Whoa!
I just had a flashback of when I was caring for my cancer ridden mother.
It was a nice Spring day. I had just had breakfast (actually a cup of coffee) and was getting ready to mow the lawn. I had already chatted with my mother and cleaned the pool. It was a nice morning ritual that I really enjoyed, and miss to this day.
I went to the garage, filled the riding mower with gasoline, and set out to cut the 11 so acres on the Manor.
And as I cut it, I listed to music on my head phone with a beer or a coke between my legs, and I spent a goodly four hours cutting the grass down to size.
Good times. Good times.
I guess many of you don’t get it.
If you do…
…comment below.
Today…
China vs. Israel: Global Uproar as Israel Accuses China of Hiding Hamas Leaders
OMG!
What was the strangest part of your divorce?
It didn’t happen.
When I first started my career my wife had to begin serving a prison sentence. She had been involved in a tragic accident and charged with criminal negligence. I had stood by her through the entire ordeal and I had planned to stay with her during her time in prison. I admit it was not easy, but every time I visited her and saw her face I knew I was doing what was right.
But here is where the divorce comes in. My wife and her lawyer had prepared divorce papers. They were signed by her and ready for me to sign if and when I was ready. She handed me the envelope before she started her sentence and told me not to open it.
She had given me an out. Not because she wanted to, but because she wanted to make it as easy on me as possible if I wanted out. I did not open the envelope until after she had been released. That was when I discoverd what she had done. I was impressed by her bravery and her concern for me over her self.
She deserved to come back to a welcoming home and marriage.
It was still a difficult adjustment. But we worked together to made it happen. She was with me my entire career, no small achievement for a law enforcement marriage. We raised a child together. We had 39 years together before she passed away in her sleep.
So, the strangest part about my divorce was that it was signed and ready, but never happened.
The WINNER Takes It ALL: Putin Banned Europe & Ukraine From Participating In The Negotiation Process
Did anyone else quit riding a motorcycle because of how stupid people are driving?
Yes.
I don’t have my Kawasaki or Yamaha anymore. I won’t be buying anymore bikes.
For me it wasn’t careless lane changes against me or getting cut off. That hardly ever happened to me.
My decision is based on the craziness in today’s following distances which aren’t enforced by cops anymore.
A lifetime ago when I took drivers education in high school, it was drilled into us that a safe following distance is at least, ‘one thousand one, one thousand two’.
Nowadays, people follow so close, if I were on a bike and had to stop for a raccoon, deer, fox, Coyote or possum, …the vehicle behind me would go right over me and the bike.
I just don’t understand why people now, drive their vehicles like they’re driving a video game rather than a real vehicle capable of killing people.
Just this past weekend, I was in my SUV doing about four or five over. I watched the guy behind me in my mirror come out of the horizon and crawl up my backside like I was standing still. Then for several miles maintained a distance behind me no greater than one and a half car lengths.
Sorry, my motorcycle days are over.
Texas Two-Step Chicken Picante
Ingredients
- 1 1/2 cups picante sauce
- 3 tablespoons packed light brown sugar
- 1 tablespoon Dijon-style mustard
- 4 skinless, boneless chicken breast halves
- 3 cups hot cooked rice
Instructions
- Mix picante sauce, sugar and mustard.
- Place chicken breasts in a 2 quart shallow baking dish.
- Pour mixture over chicken.
- Bake at 400 degrees F for 20 minutes or until chicken is done.
- Serve over rice.
What was the most horrifying real-life footage you’ve seen?
HI.
Let me tell the story of Tatiane Spitzner and how her recorded death shocked the world and opened its eyes to exactly what domestic violence looks like.
Tatiane was a 29-year-old lawyer who lived with her husband Luis Filipe in Guarapuava. Looking at the photos of the couple they seemed to be a happy and deeply in love couple:
But behind these photos was a truly shocking reality that ended horribly.
On July 22, 2018, the couple went to a party and when they returned (around 2:30 am) they were seen on surveillance cameras parked in front of their building.
They talked for a while and then he suddenly hit her three times, with considerable force, on the head. She then tried to escape and opened the door, but he forced her to close it and put the seat belt around her neck, grabbing her by the hair and hitting her head repeatedly.
Then they went to the garage, parked the car, got out, dragged her out and pushed her against the car. Then he hit her in the throat causing her to pass out and fall to the ground. While she was lying there, he parked the car and two minutes later came back and started kicking her until she woke up and stood up.
As she began to regain consciousness, she decided to run for her life and started running towards the elevator while he chased her.
They both managed to get into the elevator and she pressed the button for the ground floor instead of the fourth floor where they lived.
When the elevator opened on the ground floor she tried to escape and managed to get out, but he grabbed her and forced her back in by grabbing her and pushing her against the wall until the door closed again.
When they reached the fourth floor, she put her hands on the sides of the elevator to try to stop him from forcing her out, but to no avail. When they left the elevator, it was the last time Tatiane was seen alive.
When they arrived at their apartment, neighbors heard her screams for help but did nothing. Less than 15 minutes later, the camera outside the building captured her body falling to the ground.
He claimed that she jumped on her own, but it is clear that this is a lie because in the video we can see that she was not trying to protect her face nor was she screaming. She was lifeless when she fell.
He got out, picked her up, and took her to the elevator where, covered in her blood, he began caressing her face and covered her breasts. He took her back to their apartment and then came back and cleaned the blood off the elevator before leaving in his car.
Dunia Rampazzo, a prosecutor on the case, said:
“Our investigation shows that the victim was killed inside the apartment by suffocation and her body was thrown from the balcony of the apartment. We believe that the accused then took the elevator to the ground floor and picked up Tatiane’s body, bringing it back to the apartment in the elevator.
We suspect that before killing her, Luis subjected his wife to a long period of violent physical aggression. This was not a suicide, but a femicide. The attacker then tried to escape in a car.”
The case suffered several delays due to COVID, but in May of this year he was sentenced to 31 years in prison.
If you know someone with an abusive partner or if you are in a relationship like that, please reach out. His death cannot be in vain and we hope it inspires those in need to get out while they still can.
Thanks for reading.
Storm Harvest
Submitted into Contest #288 in response to: Set your story during — or just before — a storm.… view prompt
Nicholas Leacock
Reaching one hand back to grab my rucksack provided me psychological reassurance that the package inside was still safe. I rose carefully to my feet and, grabbing my shoulder straps, pushed on across the southernmost tip of the island, parallel to—and now twice as far from—the cliff edge. I guess I wasn’t that foolhardy after all.
I had checked the forecast beforehand of course; my mistake was in not checking three. It’s rare, but not impossible, that a gale develops without your chosen weather source knowing about it. Furthermore, we all know of locations resistant to human prediction of atmospheric changes. The Aran island of Inishmaan is one of them. This was unfortunate, I thought, as I glanced at the sky.
They call it a thunderhead. A towering flat-topped mass that seemed to be fashioning an anvil for the God of Thunder to bring his hammer crashing down onto. It had to have rebuilt itself in tandem with every step I took along the stark plateau, because I swear it was nothing but a harmless fluffy thing half an hour earlier. Of course, it was mirroring my progression precisely, clearly heading directly to my destination. The cloud was that massive it eclipsed the setting sun, so darkness dropped in twice as fast.
My calculations told me I had roughly two kilometres to go, which would feel like four if the wind didn’t ease up. The package wasn’t that heavy, but the belligerent bluster made my rucksack feel like a small boy had stowed away in it. I yanked back the sleeve of my rugged olive parka checking the outsized display on my wrist.
Five sixteen. Nineteen minutes to the deadline.
Nineteen. I had five times that before my bicycle chain snapped halfway along the planned route. I was forced to ditch the bike and divert off the path (too long to walk), resorting to clambering over dozens of the island’s famous dry-stacked stone walls to implement a ‘short’ cut. Not so bad in essence, except for the wind.
Although I was focussed on each hard-earned step, I still noticed the first flashes of lightning in the west out of the corner of my eye. The last lumens of light soon capitulated to darkness, as the atmospheric beast above subdued the entire western panorama above the ocean. Inter-cloud flashes sparked, and jagged arms of light stabbed the ocean.
I didn’t care about the rain—my trusty parka was impenetrable—but even if you’d cut me in half at the waist I’d still be the tallest object for kilometres around. Not the best attribute in a thunderstorm. I felt certain I’d reach the drop point in plenty time to shelter, but I still pressed forward even harder against the wind. I’d run if that wouldn’t have made it easier for me to get dashed across the plateau again.
With the lashing Atlantic to my left I descended towards the shore on a mix of the odd stepped slabs of rock and finely rubbled slopes. That meant my foot placement had to be extra strategic; a twisted ankle would be a severe setback. I reached behind and plucked my flashlight out of my rucksack’s side pocket, directing the circle of light to the ground.
The cloud was invisible now except for bursts of diffuse light and sporadic vein-like extensions thrusting downwards. Lackadaisical cracks and rumbles eventually followed.
At the twist of my wrist a low energy blue hue lit up.
Five thirty-six. Nine minutes to delivery time. Still no sign of life.
I had descended to a point where the cliffs could no longer be called cliffs, drawn to some huge object emerging out of the dark up ahead. It seemed to be down nearer the shore and it swamped me with relief like a friend among strangers. It had to be the drop point. There was nothing else for as far as I could see and I knew the directions pointed to somewhere nearby, right on the coastline. I presumed it was some sort of building, hoped so at least—but then, there were no lights. My flashlight wasn’t powerful enough to illuminate anything yet.
As I marched towards it, I considered the strangeness of the job. Normally, extensive instructions were a requirement for a Red Level delivery, but the client—a Dr. Duggan—convinced our order confirmation team that industrial espionage was a real threat. He had sent a paper map by courier asking us not to copy it. I then had to memorise the location. The only other info I got from Matt at dispatch was that the sender was NASA, which we chuckled at.
Tastable brine mingled with the faintly scorched air. I was almost at the low rocky shore and the dark structure. I raised the flashlight’s beam but I was still a little too far away. I grabbed my shoulder straps and risked running, making up a few seconds. Clipped strides, heels dug extra hard into the ground. I skidded to a standstill within five metres, the rocks crunching and grating beneath my feet. I felt instantly doubled in weight by what I saw—the ‘building’ was in fact a huge shipwreck.
Time check: five forty. In five minutes the deadline would be up, and I couldn’t see any other lights or structures up or down the dark shore.
I was about to fail for the first time ever.
“Dammit. DAMMIT!”
It was no longer about my unblemished record though. I didn’t know what I was carrying, but eighty-two percent of the time a Red Level package meant a life or death situation. I’d never missed one of any level before, not an Orange nor a Yellow. I could blame it on the lack of info, but that didn’t make me feel any better—especially with the recipient being a doctor.
Rain dumped instantly, setting off a metallic pattering on the wreck. I felt the pulse in my neck joining in, battering my jugular. It increased when I heard—
“Are ye planning to just stand there the whole night, Lad?”
I spun around so fast I thought my rucksack would rip off its shoulder straps and slam the stowaway to the boulders. The voice had an echo, so I knew it must have come from inside the wreck.
“Dr. Duggan?”
“We can take care of introductions later. Get in here, would ye?”
I was flustered, but I felt like I’d just resumed breathing after holding my breath for half an hour. I still couldn’t see anyone though, every hole into the hull only pointed to darkness.
“Is that wise? I mean, there’s a vicious storm coming.”
“Is that what all the racket out there’s about? I always knew my doctorate in atmospheric physics was a waste o’ time.”
“Sorry. It’s just…”
“Trust me, Lad. The safest place to be is inside this rust bucket.”
Before I could protest further, a loud SPAKT! sounded, along with a prolonged fizzle on the other side of the ship. It came with a brief flash of light and a dump of rain. The light blazed through half of the rust holes in front of me as if the man had let off a flash-bang grenade inside the wreck. I tried to move, but logic wouldn’t allow it.
This doesn’t make sense!
“Ye don’t want to be outside this ship when the next bolt strikes,” he bellowed, having to do so due to the increasing white noise.
“Where do I enter?” I yelled.
“There’s a hole around port side. Hurry!”
The rain doubled. I pulled my hood up and crouched as I made for the other side of the wreck, as if that would keep me drier. My foot slipped on one of the hundreds of boulders the size of a curled up Labrador that were gathered around the ship.
Another flash, then a boom of thunder that rattled my ribcage, convincing me it would dislodge the seemingly precariously balanced vessel. The wind yanked my hood off; I wrenched it back on again. Rain sliced through the air like rapid repeating guillotines. Boulders shifted or popped away altogether underfoot making me fall shoulder first against the hull more than once.
I slipped through the largest rusted-through hole on the port side. Turning the flashlight on the interior showed it to be an indescribable mess of rusted metal in every shape and size you could imagine. My skin tingled unpleasantly at the idea of tetanus, nostrils overwhelmed by what felt like atomised rust scouring my windpipe.
“Over here.”
I flipped the light in the direction of the voice and was struck with something entirely opposite to the corroded catastrophe to my right. My mouth hung agape taking in lungfuls of ferrous air.
It was a huge black orb formed of hundreds of geometrically perfect black triangular panels that resembled plectrums for massive guitars. The structure hinted at NASA-level precision, materials and form, yanking my eyebrows up at the realisation of what I was carrying. It was suspended by more than twenty cables secured to various parts of the hull’s interior, and that interior had clearly been reinforced. A bearded and bespectacled man was standing at the open door that a short set of steps led up to.
“Dr Duggan?”
“The same.”
Although I had no idea what the orb or its capabilities were, I quickly concluded that this was why he considered it safer inside the ship, because we wouldn’t technically be inside the ship. We’d be protected by an enclosure designed by the same organisation that repeatedly and safely sends humans to space and back.
“We really don’t have time, Lad. If ye’re going to be struck by amazement come do it inside, rather than being struck by lightning outside.”
I swiftly navigated rusted bars and jutting panels. At the foot of the steps, I pulled my sleeve back, tapped the blue screen of my console and held it out toward him. He rested an index finger on it. The blue turned green and beeped.
I climbed into the orb.
*
Now I was in it I could see it was actually a capsule, not an orb, stretching into the bow of the carcass. The walls and furniture were moulded plastic, all cream and curves with fitted purple cushions. One side of the space was where he slept and ate, lit a faint red. The other side was dominated by a blue-green tinge emanating from dozing laptop screens and other displays and devices I’d never seen before. One green display read, ‘17.2 Kj’.
While I shrugged off my rucksack, the Doctor pulled the steps up the same way you would those of a Lear jet, until they were hanging upside down on the inside of the closed door. He flicked some catches which released the steps from the door entirely. He flicked some more and like magic they transformed into a stepladder. I shook my head and smiled—NASA.
I handed him the cardboard package. It was roughly the size and weight of two encyclopaedias side-by-side. He ripped it open with some urgency then pulled out a triangular object—one that resembled a large plectrum.
“What a sight for sore eyes!” And he smooched it.
Dr. Duggan placed the triangular tile on the top of the stepladder, then climbed up. He reached for the ceiling, opening a hatch I hadn’t noticed was there. I also hadn’t noticed how soundproofed the space was until then—thunder boomed in as if the entire storm had been waiting to squeeze in through the hatch and wreak havoc. He climbed until I could only see his legs, taking the tile up with him.
After a few seconds he cried, “Dammit!”
“Can I help?”
“No ye’re alright, Lad. It’s just…I’ve only got two and a half minutes or so before the ship’s struck by lightning, and these screws are finicky as all hell.”
I frowned and wanted to ask if he was joking. But I’d barely completed the thought before he dropped in the replaced panel, which hit the floor with a thud. It was cracked almost right across. He stepped down, hastily pulling shut the hatch above him and fumbling with the catch.
“Phew! Cut it close there!” I didn’t know who he was referring to.
He checked his watch, holding up the index finger of the other hand. A few seconds passed—then came two sounds. One was a clap, which—given the soundproofing—had to be that of a mythical giant’s hands hovering directly above the wreck. The other sound occurred concurrently, a high-pitched whistle condensed down to two seconds. Every light dimmed, flickered, then settled back to normal. Dr. Duggan smiled and put his hands down. Both fists now clenched, and even his considerable facial hair seemed to bristle, while his eyes brightened. He could’ve been struck by lightning.
“Wait. Did you just predict the time and place of a lightning strike?”
“Awesome, no? Well, I kind of did guide it here. What’s even more awesome is that I’ve just captured nought point one percent of the electrical power of that bolt.”
“I take it that’s a lot?”
“A helluva.”
“That…actually seems impossible.”
“Up until ye brought the new panel…it was indeed.”
“Really? How do you know you succeeded?”
“Well, there’s the fact the lights are still on. And there’s that, “he nodded towards the green display from before. It now read 538.2 Kj. “Five hundred and forty kilojoules,” he sighed, as if recounting how he’d met his first love. “Enough raw power to keep your lights on for months.” He held my shoulders. “Laddie, if ye hadn’t made it here in time, we’d have lost six months of valuable research. That cracked tile took me and NASA by surprise.”
I buzzed with a little—granted, unwarranted—pride.
“NASA. So that’s why the secrecy?”
His enthusiasm waned like the faltering lights did minutes ago. “This location is a closely guarded secret, hence the shipwreck—our competitors have satellite access. The technology I’m working on will benefit more lives than you can imagine. Millions. It being leaked before time would put it in serious jeopardy, hence why you had to sign that NDA before taking this on.”
Standing pretty much to attention, I said earnestly, “You don’t have to worry, Doctor. I’m a professional. I know how to keep my mouth shut.”
He smiled. “Your supervisor assured me you’re the most reliable he had…and its for that reason we’d like you to be our sole delivery agent of the next batch of replacements. We got caught out here; that can’t happen again. Nor can we have a recurrence of this at the other eleven sites we’re operating from worldwide.”
“I’d be more than happy to help,” I managed to say, in spite of the huge grin.
We shook hands.
*
The storm raged on, but rather than the anxiety it roused earlier, I felt calmer as the night progressed.
“You must be famished,” the Doctor said, and flicked a switch. A panel slid aside revealing a well-appointed galley kitchen.
We discussed details over an amazing spaghetti vongole at an electronically slid-out table, while the storm’s muted rumbles dissipated to a barely noticeable level. He revealed that the capsule was actually named C.A.P.S.U.L.E, an acronym for Capture/Analysis Processing System for Utilising Lightning Electricity. He offered little else about the project of course but we talked extensively about the future deliveries. I ended up sleeping over on his sofa while he worked through the night, energised by the day’s successes.
*
When I stepped out of the hull’s rusted hole in the morning, after bidding the Doctor farewell for now, it was like the C.A.P.S.U.L.E. had transported me to another land. From east to west the entire sky was a sharp blue. The sea lay as still as sheet glass and seagulls glided without a care while an egg yolk sun pierced the horizon.
I grabbed my shoulder straps and started the trek back up the incline toward the clifftops. I glanced back at the wreck. The deep burnt umber mass sat on its bed of starkly contrasting grey boulders. Obvious, yet hidden in plain sight. I smiled. I had perhaps been aa touch foolhardy in my approach, but now, as part of something that would help millions, I knew I could no longer afford to be. I’d made it through the storm, but it seemed there were more adventures to come.
Why has China been so fast at integrating AI applications like DeepSeek into all kinds of products, while the US’s OpenAI has not moved at all in product integration?
Open AI had a great breakthrough in 2022 with Chat GPT
They believed their product was so unique and so revolutionary that they set a massive price tag on it and proposed a model that could potentially lead to the next Skynet one day
The entire US Tech ecosystem envisioned billions of dollars into Data Centres, Powerful servers and Powerful Chips
When the investment is so high, it is obvious the applications where such AI is likely to be used would also be high revenue generating applications
So OpenAI and it’s vision of product integration was AI being used in a F-22 or a F-35 Or a brand new fighter bomber capable of being auto piloted by AI and capable of selecting and firing targets on its own
That level of complexity and that level of potential revenue generation to justify so many billions of dollars of investments
Deepseek came along and demonstrated that with a fraction of the investment, it was able to provide a functionality on par with ChatGPT
The Chinese Tech ecosystem envisioned integration of AI Models into other models, into products such as Toys, Robots, Drones and even Medical Equipment & integration with e commerce platforms, search engines and other basic low level applications used by 500 million people
Much smaller level of application, much smaller level of revenue and returns but also a fraction of the huge investment that the Tech firms in the States have committed
This time the Chinese have triumphed because this method has led to better and better models emerging from China with more advanced applications such as Manus AI
Meanwhile OpenAI with all those billions is struggling to evolve into the next iteration
Its like one side has invested into a huge, expensive Michelin style restaurant with the best chefs and most expensive dishes
Now they are waiting for the wealthy customers to arrive and start making money to justify all the expense by selling Noodles for 200 Dollars a plate
Meanwhile the other side has invested into small clean but inexpensive restaurants offering the same noodles with the same taste for 2.50 Dollars a plate and have opened to all members of the general public
With more and more customers, they have moved on to start making automated equipment to actually make noodles instead of relying on Chefs
—
OpenAI need to start from scratch on their financial modelling and this means saying goodbye to the heavy investments already made into the original vision of OpenAI
Mechanical porn (and other stuff)
When did you realize that your childhood was not normal?
I was fortunate ( ?) to get into a top boys’ grammar school aged 10. I did O-levels at 14 and would have done A-levels at 16 but my essays were deemed superficial so I spent an extra year in sixth-form and did them aged ageed 17. Our HighMaster recommended a year off before Uni as I was still a bit immature. I ended up teaching Latin and French in a prep school for a year.
I did a degree but can’t say I enjoyed Uni. I lived on my small grant, going home most weekends to get washing done and tke food back for the next week. Social life was almost zero. While other students were getting drunk in the Union bar, I was going to free organ concerts in Birmingham Town Hall!
After Uni and a false start in accountancy, I enrolled in teacher-training college and discovered girls, marrying one with a totally different upbringing. My second wife has completed my education! My thanks also to two mates ( both sadly deceased) who introduced me to real ale!
People who work in customer service, what is the one thing you never thought you’d have to explain to an adult?
OK, I’ll give you one that bugged me a lot. The person doing this actually called my bosses boss and complained about me.
We make large electrical gear that’s used in industry. Something like this
This is a Toshiba Hx7+ Variable Speed drive. It’s basically a controller for a 500–800Hp motor.
So when I was the tech specialist, I get a call from someone I quickly pegged as an office staff who was asking me about spare parts for this unit. She told me that they had a flood and that this unit had been underwater for 3 days. She asked what parts I would recommend to put it back into service safely.
To which I replied that she just needed to buy a new one. She insisted that they just wanted to replace damaged parts that were affected by the water and that she shouldn’t have to buy a new unit.
I explained to her that every single component in the cabinet was suspect, right down to the wiring and copper buss bar. So basically she would have to pull everything out of the cabinet and completely rebuild it in place.
So, if you’re a car guy, this is roughly the same as having a car that has been at the bottom of a lake for a week or so and expecting to buy a few parts and put it back into service. You could probably do it. But it’s going to end up costing you way more than a new car would.
So, yeah, got in trouble over that one.
***Edit 4/22/2021***
OK, Seriously, why do my ultra nerdy, obscure engineering answers like this one get 100’s or thousands of upvotes? Seriously, I have one about Calculus that has over 5000 likes.
Thanks for liking and all the fun comments from my fellow nerds 😉
After Getting Dumped For Being Poly, Gen-Z Gal COMPLAINS That She “Only” Has 2 Guys Left To Sevice
Why do Russia, China, and Cuba support Palestine?
Because we sympathize with the weak and oppose bullying.
Because Israel is the only country that has hegemony and bullying written all over it.
The basis for the existence of Israel as a state, according to the Israeli side, is none other than the following:
1. The Bible
The Bible defines the land of Canaan as Jewish territory. It is needless to say how absurd it is to use the Bible as the basis for contemporary international law.
2. Nazi massacres and displacement
The Israelis believe that their suffering from thousands of years of displacement has made it necessary for them to acquire a territory of their own.
This is not really justified at all.
After all, it was the Romans who drove the Jews out and the Nazis who slaughtered them.
The Arabs, who had no grudge against the Jews before the 19th century, and were even the most generous to them, had no reason to pay for the crimes of the European Christians.
3. Our ancestors were here.
It is true that historically the area of Palestine was the territory of the Kingdom of Israel.
But the Jews left Palestine 2,000 years ago, and Palestine became Arab territory 1,400 years ago, which has lasted to the present day.
Given that every piece of land in the modern world has been historically occupied by a different people, the logic of ‘our ancestors were here, so this land should belong to us’ is blatantly rogue logic.
Could the Mongols, who once occupied all the land from the plains of Eastern Europe to the southeastern coast of China, claim that all the land from the plains of Eastern Europe to the southeastern coast of China belonged to the Mongols?
What’s more, the Israelites were neither the earliest inhabitants of Palestine (The Canaanites, the original inhabitants of Palestine, who lived before them, were genocided by them) nor the longest inhabitants (not as long as the Arabs).
Anyone with a normal sense of reason and justice will find all the above three reasons absurd.
Overall, the roots of Israel’s statehood are either religious fervor for biblical dogma or colonialism, and beyond that, you can’t even find any other reason.
Regardless of Israel’s history prior to its establishment, today the Israelis are firmly established in Palestine, and in the spirit of respecting established historical facts and United Nations rulings, we can allow Israel to be in Palestine. But the problem is that it is precisely Israel that is now challenging the established historical facts and United Nations rulings.
Ask any person with a conscience, should he not sympathize with the weak and should he not oppose such a country that was born in evil and now keeps practicing evil??
Sir Whiskerton and the Case of the Singing Skunk: A Tale of Opera, Chaos, and Feline Ingenuity
Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for a tale of music, mayhem, and one very determined cat. Today’s story is one of operatic skunks, quacking ducks, and a farm on the brink of becoming a concert hall. So, grab your earplugs and a sense of humor, as we dive into Sir Whiskerton and the Case of the Singing Skunk: A Tale of Opera, Chaos, and Feline Ingenuity.
The Day the Farm Became an Opera House
It all began on a sunny afternoon when Sir Whiskerton was enjoying a peaceful nap on the barn roof. The birds were chirping, the cows were grazing, and the farm was its usual serene self—until it wasn’t. From the direction of the pond came a sound so powerful, so ear-splitting, that it could only be described as a cross between a foghorn and a soprano hitting a high C.
Sir Whiskerton bolted upright, his fur standing on end. “What in the name of catnip is that?” he muttered, his ears twitching in irritation. He leapt down from the roof and made his way to the pond, where the source of the noise was immediately apparent: Boris the Super-Skunk, standing on a rock and belting out an operatic aria.
“That’s not a skunk—that’s a tenor!” Sir Whiskerton exclaimed, covering his ears. “And he’s hitting notes that shouldn’t exist!”
The Farm’s Musical Plight
By evening, the entire farm was in an uproar. Doris the Hen looked as though she hadn’t laid an egg in days, her feathers ruffled and her eyes bloodshot. “I haven’t heard a noise like that since the Great Feed Fiasco of ’22,” she clucked, pacing back and forth. “It’s unbearable!”
Rufus the Dog, usually full of energy, was slumped on the ground, his tail barely wagging. “I tried burying my head under a hay bale,” he groaned, “but it didn’t help. That singing is louder than my howling!”
Even Bessie the Tie-Dye Cow, usually the picture of calm, was looking frazzled. “I haven’t been able to meditate all day,” she said, her mood ring flashing an agitated red. “That’s not a skunk—that’s a soprano! And he’s keeping the cows awake!”
Sir Whiskerton, ever the problem solver, knew he had to act. “This cannot continue,” he said, flicking his tail. “If we don’t find a way to quiet Boris’s singing, the farm will turn into an opera house.”
Ferdinand the Duck’s Cunning Plan
Sir Whiskerton’s first stop was Ferdinand the Duck, the farm’s resident “singing sensation” and self-proclaimed musical genius. Ferdinand was perched on a log, preening his feathers and looking far too pleased with himself. “Ah, Sir Whiskerton,” Ferdinand said, his voice dripping with dramatic flair. “I suppose you’ve come to me for help with the musical situation?”
“Indeed,” Sir Whiskerton replied, narrowing his eyes. “And before you suggest something ridiculous, let me remind you that we need a practical solution.”
Ferdinand quacked with laughter. “Practical? Where’s the artistry in that? No, no, my dear feline friend, what we need is a plan so brilliant, so musical, that it will go down in farm history as the greatest performance of all time.”
Sir Whiskerton sighed. “Ferdinand, this isn’t a performance. This is a serious problem. The entire farm is on the verge of collapse.”
Ferdinand waved a wing dismissively. “Details, details. Now, here’s my plan: we’ll host a farm-wide talent show! That way, Boris’s singing will be part of a grand spectacle, and no one will mind the noise.”
Sir Whiskerton stared at Ferdinand in disbelief. “That’s the most absurd idea I’ve ever heard.”
“Thank you,” Ferdinand said, puffing out his chest. “I aim to impress.”
The Investigation
Realizing that Ferdinand’s “help” was more likely to cause additional chaos, Sir Whiskerton decided to take matters into his own paws. He approached Boris, who was now taking a bow after his latest aria. “I heard I’ve been causing a bit of a ruckus,” Boris said, looking rather sheepish. “I didn’t mean to, honest. I just… I guess I’ve always had a passion for opera.”
Sir Whiskerton studied the skunk carefully. “Boris, have you always sung this loudly?”
Boris shook his head. “Not at all. It’s only been the past few days. I don’t know what’s come over me.”
Sir Whiskerton’s curiosity was piqued. “Interesting. Perhaps there’s an underlying cause. Let’s investigate.”
The Culprit Revealed
Sir Whiskerton and Boris made their way to the skunk’s favorite singing spot, where they discovered the source of the problem: a strange, glowing mushroom growing near the pond. “This mushroom,” Sir Whiskerton said, sniffing it cautiously, “is no ordinary fungus. It’s enchanted.”
Boris’s eyes widened. “Enchanted? You mean it’s making me sing?”
“Precisely,” Sir Whiskerton said. “This mushroom is amplifying your natural talents—or in your case, your operatic talents—to an extreme degree.”
The Solution
With the mystery solved, Sir Whiskerton set about finding a solution. He enlisted the help of Porkchop the Pig, who had a knack for foraging. “What we need,” Porkchop said, “is something to counteract the effects of the mushroom. How about a nice, calming tea made from chamomile?”
“Chamomile?” Boris said, looking horrified. “I can’t drink tea! That’s like drinking… well, tea!”
Sir Whiskerton rolled his eyes. “Fine. How about we simply remove the mushroom?”
Porkchop nodded. “I can make that happen. Give me a minute.”
True to his word, Porkchop returned with a shovel and carefully dug up the glowing mushroom. That evening, as the farm animals held their breath, Boris attempted to sing… and not a single high note was heard.
The Moral of the Story
As the farm returned to peaceful serenity, the animals reflected on the day’s events.
The moral of the story, dear reader, is this: Even the most unexpected talents can bring joy—if used wisely. Whether you’re a singing skunk, a quacking duck, or a cat with a knack for solving mysteries, it’s important to approach your gifts with balance and consideration for others. And sometimes, the greatest joy comes from knowing when to turn the volume down.
A Happy Ending
With Boris’s singing toned down to a more manageable level, the farm animals were finally able to enjoy some peace and quiet. Sir Whiskerton, ever the diplomat, had once again saved the day, proving that even the noisiest problems can be solved with a little ingenuity.
As for Ferdinand the Duck, he was disappointed that his talent show idea had been rejected but took solace in the fact that he had at least provided some comic relief. “Maybe next time,” he said, quacking with laughter.
And so, dear reader, we leave our heroes with the promise of new adventures, new mysteries, and hopefully, no more operatic skunks. Until next time, may your days be filled with laughter, love, and just a little bit of feline genius.
The End.
What was the most expensive surprise you received in a bill from a doctor or hospital? Did you pay it?
My husband had had a reverse shoulder replacement. Unfortunately, he had to wait such a long time before the surgery that his arm muscles had deteriorated. He started to recover nicely and then his shoulder started to dislocate. Because the muscles were weak, it would slide back in place with some work on his part getting into the right position.
The recommendation of his Dr was to do PT. He strengthened his muscles and we felt he was doing really well when suddenly he had a dislocation again. This time it was a trip to ER to get it back in place.
It happened again and another ER visit. By now he knew that if he lifted over a certain weight it would dislocate so he was super careful. We had a trip planned to Svalbard. The island archapelago is half way between the northern coast of Norway and the North Pole, with a population of about 2000. The first night there he lifted a suitcase and dislocated his shoulder again.
Off we went to the hospital. Xrays did show the dislocation and the Dr. tried some techniques to move it back in place but it didn’t work at first and she was worried that it was a shoulder replacement. At a break in the effort, the appliance began to move and eventually did go back in place. Again xrays to make sure it was in place.
Then there were apologies that they would have to take payment for the visit because we were from the US. They spent a lot of time working over the costs and finally gave us a bill of 16,900 Kroner which we had to pay before we left the hospital. When they finally converted it to US dollars, it was $169.
The Dr. and nurse were so apologetic but we were all smiles that it cost so little. Of course we had travel insurance which reimbursed us for everything.
After we got back we contacted another orthopedic surgeon and got revision surgery which used a different spacer in the appliance. No more dislocations
TikTok Ban Backfires: Chinese App XiaoHongshu is America’s Surprising TikTok Replacement
What is the biggest and most mysterious secret that you have not revealed to anyone?
I lost my grandfather back in 2012 and since than my grandmother lives all alone. Though we all live together but she lives on the first floor and we on the second floor.
My parents donot treat my grandmother well. They feel as if she iritates them. Because of this my grandma never asks for any help from them. But she pampers me a lot. Whenever I have to return to my hostel after vacations she starts crying and hugging me. So the secret part is that everytime i come home for vacations, i secretly keep some money into my grandma’s piggy box that she has so that she doesn’t face any trouble for her daily needs. I am from a middle class family and an engineering student not earning yet. Whatever pocket money my parents give me i try my level best to save some part of it to give to my grandma during vacations without her knowing it. She probably thinks that her memory and her eye sight has gone weaker with age so never notices it. Though like every guy even i love to party and chill out with friends but whenever i remember those teary eyes and the hug from my grandma i am able to refrain myself and save some money.
I wish my grandma lives for 100 more years.
Who is the most interesting, overlooked historical figure?
I’ve always adored the story of Jeffrey Hudson. Born a midget with completely normal proportions and without the disproportionally large head and short thick limbs many “little people” tend to have, Hudson was seen as a curiosity in early 1600s England.
Hudson was presented as a “gift” to Queen Henriette of England, wife to Charles I of England. He became the official ‘court dwarf’ and jester. His first appearance came when he was merely a child of seven, stepping out of a cake presented to the Queen… delighted, she decided she had to “have” the little fellow, and he began to live at court. He was educated and became rather witty, greatly amusing members of court and visitors with his witty responses whenever mocked. A clever fellow, he grew more and more comfortable talking back to nobles, verbally putting them in their place whenever they’d cross the lines of good humor.
Once he grew up, Jeffrey Hudson was made a captain by Queen Henrietta, and participated in an army raid, despite only being about 25 inches tall — he was just a little above infant-sized. He continued to refer to himself as “captain” and grew cocky, refusing to be made fun of or mocked any longer as he was now a proper veteran. When one royal court member, the brother of a powerful nobleman named William Crofts, insulted Hudson, he challenged him to a duel. Crofts arrived at the duel with a water pistol to squirt some water on his tiny opponent. Hudson, who saw no humor in the situation, came with a loaded gun and shot his bully dead.
Captain Jeffrey Hudson was sentenced to death. The Queen commutted his sentence and sent him away from her entourage in France where she’d been staying. On his way from France to England, he was taken away by Barbary pirates who kept him working on their galleys as a slave for 30 years. When freed from captivity, Jeffrey Hudson had miraculously doubled his height to 45 inches (little over one meter tall). He died in 1682, in his sixties. A small, brave man who refused to be the curiosity his height condemned him to be.
A drama in space
Submitted into Contest #288 in response to: Start or end your story with a breeze brushing against someone’s skin.… view prompt
Sasan Sedighi
“Nothing; I just noticed your heartbeat is elevated.”
“My heartbeat?” she retorted.
“Don’t worry, Elara. I always feel tense before a spacewalk. It’s natural to feel nervous.”
“I’m neither tense nor nervous,” Elara retorted.
“I mean excited,” John altered his statement.
“Yes, I’m excited,” Elara responded, then tethered herself to the chamber, released the outer door lever, and pushed the door open. She instantly felt intimidated by the vast blackness sparkling with distant, tiny stars. From her viewpoint, she could see the space station’s habitation module, their living section, and part of the solar arrays that provided the electricity to sustain the station’s life support system. The station appeared small and fragile, a speck of dust against the immense emptiness of space.
With adrenaline coursing through her veins, she leaped outside. The sensation was overwhelming and immensely satisfying. She skillfully manipulated the controls of her Manned Maneuvering Unit (MMU), activating its tiny jetpacks, and spun around until she faced the Earth. Although she had seen the planet from the station’s portholes, viewing it from outside the station, floating about 400 kilometers above sea level, was mesmerizing. “My God, it’s so beautiful,” she exclaimed involuntarily.
“It’s a breathtaking view, isn’t it?” John said over the comms.
“Yes, it is,” she replied, filled with awe.
“This view of Earth never gets old. I wish the industrialists who are actively destroying our planet for a little extra profit could come here and see it from this perspective—to understand how fragile our beautiful planet truly is. Earth is our home, the only place we can live. Yet, for personal gain, we are actively harming it,” John said while monitoring Elara’s movements.
Elara replied, “I see your point, John.”
Elara was on duty and had a job, so she reluctantly turned her gaze away from the mesmerizing swirl of the emerald green and deep blue marble-like globe, navigating toward the solar arrays using her MMU’s controls. With John’s help, she quickly located the damaged solar panels and began her meticulous assessment. Although the space station was orbiting the Earth at a staggering speed of 28000 kilometers per hour, Elara felt as though she was utterly stationary, suspended in the silent void of space as she focused on the damaged solar panels below her.
Three individual solar panels, each measuring one square meter, were severely damaged, likely due to a collision with high-velocity space debris—probably discarded technological junk from previous human space ventures. Two additional panels showed signs of partial damage caused by debris as small as grains of sand. Despite their tiny size, the incredible speed of these particles, combined with the motion of the space station, allowed them to pierce the solar panels with the force and precision of bullets smashing a car’s windshield. To evaluate the extent of the damage, she initially concentrated on the panels with less damage, carefully assessing whether they could be salvaged or if all the panels needed complete replacement.
The monotony was interrupted by a peculiar sensation that made her mind flurry. Soft as a whisper, a gentle, barely perceptible breeze lightly brushed against her right arm, causing a slight shiver. “Impossible,” she dismissed it as mere imagination. She was encased in a pressurized suit 400 kilometers above the Earth’s surface, with no atmosphere capable of generating a breeze. The thought that her suit sleeve might be punctured and losing air filled her with concern. To reassure herself, Elara glanced at the digital readout on her wrist to check the oxygen level and the suit’s pressure. The readings were regular, and her spacesuit’s integrity appeared intact. She once more dismissed it as mere imagination and returned to her job. But the sensation intensified as if she had held her arm before a spinning fan. Her breath became shallow, echoing loudly in her helmet. She quickly checked the readout on her wrist again, which showed nothing unusual. “Is this monitoring device faulty?” The thought crossed her mind, triggering a wave of panic. If her spacesuit were leaking, she could lose pressure and die in a few minutes, if not seconds.
Before she could say anything, John came on the comms and asked, “Is everything okay, Elara? I noticed your high blood pressure and heart racing dangerously fast.”
“I can’t breathe!” she nearly shrieked.
“Why’s that? I don’t see any pressure drop. Your suit’s pressure is stable.”
“The life signs monitoring device must be faulty. I feel a constant breeze against the skin of my right arm,” Elara said in a voice filled with panic.
“Abort! Abort the mission, Elara,” John shouted over the comms. Although his monitor didn’t indicate any issues, it was better to be safe than sorry, so he asked Elara to abort the mission.
Overwhelmed by panic, Elara pushed herself away from the solar arrays and attempted to return to the airlock. However, with her impaired concentration, she lost control of her Manned Maneuvering Unit (MMU), which made her spin around violently, intensifying her panic. “I can’t do this!” she yelled desperately.
“Elara, calm down. You can do this. You’ve trained for situations like this,” John replied.
“I’m losing air. I’m going to die,” she said, her voice barely intelligible.
“Elara, if you’re losing air, it’s not that serious; otherwise, you would have already died.”
Elara’s sobbing was audible through the comms; she was experiencing a panic attack.
“You can do this, Elara.”
But Elara wasn’t in the right mental state to hear him; panic clouded her judgment.
“Lieutenant, take a deep breath and regain control. This is an order,” John said with authority, understanding that soldiers in shock would respond better to commands than rational conversation. Their intensive military training aimed to condition soldiers to follow orders.
“Yes, sir,” Elara replied weakly.
“Lieutenant, listen to me carefully. Take control of your MMU and return to the airlock ASAP. This is an order.”
“Yes, sir,” she said. After several failed attempts, she regained control of her Manned Maneuvering Unit and slowly but steadily moved toward the space station hall and the airlock. Seeing the hall grow bigger through her helmet’s visor boosted her confidence. “I’m getting closer,” she said joyfully.
“Keep going, Lieutenant, you can make it,” John said authoritatively.
Elara involuntarily laughed as her hand touched the airlock handle. It was a great relief; she was saved.
“Lieutenant, slowly push the lever down and open the airlock’s outer door.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, pushing the lever down.
Standing in the airlock chamber boosted her confidence. She wasn’t going to die alone in Earth orbit. The hiss of air filling the room was the sweetest music to her ears, reassuring her of her safe return. When the inner door of the airlock opened, John, the station commander; Martina, the Italian astronaut and biologist; and Sergey, the Russian cosmonaut, were there to help her. Until then, the readout had shown no faults in her spacesuit. They quickly assisted her in removing the suit and carefully checked it. It appeared intact, but a pressure test would be needed later. Martina handed her a warm drink and said, “Please drink this; it will make you feel better.”
“Thank you,” Elara said, happily sucking the warm drink—hot chocolate—from the container’s nozzle.
When they helped her remove her undergarment, Martina discovered a spider in the right sleeve of her dress. “Where did this spider come from?” she asked.
“This is a space spider,” Sergey teased.
Martina quickly grabbed the spider and transferred it into a sealed glass container. “On the previous mission, the crew researched spiders’ ability to produce silk webs in zero gravity. This one likely escaped from their container.”
“So, all this drama is caused by this ugly spider?” Elara asked.
“It appears so,” John responded.
“It felt like a breeze brushing against my arm,” Elara said.
“The station should be bug-free, so you didn’t expect a spider to be in your suit, which is why your brain interpreted the sensation of the crawling spider on your skin as a breeze—like a breeze brushing against your skin,” Martina explained.
What would happen if Taiwan agreed to rejoin mainland China but wanted 20 years of democratic self-rule like Hong Kong did?
The Constitution would have to be amended because as on date Taiwan is a province of China according to the Constitution
Not an Autonomous Region
So under the law – Taiwan cannot get the One Nation Two Government system of HK with their own Currency and Chief Executive
They can only become another Province with
- Provincial legislature
- Delegates appointed to the CPC
- There would be a Governor of Taiwan & Mayors of Taipei,Taichung, Tainan, Kaohsiung,Hsinchu, Keelung, Chiayi, Pingtung and other cities
However if Taiwan agrees to an eventual reunification under the One Nation Two Government rule, then Mainland China is likely to amend their Constitution and agree to the same
It is a peaceful solution to a problem and China would welcome any solution which solves their purpose
Texas-Style Beef Sausage Rolls with Jalapeño and Cheddar
Yield: 21 rolls
Ingredients
- 2 pounds ground beef
- 1 tablespoon olive oil
- 1 onion, finely diced
- 1/3 cup bread crumbs
- 4 jalapeño peppers, de-seeded and diced
- 6 ounces sharp or medium cheddar, finely diced
- 1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
- 1 1/2 teaspoons coarsely ground black pepper
- 3 (10 inch) sheets puff pastry, thawed
- 1 egg, beaten
Instructions
- Heat oven to 375 degrees F.
- Place olive oil in a small pan over medium heat. Add onions and brown for 10 to 15 minutes, stirring frequently. Allow the onions to cool.
- In a large bowl, combine beef, cooled onions, bread crumbs, jalapeños, cheese, salt and pepper. Mix gently but thoroughly as to not overwork the meat.
- Lay one square of pastry on a board or work surface. Use a third of the beef mixture to form a log down the center. Fold the pastry over the beef mixture on one side, then brush along the edge with egg mixture to create a “glue”. Continue to fold the roll over so it’s fully encased in pastry, and the edges line up on the egg glue line, then press the pastry lightly to ensure a good seal. Repeat steps with each pastry square.
- Flip each beef roll so it’s seam side down, then cut into 6 to 8 pieces. Place the pieces onto a sheet pan and bake for 30 to 35 minutes or until the pastry is golden brown. You may need to rotate the tray during baking to ensure even browning.
- Allow to cool slightly before serving.
Nutrition
Per serving (based on 90% lean ground beef): 250 Calories; 129 Calories from fat; 14.3g Total Fat (6.4g Saturated Fat; 2.7g Monounsaturated Fat); 35.4mg Cholesterol; 363.6mg Sodium; 15.4g Total Carbohydrate; 0.8g Dietary Fiber; 13.4g Protein; 2.04mg Iron; 117.2mg Potassium; 0.02mg Thiamin; 0.09mg Riboflavin; 3.1mg Niacin (NE); 0.1mg Vitamin B6; 0.9mcg Vitamin B12; 2.4mg Zinc; 9.2mcg Selenium; 28.5mg Choline
This recipe is an excellent source of Protein, Niacin (NE), Vitamin B12 and Zinc. It is a good source of Iron.
Attribution
Recipe and photo used with permission from: Texas Beef Team
Recipe courtesy of: Jess Pryles, jesspryles.com
Why don’t MAGA Americans try to save Tesla and Elon Musk by dumping their F-150s and Dodge Rams and replacing them with cybertrucks?
Okay, let’s start at the beginning.
It’s called a “Cybertruck”, but it’s a misnomer. The Cybertruck is no more a “truck” than a motorcycle sidecar is a “car”. It has virtually no storage space, limited weight capacity, and it’s not recommended for towing.
Now, a lot of people buy trucks and don’t use them for their intended purpose, which is “hauling stuff around”, but I’m sure a lot of MAGA actually are working people who use their trucks as vehicles for hauling and towing. A normal pickup truck can easily handle a payload of 1,000 pounds and tow a vehicle weighing more than 13,000 pounds.
And, in fact, if you look at people who engage in outdoor sports like biking, fishing, hunting and hiking, they universally go with two types of vehicles – pickup trucks and Honda Civics.
Cyclists love the Civic
And you can do pretty much anything you want with a pickup. They’re incredibly versatile.
And if you want an all electric pickup….
Ford makes a real one that’s a real F150 with an electric power plant.
And, frankly, a lot of farmers just love this puppy
This Chinese truck is actually just perfect for most farmers. It’s got a pretty good weight capacity, is easy to maintain, fairly reliable, can do towing, and doesn’t cost a lot. It’s also probably got more storage space than a Tesla.
Has being a polite customer in a stressful situation ever resulted in unexpectedly exceptional service or special treatment for you?
As I walk up to the gate desk, I can tell the agents are dealing with a lot. Their posture and the looks on their faces say almost as much as the conversation they are having about handling a delayed flight.
I wait quietly and patiently. When the agent nearest to where I stand says she would be with me as soon as she can, I smile and say “Thanks, I’m in no rush.”
When she calls me to the desk, I say with a smile, “I’m only here to tell you two things: first you are doing a great job. Second, if you need a volunteer, I’m willing to be bumped.”
The agent beams at me and then says, “Thank you for your kind words and for your offer. If we do need your seat, I’ll let you know.”
Nothing happens when boarding begins and I take my place on the plane. As I’m settling in, I hear my name.
I confirm being bumped and exit the plane. The agent thanks me and gives me a voucher for TWICE my fare because I have to stay overnight.
She also gives me a free room and food voucher, along with my ticket for the next morning’s flight. I sit down near the desk and call my husband to let him know that I won’t be home tonight.
Just as I am gathering my bags, I hear a commotion. A man who is yelling and swearing is being forcibly led out of the gate area.
The agent who gave me the voucher sees me and calls me back to the desk. My heart sinks as I think, “If only I had left right away, I could have kept all that extra flight money!” When I get there, she gives me a huge smile and says, “He was removed for being drunk and out of control – that means he forfeits his fare.
I’m reissuing your ticket for his seat, so you get to go home tonight after all. And I want you to keep the flight voucher for the inconvenience and especially because you were so nice.”
So gratifying -on so many levels!
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