman that he falls in love with.
Which brings up the core point…
[4] Love. Men marry for love. I have never met a man who married for any reason other than love.
- So, in the rare case that a man is overseas, the chances are that it is due to work or business.
- If he meets a woman in the other nation, he would stay with her for fun.
- But, if he marries her, it will be for love. Nothing else.
Will the startup Chinese AI engine DeepSeek overtake ChatGPT?
Let me simplify things.
- Both DeepSeek and ChatGPT have the same performance for 99% of the operations.
- DeepSeek is free, and open source. It cannot be tainted by government manipulation.
- ChatGPT is closed source, and is funded by the USA government.
As a consumer, which would you prefer?
Exactly. It’s obvious.
Let me tell you a story.
Back around 1985 or so there was a battle on television video recorders.
- BetaMAX – Extra clear technology, and stability, but expensive.
- VHS – Relatively poor quality, but cheap.
While I, personally, ran BetaMAX, by the mid-1990’s it was impossible to find videos to view. Instead VHS was everywhere, and I, well I, was forced to purchase a inexpensive VHS player to watch movies with.
I believe that this is what will happen with this AI situation today, only the stakes are higher, the money is much larger, and the government interference potential is near exponential.
Sir Whiskerton and the Case of the Phantom Pickle: A Tale of Feline Frights and Farmer Follies
Ah, dear reader, gather ’round for a tale of terror, triumph, and tangy vegetables. Yes, you heard me correctly—vegetables. Specifically, pickles. Those ghastly, green, vinegary abominations that haunt the dreams of cats everywhere. Today’s story is one of mystery, mayhem, and a particularly absent-minded farmer who has a peculiar habit of leaving pickles in the most unexpected places. So, prepare yourself for Sir Whiskerton and the Case of the Phantom Pickle: A Tale of Feline Frights and Farmer Follies.
The Pickle Predicament
It all began, as most of my misadventures do, with the farmer’s peculiar habits. You see, the farmer has a pickle barrel on the kitchen side porch. Every morning, before he starts his work on the farm, he grabs a pickle. It’s his ritual, his routine, his… well, his thing. But here’s the problem: the farmer is, shall we say, forgetful. He’ll take a bite of his pickle, set it down on a fence post, a hay bale, or even the barn roof, and then wander off, leaving the dreaded vegetable to wreak havoc on unsuspecting felines.
And by “unsuspecting felines,” I mean me.
“Whiskerton!” Doris the hen squawked one morning, as I leapt three feet in the air after encountering a pickle on the feed bin. “What’s gotten into you?”
“What’s gotten into me?!” I hissed, my fur standing on end. “What’s gotten into the farmer?! Why does he keep leaving these… these monstrosities lying around?!”
“Monstrosities!” Harriet echoed, clucking nervously.
“Nervously!” Lillian added, fainting onto a pile of straw.
I glared at the offending pickle, its green, bumpy skin glistening in the sunlight like some kind of vegetable villain. “This ends today,” I declared. “I will not live in fear of the farmer’s forgotten snacks. I am Sir Whiskerton, the farm’s most brilliant detective, and I will solve this case once and for all.”
The Investigation Begins
To understand the pickle problem, I first had to observe the farmer’s behavior. I followed him around the farm, keeping a safe distance (and a wary eye out for any stray pickles). Sure enough, as the farmer went about his chores, he absent-mindedly set his pickle down on a fence post, a hay bale, and even the handle of his shovel. Each time, he wandered off without a second thought, leaving the pickle to lie in wait like some kind of green, vinegary landmine.
“This is worse than I thought,” I muttered to myself. “The farmer is a menace. A pickle-dropping menace.”
“Menace!” Ditto the kitten echoed, popping up from behind a hay bale.
“Not now, Ditto,” I said, flicking my tail. “I’m on a mission.”
“Mission!” Ditto repeated, his eyes wide with excitement.
The Plan
After careful consideration, I devised a plan. If the farmer couldn’t remember to keep track of his pickles, I would have to help him. But how? I couldn’t exactly follow him around all day, swatting pickles out of his hand. No, I needed something more subtle. Something clever. Something… feline.
I decided to enlist the help of Rufus the dog. Rufus, while not the sharpest tool in the shed, is loyal and always eager to assist. Plus, he has a nose that can sniff out a pickle from a mile away.
“Rufus,” I said, approaching him as he lounged in the shade, “I need your help.”
“Help?” Rufus said, perking up. “With what?”
“With the farmer’s pickles,” I explained. “Every time he sets one down, you need to bark. Loudly. Startle him into remembering it.”
Rufus tilted his head. “But… why?”
“Because pickles are a menace!” I hissed. “They’re terrifying! They’re… they’re… evil!”
Rufus blinked. “Okay, Whiskerton. If you say so.”
The Execution
The next morning, as the farmer grabbed his pickle and headed out to the fields, Rufus and I sprang into action. Every time the farmer set his pickle down, Rufus let out a loud, enthusiastic bark. The farmer, startled, would jump and look around, eventually spotting the pickle and picking it up again.
“What’s gotten into you, Rufus?” the farmer muttered after the third bark. “You’ve been acting strange all morning.”
“Strange!” Ditto echoed, popping up from behind a bush.
“Not now, Ditto,” I whispered.
“Now!” Ditto said, wagging his tail.
The Moral of the Story
By the end of the day, the farmer had stopped leaving his pickles lying around. Whether it was Rufus’s barking or just sheer luck, the phantom pickles had been vanquished. The farm was safe once more, and I could finally relax without fear of encountering a rogue cucumber.
The moral of the story, dear reader, is this: Sometimes, the simplest solutions are the most effective. And while it’s easy to let fear control us, a little creativity and teamwork can help us overcome even the most terrifying challenges—whether they’re pickles, farmers, or anything in between.
A Happy Ending
As the sun set over the farm, I stretched out on my favorite sunbeam, content in the knowledge that I had once again saved the day. Rufus lay nearby, wagging his tail, and even Ditto had finally stopped echoing everything I said.
“Well done, Rufus,” I said, flicking my tail. “You’ve proven yourself a valuable ally in the fight against pickles.”
“Pickles!” Ditto said, popping up from behind a hay bale.
I sighed. “Almost everything.”
And so, dear reader, we leave our heroes with the promise of new adventures, new challenges, and hopefully, no more pickles. Until next time, may your days be filled with laughter, love, and just a little bit of feline genius.
The End.