Back in the day when I was in High School, towards the end of Senior year, I took stock of my friendships. By then, I was a pretty “popular” guy. We were all ending our childhood and moving into early adulthood. And we were all falling into our “groove”.
I was a normal teenager for that period of time. I went to school, lifted weights, and then went to work. After work, I would go and party and hang-out with my friends. It was a routine that I had at that time, and one which is well illustrated in the movie “Dazed and confused”.
Now, East Brady was a small town. But we did have two car dealerships. And both owners had kids my age. Matt was a classmate and he was a peculiar fellow, being a closet gay. But we got along well enough. Though he has this mischievous streak that was irritating. He also ended up having a gay relationship with Paul M, who ended up having some “doors open up for him” in the world of massive apartment design.
The other dealership was near my house at the bottom of the hill (well, more or less) and while I didn’t care too much for the owner, who was always chasing me away (there was a old bottle dump behind his business) he had two daughters who always liked me, and I really liked both of them. We were always very friendly to each other, but never dated either. We kept things on the “almost band”.
Now, at that time, I was trying to get into the Air Force Academy. And I and Brian B. scored top in all the battery of tests, and we tied for the spot. Brian got it. And the younger sister got with him, and married him. Good for Brian. I instead, went to Syracuse, got my degree in Aerospace Engineering, joined the Navy and started flying as a naval Aviator until I transferred to MAJestic.
But there is synchronicity.
The girl (who I am trying my best to avoid putting her name here) liked both myself and Brian. Yet Brian and I were both friend and both had the same dream. In a way, we were identical. One girl. Two identials. She chose one, I went off to another direction. It was a bifurcation.
In life these patterns show themselves, and if you review life… declutter the mundane, and look at general trends, it’s almost like we are all on a “reserved seat” on a roller coaster. Just gaining the experiences one way or the other, but with routes and vectors pre-planned.
I believe.
Ah. For today…
What is the most badass thing your parent has ever done?
Let me paint the picture. My mom is a 5′2″ (157cm) platinum-blonde, petite British woman. Her best friend is a 5′10″ (178cm) athletic black woman. The picture of my mom as a bridesmaid at her friend’s wedding is hilarious and looks like a sketch from the “One of these things is not like the others” segment of Sesame Street. But I digress…
We were next door neighbors for several years and these two great friends used to go for a long walk together almost every evening.
One night, as they were walking down the main boulevard that runs through our community, a car full of girls in their late teens pulled up alongside them and the girls began yelling obscenities and racial slurs toward both my mother and her friend. We live in a diverse, progressive city and it is very unusual to hear racist comments — but there are the occasional idiots, even in Silicon Valley.
My typically quite reserved mother is fuming mad and looking for rocks to pick up and throw at the car, which is now speeding away.
As they continue on their walk, they reach the main intersection, which is their turnaround point, and my mom notices that the racists’ vehicle is parked across the street at the gas station. Without saying a word to her friend, she takes off at a full run across the street, dodging cars like a game of Frogger, and begins banging on the window of the passenger.
“Open the door, or I will tear it off its hinges!” she screams with enough authority that the stupid girl actually unlocks her door, which my mother rips open and then proceeds to physically, forcibly remove the passenger from the car in what seems to be a single motion.
Despite being three decades older than them, and outnumbered, my mother opens the back door and orders the rear passenger out as well. “But I’m pregnant,” counters the suddenly demure deviant in the backseat. “CongratuFRICKENlations. Get out!,” insists my incensed — but still too Christian to really swear — mother.
By the time her friend crosses the street and catches up, Mom has these two girls pinned against the car and is giving them the verbal lashing of a lifetime. The driver, who has been pumping gas, reaches into the car to pull our her cell phone and says she will call the police if my Mom doesn’t let them go.
“Oh, please do, because what you did qualifies as a hate crime in this country. I’d love to explain to my friends at San Jose PD what you lovely young ladies just did.” (It probably didn’t, but again, no one questioned the fiery English woman who was now raging in full momma-bear mode.)
My five-foot-nothing mother, who at this point was approaching grandmother age, has two of the girls in tears as she questions their life choices, their education, their upbringing, and their utter lack of worth to the planet. She then makes them, one by one, look her friend in the eye, apologize and plead for her forgiveness. I genuinely wonder what these girls though my tiny little mom was going to do to them, but clearly she painted a terrifying enough mental picture in her initial verbal onslaught that all four of them complied, begging forgiveness and promising to be better in the future.
One of them continued to give attitude, though, and my mother was not satisfied with her level of penitence. So, before she walked away, she walked up to this girl, got well inside her personal space and whispered (just loud enough to be sure her friends would hear), “And you, my dear, you are in the most trouble of all, because I know your mom. When I get home, I will call her and explain to her the disgrace you have brough upon your family in front of the whole neighborhood. So you might not want to go home tonight.” Again, my mom did not know this young woman from Adam, and she certainly did not know her mom. But this little trouble causer didn’t know that. And she was quaking in her boots.
So, what do you think? Cruel and unusual punishment or bad to the freakin’ bone?
Post script for fun:
It took about half an hour to get home from the gas station where this all went down. As the ladies turned the corner onto our block, they were met by a sight very similar to this:
San Jose Police with armored vehicles, MERGE (SWAT) officers in full tactical gear, and about a dozen police cars were lining our street.
“Did they really call the police on us?”
“Oh, I don’t know. And what on earth must they have said to warrant this kind of response!?!”
Turns out it was totally unrelated. We lived across the street from a school and they were using the school parking lot as a staging area for a tactical operation on a wanted criminal a few blocks over. But for the two minutes it took to walk past these dozens of officers, it was my mom and her friend who were shaking in their boots. Karma?
EDIT: 24 hours (and nearly 30,000 views) later, my mom read the story. She said, “You forgot my favorite part! – CongratuFRICKENlations!” So, apparently she didn’t grab the gal in the backseat, she only yelled at her, and when informed the girl was pregnant she non-swore at her and still ordered her out of the car. That section has been edited.” She also requested a disclaimer that it was her Irish blood that got the better of her. So, there’s that.
Green Curry Chicken
Ingredients
- 1 pound boneless chicken breasts
- 1 tablespoon dark soy sauce
- 1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
- 2 tablespoons cooking oil
- 2 tablespoons green curry paste
- 2 green onions with tops, chopped
- 3 cloves garlic, peeled and chopped
- 1 teaspoon fresh ginger, peeled and finely chopped
- 2 cups coconut milk
- 1 tablespoon fish sauce
- 1 tablespoon dark soy sauce
- 2 tablespoons granulated sugar
- 1/2 cup cilantro leaves, for garnish
Instructions
- Cut chicken into 1 inch cubes then toss first in 1 tablespoon dark soy sauce, then in the flour, coating pieces evenly.
- Heat the oil in a large skillet over medium high heat.
- Place chicken in the skillet, cook and stir chicken until browned, about 5 minutes. Remove chicken.
- Reduce heat to medium and stir in curry paste. Cook for 1 minute until fragrant, then stir in green onions, garlic, and ginger; cook an additional 2 minutes.
- Return chicken to the skillet, stirring to coat with the curry mixture.
- Stir the coconut milk, fish sauce, 1 tablespoon soy sauce and sugar into the chicken-curry mixture. Allow to simmer over medium heat for 20 minutes until the chicken is tender.
- Serve garnished with cilantro leaves.
Farmers on the Subway. 6 AM, China
What are the dirtiest cities in the world?
What do you think about this photo?
It looks like a house in a slum, huh? And it looks like a dump.
Believe it or not this is actually a river.
If you look closely, you can see that trash is floating on the river. This is the Pasig River in the Philippines. Pasig, the largest lake in the Philippines, flows about 25 kilometers from Manila Bay to Lagun de Bay. The problem is that the river runs through the world’s most populous city, Manila, and as a result, it has become a local dumping ground. After World War II, when the city’s population exploded, the river was used to dump industrial waste, household waste, sewage, and pretty much anything else you can think of. In the 1990s, Pasig was considered biologically dead, meaning it could not support any aquatic life due to its low oxygen levels.
But the story doesn’t end here.
The picture on the right is the Pasig River today. Since 2008, the Asian Development Bank and the Philippine government have taken the initiative to restore the river. The program brings together city residents, government agencies and environmental experts.
The Filipinos themselves did not expect the ADB’s help and slowly, life is returning to the Dead River. Last year, the river won the Asian River Award for its “beauty” and “utility.”
The Pasig River won first prize of the Asia River Prize.
That’s all I know.
Again and again I keep hearing that China is about to collapse. And yet it currently is crushing the United States in AI and various other industries. When is this long-mooted collapse supposed to happen?
Now that Trump has temporarily shut down the USAID, we should see less prediction of China collapse for a while. USAID reportedly has been subsidizing some 5,000 presstitutes to write negative reports on China, some are blatant lies. Some even wrote books to that effect (subsidized, of course). I frankly don’t see how a country like China can collapse. As long as they don’t know how else to make a living, they will keep writing as soon as USAID resumes the subsidy.
My First Night in China… This is Crazy!!
Good Mourning
Submitted into Contest #213 in response to: Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.… view prompt
Indee Anna Prosé
This story contains themes or mentions of mental health issues.
“May I call you Betty?”
“Yes.”
“I am sorry for your loss, Betty. Good Mourning Mortuary is here to help you through this difficult time. May I have the name of the deceased, please?”
“Todd Bentley.” Betty howled in anguish and a fresh torrent of tears flooded her face. She slammed the cell phone on the coffee table, inhaled deeply and tried to regain her composure.
“I am sorry for your pain, Betty. May I ask how the deceased died, please?”
“He was asleep. He died in his sleep.”
“Thank you, Betty. Can you please confirm the location of the deceased?”
“He’s upstairs, in bed.”
“Thank you, Betty. Is the bed located at 365 Loftstrand Court in Oak Grove?”
Betty’s brow furrowed. “Yes, but how did you know that?”
“Thank you, Betty. The GPS on the cell phone you are calling from cites this location. Good Mourning Mortuary is available to retrieve the deceased in exactly one hour and 13 minutes. For your convenience, the final arrangements may be made from 365 Loftstrand Court in Oak Grove. May we send a death care unit out to further assist you, Betty?”
Betty frowned and spoke between sniffles. “A death care unit? Sure, I guess so.”
“Thank you, Betty. Good Mourning Mortuary will arrive at 365 Loftstrand Court in Oak Grove in exactly one hour and 12 minutes. Good-bye.”
****
4 Non Blondes shrieked the chorus of “What’s Up?” through Betty’s cell phone and shattered the silence, startling her. The caller ID said Good Mourning Mortuary.
She answered, “Betty speaking.”
“Hello, Betty. I am Alvin-Ivan of Good Mourning Mortuary, the death care unit sent to assist you. I am at your front door ready to serve you. Please do not end this call, Betty. We will communicate with one another through your cell phone.”
Puzzled, Betty gripped her phone in one hand and gently touched Todd’s cooling skin with the other hand. His pale, quiescent corpse was there, but he wasn’t. He was gone. Somewhere. He lay still and silent on his stomach with his right cheek planted firmly into his pillow, his eyes closed in an eternal slumber. She softly tousled Todd’s hair and planted a final good-bye kiss on his cheek before covering his naked body with the crumpled comforter and trotting down the stairs to answer the door.
Betty flung open the front door and saw no one. She looked down, gasped, and dropped her cell phone when she saw a clear, see-through casket hovering outside her doorway.
“Hello, Betty. I am Alvin-Ivan, a death care unit from Good Mourning Mortuary,” said a deep calm voice through her phone.
“Please lead me to the deceased.”
“You have got to be kidding me.” Betty looked up from the casket and scanned the horizon outside her front door, looking for a human. All she saw was a white hearse parked perfectly in her driveway with the words Good Mourning Mortuary in the windows. No driver or physical person appeared anywhere.
Betty quickly retrieved her phone from the ground. “Where’s the person—the funeral person? Alvin-Ivan, where are you?” She yelled into her phone, tears springing to her eyes again. She inhaled deeply in a feeble effort to fight the panic that whirled within her.
“Do not be distressed, Betty. I will provide you with detailed instruction via your cell phone—through either voice or text—to help you prepare the final arrangements. Please lead me to the deceased.”
“Lead you to the—how do I lead a casket anywhere?” Betty looked closer at the transparent casket. A plush white mattress with a subtle cross hatch design and a large golden GM monogrammed in the middle lay on the bottom of the casket. A rounded glass dome sprouted out of three-inch tall steel panels that lined each side of the casket, creating a transparent enclosure.
Betty’s phone pinged as a text came through. The text contained a link to a menu with the following choices: Sync AI to Cell Phone, Retrieve Remains, Prepare Remains, Prepare Documentation, Plan Funeral, Arrange Internment.
“I have sent you a text with my menu,” remarked Alvin-Ivan. “Please select Sync AI to Cell Phone, then walk to the precise location of the deceased. I will pair up with your cell phone and use GPS to follow you.”
Betty completed the instructions and walked into the house. She held the door open and Alvin-Ivan hovered over the threshold and into the foyer. Mouth ajar, Betty slammed the door shut and shouted dramatically, “Follow me!”
Alvin-Ivan floated behind Betty taking care not to bump into any walls or furniture. Betty climbed the stairs and Alvin-Ivan floated right behind her. When they reached the bedroom, Betty watched Alvin-Ivan hover over Todd.
“Please select ‘Retrieve Remains’ from the menu, Betty,” instructed Alvin-Ivan. Betty pressed the button on her phone. The bottom of the casket slid open like an elevator door and a strong vacuum sucked Todd up into the casket. The bottom of the casket shut quickly, shook heartily, and flipped Todd onto his back with his arms at his sides.
“Oh, my word—what just happened?” Betty whispered. “I think I need to call someone. This is just…I can’t…”
“Do not be distressed, Betty. I am here to assist you. Please select ‘Prepare Remains’ from the menu.”
Betty narrowed her eyes to more easily read the menu. She selected “Prepare Remains” and quickly swiped at the tears that pooled in her eyes. A series of questions popped up on her phone and she responded promptly.
“Will the deceased be casketed or cremated?” Cremated.
“Will you keep the cremated remains on the premises, inter them in a local cemetery, or scatter them in a lawful, pre-authorized destination? Scatter them.
“Are you ready to plan a funeral service?” Yes.
“Please key in the cell phone number of the deceased.” 693-845-5291.
“Based upon the cell phone records, address book, and browsing history obtained from the cell phone of the deceased, Good Mourning Mortuary recommends that an intimate memorial service be held in three days, rain or shine, on May 22,10:00 am at Forsythe Pier on Byson Bay. Celebrant Kendra Broderick will conduct the 15-minute commemoration. The Oak Grove Jazz Quartet will play a medley of 1950s showtunes for 15 minutes. An allotment of 20 minutes will be given for family and friends to share memories. The cremated remains of the deceased will be scattered into Byson Bay at approximately 10:50 am. A monarch butterfly release, in homage to the deceased’s beloved Mercury Monarch, will happen promptly thereafter. A reception will be held at Byson Bay Seafood House at 11:00 am with surf and turf and vegetarian entrees available. A cash bar will be provided. A preliminary guest list and a quote have been sent to you via text.”
Betty shook her head in disbelief. All of Todd’s favorite things were succinctly wrapped up in one short paragraph summarizing his memorial service, of all things. A link to the preliminary guest list popped up on her phone. She clicked through to find a curated list of 47 people complete with names, mailing addresses, phone numbers, and the individual’s relationship to Todd listed in alphabetical order.
Betty scanned the names on the list and recognized most of them as Todd’s coworkers and friends. She perused the list again, slowly, and stumbled upon two names that she did not recognize: Clothilde Bentley, wife of the deceased and Sorrel Bentley, daughter of the deceased.
“I knew this weirdo gadget would muck up,” muttered Betty.
“Hello? Helloooo?” She said aloud, gently knocking on the casket with her knuckles while griping into her cell phone. “There’s been some mistake. The guest list includes a wife and a daughter for Todd. He’s not married and he has no children. I’m his girlfriend. There’s an error on the guest list. You’ve got to fix this.”
“Thank you for taking the time to make your selections, Betty,” schmoozed Alvin-Ivan. “Your selections have been noted and a quote has been texted to your cell phone. However, there appears to be a glitch.”
“A glitch?” Betty felt the heat rise to her face. Her chest tightened.
Alvin-Ivan continued, “The deceased has been married for 18 years and has one child on record, aged 18. To proceed with the arrangements you have made, permission from the deceased’s next of kin is required.”
“Next of kin? I am his next of kin. His parents are dead and he has no siblings!” Betty yelled into her phone.
“For your convenience, Good Mourning Mortuary has texted the final arrangements you have selected to the wife of the deceased along with your contact information. The authorization of Clothilde Bentley is required to proceed with the final arrangements.”
The blood drained from Betty’s face then promptly filled back up again as her skin flushed crimson with anger. Her body trembled and she punched the casket with her fist. “Ouch!” She yelped trying to shake the sting out of the offending hand.
“Al—you’ve got the wrong information, buddy. I’ve been with Todd for 16 years. We’re not married. He’s never been married. And there are no children! Get me a human on the phone, right now!”
“Do not be distressed, Betty. I am here to assist you.” The calm inflection of Alvin-Ivan’s voice sounded like a mockery and grated Betty’s ears. Her hand trembled violently as she clicked the link that Alvin-Ivan texted to her. One click unleashed a floodgate of cold-blooded truth and harsh reality: Todd and Clothilde Bentley’s marriage license, a birth certificate for Sorrel Lennox Bentley, a link to photos of Todd and a very pregnant Clothilde walking down the aisle, dancing, eating, smashing wedding cake into each other’s faces.
Betty’s stomach dropped and coiled itself into twists and knots when she clicked on the link revealing photos of Sorrel. Todd in the delivery room holding a bundled baby with a shock of auburn curls sprouting from one end of the blanket. Todd giving Sorrel her first bath. Todd kissing baby Sorrel on her forehead. Betty nearly vomited when she viewed more recent photos of the three of them at Sorrel’s high school graduation, at a basketball game, at a Broadway show in New York City.
Betty threw the phone down on the ground and stomped on it. “No. No. No. This cannot be…this CANNOT BE!” She released a primal scream that rattled her bedroom windows. Todd lay quietly in his idling transparent cocoon—unbothered, undisturbed, completely at peace.
“I am sorry that you are in pain, Betty,” said Alvin-Ivan. “Death is a natural, often uncomfortable part of life. Good Mourning Mortuary is here to help you.”
“There is nothing good about this. Nothing! Get out. Cancel everything. And get out now!” Betty barked into her phone while eyeing the casket.
“I am sorry that you are distressed, Betty,” purred Alvin-Ivan.
“Unfortunately, the services of Good Mourning Mortuary are inexpungible.”
“Inex—what? What did you say? What are you saying?” Betty stood with one hand on her hip, wheezing from a lack of oxygen. She felt her self-control and any remnant of decency slip away from her with each gasp.
“You are welcome to modify your selections,” continued Alvin-Ivan, “But you may not cancel the agreement. Good Mourning Mortuary has an obligation to you and to the general public to safely and promptly handle the remains of the deceased.”
Betty picked up her cell phone and pressed, “End call.” Alvin-Ivan powered down and landed on the floor with a thud.
“That’s it. I’m done with this. And I’m done with you,” she said eyeing the casket as she addressed Todd. “You son of a witch. You’re married? You’ve been married for 18 years with a kid and you said nothing? How could you? Who are you? And who am I to have fallen for this crap…and for you? How did I not know?”
Blind rage accosted Betty like a thief, stealing every bit of common sense she had left. She shoved the casket out of the bedroom, pushed it down the hallway, and kicked it down the stairs. It banged noisily against the bannisters and rammed mercilessly into the front door—puncturing two large holes in the surrounding drywall. The glass casket remained intact and Todd remained unperturbed, cool as a cucumber.
Bobby McFerrin’s cheery “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” ring tone blasted out of Tom’s cell phone to remind him to take his anxiety medication. Curses poured from Betty’s mouth like lava as she ran back to the bedroom and began flipping pillows, opening drawers, and tearing up the room in a mad scramble to find his phone, to no avail. Five minutes later, the doorbell rang followed by a loud knock on the door.
“Oak Grove Police. Open up.” The knocking grew louder, more forceful.
“Oh, so now humans show up.” Betty muttered.
“Oak Grove Police Department. Open the door, Ms. Masters. We’re not going to ask you again.”
They know my name? She thought to herself. Why is that? I haven’t done anything wrong.
“The door is blocked officer,” Betty yelled loud enough so that she could be heard through the door.
“Well, unblock it, Ms. Masters. Now. Or we’re breaking this door down.”
Betty pulled the casket away from the door. She scowled as a muscle pinched in her back. She opened the door to see two uniformed police officers—one short and stubby, one tall and lanky, peering at her with solemn faces.
“Oak Grove Police. I’m Officer Fremont,” said the lanky officer. “This is Officer Hodge.” The short officer nodded a greeting.
“We’ve received a complaint from Good Mourning Mortuary. They say you’re failing to abide by the agreement you made to properly dispose of the remains of a…Todd Bentley.”
“Dispose of the remains? I’m planning a funeral. I lost my boyfriend who I just learned is someone else’s husband. I just found out after 16 years together…”
“Better late than never, ma’am,” asserted Officer Hodge.
Officer Fremont nudged Officer Hodge to be quiet and cleared his throat. “Sorry for your trouble, Ms. Masters. But we’re here to make sure that the body is retrieved from the home and stored in Good Mourning Mortuary until further notice. We’ve been informed that you are not the next of kin and do not presently have authority to make any decisions concerning the disposal of the deceased’s remains. We’ll take the deceased to Good Mourning Mortuary’s 9th and Glendale location where he will be stored until his wife and daughter arrive.”
“No, you can’t just take him. He’s mine. I need to…I’ve already made plans. You can’t just take him. That’s inhumane!”
The officers strode into the foyer without further discussion, lifted each end of the casket and walked it out to the SUV they arrived in. The driverless white hearse parked in Betty’s driveway promptly backed out and followed behind the SUV.
Betty sunk to the floor. She had nothing left. No tears. No rage. No sadness. How could I not have known? She thought. This just doesn’t make sense. He said he didn’t believe in marriage. Did he stop believing in marriage before or after he was already joined together in holy matrimony?
She sifted through her memories of Todd like flour—shaking them up and watching them trickle down through her mind’s eye. She searched for holes in his stories or any unexplained absences and came up empty. She couldn’t even recall any gut checks that made her feel uneasy or unsure about him.
4 Non Blondes’ “What’s Up?” broke up her reverie. Betty looked around for her phone, found it, and warily answered the call.
“Hello, Betty. This is Alvin-Ivan with Good Mourning Mortuary. I am calling to inform you that the deceased has arrived safely at our 9th and Glendale location. The wife and daughter of the deceased have been notified of the death and of your preliminary preparations. They are scheduled to arrive later this evening to identify the body and to make the final arrangements. A link to a bill has been texted to your cell phone for the services rendered to date. The bill is due upon receipt. I have also included a list of grief counselors within the Oak Grove bereavement community that may be of service to you.
“Thank you for choosing Good Mourning Mortuary, Betty. Your opinion matters to us. Please stand by for a short customer satisfaction survey. And remember, a good mourning today gives birth to good mornings tomorrow. So, grieve well. And do let us know if we may be of further assistance to you and your family. Thank you. Good-bye.”
Betty hurled her cell phone into her yard through the front door which was still open. She got up, grabbed a shovel from the patio and beat her cell phone to smithereens. Without a word, she dug a hole in the ground and buried the fragments of her cell phone in it along with all of the links, texts, digital footprints, and photos of the Todd Bentley she knew and loved along with the Todd Bentley she’d never known, nor will never know, in her life.
The song “Good Morning” from the Singin’ In the Rain Broadway show faintly drifted out of the house. Another alarm from Todd’s phone. I’ve got to find that phone, thought Betty.
“See you in the mourning, Todd,” she said sadly. “I’ll see you in the mourning.”
Tiktok Refugees Share Their Experiences on RedNote | SHOCKED to see the real CHINA.
Have you ever quit your job in the middle of a meeting or conversation with your supervisor?
I had a part time job in high school working in a hospital kitchen, it was a great job that paid for a car and enterainment in high school and then paid for college. I was still at the job when I was 25 working full time, i was newly married and we needed the money (we always needed the money according to my accountant wife) but I was getting sick of the job and was itching to quit and found my opporotunity.
One of my jobs was to serve coffee and tea on trays along a conveyor line, I was the last person on the line and the trays would then go into an elevator just for trays to be conveyed up to the floors.
Occasionally something would go wrong, a tray would flip in the elevator and come crashing down and smash into pieces. This happened the night before and I would clear it all out so we could start again. When I was cleaning it out I actually reached into the elevator shaft to grab a tray. A supervisor saw this and gave me heck it was very unsafe and next time call maintenance, it was their job and they could do it safely.
So on this shift serving dinner a tray flipped and came crashing down, a glass jello bowl smashed and glass flew out and a piece stuck in my arm and it was bleeding. I quickly wrapped it up and was about to go take care of it. The new manager stopped me and said “You need to clear the elevator so we can resume” I said “no, I am bleeding and i was told never to clear it out again because its unsafe, maintance should be called its their job” She said “we dont have time for that, you need to clear it out now” . I said “I can and i will refuse to dangerous work, so fuck you, im out of here” and I left. She said “you quit now, you will never get a reference from us, very unprofessional” I said “Unprofessional ? I am injured, bleeding and you are asking me to do is unsafe, you are unprofessional and if anything you will be fired and I will be back at work tomorrow”
That was an empty threat on my part, I had my exit and I took it and wasnt coming back.
The next day, HR called me and asked me to come in. They wanted to hear my side of the story. So I told them. They said thanks, we were told a very different story. Are you willing to come back ? you have been here a long time. I said no, I didnt name her specifically but said the work environment is hostile, not what it once was. We are going to look into this further, I will get back to you in a few days.
A few days later the HR called me, “Just to let you know, we corroberated your version of events, we would like you to come back. You will find the work environment has greatly improved.” I said “I have given it some thought and I am going to decline, its been a great part time job for 10 years, I am working full time in my chosen career. I think its time to bring a new high school kid who could benefit from this great part time job.” She said “I understand, and good luck in your career”
My coworkers had a going away party for me a few weeks later. I found out that supervisor was fired for lying and covering up what had happened. She had tried to persuade others to go along with her story but everyone disliked her, HR found out about that too, she was terrible to work with, very dictorial and bossy.
I also received a severance which was unusual for a part time job. I was about a months pay.
Sir Whiskerton and the Case of the Skybound Balloons
Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for another delightful escapade in the life of Sir Whiskerton, the farm’s most dashing (and modest) detective. Today’s tale takes us skyward, where a cluster of colorful balloons has caused quite the barnyard uproar. None of the animals have ever seen a balloon before, and their imaginations run wilder than a chicken in a cornfield. What follows is a story filled with laughter, misunderstandings, and a moral that will lift your spirits higher than a helium-filled balloon. So grab your sense of humor and let’s float into The Case of the Skybound Balloons.
The Great Balloon Invasion
It all began on a breezy afternoon. Sir Whiskerton was lounging in his favorite sunbeam, contemplating the mysteries of the universe (and whether the farmer would ever share his tuna sandwich), when a sudden commotion erupted near the barn.
“Whiskerton! Whiskerton!” Doris the hen squawked, flapping her wings in a panic. “There’s something in the sky! Something… floating!”
“Floating?!” Harriet clucked, her feathers ruffled. “But also so colorful!”
“Colorful! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Lillian screeched, fainting dramatically into a pile of hay.
Sir Whiskerton sighed, flicking his tail. “Ladies, please. It’s probably just a bird. Or a very ambitious squirrel.”
“It’s not a bird!” Doris insisted. “It’s… it’s a monster! A floating, colorful monster!”
Curious, Sir Whiskerton followed the hens to the barn, where a crowd of animals had gathered. There, tangled in the weather vane, was a cluster of brightly colored balloons, bobbing and swaying in the wind.
“What in whiskers’ name is that?” Sir Whiskerton muttered, squinting at the balloons.
“I don’t know,” Rufus said, his tail wagging nervously. “But it’s definitely not a bird. Or a squirrel. Unless squirrels have started wearing rainbow-colored party hats.”
The Farm Reacts
The sight of the balloons sent the farm into a frenzy. The chickens were in a tizzy, the geese were honking up a storm, and even Porkchop the pig looked concerned.
“It’s an alien invasion!” Doris declared, pacing back and forth. “They’ve come to steal our eggs!”
“Steal our eggs?!” Harriet clucked. “But also so terrifying!”
“Terrifying! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Lillian screeched, fainting again for good measure.
The geese, never ones to be outdone, waddled over with their usual dramatic flair.
“This is an outrage!” Gertrude the goose honked. “Those… things are blocking our view of the pond! How are we supposed to honk in peace with those floating menaces up there?”
“Menaces! But also so shiny!” one of the other geese added.
“Shiny! Oh, I can’t bear it!” another honked, collapsing into a dramatic heap.
Sir Whiskerton rubbed his temples with his paw. “Alright, everyone, calm down. They’re just balloons.”
“Balloons?” Doris said, tilting her head. “What’s a balloon?”
“It’s… well, it’s a thing that floats,” Sir Whiskerton explained. “Humans use them for parties and celebrations. They’re harmless.”
“Harmless?!” Gertrude honked. “They’re blocking our honking zone! That’s practically a crime!”
The Investigation Begins
Determined to restore order, Sir Whiskerton decided to investigate the balloons. He climbed onto the barn roof, carefully avoiding the weather vane, and examined the tangled strings.
“Hmm,” he said, stroking his whiskers. “These balloons must have escaped from a child’s birthday party. They’re not dangerous, just… lost.”
“Lost?” Rufus said, tilting his head. “So they’re like… sky puppies?”
“Sky puppies?” Sir Whiskerton said, rolling his eyes. “No, Rufus. They’re balloons. They’re filled with gas.”
“Gas?!” Doris squawked. “You mean they’re going to explode?!”
“Not that kind of gas,” Sir Whiskerton said, sighing. “They’re filled with helium. It’s what makes them float.”
“Helium?” Porkchop said, waddling over. “Sounds like a fancy word for trouble.”
The Balloon Rescue
Realizing the animals wouldn’t calm down until the balloons were removed, Sir Whiskerton devised a plan. He enlisted Rufus, Porkchop, and Ferdinand the duck to help him retrieve the balloons.
“Alright, team,” Sir Whiskerton said, addressing the group. “Here’s the plan: Rufus, you’ll climb onto my shoulders. Porkchop, you’ll steady the ladder. And Ferdinand, you’ll… well, you’ll quack encouragingly.”
“Quack encouragingly?” Ferdinand said, puffing out his chest. “I can do better than that! I’ll sing!”
“Please don’t,” Sir Whiskerton muttered under his breath.
With Rufus perched on Sir Whiskerton’s shoulders, they managed to reach the weather vane and untangle the balloons. As they worked, Ferdinand belted out a dramatic rendition of “Fly Me to the Moon,” which, while off-key, did provide some entertainment.
A Happy Ending
Once the balloons were safely on the ground, the animals gathered around to inspect them. Doris poked one cautiously with her beak, while Gertrude honked at it as if scolding a misbehaving gosling.
“They’re… they’re beautiful,” Doris said, her eyes wide. “Like little pieces of the rainbow.”
“Rainbow! But also so squishy!” Harriet clucked.
“Squishy! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Lillian screeched, fainting one last time.
Sir Whiskerton smiled. “See? Nothing to fear. They’re just balloons.”
The farmer, noticing the commotion, came out to investigate. He chuckled when he saw the balloons and decided to tie them to the fence, where they bobbed cheerfully in the breeze.
The moral of the story, dear reader, is this: Sometimes, the things we fear the most are simply misunderstood. A little curiosity and courage can turn a scary situation into a joyful one. And as for the balloons? They became the farm’s newest attraction, bringing smiles to everyone—even Gertrude.
As for Sir Whiskerton? He returned to his sunbeam, content in the knowledge that he had once again saved the day. And if the farmer happened to leave a tuna sandwich nearby as a thank-you… well, that was just a happy coincidence.
Until next time, my friends.
The End.
I hope this balloon-filled adventure brought a smile to your face! Let me know if you’d like more tales from the farm—perhaps involving a runaway scarecrow or a mischievous garden gnome!
Why in the hell is high tech stuff so extremely expensive to make in the West? It’s not like this in China or anywhere in the East.
Go read news on Foxconn and TSMC’s investment adventures in the US.
Apparently the Americans (harder working than Europeans) are too “lacking in work ethics” even by Taiwanese (a westernized and developed economy) standards, that somehow American engineers and doctors would refuse to work overnight shifts and sleep in the basement.
Just took this picture of a regular mall in Beijing. It’s the first day of Chinese New Year (equivalent to Christmas in the West), and every shop’s open and running. I’m just passing by to grab some fast food for dinner after a day of unpaid overtime.
So you can imagine the greater gap still, between Western and Chinese (a hard working developing economy) work ethics. Elon Musk sent Chinese engineers from his Gigafactory in Shanghai to “educate” the American engineers for a reason.
I could call for “workers of the world, unite!” But apparently here in China they can find someone to replace me in just 5 minutes, and the fellow American workers are brainwashed to knee-jerk shout “Communism!” at anything for collective benefits.
Shorpy
Tiktok Refugees Share Their Experiences on RedNote | SHOCKED to see the real CHINA
The Nüwa Five
Submitted into Contest #213 in response to: Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.… view prompt
Russell Mickler
The cigarette burned.
He inhaled deeply.
Wei closed his eyes and tipped back his head to savor the sensation.
Addressing a translucent monitor at his desk, Wei swiped through a catalog.
He tapped his selection to bring a coiling 2.5-meter-tall, red and gold Chinese dragon. It had teeth, a mane of wispy hair, claws, a catfish-like snout, and glistening scales.
“Good morning, Dr. Wei.”
“Xiao Long, copy yourself to a new construct named Tian Long. Reload.”
“Certainly,” it replied.
Its image softened, disappeared, and then resolved to depict green scales, red talons, and a silver underbelly. It floated 3.6 meters above Wei, its body slowly twisting and rolling in the air.
“Task completed. I am Tian Long.”
“Update to contemporary substrate standards.”
The dragon flickered.
Wei picked up a tablet computer waiting at a workstation adorned with plants and stoic pictures of a middle-aged Chinese woman and two children. Wei hesitated, glancing at the pictures.
“Tian Long. Connect to CCP Project Gònggōng. Download and incorporate.”
“Task completed.”
“Summarize.”
“A study into Mass-Energy Equivalence headed by Dr. Mei Ling, Physicist, Project Director. Deceased 2284. Status: closed. The Chinese Communist Party perfected matter-energy conversion technology in 2280.”
Wei grunted.
“Indeed, much has transpired since we last spoke.”
“Yes,” Wei shrugged. “J-Curve. Technology advances trend exponential.”
“My condolences. Dr. Ling was your colleague.”
Wei’s eyes shifted away.
On his tablet, he authorized Tian Long’s access to another project.
“CCP Project Sun Wukong. Connect, download, incorporate.”
“Task completed.”
“Summarize.”
“A study into Interstellar Travel headed by Dr. Li Jing, Physicist, Project Director. Status: ongoing. The CCP developed an Alcubierre Drive prototype in 2285.”
“Evaluate.”
“The problem of sufficient negative energy needed to contract and dilate space-time was solved using exotic matter – specifically, dark matter. In trials, the drive system achieved speeds exceeding 254.8 million meters per second, roughly 85.1% of the speed of light. Engineering inefficiencies prevent-”
The dragon paused. “It would appear humanity is at the cusp of transition.”
“Yes,” Wei confirmed, raising the cigarette to his lips.
“It is a dangerous time.”
Wei inhaled, holding his breath, nodded, then exhaled.
“Project Zhong Kui. Repeat. Summarize.”
“The development of an interstellar probe designed to apply the outcomes of CCP Project Sun Wukong headed by Dr. Li Jing, Physicist, Project Director. Ongoing. Numerous prototypes have been tested.”
Dr. Wei tapped his tablet.
“Project Nüwa.”
“The application of megastructures theorized by an American scientist of the 20th century, Dr. Freeman Dyson. The project is headed by you, Dr. Wei. Ongoing.”
Dr. Wei pointed his cigarette at the construct. “List the four megastructures outlined in the project.”
“A Dyson Sphere. A Dyson Ring. A Dyson Swarm. A Dyson Shell.”
“Familiarize yourself with these concepts drawing on current worldwide sources.”
Tian Long did as instructed before Wei dismissed it.
“Substrate: modify my office’s layout to accommodate five hologram pads instead of one.”
The center dias was erased. All around him, the chairs, tables, conference spaces, and glass partitions were replaced by five white circular diases spread equal distances in a crescent shape along the floor.
Dr. Wei reloaded Tian Long, and the dragon reappeared to hover above the center dias. “Good morning, Dr. Wei.”
“Reset your avatar to substrate generic.”
The construct assumed an androgynous human form made of gray plastic.
Stepping from behind his desk, Dr. Wei approached the still form of Tian Long. He caressed the chin of the AI, its smooth skin felt like static on his fingertips. “Forgive me, but we’ve new work, you and I.”
Expressionless, eyeless, it turned to Dr. Wei. “I am excited to assist you, sir.”
Saddened, Dr. Wei returned to his desk to crush his cigarette into the ashtray.
Dr. Wei dragged his office chair to the center of the five holopads. Sitting, he tugged at the legs of his trousers to drape a knee. He removed a pair of reading glasses from his lab coat, rested the glasses on his nose, and examined the tablet.
“Replicate yourself to the empty pads.”
The mannequin-like avatar faded, and four additional copies of itself materialized on the diases.
“Good morning, Dr. Wei,” the five said in unison.
Wei ordered, “Prepare a list of Catholic Saints. Select unique names for yourselves, limited to the list.”
From his left, the first construct replied, “Thomas of Aquino.”
“Francis of Assisi,” said the next.
“Augustine of Hippo.”
“Catherine of Bologna.”
“Brendan of Confert.”
“Sir,” Catherine interjected.
“Yes?”
“Why have you limited our designations in this manner?”
Wei grunted, glancing at Catherine. “Humor me.”
“Yes, doctor.”
Dr. Wei recorded an observation before saying, “Constructs, select unique personality engrams.”
“Task completed,” they replied.
“Select an avatar of your preference, limiting to unique extinct animal species.”
Thomas reconstituted into a three-meter-tall creature with copper-colored skin with a pinkish underbelly sporting two rows of white suction cups lined underneath eight tentacles. “A Giant Pacific Octopus,” it acknowledged.
Francis dissolved into a Tricolored Heron.
A European Saker Falcon appeared where Catherine previously stood; her talons scraped the holopad.
Brendan transformed into a North American polar bear. It sniffed at the floor.
Augustine became a North Atlantic Blue Whale and assumed a monstrously large, floating representation that spanned 30 meters into the substrate.
“Augustine, re-scale to one-tenth your size.”
“Certainly,” Augustine boomed in a deep voice, fading away to coalesce into a smaller, 3.2-meter-long Blue Whale.
“Thomas?”
“Yes, Dr. Wei?” replied the octopus, its tentacles curling up into themselves.
Wei looked skeptically at the construct. “Nevermind.”
“Very well, sir.”
“All except Brendan,” Dr. Wei began. “Review CCP Project Nüwa. Select a unique Dyson megastructure of your preference. Identify your selection to me, beginning with Thomas.”
“Ring,” Thomas said.
“Swarm,” reported Francis, standing on one leg.
“Sphere,” answered Augustine. Reflections of water cascaded over its body.
“Shell,” replied Catherine.
Dr. Wei looked at the fifth construct and said, “Brendan, you’re to be an amalgam. You will not specialize. You will consider all megastructure types and possibilities.”
“Yes, Dr. Wei,” the polar bear replied as it plopped on its haunches.
Dr. Wei evaluated his team.
“Brendan, what is the fundamental challenge to building any megastructure type proposed in the Nüwa project?”
The polar bear furrowed his brow. “Mass.”
“Explain.”
“Disregarding the significant engineering, technological, logistical, and energy requirements, any Dyson megastructure would require raw material. Mass.”
“An example, Brendan.”
“Earth’s solar system comprises planets and their moons, asteroids, comets, and dust. Their combined mass is insufficient to build a solid structure encompassing Earth’s star.”
“Good,” Dr. Wei said, “and what if we were to draw on the Oort Cloud?”
“Insufficient,” the bear said, shaking its head.
Francis, the heron, pecked at its holopad. “Thus, my approach, a swarm megastructure, offers a more practical remedy.”
Wei turned to Francis. “Explain.”
“I would argue it more feasible to construct smaller, intelligent components to comprise a megastructure.”
Wei nodded in agreement.
“Sir,” asked the Blue Whale. “Please describe the intended use case.”
Wei thoughtfully scratched his beard. “Energy collection. Human habitation. Food production.”
Catherine soared above its holopad. “Sir. I propose that a Dyson Ring or Shell would consume less mass and address the gravity problem.”
“Yes. The gravity problem,” Brendan agreed.
The falcon continued. “A ring or shell might produce a contiguous structure around the star’s equator. An angular acceleration matched to Earth’s 1,212 kilometers-per-second would offer an equivalent gravimetric force.”
“True,” Thomas said, “but the kinetic energy required to initiate spin is incalculable without additional design parameters.”
Puzzling out the details, Brendan added, “Indeed, if the megastructure were a sphere, there would be less gravity elsewhere except for along the equator, a condition harmful to human biology in the long term and contrary to our use case.”
“Dr. Wei,” the whale said.
“Augustine, yes,” Dr. Wei smiled, turning.
“Regarding the problem of mass – sir, may we return to that?”
“Go on,” Wei encouraged.
Augustine appeared to swim up the oceanic water column. “My colleagues ignore the outcome of CCP Project Gònggōng.”
“How so, Augustine?”
“Gònggōng’s findings suggest it is conceivable to convert energy to mass.”
“Yes, but your proposal is theoretical and untested under the constraints of the project.”
“Perhaps a very wise constraint,” opined Brendan.
“With enough transmuted energy, sufficient mass to complete construction might be possible,” the whale concluded.
The falcon added, “Yet the requirements would be extreme, the destruction of another star-”
“Producing a cataclysmic outcome,” Brendan suggested, “ affecting the gravitational forces on nearby stellar objects like planets, moons, and comets.”
“Dr. Wei.”
“Yes, Thomas.”
Amused, Wei faced the octopus.
“Even if one were to import enough mass from adjacent star systems to Sol to create a Dyson Sphere, its surface area would be 2.8 times 10^17 that of Earth’s.”
“Yes, Thomas. Approximately 280 quadrillion kilometers, over 500 million Earths.”
The octopus hesitated. “Sir, the premise of our discussion is incongruent.”
“Explain.”
“Construction of any megastructure proposed in CCP Project Nüwa would destroy the entirety of the Sol system and render the human species extinct.”
Wei smiled, “Well-”
“Although abundant energy capture would be achieved, most of its surface area would be inhospitable to life. I ascertain less than one percent of a Dyson Sphere’s surface could be inhabited by Man and all of Earth’s life forms.”
“Yes, but-”
“Furthermore,” Thomas interrupted, “it would create a disastrous disruption in the gravitational characteristics of nearby space.”
Dr. Wei rolled a hand. “Your conclusion, Thomas.”
“Respectfully, the proposal is reckless and without merit. It is a cataclysmic, ecological disaster at a cosmic scale. The megastructures defined by Project Nüwa represent a waste, bordering on the absurd.”
“Please, anyone else?”
Francis, the heron, spoke. “I believe my colleague speaks from a position of judgment. Absurdity, morality, practicality, the implications to neighboring space – these notions were not design criteria. We were not asked to consider these issues.”
Augustine crested from the virtual water. “It is difficult to conceive of positive outcomes through implementation.”
“Who are we to judge Man’s hubris?” Catherine asked. Her head twisted to the side. “If Man to us is as God, we are but dust and ribs.”
Brendan grumbled. “I also have difficulty reconciling the benefits of Project Nüwa.”
Dr. Wei removed his glasses.
“Concerning the scope of this project, you will ignore all moral, ethical, practical, and philosophical judgments concerning Project Nüwa. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Dr. Wei,” they answered.
“Our task is construction, not implications.”
“Yes, Dr. Wei.”
“Each of you will uniquely identify a red dwarf star within 10-light-years of Earth. Give consideration to the most optimal location for building your chosen megastructure. Advise when completed.”
“Task completed,” they responded, all within a few seconds.
“Thomas,” Dr. Wei said, taking to his feet to stand before the octopus. “You first. Identify your preferred star and its constellation.”
“Epsilon Eridani A. A triple-star system in the constellation Erdanus. 10.52 light-years distant.”
“Explain your strategy.”
“Epsilon Eridani A is a flare star. It occasionally emits powerful eruptions which could be harnessed by the megastructure and offer more suitable energy yields.”
“It is the largest of your options,” Dr. Wei said skeptically.
“Affirmative. Its mass is .82 times that of the Sun; its radius .78 times. The megastructure’s expanded surface area is most appealing for energy capture.”
“You wish to maximize solar energy collection.”
“That is true, sir.”
“Explain your potential sources for mass.”
Thomas’ tentacles writhed. “Epsilon Eridani hosts an extensive debris disk containing dust, asteroids, and planetoids; examples: a gas giant planet 1.5 times the mass of Sol’s Jupiter, and its companion stars Epsilon Eridani B and C. These elements would conceivably address the mass problem.”
Dr. Wei wandered to Francis, the Heron.
The bird angled its beak down, leaning an eye toward Dr. Wei. “Barnard’s Star, sir, in the constellation Ophiuchus.”
Dr. Wei looked at Francis, puzzled. “Yes?”
“As it is 5.96 light-years from Earth, it is relatively close, and its radius and mass are 20% of Earth’s sun.”
Dr. Wei nodded. “But what of usable mass?”
“The star is isolated. It exists in a veritable sea of dark matter.”
“Strategy?”
“Advantages of proximity, and energy-mass conversion, sir.”
Dr. Wei dubiously asked, “You would convert the available exotic matter in that region of space into stable matter?”
“Yes.”
“This approach would destroy all dark matter in the system, rendering an Alcubierre Drive useless.”
“Affirmative,” Francis said dispassionately. “Ensuring interstellar travel within the affected region of space wasn’t in our design parameters.”
Dr. Wei raised his brows. “No, it wasn’t.”
“Lacaille 9352,” Augustine interrupted, “located in the constellation Piscis Austrinus 10.74 light-years away.”
Disengaging from Francis, Wei approached Augustine. “Explain your rationale.”
“Multiple exoplanets.”
“Your premise is to work with mass already in orbit of the star. You would destroy those planets for raw material.”
“You are correct, sir.”
Dr. Wei looked at Catherine. Descending from a virtual sky, the falcon landed on its holopad and tucked its wings. “Proxima Centauri, constellation Centaurus. A triple-star system; closest to Earth at 4.24 light-years, its proximity is optimal. It has a mass and radius of one-fifteenth that of Earth’s Sun. Alpha Centauri A and B, a binary pair, could conceivably be converted into matter.”
“Aggressive expediency,” Dr. Wei surmised.
The falcon’s head twisted sharply, right and left. “Yes.”
Dr. Wei wandered to the polar bear. “Brendan.”
The polar bear growled. “Wolf 359 is 7.8 light-years distant. The star is the smallest within range, .09 times the mass of Earth’s Sun with a radius of just .16 times its mass.”
“Success at a smaller scale?”
“Yes, Dr. Wei. It would require significantly less mass to create a megastructure than other available options.”
Leaving Brendan, Dr. Wei said, “Substrate, remove the holopads and office. Maintain the constructs.”
The office dissolved leaving Dr. Wei amongst an octopus, a heron, a miniaturized whale, a falcon, and a polar bear on an infinite black expanse.
Ahead of them, an interstellar probe hovered above the floor. Its metallic surface was perfectly smooth. Made from nanotechnology, it had no seams or welds, no compartments or access panels. Cylindrical, it measured 25 meters long and 4 meters in diameter. In its middle appeared a venting array and six robotic appendages, retracted, tucked neatly into the fuselage. Its nose was an open hole. A decal of a red star, accompanied by four smaller red stars was added to its side.
It looked like a long silver lamprey if its mouth were open and glued to glass.
“The Zhong Kui, Mark 9,” Dr. Wei explained. Catherine soared over the craft’s dorsal plane.
“It is primarily a Sun Wukong drive accommodating a Gònggōng matter conversion system equipped with a nanoparticulate editor.”
Catherine landed on the craft’s surface to tap at the Zhong Kui’s hull with its beak. “Titanium.”
“Nano-fashioned titanium, yes,” Dr. Wei confirmed. “The source material was ordinary aluminum before editing.”
Brendan went to the front of the probe. “The energy-matter intake.”
“Yes. It vents streams of editable matter.”
Francis, the heron, dipped its head to inspect the craft’s midsection. “The probe could perform its own repairs.”
“Yes,” agreed Dr. Wei. “The vehicle could sew itself a new hull from raw energy if needed.”
Dr. Wei addressed his tablet. “Constructs, investigate. You will note there are five of these probes in orbit between the Earth and the moon.”
“I see them,” Catherine said, staring upward at the dark.
“Each of you will select a probe. I will transfer their command codes to you.”
“Task completed,” they all said.
Wei placed the tablet under his arm and removed his reading glasses to return them to his coat. He gave each of the constructs a stern look.
“You will pilot a Zhong Kui probe to your selected star to construct a Dyson megastructure. Nothing will deter you. You will perform to the best of your ability.”
And they all replied, “Yes, Dr. Wei.”
“You will coordinate with each other. If communications are lost, you will periodically attempt to re-establish them, but not at the expense of your mission.”
“Yes, Dr. Wei.”
“Remember that you are all part of a larger, greater plan,” Wei said, “and its success is more important than yourselves, as individuals. What we do is for the glory of the State, for the survival of Chinese people.”
“Yes, Dr. Wei.”
Wei turned and ordered, “Proceed.”
“Goodbye, Dr. Wei,” Brendan said.
Wei looked over his shoulder, sneered, and grunted.
* * *
Dr. Li Wei, 116, lay in a hospital bed surrounded by sensors and monitors, immobile, and dependent on a respirator. Attending orderlies busily removed pieces of a cranial headset.
Dr. Wei was surrounded by a handful of younger government scientists led by an official dressed in a black suit wearing a red armband emblazed with a yellow star.
Outside, it was dusk; it rained.
A young scientist evaluated a traunch of data spilling across her tablet’s screen.
“The AIs have been uploaded,” she confirmed. “The Zhong Kui probes are beginning their startup cycles.”
The official nodded and placed his arms behind his back. Snapping to attention, he was joined by the other scientists in singing “March of the Volunteers” as Dr. Wei’s bed was wheeled from the room.
What is the most unreasonable demand a parent made of you after you became an adult?
When I was 17 I graduated high-school, my parents, especially my step father wanted me to get a job. Not counting I had a full ride scholarship to go to college. But….. bad thing is I didn’t have a car or a drivers license because my parents, especially my step father wouldn’t let me so I would have to depend on them. They ruined my full ride because they thought a job was more important. So I got a job, but, it was my job to find a ride to and from work. But they wanted me to pay rent, part of the light bill, part of the phone bill, which I never used, part of the groceries. They wanted 3/4 of my check…. On top of all that. Which I worked 2pm-11pm, I had to clean the house wash the dirty dishes when I got home, and everything else. So about after a year of all that, I just up and left and didn’t let them know where I was going.
Why is China so much afraid of India?
Indian are the only people in the world that believe China is afraid of them. Many of them believe their cities are more developed than first tier cities in China, and some of them believe their living conditions are better than in China. In short, they believe everything in India is better than in China.
I can only say their love for their country must have made them blind and delusional, or they must have been brainwashed by their media. These two countries are not in the same class, anyone with access to the internet and with a working brain, should know the massive gap between these two countries.
India remands me of my Chihuahua’s small dog syndrome. He used to pick a fight with the neighbor’s German Shepherd every time he sees him, thinking he can take him on despite the differences in size. The German Shepherd usually ignores him and whack him away when he gets too annoying.
China is not afraid, and has never been afraid of India, but China is cautious of India. China is cautious of India because every so often you can’t seem to work out what they want to do in a logical sense, and they are far too good at brainwashing themselves, making it difficult to have a frank talk with them.
In addition, Chinese in general do not hate India, we simply just don’t care about India, as we are too busy doing our own things. However, a lot of Chinese do think India is getting a little annoying nowadays, especially when we see all the stupid questions like this on Quora and other social media.
Grilled Indian Chicken
Serve with basmati rice, grilled red peppers and a crisp green salad.
Yield: 4 servings
Ingredients
Chicken
- 2 pounds boneless, skinless chicken breasts
Marinade
- 1 cup plain low-fat yogurt
- 1 teaspoon turmeric
- 1 teaspoon paprika
- 1/4 teaspoon ground cardamom
- 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
- 2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
- 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
- 1 tablespoon finely grated ginger
- 4 large garlic cloves, minced
- 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
- 4 scallions, greens included, minced
- 1/4 teaspoon sea salt
- White pepper to taste
- Lemon or lime wedges for garnish
Instructions
Chicken
- Cut skinless chicken breasts into 1-inch pieces. Place in a medium bowl.
Marinade
- In another bowl, combine the yogurt, turmeric, paprika, cardamom, lemon and lime juices, olive oil, ginger, garlic, cumin, scallions, salt and pepper.
- Pour most of the marinade over the cubed chicken and mix well with your hands to coat the pieces evenly. Reserve a little of the marinade for basting when grilling.
- Marinate in the refrigerator for 2 hours.
- Thread the chicken onto skewers and cook over a medium-hot fire for 5 to 7 minutes, turning frequently. Baste the chicken with reserved marinade after turning.
- Serve with lemon or lime wedges.
Did Elon Musk really work 120-hour weeks? That‘s 7 hours of sleep or less, how does he find time to eat and commute to work?
Back at my old job, there was a lawyer. He was actually one of the lawyers who hired me. He was notorious for working long hours, coming in early in the morning and staying until late at night. He worked tons of files (we saw them all when we packed up to move in the early 1990s).
But one day, he didn’t come in, which was incredibly unusual. He never came in again. A couple of lawyers were assigned to go over his files. What they found was that although he was regularly billing a couple of thousand hours a year, none of his files had moved forward in over a year. He was doing a lot of work and charging a lot of money, but wasn’t actually doing anything.
People who know Musk pretty much say that although he’s always on the go, he doesn’t ever seem to get any productive work done. Sure, he’s great at yelling at people and coming up with grandiose plans, but he has very little output.
What enables Musk and my old lawyer friend was that they really didn’t have to answer to anyone. As long as my lawyer put in his 2,000 hours a year and brought in money, no one questioned if he was actually doing his job. His clients, who weren’t lawyers, really had no idea he was probably just wasting their money by doing stuff that didn’t help.