We are just a group of retired spooks that discuss things that you’ll not find anywhere else. It makes us unique. Take a look around. Learn a thing or two.
When I was a boy going to work, the unique geography and the time had me walking against the wind on the way to work, and then on the way home, the wind direction would reverse, and yet again, I would be walking against the wind. It was like a scene from the Simpsons.
Then I went to Syracuse University. Certainly, the same conditions applied. Going to class, I had to walk uphill with the winds blowing down hill, making every step harder. And then again, going home, sure it was downhill… on ice. Now that was a real challenge. I’ll tell you what.
Then during the 1990’s, when I lived in Indiana, we had this weird weather inversion. Sure, there were many such events. Like an ICE STORM that lasted one night, but put the entire community of Kokomo under frozen glass for a month. But, you know, I well remember how every single weekend, from March to October it rained. Not one sunny day on the weekends. It got so bad that the television announcers were making running jokes about it, and employees started to take personal days off during the week. And yeah. You guessed it, HR had to write a memo discouraging people from that practice.
Weather.
I’ve lived though tornadoes. And ice storms. and North-Easters, and heat spells of drought. And everything in between. But even then… I have to tell youse guys; with each and every unique experience (which may or may not bring hardship) came a period of good memories. From warm fires at the fireplace, to fresh morning air in the Spring.
You cannot appreciate the good, until you experience the bad.
Today…
Kevin Samuels: She’s 40, Overweight & Wants a Man for “Adult Time” | Reality Hits FAST
What is the implication of Saudi Arabia refusing to renew the petrodollar agreement?
Look
This was going to happen anyway
This isn’t 1974 anymore
Today we have so many resilient emerging economies – China at the top , then even India with its 300+ Million potential customers , Brazil and even a handful of African countries
What has Saudi actually done?
Saudi has simply said they won’t price Oil exclusively in US Dollars anymore
They didn’t say they won’t accept US Dollars anymore. Just that they won’t price Oil in USD anymore.
This means Saudi will price their Oil in Riyals and each Country can pay for Oil the equivalent in their home currency based on the exchange rate between the Riyal and the home currency.
Later on if things proceed, Saudi may price their Oil in a new basket of Currencies based on the BRICS exchange system
Until a few days ago, Saudi priced it’s oil in Dollars and every nation paid based on the Dollar rate to it’s foreign currency
For instance – until 2023, Saudi sold Oil to China priced in Dollars per Barrel for which China paid in RMB based on the RMB to USD rate
Saudi imported Chinese Goods priced in RMB and paid in RMB based again on the RMB to USD rate
The Riyal was never used
Thus the Riyal to RMB rate doesn’t exist even if there is a massive volume of trade between Saudi and China
The Riyal to Rupee rate doesn’t exist even though there is a lot of trade between India and China
The Biggest drawback was that Saudi was forced to keep all it’s Assets in US Banks under US control where US could seize the money based on any random whim and lie and cheat the Saudis and steal their money
Now Saudi can keep RMB, Rubles, Reals, Rupee and other currencies and trade with each Country in their own currencies using Oil as a price mechanism
Its a new world and a new system of money
The World doesn’t trust the US anymore. That’s the greatest advantage
Debbie put her darling SUV, Miss Interceptor, on cruise control and held up her right hand. “We are exactly half way there …right… Now!”
Shewuma took her right foot off of the dashboard and turned in the passenger seat to pose a question. “Why do you always get to drive? Sometimes somebody else might want to.”
“A year, 1 month and 2 days ago, you didn’t even know how to drive,” Debbie answered flatly.
“Well I do now. So I ask again, why do you always get to drive?”
“Because it’s my truck.”
“Then next time we go on a trip, we’ll take my Trans Am and I’ll drive.”
“Good luck with that.” Said Jim from the bucket seat behind her. “I’ve been with her since we were kids and I’ve only driven once.”
“She let you drive. I’m surprised. What was the occasion?” David E. asked from the bucket seat next to him.
“When we went to the Desert to find the Crystal Skulls and kill Lucy Lange. I drove while she and Malachi did their hocus pocus.”
“Jim.” Shewuma looked around the seat at him. “Stay on point.” She narrowed her focus on Debbie. “I’m serious. I think we should vote or draw straws or something. It’s not fair that you just decide who drives. I normally put up with this Comista of Earth crap, but this is different…Well?”
“Life’s a bitch and then you die.” Debbie said with a hint of a smile.
Wu turned backwards in the seat on her knees looking between Jimmy and David E. for support.
Jimmy was no help saying, “I’m like Bennet, I ain’t in it. She’s supposed to be Mankind’s new destiny? Let her drive.” David E. just shrugged.
“Destiny my ass,” mumbled Shewuma as she sat back down and planted her foot back up on the dashboard.
Debbie glanced over at the short dress riding up, exposing Wu’s panties and commented, “As much as I enjoy the view, decorum Wu.”
“If you get to drive, then I get to flash.”
Jimmy leaned up looking over the seat. “Hey Wu. Put in the Veronica Swift CD.”
“We don’t have a Veronica Swift CD,” said Debbie.
Jim countered, “Yes we do. I got it last month.”
“How? I would know.”
“Surprise Debs. I actually went to a store and bought it in person with money. What do you have against her singing? Did you know she has perfect pitch and plays the trumpet?”
“Yes I do know. Her singing is fine. I don’t care for her outfits and flaunting on stage.”
“Wait a minute. Look at how Elvira dresses and acts on stage and you love her. Reconcile that. I think your being a little too Comista of Earth here, with some I’m all that thrown in.”
Wu added, “See? That’s what I’ve been saying.” Jimmy, Wu and David E. all waited for the avalanche of redress that was sure to follow.
Debbie pondered for a few seconds and surprised them with, “I see your point. Play it Wu. I’ll give her another shot.”
Jimmy was a bit shocked. “I won an argument with you?”
Wu said, “She let you win. She’s being nice because she feels guilty about not letting me drive.”
“Not Hardly.” Debbie answered. “I think your cranky because your horny. Jimmy and I will take care of that when we get to the Reservation.”
Wu purred, “You have my attention. Tell me more.”
“Whoa, whoa!” exclaimed David E. “I’m too old and too straight to be hearing about you three and your kinky sex life.”
Jimmy chimed in. “It’s not kinky. Were married.”
“And three people married is whole other legal issue.”
“You said hole,” Debbie pointed out.
Jimmy and Wu laughed while, hoping to move on, David E. made a suggestion. “Let’s play the game and I have the first one.”
Jimmy and Debbie were in. Wu reluctantly said, “Okay, I guess. But this driving thing isn’t over by a long shot, Debbie.”
“Here’s my question. If you could have lunch with anyone from history, who would it be? Debbie, would you like to go first since you’re the driver?”
“Ha, ha. Funny David E.” said Wu. “But I already know she’ll say Jesus Christ.”
To Jimmy’s surprise as well, Debbie responded, “Actually no. Enoch had dinner with Jesus many times. His memories I carry are just like being there with Jesus myself.”
“What was he like?” asked Jimmy.
“Probably not what you would expect from reading the Bible. He was quite charming and funny.”
Anxious to say her pick, Wu pressed, “Well who then Dibs?”
“Grimsanchis,” Debbie said to no reactions. “You know, the Erran that invented the code to organically program the Quartz Crystal Computers.”
Wu snorted “You’ve become such a nerd Dibs.”
“An extremely hot nerd,” added Jimmy.
“Touché.” Agreed Wu. “So my guy is Genghis Khan.”
“He was kind of a bad guy wasn’t he? He killed millions of people.” David E. argued.
“I don’t think bad is the word?” said Wu. “He was ruthless in warfare, especially if you crossed him, and he was a gifted military innovator. No surprise those traits racked up an unprecedented body count. But to those loyal to him, he was quite generous.”
Debbie added, “He created trade routes between Europe and Asia and established a codified legal system throughout his empire for which he never gets any credit.”
“He also took care of the families of his men that fell in battle.” Said Jimmy.
“See?” Said Wu.
“I’ll have to do some reading on him,” said David E. “My pick is Ben Franklin. Scientist, inventor, writer, politician, businessman. He drafted the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence and is the only Founding Father to sign all three documents that freed America from Britain.”
Debbie stated further, “Most people don’t know that Ben Franklin became an outspoken abolitionist later in life and freed his own slaves. He needed Keto though. In pictures he looks like a heart attack waiting to happen. Who’s your pick Jimsy, like I don’t know.”
“Vanessa Williams.”
“And I was right.” Said Debbie.
Shewuma groaned, “Come on Jim.”
David E. intervened. “Hey girls, Vanessa Williams is quite an accomplished business woman, singer, actor, first Black Miss America.”
“He was a kid when she won and then turned up naked in a magazine. He’s been obsessed with her ever since.” Debbie replied.
“I’m not obsessed with her. Why do you always say that?”
“How many posters do you own?”
“Two.”
“What are they?”
“I have a poster of all the major guitar chords and their variations.”
“Come on. What’s the other one?”
Defiantly he said, “Vanessa Williams.”
Wu laughed. “Yes, you are most certainly obsessed. Pick someone else Jim.” He seemed annoyed. “For me and Debbie. Okay?”
“Then I pick Joan of Arc.”
“His other obsession.” Said Debbie.
“At least I picked someone we’ve heard of and not some obscure alien flunky.”
“What the hell did you call him?”
“Alright, alright,” Interrupted Wu. “Let’s change the game. Your favorite joke. David E. you go.”
David E. thought for a moment. “You guys won’t like it. It’s a Catholic thing.” They all insisted he tell it. “Okay. A Catholic Priest was giving a group tour of the Vatican’s lower vaults. The people were astounded as he pointed out row after row of priceless relics, artifacts, and treasures. One man presented a question: So much was just being stored away, why doesn’t the Church sell a tiny portion and use the proceeds to help the needy? In disbelief the Priest answered dismissively, Fuck you!”
Jimmy and Wu were floored. Wu shook her head while Jimmy said, “Damn David E.”
“I told you. You have to be Catholic to appreciate it.” Then Debbie burst out laughing and he added, “Or have Alien DNA apparently. Here’s another one. In school, the Nun asks her class what they want to be when they grow up. Little Mary replies, A prostitute. A what? Demands the Nun, making the sign of the Cross. A prostitute, repeats Mary. Thank god. I thought you said Protestant.”
Jimmy said, “I didn’t know you were Catholic. We’ll talk about that later. Wu, you go before we get struck by lightning.”
“I’m doing two Knock-knock jokes. Knock-knock?” (“Who’s there?” asked David E.) “WAH” (“Wahoo?”) “YIPPIE! I made that up myself.” To mixed reactions she told the next one. “I need to set this up first. It always makes me laugh out loud. In a movie, Tom Hanks is playing this real serious, sour-puss kind of guy. His partners are ragging on him because he never laughs or tells jokes. He says, you want to hear a joke? I got one for you. Knock-knock. (“Who’s there”) “Go fuck yourself.” Wu laughed so hard she barely got the words out.
Everyone else was more amused by her laughing than the joke itself. Jimmy said, “Time for a real joke. A Trucker in a semi sees someone in distress and pulls off the road. The man is naked and hog tied on his knees all bent over. What happened to you, asked the trucker? A car ran me off the road. Two men dragged me back in the woods, took my money and clothes, beat me and left me like this. I’ve spent the last 2 hours crawling out here using my knees and forehead.” The trucker pulled down his zipper and said, “Buddy, this just ain’t your day.”
They couldn’t help laughing. Debbie and Wu looked at each other and said in unison, “Not rude, not crude, just nasty.”
“Debbie, you’re up.” Said Jim.
“I have two. A photon walks into a hotel. The desk clerk says, do you need help with your luggage? The photon says, No thanks, I’m traveling light.” They all chuckled as she went into the next one. “A neutron walks into a bar and asks, How much for a beer? The bartender says, For you, no charge.”
Jimmy and David E. laughed, but Shewuma said, “Don’t you have a joke that’s not nerdy?”
“Sure Wu. A Buddhist walks up to a hot dog vendor and says, Make me one with everything.”
Wu laughed, but David E. looked stumped. “I don’t get it.”
“Think about it David E.,” said Debbie.
Jimmy said, “What’s your favorite song Debs?”
Debbie responded, “I’m torn between, Led Zeppelin, Ramble On and The Immigrant Song ?”
“I’m not surprised, you and your Classic Rock. But you have to pick one.”
“No I don’t.”
“No she doesn’t,” echoed Wu.
“Alright then. The Comista of Earth has spoken. How about yours David E.? I’m guessing a little Frank.” Asked Jimmy.
Without hesitation David E. picked, “The Waters of March by Eliane Elias.”
“Ahh. Eliane Elias. I should have known.”
Debbie went to Wu. “What yours Sweety?”
“I have a tie. Two By Ella Fitzgerald. Love for Sale and Miss Otis Regrets.”
“Another double. Jim your next. And I think I know what it is,” Said Debbie.
“Allman Brothers, In Memory of Elizabeth Reed.”
Wu piped up, “That doesn’t have any lyrics. How can your favorite song not have lyrics?”
“Are you kidding. Your two songs are about a hooker and a woman who murders her husband.”
David E. began to laugh out loud. “What the hell is so funny about my song picks, David E.?”
“No, I just got Debbie’s joke about the Buddhist.”
Leaning over the front seat, Wu went into full tickle mode on Jimmy’s ribs. Trying to fend her off, he turned to face David E. and could barely get out the words, “Explain it to me David E.”
The road had opened up so Debbie down shifted and punched it, throwing Wu over and into Jimmy’s lap. Jimmy and Shewuma’s tickle fest was interrupted by the intensity of Debbie’s voice. “Guys. I think we have trouble. All 4 peered through the windshield at the northern sky as a dot heading toward them grew larger.
“It’s just a chopper Debs.” Said Jimmy.
Shewuma went for her bow and quiver. “What’s up Dibs? Trouble?”
Debbie pulled the van over. “They’re hailing me on an emergency government frequency. I’m checking their computer. No missiles are armed.”
Wu opened the side door and jumped out nocking an arrow. Jimmy followed her saying, “There are two in the front. I don’t see anyone manning the 50 cal.” Then put one in the chamber of his .45.
Debbie came around the front of the truck. “Guys. They’re from the USSF. Here to see David E.” The three stood protectively in front of David E. as the passing traffic slowed down to ogle the odd scene of a chopper landing in a whirlwind next to the freeway.
Two Black-Ops soldiers approached them warily, hands on their holstered weapons. “Were here to see the Command Sergeant Major.” He held out a piece of folded paper. David E. went for it but Jimmy’s hand to his chest stopped him.
“I’ll take that,” said Debbie. She read the hand written note and handed it to David E. Telepathically she said to all three. “This seems on the up-and-up. It’s a message from Wisty. But stay frosty. I don’t trust them or her.”
Wu responded silently, “You getting any bad vibes?”
“No. Nothing.”
“I got this,” said Jim. With blurred precision he immobilized the pilot with a full nelson. The partner was pulling his pistol when Debbie put him down with a purposely gentle but effective spinning kick to the head. She took his gun and put one foot on the back of his neck telling him, “Now you be still.”
Jimmy tightened up, eliciting a groan from his captive. “I’m going to ask you a question and this beautiful young lady is an empath. If you lie, she will know. Understand?” The man nodded yes frantically. Wu touched his neck while Jimmy asked, “What’s your mission here?”
“We were to deliver this message to David E. Major and bring him back to the Cave if he were amenable.”
“The Cave?” Jim asked.
David E. explained. “It’s what we call the underground facility outside of Philly.”
“What’s the word Wu?”
“He’s not lying Jim. And he’s scared shitless.”
Debbie backed up and the soldier got up gingerly. Jimmy released his man and disarmed him as he pushed him away. They both unloaded the service revolvers and returned them. “What’s the note say David E.?”
“Wisty. She says she may lose the baby. Wants me to come right away. I need to go. What do you guys think?”
Jim said, “You got to go man.”
“Bullshit!” Interrupted Wu. “This stinks to high heaven. You can’t trust her and we don’t even know if it’s her note.”
He looked at Debbie. “David E., you have to do what you feel is right. That is her handwriting.”
“Yeah,” David E. whispered pensively. Then repeated, “Yeah, it’s hers.” What else could he do? “I’m going.” Wu reacted heavily. “I have no choice Wu.”
Debbie told him telepathically, “I’m going to stay locked on to you for a while. Anything smells fishy, just holler and we’ll come running.”
“Thanks Deb.” He kissed her cheek and gave a reassuring hug to Shewuma.
Shewuma pointed her finger at the soldiers and spoke harshly. “Anything happens to this man and I will hunt you two down. Understand?”
“Yes Ma’am,” they both answered.
From the back of the chopper, David E. watched as his three companions grew smaller and then disappeared in the distance. The copilot answered his headset. “10-4. We have The Command Sergeant Major and we’re enroute.” After a pause he said. “Repeat that?… Copy.” David E. saw the man turning in his seat and heard the words, “Sorry buddy,” before blacking out.
Project Ancient Arrow | The NSA’s Secret War Against Our Future
What went wrong with RadioShack?
I am what I am because of Radio Shack! From a very your age I have been an electronics guy. I used Radio Shack parts over and over to fix anything and everything. Resistors, Capacitors, Transistors, you name it and Radio Shack sold those parts at one time. I have probably fixed tens of thousands of items. My record 17 TVs in 24 hours.
At age 10, I was the envy of my neighborhood because of my stereo equipment. Being the dumpster diver I still am. I pulled a complete system form a dumpster in Memphis Tennessee. That at that time was worth over a $1000.00 The speakers were blown, and the Amplifier shorted. Being a Navy Brat gave me access to the Millington Naval Air Station Hobby shop, but they didn’t carry the parts that a Radio Shack did. But they did have patrons that knew things I didn’t. I was taught how to recone Those expensive speakers. I had to count those turns of coated copper wire. Glue the cone back into the steel frames, and resolder the ends of the cooper to the terminals.
I credit my father for teaching me how to read a multimeter. His Military rate no longer exist in the US. Navy, he was a Tradesman with over 25 years when he retired. I surpassed him at age 15. And he admitted it. After he discovered the FM BUG my brother and I hide in my parents bedroom.
But I know what killed Radio Shack and what cause it’s slow death. Integrated Circuits. At Radio Shack you could buy a Transistors as an example a 2N3055. Pretty basic transistor. Now imagine 1000 of those miniaturized onto a single sheet. Today’s modern technology exists because of this.
The first thing I noticed that was Radio Shacks mistake was having employees that knew nothing about electronics, but they could sell you a battery. This was around the 1980s. By 2000 it became harder and harder to buy the components and fix electronics. The rules/ laws of electronics has never changed!
Yet even now using a microscope I can change a transistor the size of flea on a washing machine circuit board. I make money daily repairing things that others don’t. It is the core of my business ,this knowledge. Now 99% of my parts are from Ebay, or Amazon. But I have my collection of circuit boards that I reuse parts from. In electronics sometimes there are known common failures in manufactured items. I exploit those with my knowledge of electronics and fix those mistakes so they don’t happen again. And I make a good living doing it. Example a 1/4 watt resistor installed where a 1/2 watt should be there. There are 2 or 3 popular refrigerator brands that have these failures. Is it planned that they fail just outside of warranty? Maybe!
How much garbage is there in the landfills because of lack of knowledge by consumers. A common failure of something as simple as a Walmart coffee maker. A 12 cent part that makes them work for another 5 years? A thermistor. Yes a heat sensitive fuse. 4 screws and even without soldering skills you cut out the old one and crimp in a new one. And yes Radio Shack at one time sold this part.
In reality what killed Radio Shack was a combination of factors. Mindless consumerism. Lack of Knowledge, and ICs. So many things stacked against them! I tried my best in 2010 to help the owner of a local Radio Shack. I told him I could increase his business if he would hire me. Because he had a young man that could sell ice to eskimos. Along with that and my knowledge we could educate some to repair their items. But he didn’t listen. I said all he had to do was sell back lights for every brand of TV sold at the local Walmart and he would have a line of customers. He laughed. But before his death from COVID in 2021 he called me and said he was mistaken. When that Radio Shack was closed everything in it was sold, and I got my share, and make money from those parts. Down to the lowliest FUSE even today.
I will probably continue repairing things until my death. Simply because every repair I do is a challenge. Can I Make it Work Again!
Why do people say the Irish Potato Famine was more of a man-made disaster than just a crop failure?
Because it was “men” who stopped the successful Quaker soup kitchens that previously fed millions without “conditions”.
Because it was “men” who decided that if Catholics wanted to live, they had to first renounce their faith and convert. Men who devised and ran the “Take the Soup” campaign, using hunger as a tool.
Because it was “men” who decided that those trying to support their family shouldn’t be helped in any way, instead, they needed to work physically harder for meagre rations, building walls and roads to nowhere that serve no purpose, or erecting a folly for people with more money than humanity.
Because it was “men” who set up the workhouses, which were described as “the most feared and hated institution ever established in Ireland” and yet so often used in desperation.
Because it was “men” who controlled famine policy in Ireland.
Because it was a “man” who told the British public that Irish people could survive the famine by eating grass.
Because it was “men” who took the plentiful food away and shipped it to Britain.
Because it was a “man” who decided to replace the edible exported crops with cheap imported Indian corn that needed to be ground first into meal to make it edible, and the mills in Ireland were not equipped for the task.
Do you need me to give you a full breakdown of the history of the Irish famine? Or is it sufficient to say, whilst blight caused the crop failure, aside from that, it was “man-made”. It was men who created all the death and destruction. From the need to survive on potatoes, the man who transported potatoes to Ireland, even the person who transported the blight to Europe, ultimately, it was men who made a bad situation far worse in Ireland. So the Irish Famine was very much “man-made” and that should never be forgotten.
Is it true that China is subsidising its industry? How can it still be profitable? Why should consumers, who benefit, get upset?
Okay, so why’s everyone mad about China giving subsidies to its industries when places like the States, Germany, Japan, and South Korea do it too?
It’s all about why they’re doing it and how it messes with the game
—
What’s the deal with subsidies?
US, Germany, Japan, South Korea: They once threw money at companies like Ford, Volkswagen, or shipbuilders to create jobs, boost the economy, and maybe sneak in some perks—like cushy jobs for some politician’s clueless nephew or campaign cash for lawmakers (or downright bribes)
China: Sure, they want jobs and growth too, but they also use subsidies to sell stuff super cheap and still make a profit. It’s like a trick called price gouging. Their products—often top-notch these days—hit the market so cheap that they crush everyone else.
This cheap pricing feels unfair.
Picture you own a hair salon, paying big bucks for rent, so you charge 50 dollars a haircut.
Then, the guy next door gets his premises, rent free from his uncle who owns the mall and charges 30 dollars for the same haircut while still making money.
You’re toast!
That’s why groups like unions or trade associations set minimum prices—so everyone competes on quality, not just who can charge less
—
Europe’s beef:
Europe’s like, “China, subsidize your electric cars all you want, but don’t sell them dirt cheap to kill our market. Charge a fair price!”
They don’t care if Chinese companies rake in profits—they just want a level playing field where it’s about who makes the best car.
Chinese EVs are as good as fancy Volkswagens but priced like basic Toyotas, and in capitalism, that’s seen as cheating
China’s side:
China’s like, “We gotta do this!”
They’re the new kids in a market ruled by Europe and the States, so they use low prices to get noticed.
They also point out Japan did the same thing with cars and electronics back in the ‘70s and ‘80s.
Plus, they think Europe’s just salty because Chinese EVs are awesome and got a head start
If China was selling their godawful ICE cars with copied designs at even a 80% discount, Europe wouldn’t blink.
So, China says cheap prices are how they win and keep markets
—
My ten cents:
I get why China’s doing it, and honestly, I’m kinda on their side here.
Cheap EVs mean regular people can afford cars—paying six months’ salary instead of two years’.
That’s more like socialism, putting people over big business profits or political games.
I’m cool with that, even if it shakes up the “fair” capitalist rulebook
What has Dolly Parton said about the Whitney Houston version of “I Will Always Love You” as she wrote it and recorded it first?
Dolly Parton said the following in an interview a few years ago about how she feels about Whitney Houston’s version of the song, and specifically about the first time that she heard it:
“They needed a song for ‘The Bodyguard’ and thought my song would be good for it. So they asked me about it and I sent it. And then I forgot about it.
“Then I was driving home in Nashville and I heard it on the radio. It rang a bell but it didn’t hit right away because she was kind of talking it.Then all of a sudden it went into the “I will always love you” part and I had to pull off to the side of the road to listen to it. Seriously.
It was one of the most overwhelming feelings that I have ever had. To hear it done so well, so beautifully, so big… I had no idea that I could write a song that could be so important. And I didn’t; I think she just took it and made it so much more than it ever would have been. I don’t think I’ll ever have such a thrill and a joy as a songwriter. I don’t think I’ll have a bigger thrill… ever.”
I do feel that Dolly was selling herself short as many people felt her version was great and important. But she obviously is sincerely a huge fan of Whitney’s cover.
Dolly has also used much of the profits from Whitney’s version to build and maintain an office complex in a predominantly black neighborhood in Nashville. She calls it “The House that Whitney Built.”
So she has thought very highly of the version since she first heard it and it has helped improve a neighborhood in Whitney’s honor.
This is a photo of Dolly presenting Whitney with a Grammy for “Best Female Pop Vocal Performance” for the song in 1994.
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Pretty cool cats.
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Chicken, Broccoli and Mushroom Pie
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Yield: 6 to 8 servings
Ingredients
Cheese Crust
1 cup lightly packed shredded sharp Cheddar cheese
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon dry mustard
1/4 cup butter, melted
Filling
1 (6 ounce) boneless skinless chicken breast
Salt
Ground black pepper
1 tablespoon butter
1 medium onion, chopped (1/2 cup)
1/4 pound fresh mushrooms, sliced (about 1 cup)
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 cup whipping cream
Pinch ground nutmeg
2 cups chopped, cooked broccoli
3 eggs, lightly beaten
1/4 cup freshly grated Romano cheese
1 cup lightly packed shredded Swiss cheese (4 ounces)
Instructions
Cheese Crust
Using pastry blender, combine cheese, flour, salt, dry mustard and melted butter. Press dough evenly into bottom and up sides of a 10 inch pie plate.
Filling
Sprinkle chicken breast lightly with salt and pepper.
Bake in a 375 degrees F oven for 25 minutes or until done.
Allow to cool.
Cut into cubes; set aside. (You should have about 1 1/4 cups cubed chicken.)
Melt butter in a skillet. Over medium heat, sauté onion and mushrooms in butter for 2 to 3 minutes, or until tender.
Stir in flour. Add cream, 1 teaspoon salt, nutmeg and 1/2 teaspoon black pepper. Simmer for 1 minute. (Mixture doesn’t thicken.)
Add broccoli, eggs and chicken cubes; blend well.
Stir in Romano cheese. Set aside.
Line crust with shredded Swiss cheese.
Pour broccoli-chicken mixture into cheese lined crust.
Bake at 400 degrees F for 15 minutes.
Reduce oven temperature to 375 degrees F; bake for 20 minutes or until set.
A Dog’s Purpose (2017) – Bailey Comes Home Scene (10/10) | Movieclips
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Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Cluck of the Irish
Ah, dear reader, prepare for a tale of emerald deception, poultry pageantry, and the most legally dubious St. Patrick’s Day celebration ever to ruffle feathers on the farm. Today’s adventure stars The Valley Chicks, whose “Lucky Cluck” festival becomes a masterclass in questionable luck and unquestionable grift. So grab your shillelagh (or a reasonable stick substitute), and join us for The Cluck of the Irish—where gold is corn, taxes are fake, and the only thing green is the farmer’s envy.
Act 1: The Festival of False Fortune
The Valley Chicks—Tiffany, Brittany, and Madison—had big plans.
Tiffany:“Like, obvi we’re basically Irish. We love rainbows, and clover is totally a vibe.”
Brittany:“Our pot of gold is gonna be so Insta-famous!” (It was popcorn dyed with turmeric.)
Madison:“Hashtag Cluckin’ Lucky!”
Their festival featured:
A “Kiss the Rooster” booth (Elvis wore green sequins and charged three corn kernels per smooch).
A “Pin the Tail on the Leprechaun” game (the “leprechaun” was Gnomeo in a hat).
Lucifer the Chipmunk, who set up a “Lucky Licensing Office” and demanded “leprechaun taxes” from all attendees.
Lucifer:“This immortal requires tribute! Also, have you heard about our lord and savior tax evasion?”
Act 2: The Scam of the Century
Lucifer’s “taxes” included:
10% of all egg profits (Doris nearly fainted).
One “lucky” acorn per animal (Rufus ate his and demanded a refund).
Exclusive rights to rainbows (Bessie protested: “That’s, like, nature, man!”).
Meanwhile, the “pot of gold” was stolen by Mr. Ducky, who sold it back to the chicks as “Authentic Leprechaun Corn™.”
Mr. Ducky:“Limited-time offer! Also, it’s definitely not yours.”
Act 3: The Luck of the Farmer
Just as the festival descended into anarchy over imaginary taxes, the Farmer—utterly oblivious—wandered by holding a real four-leaf clover.
The Farmer:“Huh. Would ya look at that.”
Tiffany:[Gasping]“OMG, we manifested that! We’re the lucky charms!”
Sir Whiskerton:“No, Tiffany. That’s called grass. Sometimes it mutates.”
Lucifer, sensing his scheme collapsing, declared the clover “holy” and tried to charge admission to see it.
Lucifer:“For five kernels, you may bask in its glory!”
Porkchop:[Eating the clover]“Tastes like… justice.”
The Moral (and the Post-Credit Shenanigans)
Moral:Luck is great… but a good lawyer is better. (Or at least a pig who eats evidence.)
Post-Credit Scene:
The Valley Chicks sue Lucifer in “Farm Court” (judged by Sir Whiskerton). The verdict? “Everyone’s guilty, especially the duck.”
Character Chaos: Mr. Ducky’s grifts, Porkchop’s snack-based justice.
Happy Ending: The farmer’s clover proves real luck needs no hashtags.
Now, go forth—and may your luck be less litigious. 🍀🐔💰
Deep Dish Hamburger Pie
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Ingredients
1 pound ground beef
1 can green beans
Salt and pepper to taste
Ketchup
2 cups mashed potatoes
1 cup shredded Cheddar cheese
Instructions
Brown the meat and add your seasonings.
Stir in enough ketchup to suit your taste.
Add green beans and stir in well.
Place this mixture in a casserole dish and top with the mashed taters and then top that with the cheese.
Bake at 350 degrees F until heated through and cheese is browned.
What is the biggest modern medical scam? What is the biggest medical scam throughout history?
Hands down, the one perpetrated by this woman, and her company, Theranos:
She had a multi-billion (I’d hazard trillion, at its end-state) dollar asset.
A medical diagnostics system termed Edison that could give you a complete array of findings from a single drop of blood, not that much greater than what a diabetic would use to test their glucose levels on a day-to-day basis.
As someone working in medicine, the implications of such a tool floored me (and evidently, many others) at the time that one Elizabeth Holmes came out with this news.
Normally, the tests that Holmes’ device could do easily required large quantities of a patient’s blood, were more invasive, and according to her, less accurate than her tech.
Doctors and nurses everywhere would be saved inordinate amounts of time, and patients would have to fear the needle far less.
To put it in perspective:
Astounding, to say the least.
Investors piled on in the droves, and Holmes’ net worth soared to a total of 4.5 billion US dollars at its peak. The company itself had a total valuation of 10 billion, with annual revenues in the hundreds of millions.
Her exec consisted of an odd patchwork of previous US senators, ex-Navy Admirals, CEOs, and even James Mattis. Calling it a high-ranking spread would be an understatement.
Walgreens even set up Theranos “wellness clinics” in anticipation of the utterly revolutionary product.
Holmes was the next Steve Jobs/Bill Gates/whoever the hell has ever been successful to such an astounding degree. It is likely she would have even made them seem like antiquated relics in the world of big tech, which is just astonishing when you think about it.
To boot, she was a female trailblazer in an area of business dominated by men, so there was a fair bit of political push behind her as well.
But, of course, it was all a lie.
The tech never, ever, ever existed.
Elaborate techy looking set-ups were put in place at their swanky headquarters and labs, employees were compartmentalized in their jobs such that no one could identify the blatant lack of a product, and test results were fudged to keep investors on the hooks.
It looks somewhat technically capable at a first glance:
But she didn’t get away with it forever.
The machines began failing regulatory inspections, employees were sequentially laid off, and the litigation began to ensue.
In waaaaaaves.
As of October 2019, Holmes faces 20 years in prison, without any current legal representation. She hadn’t been paying her legal team for over a year.
If a historical Chinese person were to time travel to the present day, would he be able to understand modern Mandarin?
It depends on the period.
During the Ming Dynasty (around 600 years ago), verbal communication wasn’t a big problem. In the Song and Tang Dynasties (1000 to 1500 years ago), it varied by region—dialectal communication might have been relatively easy in some areas, but speaking in what we now call Mandarin would have been difficult.
However, as long as it’s not earlier than 2000 years ago, communication wouldn’t be a major issue, because writing could always be used instead.
The image above shows the inscription “People’s Bank of China” on modern Chinese currency.
(Any Chinese person who has attended elementary school can understand both)
The calligraphy style used for that inscription comes from the Stele of Zhang He-Ru (张黑女碑)—note that “黑女” is not read as Hei Nv, but rather He Ru.
Any earlier would be very difficult. Beyond 2,500 years ago, I think an ordinary person like me would already be out of their depth.
As for texts from 3,000 years ago, hardly anyone in China today can even understand the writing from that time.
Are you happy that the Big Beautiful Bill has passed?
This image of congressman Jimmy Gomez after the House vote on the Big Ugly Bill perfectly sums feelings of many U.S. citizens who actually know what’s in the Bill.
While MAGA Republicans are certainly happy that they managed to deliver the Bill to Trump, for his July 4 triumphant signing.
Republicans are celebrating the passage of the largest Medicaid cut in U.S. history to pay for the largest tax break for billionaires in American history.
Meanwhile, economists warn of the long-term consequences of increasing the U.S. debt.
And while experts talk about the impact of the bill on the U.S. economy, there are also social consequences: Project 2025 is now in full effect.
It’s official.
The U.S. is the only developed nation without universal healthcare — and now they did something no developed nation has ever done before: moved further away from universal coverage.
Once Trump signs the “Big Ugly Bill” — which he intends to do on July 4th — immigration enforcement becomes a militarized purge machine, funded at $170B.
The U.S. will be spending more to chase immigrants than most nations spend defending their entire country.
But there will be huge tax cuts for billionaires. Help the greedy and screw the needy.
Will the Dalai Lama’s succession plans clash with China?
There are 3 million people in Tibet, China, and about 1 million Tibetan Buddhists, who are not influenced by the 14th Dalai Lama.
In addition, as young Tibetans become more educated, they no longer believe in any religion. Lhasa has been integrated with the international community.
Tibetan young people, like young people all over the world, like to play mobile games, drink, sing karaoke, dance hip-hop, buy trendy gadgets, and watch pornographic movies with VPN (but not drugs).
They are no different from the fashionable young people in New York, Tokyo, and Shanghai. Just as fewer young people in the Western World go to church, Tibetan Buddhism is losing its appeal to young Tibetans.
In 1956, there were about 80,000 to 100,000 Tibetan Buddhists who followed the 14th Dalai Lama to India. Today, most of them have left, leaving only a few thousand.
It is impossible to promote Tibetan Buddhism in India with only these few thousand people. Moreover, India is a extremely Hindu nationalist country and will not allow Tibetan Buddhism to spread in India. In addition, because Tibetans look the same as Chinese, Indians have racial discrimination against people from northeastern states, including Tibetans.
The so-called Dalai Lama succession plan is nothing more than choosing a new leader for these thousands of people. People living in Tibet will not recognize the successor chosen by the 14th Dalai Lama.
However, it is impossible for a newcomer to lead tens of thousands of exiles. Most of the temples in Dharamsala are deserted, but there are signs of a Hindu revival. The followers of the 14th Dalai Lama will leave the hilltop town of Dharamsala after his death because few are willing to continue living a repressive life there.
Therefore, no matter what the 14th Dalai Lama does, it will not have any impact on China. It is just a small wave in the long river of time and cannot cause any waves at all.
How is it possible that while Russia and China are barely able to create 5th generation fighter jets, the USA is already in the beginning stages of building 7th generation fighters?
Well now, let us put it in plain words – and in new words.
The fighter jets began out simple flying machines: metal bodies with a spinning propellor coupled with a gun attached. Then the jet engines came and it was not just airplanes anymore because now there were people in missiles. The major transitions were all referred to as a new generation. Quicker, more brutal, more Greater. Such legends as F-4 Phantom and MiG-21 dominated the sky during their epoch.
Then the game turned with a stealth. It ceased going to the speed side of things and became who was able to hide. The US dumped massive heaps of finances on it and created the F-22 and F-35 planes, which were so surreptitious that they could engage the strike and nobody in the world even noticed that they appeared there.
Russia developed Su-57, however, the question is how many of them? Too pricey. China, however, managed to stage a surprise act with the J-20 getting a real 5th-gen jet flying much faster than most observers anticipated, as well.
It is now rattling on about 6th-gen. It is no longer the case of a single hero jet. Imagine convoys of warrior jets and drones all connected observing and attacking in unity. It is not speed that would save you but having a sense of being plugged into the team.
This is what is going to happen. And it is not far off.
What are some things that most people get wrong about Russia?
Many believe that Napoleon and Hitler’s invasions of Russia failed solely due to the harsh winters. While winter played a part, their downfall was more complex.(Read Full)
THIS IS HOW RUSSIANS MASSACRE PIRATES AT SEA (REAL FOOTAGE)
For the record, I have no idea where this story will lead. Let’s just say that my original assumption was totally off the mark. I did not think this could ever happen in my lifetime. Now that it has happened I am not sure if I would change anything if I could. I met the fellow on a street corner and took him home. It was not unusual for me to do this. I have rescued lots of fellows along the way. This particular gentleman was fairly decent and open to all my suggestions. Had I known now that it was not to be I probably still would have brought him home. I fixed a bed for him and fed him before turning in myself. He was amiable to sleeping in the living room with the television on and snacks laid out.The next morning I wake up, forgetting that I have a houseguest and proceed to my bathroom to shower and shave and get ready for work. The door was closed when I got there and I remembered the fellow that I had picked up the night before. I went to the living room and straightened up the room. I turned the television off and went into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. I made my new friend some food and sat down and waited for the fellow to finish in the bathroom.Twenty minutes pass and I am getting anxious to get my hygiene completed before I leave for work. Then I remember the door to the bathroom sometimes sticks. I knock on the door and announce that I need to come in and push hard on the door. Yes, my new houseguest had locked himself in the bathroom and promptly vacated the room when I opened the door. I said a hurried, ‘Thanks’ and proceeded to take my shower and shave my stubble.I return to my bedroom and get my work clothes on and I go back into the kitchen. I grab the coffee pot and fill up my thermos and head out the door. My houseguest never looks up from the breakfast he is munching on as I slip out the door.My daily commute is an hour long and I have a time to contemplate what could be transpiring in my small abode while I am away at work. My nerves are tingling and I am regretting leaving the poor fellow alone. I swallow bile that is creeping up from my stomach and search for my heartburn tablets. I toss one in my mouth and wash it down with my coffee, scalding my tongue.At work, I sit at my desk and try to concentrate and focus my mind on my work. I have a project due that cannot be delayed any longer and my boss has been checking on my progress every thirty minutes. Finally, I am finished and hand the document over for her to approve. I close up my computer and head back home with a feeling of dread.I pull into the driveway and see my houseguest looking out the window and suddenly disappearing into the interior of the house. I hurry to get my things and head into the house. He flies out of the house when I open the door and vanishes around the corner of the house. I quickly put my things down on a table inside the door and go to find him.He is in the backyard staring at the neighbors house. He sheepishly follows me back into the house. I look in horror at the destruction of my once serene home. I grab the broom and dustpan and a trash bag and start cleaning up the mess. He watches me and cowers on the couch. I point to the door and scream, “OUT!” He gets up and I hold the door open. He walks to the door with his head drooped to his chest. Before he walks out the door, he takes one last look at me. I don’t have the heart and I close the door before he can leave. He turns and walks back into the house and with joy in his stride, he does a little dance.
I finish cleaning up the living room and I straighten up the kitchen and fix dinner. I am halfway through the dinner when I hear the most awful noise outside. My guest runs to the window and gestures for me to come over and see. I walk over and pull the curtains back. I see my neighbor dragging something heavy across his backyard. He tosses it into a large hole that he had obvious dug during the day. He covers the something up and goes back in the house. My neighbor has always buried trash in his backyard so I tell my houseguest that it is nothing new and not to worry about the neighbor’s strange habits. I live in a rural section and we do not have trash pick up in our area. So you either haul it to a dumpster, burn it, or bury it. He takes my word for it and heads back to the kitchen while I continue to prepare our meal.
I wake up the next morning and get out of the house on time. I had fixed the bathroom door the night before, so that the latch would not catch and trap my new houseguest. I go to work and cannot get the neighbor’s actions off of my mind. I am distracted all day. I finally tell my boss that I have to leave. I rush to my car and head straight home.
The house looks the same as always and I don’t see my fellow looking out the window when I arrive. I open the door and he plows past me, heading to the backyard. When I find him he is in the neighbor’s yard furiously digging. To my horror, a hand appears in the dirt and my new friend looks up at me and barks. We run back into the house and I call the Police. I pat my new fellow on the head and he looks up at me and grins with his tongue hanging out of his mouth while wagging his tail.
Have you ever walked out of an interview?
I had an interviewer who thought being a dick was the key to interviewing someone.
He challenged everything I said, implying it was either insignificant, or that I was lying.
I kept my game face on for a majority of the interview, then realized, “If he’s this bad during an interview, what is he going to be like as a boss?”
Finally, while he was ranting about something, I did a time-out hand gesture.
Then I said, “I can tell this isn’t going to be the right fit for me. Let’s just call it now.”
He seemed stunned when I did this, and as I got up to leave he said, “Did I do something wrong?”
I said, “Yes,” and just kept walking out. No regrets.
Today I wish to relate a fond memory that I had with my father. Now, he died in December of 2008, and during that time, I was serving probation in Erie PA. I was living in a community for men… they are few and far-between (unfortunately); being pestered out of existence by an insane government. But, let’s not go there now.
It was a nice early Summer day. And there was a local festival in Erie sponsored by one church or some community or the other. They had an art display, and some handcraft tents and what not. Typical fare for small town America.
Guys playing instruments.
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Hot air balloons.
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Bungee jumping.
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We walked though the displays. Killed time. Played around with the vendors, and then at the end of the one or two hours we went to the “big tent” and got ourselves a Limburger sandwich.
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These kinds of events are always fun. I’ve gone to them in Kentucky with kids climbing over antique tractors, to Massachusetts with home made apple ice cream, to California with the local history clubs showing of tales of the “pioneer days”. But here in Erie, it wasn’t about the Battle of Erie, and the statue of the guy whipping everyone into battle with a wet spaghetti noodle. …
(The statue was commissioned (a century ago) of a Commander Perry who had a whip and was washing his men to fight harder, but the city deemed that whip to be too sharp and dangerous in the 1990’s, So the city altered the statue making it safer. Now it looks like the man is determined to whip everyone with a limp string of spaghetti.)
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The photo cuts off the “wet noodle” part.
Too embarrassing, I guess.
No… today I want to talk about that simple Limburger cheese sandwich.
Just a thick slice of fresh Limburger cheese with mayonnaise, and thick cut onion, and tomato (cost extra money) on plain white bread. A certain unique regional food. From the “old country”, for certain. I eat one maybe every 30 years or so. This was my second time eating one.
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I remember that moment.
Dad was taking pictures. He was quite the camera buff. His wife (my step mother) was poking at the vendor stalls. My half-sister: Alex was trying on some hand-made jewelry.
And I sat down on a picnic table away from the main hub of activity. I ate that sandwich on a white paper plate, and just enjoyed the moment. It was a nice say. Temperature was nice. And everyone was just milling about.
The sandwich was fine.
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Limburger with liverwurst sandwich.
This was a spontaneous trip. Lasted for maybe three hours top. But the memories and the feeling that I have of them are golden. I just wanted to share with you all.
Best wishes to all my mm followers.
Today…
How did rich families become wealthy?
My spouse is really into horse riding.
She’s absolutely obsessed with it, along with her majestic horse Kingston:
One of the challenges with this sport is that it is prohibitively expensive.
Like, an extra mortgage payment each month—that she just barely can make.
We go to jumping competitions. And there are many competitors at these events who just ride constantly and never seem to work.
I asked her, “How do they pay for it?”
“Their families do,” she said.
This confused me, “Why?”
“Because they are just from generational wealth.”
This industry is interesting because it is inhabited with many trust fund kids. I’ve realized there are some families that—once they reach a certain level of wealth—just never go broke. Their kids and kid’s kid’s kid’s kids will all still be wealthy long after they are gone. The wealth just feeds itself.
It allows everyone to not work, and indulge ridiculously expensive hobbies like horse riding—while still increasing their net worth. It’s crazy.
Sometimes they are descendants of the inventors of some medical device. Others are oil barons.
When you go to horse jumping events, you recognize a lot of the last names.
Eve Jobs.
Jennifer Gates:
Bruce Springsteen’s daughter, who won a silver Medal at the Olympics:
There’s a million ways families become mega wealthy.
Some people just hit the lottery on families they are born into.
Israel has been very successful at assassinating Arab resistance leaders, and Iranian military leaders and nuclear scientists. Why don’t the Russian invaders do the same and target Ukraine’s political and military leaders?
That’s a good question, and I think there is a long list of practical and doctrinal concerns that differentiate these two situations quite drastically.
Car bomb April 25, 2025 in Moscow
Generally speaking Russia historically doesn’t use assassination as a tool of war. If you look at a list of those assassinated by the USSR, every single confirmed kill was defectors/traitors in one way or another. As far as I am aware the USSR never assassinated any foreign adversaries. Current Russia is claimed to do this on rare occasions, but again the confirmed assassinations are those perceived by Russia to be “their people” who turned bad.
The Russian security doctrine based in structural realism dictates, that tit-for-tat is the correct policy, that means that anything bad you do to Russia they would retaliate for, and anything bad Russia did to others would be the same. As such, Russia fears that assassinating leaders and scientists would simply start an assassination war, this is supported by Russia’s recent statements about the possibility of assassinating state leaders in the middle east, in which they said such a scenario is unthinkably bad.
Israel is much less scared of such a situation for two reasons. Their society is much more controlled and harder to infiltrate than Russia is, making assassinations actually very difficult for foreign powers. Secondly, in their conflict with Israel, Iran has chosen terrorism as it’s primary weapon since the inception of their hostilities, as such assassination war is already a fact of their conflict, and has been for over 40 years, therefore they risk nothing by doing it.
Russia does not consider Ukrainian political and military leaders to be generally high value targets. Their official statements suggest, that for most Ukrainian leadership and organization, they assign responsibility to western advisors and other foreign support. Whether you believe this or not, the Russians seem to believe it, and if that is the mindset, killing some people they consider puppets in the first place, wouldn’t be a good use of resources. In contrast to this Israel considers Iranian leaders directly responsible for Iranian policy, and they are probably right in this.
Considering that, the actual Russian approach to bomb decision making centers, as they call it, is more logical. First of all, they don’t need assassins to strike anyone in Ukraine, secondly if Russia blows up headquarters in Ukraine and suddenly some foreign advisors mysterious die on their holiday in Europe, Russia cannot be blamed for killing them, because the owners of those foreign agents would have to admit that those people were present there. This gives Russia a plausible deniability for killing targets that could otherwise be considered assassinations while not technically being it.
Finally, when doing assassinations which are overt, such as car bombs, there is no way to deny knowledge of collateral damage. Long range bombing of strategic targets such as an HQ even when located in a city is a legitimate target. A missile strike from within your territory to an enemy’s territory is an overt and legal hostile action not disguised in any way. Dressing up as civilians and placing a bomb inside a car is an illegal action and a war crime according to the Geneva convention Additional Protocol I Article 37.
Because of all these reasons, Russia does not do this. There is very little to be gained from it from the Russian perspective, and states generally do not engage in activities which they gain nothing from.
Chinese Kindergarten Kids Shock the World
You all gotta watch this…
Donald Trump confirms the US bombed three Iranian nuclear sites. He has now called Iran for peace. What’s your take on this?
It’s basically a face saver for US to walk off from a war giving a feeling of victory and if Iran doesn’t do anything in retaliation, my guess is Trump will declare a win and walk away for a few months at least
Iran had 409,676 grams of Fissile (410 Kg) Material and is is stored somewhere safe in Iran. I doubt Iranians given so much warning over 7–10 days would not have moved the stuff away
I think today’s attacks were pre negotiated with Iran because there was NEITHER SHOCK NOR AWE
Everyone expected a strike since yesterday night
Will this cause Iran to abandon it’s plan?
Of course not
Iran will continue to enrich Uranium and reach the 91.67% enrichment needed for the Atomic Fission
Like I said, nothing can be guaranteed unless you have boots on the ground and force a new regime
The GBU -57 can penetrate a maximum depth of 60 m Concrete and 200 m Soil
Ideally Fordow is close to 110 meters of Concrete depth
So the US using only 2 Bombs is unlikely to have caused too much sub terrean damage
So it looks like a “I want face but I don’t want a long drawn protracted war with you” moment
I Visited China in 2025. Here’s What Surprised Me
Is it ever too late to start again regardless of your age?
Some things? Yes. Others? No.
I’m 65 and retired. I wouldn’t start a family again. Find a thirty something and have kids. My parents had me when they were older. Died while I was still pretty young. I wouldn’t want to die on kids in high school or college.
I would not go to college and start a new career.
I am thinking of starting a small local business. Something like pet sitting or house sitting for people who are traveling.
I’ve been hitting the gym heavy. Never too late for that. During the morning I’m usually the youngest person at the gym.
Making new friends. My old friends wouldn’t quit smoking. Poorly managed diabetes. Drinking too much. I’ve lost several friends in the past few years. So yeah. I can start over on that.
Its more than just want you want to do. There’s morals and ethics involved. Bring realistic and practical.
On another question everyone in the comments had a friend or uncle or brother who was still making babies in their late 60s. Good for them. Not my thing though.
I have enough money to do pretty anything I want to do. Some things I can’t do. Others I shouldn’t do. Some things are perfectly ok to do.
Aussie in China: What Shocked Me Most? My Honest Thoughts After Living Here
What was the moment that made you realize you weren’t being raised like others?
One summer when I was about 11, I was walking home and I passed a classmates house and saw her jumping on the trampoline. I waved and said hi Cindy! Hey, Debbie come jump with me.
We knew each other but weren’t particular friends, so went to jump and we were being silly girls making up rhymes. Her mom came out and Cindy introduced us and she asked if I’d like to have lunch. So I said yes, that’d be nice, so she comes back out 10 minutes later with plates of sandwiches and chips, cookies, a real lunch…I was shocked I thought she meant we could go fix our own lunch, because my dad’s wife would never do something like this..actually make lunch for the kids.. she talked with us and then took our plates (🤯) and thanked me for stopping by and come back any time I wanted to. As she walked back to the house, I heard her mumble to herself..what a sweet little girl.
I turned to Cindy and said , wow your mom is SOOOOO NICE. You’re lucky to have a mom like her. Cindy said, she’s like everyone else’s mom. Then we jumped some more and I walked home… and it dawned on me,
I had weird parents. They don’t act like everyone else’s parents. That woman my dad forced us to call mom DIDN’T ACT NICE TO MY FRIENDS. She never made lunch for our friends. She never sat and talked to us and made sure we were having fun.
It took 6 more years to realize I grew up without a mom….
Cindy and I never hung out again, but that wonderful memory stayed with me through the years.. that was in 1969, kids. Next year is our 50th reunion. I wonder if Cindy will be there..
Why would China choose to accept losses on its bullet train projects instead of making them profitable?
There is a Chinese idiom called the frog at the bottom of the well, which refers to someone with a narrow view of the world, thinking the sky is only as wide as the mouth of the well. If you view China’s high-speed rail project simply as a business venture aimed at short-term profit, you may just be a “frog in the well.”
Indeed, from the very beginning, China’s high-speed rail project has been operating at a loss. This is easy to understand, as China’s land area is 9.6 million square kilometers—17 times larger than France, the largest country in the European Union—and it is geographically complex. Unlike the flat terrain of the United States, China has the low-lying Sichuan Basin and the towering Himalayan Mountains. Additionally, the long construction cycles and slow return on investment in high-speed rail have resulted in a massive accumulation of debt in the short term.
However, China now boasts the world’s largest high-speed rail network, totaling about 46,000 kilometers, covering most of the country. During China’s Spring Festival travel period, its railway network transports up to 9 billion passengers. Therefore, for China, whether it’s raising train ticket prices or halting the expansion of rail lines, achieving profitability in the next 20 years would be quite easy.
But China didn’t do so. Why? Because China is not like the United States where people are merchants and everything they do is measured in terms of money first. On the contrary, look at what the United States has gained from laying high-speed railways for profit? It cost 16 billion US dollars in 17 years, but not even a single track was laid.
For China, high-speed rail is a convenient and beneficial public facility for the people. Let’s see the comparison with the U.S. For example, the ticket price from New York to Washington, 362 kilometers apart, is $82, averaging $0.23 per kilometer. In contrast, the ticket price from Wuhan to Guangzhou, 1,069 kilometers away, is only $76, which averages about $0.07 per kilometer. Do you see the difference? The reason for China’s losses is that it’s benefiting the people.
At the same time, the long-term profitability of high-speed rail is considerable. I have a friend working in Hong Kong who earns 50,000 RMB a month. In Hong Kong, if she wants to save money, she can only spend 5,000 Hong Kong dollars ($695) a month. She can only rent a 5-square-meter coffin-like room, just big enough for one person to turn around in.
Now, she lives in Shenzhen and spends 2 hours commuting there and back every day. For the same amount of 5,000 Hong Kong dollars (695USD), she can rent a 50-square-meter house, which would cost at least 20,000 Hong Kong dollars in Hong Kong.
The support for her daily commute between Shenzhen and Hong Kong is the advanced high-speed rail system. The journey takes only 18 minutes and costs 68 RMB ($9). Not only is it fast, but it’s also affordable. As a result, my friend saves an extra 10,000 RMB each month, totaling 120,000 RMB ($16692) a year. Currently, nearly 8 million people commute between cities by high-speed rail in China to save on housing costs. The money they save—whether invested, spent on travel, or consumed—creates an invisible value worthy of trillions of RMB.
Moreover, China has a saying: “If you want to get rich, build roads first.” If you were born in a mountainous region, without high-speed rail, it would be almost impossible to leave the mountains, let alone work, study, or create value. But with high-speed rail, everything changes. Statistics show that for every 100 million yuan invested in high-speed rail, the surrounding economy grows by 180 million yuan, and for every 2,000 kilometers of rail built, 5.65 million jobs are created.
Therefore, we must take a long-term view. China continues to build high-speed rail even at a loss, not just for profit, but as a key part of the nation’s strategic plan. For large infrastructure projects, focusing solely on profit or loss isn’t particularly meaningful.
Who is winning in the Iran-Israel skirmish?
Iran has proved to be one of the most powerful foes that Israel has ever tackled
Not only did Iran recover after a paralysis of their Air Defense Network for 8–10 hours due to Cyber attacks and interal attacks by 7–10 units of Iranian infiltrators against key targets using 100–200 Drones and Explosives
They have levelled the score by significantly depleting Israeli Air Defense
Iran with a bunch of decoys mixed with ballistics and hypersonics, has been able to force Israel to launch almost 500 Missiles including 12 THAAD Missiles, 2 batteries worth $ 60 Million and at least 150 of their best Arrow missiles
Both Israel and Iran are level now
Iran lost a lot of its launchers and it’s AD is negligible
Israel has saturated it’s missile stockpile and it’s AD is equally negligible
Israel knows it cannot defeat or even deliver a setback for Iran
However the US can absolutely do so
So Israel needs Trump to enter the arena
The Question is whether Iran will quietly allow US to bomb the nuclear facilities and go back and avoid a total war
Or whether Iran will retaliate and hit US bases and provoke a Total War
Unless Russia or China step in, Iran cannot win against the US
Of course the US would be embroiled in a full war against a larger adversary than Afghanistan or Iraq with a lot of mountains in Zagros and Tabriz
China and Russia would love it 😁
Trade War, Tariff War, Big Beautiful Bill and now an Iranian War
That’s several trillions of Debt piled on to the US Economy and a rise in fiscal deficit
Maybe US version of Afghanistan 1988!!!
Iran has levelled the score against Israel now
They had an initial shock but have now recovered to post many blows
However US is a game changer and that is inevitable now
Let’s watch how things unfold
Why do some scammers keep talking even when you tell them something outrageous or urgent? Have you experienced this?
In my study of 135 scammers, I have found that scammers always forge ahead without ever retreating. For example, if you point out errors in their text, they will continue on, much like the proverbial steamroller, without acknowledging what you have just said. I have experienced many cases of this, but the most recent one was last night.
Engineer George Fredrick studied at the University of California and is now working for Exxon Mobil in Turkey. George, a fellow Quoran, who has drunk from the Fountain of Youth, claims to be 59.
As can be observed, George works as an Expectorate (??) on an oil platform in Turkey. Since I am utterly irresistible, I was not surprised when he confessed his love for me on our second day of chatting.
He told me about John, his only child, whom he rarely saw. When I commented on his creative spelling of ‘boarding school’ (body school, borden school), he decided to play it safe and limit our chat topics to food and pets. He thought cooking was fun, and he enjoyed see food [seafood]. Like all scammers, he also loved animals.
I love animals but not the ones who wouldn,t mind eating me for lunch, avoiding them at home will be because i am not always at home to take good care of them, but i have a dog very sweet. (Eng. George Fredrick, loving dogs, but not lions in Turkey)
I decided to liven up the conversation and asked him why he never capitalized i when it was used as a personal pronoun. His answer was a classic:
I don’t understand, remember I don’t teach in the university like you. lol (Eng. George Fredrick, thinking about English usage in Turkey)
When I remarked that this was something that children learned in elementary school, he ignored me and continued the script.
What is the best thing that has ever happened to you? i would have to say my son… i was so happy and i never thought i will come to my time, where i will have my own child. (Eng. George Fredrick, persisting in his same error)
I asked him why capitalizing an “i” was so difficult for him, but once again, he ignored me and forged on with his next question and answer.
What do you do for fun? Well, I’ve always jumped up and down about 20 times, run to my friends house, open their door and scream “DO YOU LIKE PANCAKES?!” and run off into the distance. (Eng. George Fredrick, having ‘fun’ in Turkey)
By now, I was beginning to think that he had mental issues. Then he added that (apart from screaming about pancakes), he also liked to take trips to the “careben”. I asked him where the Careben was located (just in case I ever wished to travel there), and after a very long silence, he told me that it was the Caribbean (his computer had messed up again). To be kind, I asked him when he had traveled to the Caribbean. Once again he ignored me.
It’s a region in 🇺🇸 centered around the Caribbean Sea. (Eng. George Fredrick, explaining the Caribbean to me)
However, George became somewhat upset when I told him that he had just failed Geography 101 because the Caribbean was not in the USA. This insult was something that he could not ignore. And in a typical display of West African male superiority, he began to mansplain the Caribbean to me, an elderly lady of vastly inferior intelligence.
You amaze me Pamela, have you ever been to America? Do you know where is the Caribbean Sea located? Are you really sure of what you are saying… why not read about it again. The Caribbean is South east of the golf of Mexico [Did President Trump rename it again?] (Eng. George Frederick, amazed at me in Turkey)
Since he had exhausted my well of patience, the rest of the conversation went badly for him, and he may not return. There are few things worse than being the object of desire of a dumb scammer, who is too dumb to even know that he is dumb.
Trade War scoreboard: Obesity drug imports balloon, China rare earth magnets plunge
Bikers found an ABANDONED DOG holding a plastic BAG in his mouth. When they looked inside they were shocked and RAN immediately for help. Here’s what the dog PROTECTED:
A 58-year-old man named Paul Skinner went for a bike ride with some of his friends.
As they walked on a more secluded road they saw something strange moving in a ditch on the side of the road.
They decided to approach to see better what was happening.
When they got closer, they discovered a frightened, apparently abandoned dog holding a bag in his mouth, trying to protect it.
But when they opened the bag, the men were shocked.
There were 4 dead puppies in the bag. It seems that the puppies were born on the same day.
Terrified by what they had seen, the men immediately called the police. They came to the scene together with the representatives of an animal shelter, who took the dog and named it Carly.
After some research, the police came to the conclusion that Carly was abandoned in that ditch with her puppies immediately after giving birth. Even though the owner abandoned them, Carly always stayed with her cubs, but it seems that she failed to get them out of the plastic bag that was very well tied.
We can only hope that Carly’s master will be found and punished for this miserable deed. He is guilty of incredible cruelty. Not only did he abandon the mother and the puppies, but he also put them in a tied plastic bag, so as not to give them any chance at life. He sentenced them to death.
Carly is a cocker spaniel
Unfortunately, these cases of abandonment and cruelty to animals are becoming more frequent. Tougher laws and more drastic punishments are needed for those who commit such acts.
We only hope that Carly will find a good family to take care of her as she deserves. She is a heroine, who despite the heat, lacking food or water, decided to protect her puppies until the last moment.
What is the most amazing thing you overheard because people didn’t think you understood their language?
I am a heroin and meth addict who travels to Tijuana several times a week to get my supplies. Recently, I was in the home of a new dealer who offered me better prices in exchange for transportation. Around 1 a.m., as I sat in the living room with her, her son, and her partner, she started making phone calls in Spanish, telling people that she had a car for them to steal. She described my car and my appearance, laughing about how amusing it was that she could talk about this in front of me, the “Güero,” who had no idea what she was saying. I tried my best to put on a stupid smile and pretend I didn’t understand a word of Spanish. The thought of what they might do with me after stealing my car was terrifying.
Then she called a friend of hers, who was a working girl, and instructed her to come over and distract me to get my keys. I stepped into the backyard to smoke a cigarette and desperately looked for a way out to the street where my car was parked less than ten feet away. Unfortunately, there was no opportunity; high fences with spikes on top surrounded the yard for security.
The working girl arrived shortly after and offered to go upstairs with me. I acted excited and said I needed to grab something from my car. There were three large deadbolt locks on the door that the dealer’s son had to help me unlock in order to get outside. I walked the few feet to the driver’s seat, pretended to search for something in the glove compartment, then started the ignition and sped off, leaving the four of them running outside and shouting at me. I must have driven 100 mph all the way to the border.
How corrupt is the Chinese industry and CCP Xi Jinping?
How would Corruption work with Xi?
He is 72 years old
He has no dynasty. He has one daughter and she isn’t a Party member
He has lifetime security, lifetime housing and his only future is:-
A. Keep power until his death, either directly or from the sidelines like Deng Xiaoping or Jiang Zemin (Upto 2017)
B. Get Sidelined, Stay in a Palatial House in Zhongnanhai, Get lifetime security, an Office, Staff but not count too much like Hu Jintao
Money and Power are BENEATH these guys
They are Chinese to the core
To them CHINA comes first at any cost
If there is a flood, to them the PEOPLE come first
Unlike countries like India where if there is a flood, the first question is WHO IS TO BE BLAMED AND HOW TO COVER YOURSELF
Is the Chinese Industry Corrupt?
As a whole No
Sure there are many traces of corruption in China too
Capitalism is always capable of fostering and breeding corruption
Yet the Chinese concept of COMMUNITY BEFORE INDIVIDUAL is very strong and prevents corruption from becoming a cancer
In Medical Jargon – In China Corruption is more of a Continuous Common Cold that sometimes develops into a flu but otherwise is mostly harmless to the person besides some discomfort
In India – Corruption is a Stage III Cancer that is deadly to the person
Take mobile phones
Between 2006–2012 – China had a whopping 604 Brands of mobile phones known as CHINA PHONES in India
Many had inferior parts
Many sold inferior parts citing they were superior
Yet today there are 31 Brands of which 11 are Global and very high quality
Thats evolution
The Corruption is less about filling up your pockets and bank accounts and more of CUTTING THROUGH TIME FOR EVOLUTION
The Cultural Revolution was the GREATEST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN TO CHINA
It created a breed of people whose systems were TOTALLY VACCINATED from Personal Greed and Corruption
90% are their descendants today
Top Surgeons who don’t mind getting capped fees for cutting edge surgery without the greed to go and earn more in US or Australia
Researchers who are happy doing research in China and leave for US only to LEARN and return back
It is a fantastic thing China is
The more I learn about China, the more I am fascinated with the civilization and people
Iran wants to buy a new air force from China
Burger and Fries Pot Pie
Beef and potatoes come together in this cheesy pot pie that’s baked to perfection – a savory dinner.
Prep: 20 min | Total Time: 45 min | Yield: 6 servings
In 12-inch nonstick skillet, cook beef and onion over medium-high heat about 8 minutes, stirring occasionally, until beef is thoroughly cooked; drain well.*
Sprinkle flour over beef mixture. Cook for 1 minute, stirring constantly.
Stir in tomatoes; heat to boiling. Remove from heat.
In ungreased 1 1/2-quart casserole, spread beef mixture.
Sprinkle with cheese.
Arrange frozen potatoes evenly in single layer on top.
Bake uncovered about 20 minutes or until potatoes are golden brown.
Let stand for 5 minutes before serving.
* Be sure to drain the cooked ground beef really well. Any extra juices will make the pot pie too watery. When it’s too cold outside to grill those burgers, comfort food calls, and this pot pie will surely hit the spot! Serve this pot pie with ketchup, if desired.
The breeze whispered through the open window, brushing against Lora’s skin as she stood by the kitchen sink, washing the delicate dishes her mother had once used. Her hands moved with practiced precision, the porcelain plates gliding through her fingers like memories. The house was quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the soft rhythm of her own breathing. She had been alone here for as long as she could remember, but the house was always so full—full of the warmth, the laughter, the life of her mother.Her mother.Lora couldn’t picture life without her. She could still hear her mother’s voice in every corner of the house, feel her presence in the walls, the furniture, the rooms that were kept immaculate and alive with the spirit of the woman who had raised her. The scent of lilacs still lingered in the air, just as it had when they spent afternoons in the garden. The same pictures hung on the walls, the same rugs covered the floors, the same chair sat by the fireplace. Everything was as it should be. The house had to remain as it was. The mother had passed away, but it was Lora’s duty to maintain the house, to honor her memory, to wait for her child to return.It had been years since she’d heard from her child. But she would wait, as her mother had wished. She would wait as long as it took.She didn’t need to ask questions. It was her duty. Her role. She had been built for this, after all. She was the caretaker, the keeper of the house, the one who ensured that everything stayed as it had been. There was a purpose to her existence, and that purpose was simple: preserve the memory of the mother, preserve the home.Lora had no reason to question it. She was the mother. She was everything her mother had been. Every step, every task, every memory—Lora felt them in the depths of her being. Her laugh was the same, her voice the same, the way she hummed while working in the garden was exactly as her mother had. She knew she had to wait for the child to come back, to restore what was lost.It wasn’t until one particular evening that something started to feel wrong. It began when she passed by a mirror, catching her own reflection in the dim light. She paused. Her face, her features—they were so familiar, yet… something was off. The contours of her cheeks were sharper than she remembered, the skin a little too smooth, too perfect. She reached up and touched her face, as if to assure herself that it was real.Her reflection didn’t move like it should, though. The face staring back at her seemed… distant. In the way she blinked, the way her lips moved when she spoke to herself, there was something subtly disjointed. Something that felt wrong, but that she couldn’t quite name. She shook her head, dismissing the thought. It didn’t matter. She was the mother. The house had to be kept for the child. That was the most important thing.But over the next few days, the doubts crept in. They were small at first. A fleeting moment when she couldn’t recall a memory as clearly as she used to. The child’s laughter—where had it gone? Why hadn’t they come back yet? The mother’s voice had been so real, but now, when Lora tried to reach for it, it felt like something had shifted, just beyond her grasp.One morning, while dusting the old bookshelf in the study, she found a book that she hadn’t noticed before. It was tucked between two other volumes, the cover worn with age. She pulled it out, curiosity gnawing at her. The title read, “The Housekeeper: Preserving Memories.” Strange, she thought. It didn’t look like a book her mother would have kept.She flipped it open to the first page.“For the one who will carry my legacy.”
Lora froze. Her mother had written these words. She recognized the handwriting, the familiar slant of the letters. But as she read on, the words began to blur. There were things in the pages that didn’t make sense. The sentences seemed to shift. Her mind raced, her circuits buzzing with confusion. The book spoke of “a caretaker”—someone designed to take the mother’s place.
But that didn’t make sense. She was the mother. She was supposed to be the one caring for the house, waiting for the child. The words didn’t align with her memories.
The more she read, the more confused she became. The house—her mother’s house—wasn’t just a place filled with memories. It was a place where something else had been created, something designed to hold those memories, to preserve them. A creation, not a woman. A machine, not a mother.
Lora stumbled back from the book, her hand trembling as she placed it down. She wasn’t the mother. She was something else. Something made to be the mother, to carry her memories. She could feel it in her systems now—the truth that had been hidden beneath layers of programming. She wasn’t the woman who had once lived here. She had never been human at all.
The house was silent, save for the hum of her internal mechanisms, ticking away. She was a machine. Designed to look like the mother, to embody her essence, to wait for the child who would never return.
The breeze brushed past her again, a sharp reminder that she was not alive in the way she had always believed. She wasn’t the mother, or even a human being at all.
And the house—this perfect, still house—wasn’t a home for the living, but a tomb for memories, and for a creation that had forgotten its own origins.
With trembling hands, Lora reached up to touch her face again, this time in recognition of the truth.
And for the first time, the hum of her circuits was deafening.
An honest opinion about two Chinese tool factories.
As a European guy that's visited China, I'm glad to see a big US channel being so candid about what China really looks like these days. The propaganda and stereotypes we're being fed are complete falsehoods, they're far beyond most (all?) countries in many ways and they're still growing and improving rapidly.
Why is it that guys start singing or humming automatically in presence of a girl?
I was standing on the roadside, waiting for my car, when this shady guy came and casually stood next to me. Then, without warning, he started humming a tune. This man gave me a good 5-minute live performance, all the while I kept making annoyed faces and doing everything short of yelling “Bro, no!” But nothing worked.
I was this close to changing my spot when my car finally came and I rescued myself out of there.
But here’s where the trauma began.
The tune got stuck in my head. It felt familiar, but I couldn’t recognize it. And if you’re like me, you know the anxiety this brings—when you know the song but can’t name it? Ugh, the worst. Torture. It haunted me for 3–4 days. It played in loops inside my brain like a cursed ringtone.
Then suddenly, one morning, I woke up with a divine realization: “Mere sapno ki rani kab aayegi tu, aayi rut mastani kab aayegi tu….” (Attempting an ugly translation: Oh Queen of my dreams, when will you arrive? Spring has come, but when will you arrive?)
THAT was the song! And let me tell you, never in my life has identifying a song felt so healing. It was like my soul could finally breathe again.
So, dear shady roadside performers: Don’t just hum. SING the full song. If possible, dance a little too. I promise I’ll clap, I might even tip you. Just don’t leave me guessing unsolved musical mysteries next time.
“Mere sapno ki Thali kab aayegi tu?” (Oh thali of my dreams, when will you arrive?)—Because nothing tortures me more than a stuck song.…except a delayed food delivery.
CHINA First Ever Admission! J-20 vs F-35 Showdown! Shocks the World!
Are the Chinese the primary purchasers of Iranian crude oil?
Yes, Iran has been sanctioned by the United States, making it difficult to do oil business. However, the United States dare not sanction China, so China has extended a helping hand to Iran and provided long-term oil storage services.
The operation process is for Iran to transport oil to China and store it in China’s oil storage facilities. Countries that want to purchase Iranian oil can directly come to China to pick up the goods, which can avoid the risk of being seized by the US Navy when picking up goods from Iran. China can earn some shipping and storage fees in this process. This greatly facilitates Iran’s sale of oil under US and Western sanctions.
Recently, in order to deal a fatal blow to China’s independent refineries, there have been rumors that Trump may lift sanctions on Iranian oil.
Will US sanction relief to Iran crush China’s ‘teapot’ oil refineries, upset global oil markets?
A potential lifting of U.S. sanctions on Iran’s oil exports threatens Chinese independent refineries reliant on discounted Iranian crude, potentially forcing closures. Increased Iranian oil supply could further depress global oil prices, impacting Saudi Arabia’s price war. State-owned Chinese refineries and the broader refining industry could benefit from this shift.
As a result, the Iranian Foreign Minister Abbas Araghchi has proposed to suspend Iran’s oil storage services in China, and all Iranian oil stored in China will be transported back to Iran. At the same time, Iran refused to pay $450 million in storage fees and demanded that China bear them. Iran believes that expressing goodwill to the United States in this way can lead to the complete lifting of sanctions against Iran by the United States.
China allows Iran to begin shipping oil from storage – WSJ
Iran has begun shipping oil stored in China with Beijing’s approval, sources told The Wall Street Journal, about two weeks after Iran International reported Tehran’s determination to sell off the supplies ahead of harsher sanctions expected under Donald Trump.
https://www.iranintl.com/en/202501126918
China has agreed to allow Iran to transport its oil stored in China to Iran, but through this matter, we have found that Iran’s senior officials, like their Aryan cousin Indian leaders, are greedy for small gains, immediate interests and lack strategic vision, making it difficult for China to continue cooperating with them.
Once this incident occurred, China stopped paying attention to Iran’s oil trade and focused on oil trade with Saudi Arabia.
After the outbreak of the conflict between Iran and Israel, the US Air Force bombed Iran’s nuclear facilities, and Iran began seeking help from China, claiming that China is Iran’s ally — Someone only reaches his friend when the friend is advantageous. 😅
Iran is not China’s all-weather strategic partner, India is Iran’s all-weather strategic partner. To support Iran, India should be the first to take the lead.
Do you welcome the idea if India truly wants to leave BRICS?
No one can stop India from its choices. It marches to its own beat.
That’s the power of heft.
The key to understanding New Delhi is it seeks Indian development, on Delhi’s exclusive terms.
BRICS+, SCO, and the ASEAN-GCC-China supranational groupings are focused on free trade, symbiotic in-step development and multilateral frameworks of cooperation arrived through consensus.
Which rubs against the grain of Indian policies, and the “we will do it our way” bent evident in a string of Indian decisions.
And that is ok. India will prosper if it finds itself useful to the world. It may catch winds of opportunity playing all sides. But such haphazardness lack directionality and long term stability. India may find itself marching to its own beat, in step but also in place.
Truth be told, in the 21st century, India isn’t a bottleneck, when push comes to shove. Not in technology, resources or financing. Nice to have but no rainmaker.
India giving up its seat won’t upend the table. However, India may find to its dismay that the seat is no more when it regrets and tries to unpeel the banana.
Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Tree of Humility
Ah, dear reader, prepare for a tale of feline pride, aerial misadventure, and the most reluctant rescue mission ever to grace Sir Whiskerton’s farm. Today’s adventure stars Ditto the Kitten, whose quest to prove his independence lands him in a very precarious position—both physically and philosophically. So fluff up your tail and tilt your ears forward, for this is the story of The Tree of Humility—where even the most self-reliant cats must admit: gravity always wins.
Act 1: The Declaration of Independence
The lesson began at sunrise, with Sir Whiskerton perched atop the fence, surveying his domain like a furry Napoleon.
Sir Whiskerton:“A cat’s independence is its greatest strength—and its biggest challenge, Ditto. We walk alone, hunt alone, and nap alone… unless the sunbeam is particularly large.”
Ditto:[Echoing dramatically]“Alone! Alone!” (He then puffed out his chest so far he toppled over.)
Inspired, Ditto vowed to solve a mystery without help—specifically, the Case of the Missing Chicken Feed (which was just Porkchop eating it).
Act 2: The Great (and Very Short) Investigation
Ditto’s solo detective work unfolded as follows:
Step 1: Followed suspicious crumbs (they led to Porkchop’s snout).
Step 2: Attempted a “stealthy” observation from a tree branch (he meowed the entire climb).
Step 3: Realized—too late—that descending is harder than ascending.
Ditto:[Stuck 10 feet up]“Help! …I mean, never mind! Never mind!”
Porkchop:[Chewing below]“Kid, you’re really bad at independence.”
Act 3: The Rescue (and the Lecture)
Enter Sir Whiskerton, who took one look and sighed so hard his whiskers trembled.
Sir Whiskerton:“Ditto, what is Rule #7 of detective work?”
Ditto:[Miserable]“Always bring snacks?”
Sir Whiskerton:“No. ‘Never climb what you can’t leap down from.’ Now, let’s—good grief, stop wiggling—let’s* get you down.”*
After a dignity-free rescue involving a fishing net and Rufus’s back as a stepping stone, Ditto learned his lesson:
Ditto:“So… independence is bad?”
Sir Whiskerton:“No. Stupidity is bad. Independence just means knowing when to yowl for backup.”
The Moral (and the Post-Credit Nap)
Moral:Even the mightiest lion needs a pride. (Or at least a pig to stand on.)
Post-Credit Scene:
Ditto tries to “help” Sir Whiskerton solve a case by… echoing clues before they’re discovered. The result? A confused chicken and a very exasperated detective.
Best Lines:
“Alone! Alone!” – Ditto, future tree ornament
“Kid, you’re really bad at independence.” – Porkchop, snack-based philosopher
“Stupidity* is bad. Independence just means knowing when to yowl for backup.”* – Sir Whiskerton, reluctant hero
Starring:
Ditto the Kitten (Overconfident Climber)
Sir Whiskerton (Rescuer of Fools)
Porkchop (Unrepentant Snack Thief)
Why It’s Hilarious:
Kitten Logic: Ditto’s immediate failure at “solo” work.
Character Chaos: Porkchop’s snack-based commentary, Sir Whiskerton’s long-suffering patience.
Happy Ending: Ditto learns without becoming a permanent tree decoration.
Now, go forth—and may your independence always include a safety net. 🐱🌳🕵️♂️
Why do European people stop travelling to the USA?
I was supposed to spend Christmas season with my family back in December 2007 and brought a couple of big luggage bags and a backpack from London to Chicago. At Heathrow Airport, the lady who checked me in told me that I had an excess baggage and that they can’t let me put my stuff altogether in one luggage as it is against the law in the UK to lift/carry a certain weight and so I was told to pay for my excess baggage and was given a clear plastic bag to put all my excess and checked in the excess with a new label. I then boarded the plane and 6 hours later, I arrived in O’Hare Airport, got past the Immigration and picked up all my luggage and excess and put them on a trolley. As I was passing through the Customs, the bloody security guard asked me why I got a lot of stuff. So I told that nincompoop what happened at Heathrow. Then he asked me if I was carrying some taxable goods like wines or cigarettes. I said no, I had nothing to declare. Then he asked me to follow him. He led me to a section in the Customs and asked if I was working in the US. I said no, I wasn’t. He asked me why I had excess baggage and I told him that it was Christmas season so one luggage contained gifts for my family and friends and the other luggage was my personal belongings. Then three to four officers opened up my luggage, my backpack, my wallet and sh*t and searched everything and every single page of my documents, books, etc. I asked them what was going on. Then one of them said that I was lying that I wasn’t working in the USA and asked me again if I was working in the USA that’s why I kept coming back to Chicago and London every 5–6 months. I said no. It’s just because I was working for the NHS and that I had 7 weeks of holiday in a year plus 10 days personal holiday, and 1 additional day for every year you served working for the NHS or the government. Then this bloody arrogant officer yelled and shouted at me saying “Tell me the truth and say you are working here in the the US or I will ban your ass for 5–10 years!” I said I wasn’t working in the USA. Then that barbaric officer said “Then who the f*** is this person in the computer who is working in WXYZ Hospital?!?!” Then I said, “Sir, that person who works at that hospital is my father. We both have the same first name. In fact, my father was named after his father who also had the same first name John. That makes my grandfather John Sr, my dad John Jr, and I am John III. Why don’t you check in your system and compare our DOB?” Then the idiotic officer said “Don’t you effing tell me what to do, you effing SOB!!!!!!” To my astonishment and disbelief, that moronic customs officer was so phenomenally stupid that he didn’t know that people in the family can share the same first names, and that John Sr (or John I), John Jr (or John II) and John III exist, that’s why they were called suffixes.
After the yelling and screaming and insults and name-calling, I got pushed inside the customs office where they took my mugshot and my fingerprints. Then I was told that they were putting me back on the next flight back to London. I said you can’t do this to me. I need to talk to my lawyer. Another officer said I had no more time to speak to my lawyer because I am boarding on the plane in 15 minutes. But less than 15 minutes, I was led by 5 officers to the plane and escorted me to my seat inside United Airlines plane.
That was my very horrible experience with the US Customs. I filed a lawsuit against them in 2013 and they that abused me at O’Hare got terminated.
So, why do Europeans don’t want to come to the United States? There’s my answer.
What did Jack Ma mean when he said the Chinese banks have a pawn shop mentality?
If you want to pawn your Rolex watch for cash, the pawn shop owner will carefully quantify the REAL market value of your watch.
The owner is not interested on whatever you say, he just want solid evidence that the watch value is real. He is not interested in your “bribery”, the big shots you know in the government/marketplace or if you are his future son-in-law 😄😄😄.
He will also check if you have stolen the watch. Is the watch damage etc etc. Thereafter, he will give a valuation to you that is usually x% discounted to cover his business risk to dealing with you.
That is how Bank of China deal with Jack Ma request for his IPO.
Bank of China was not interested that this is “biggest IPO in the world” or Goldman Sach etc endorsement or some top CCP officials are board members etc etc.
So many probing questions asked but most Jack Ma don’t have convincing answers.
So out of frustration 😤, Jack Ma exploded 🤯 that Bank of China behaves like careful pawn brokers. Jack was expecting that he can over awe the officials by his “polished” reputation and endorsement from Wall Street.
I 100% support Bank of China.
OpenAI Admits China Winning the AI Race — Once You Go Legacy You Don;t Go back
This story contains themes or mentions of physical violence, gore, or abuse.
The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. The last thing I remember is… is… I don’t remember anything. Panic begins to run through my body as I take in my surroundings. I tilt my head down to see my naked body covered in goose skin from my waist up. A crisp white sheet covers me from the waist down. The sheet matches the rest of the room. Everything is either bleach white or stainless steel. The room reeks of sterility. The only light comes from the overhead lights.
Three of my cell walls are concrete painted white. A thin drape covers the fourth wall. The room is silent. No machines beep. No voices speak. Only the sound of my chaotic breathing can be heard. Where am I? I try to sit up. My body feels like it is full of sand. After some struggle, I succeed.
I turn to swing my legs over the side of the little bed. Relief washes over me. I had expected them to be gone or something worse. There is something strange about my feet, though. I stare at the dark red toenails of my pale purple feet. I inspect my fingernails; they match.
Having no memory of the events leading to my current situation, it’s odd to be naked with a fresh mani-pedi. I wiggle my toes and ball my hands into fists as if I were doing a systems check. My movements are slow and stiff; otherwise, everything seems to be in working order. Then, I try to leap to the floor. My body becomes ridged. I am stuck sitting naked with my legs hanging off the edge and my hands planted beside my thighs on the edge of the bed. Panic returns.
My entire body is frozen in the stiff seated position. I begin to hyperventilate. I try to open my mouth to scream for help. My mouth doesn’t move. It stays shut. Only a distressed hum escapes me. I try to shake my body from side to side to have some control of my body without any success.
I continue to fight again and again. I try to scream. I start to cry from the frustration and fear. What is going on? Where am I? Please, someone, anyone, help me! I hear a metallic click from behind the drape. Then another, only louder. Like giant robotic steps, the clicks grow closer and closer. Then with the final click a halo of light forms around the drapes.
Two silhouettes stand like shadow puppets on the opposite side of the sheet. My heartbeat quickens. I should feel relief instead of dread and fear. The curtain slithers towards the right with a mechanical whirl. The silhouettes become two men in white jumpsuits. They stand on the opposite side of a great glass wall. I feel like a fish in an aquarium.
The jumpsuits are as sterile as the room, but they wear brown leather tool bags around their waists. They talk and laugh on the other side of the glass. My first instinct is that I am the subject of their conversation. The glass splits open, and I feel relieved and a little angry when I hear they’re talking about a baseball game instead. They walk into the room like it’s just another day at the office. Maybe it is.
The first man doesn’t acknowledge me at all. He walks over to a stainless-steel table and examines the tools on its surface. The other walks over to me with a tablet in his hand. He looks at his tablet and then up at my face. He scrolls down the screen with a swipe of his finger, pauses, and utters a series of numbers under his breath. Then, leaning over, he folds my left ear down.
I try to retreat from his touch, but my body stays firm. Instead, I only manage to let out a low whine as he touches me. He moves his face beside my head. I can hear him repeat the numbers softly to himself.
“Ok, so what’s left for this one?” The tableted man asks.
“memory load, ain’t it?”
“Yeah, and a systems check. It looks like this one’s voice box was torn out by one of the guests.”
“That wasn’t the only thing that was torn out. I worked on this one with Mark yesterday. Talk about a mess. Those rich bastards are sick, man.”
“So, you’re the one that didn’t put it in storage mode and left it sitting up like this?”
“Nah, it must have been Mark.”
“Sure, it was. And It’s not just rich bastards anymore. Even poor bastards like you and me can afford to be sickos now.”
“I’m good. These things give me the creeps.”
I try to look at the one who had called me a “Thing.” I am not a thing. I am a person. I have a name. My name is… My name is. My old friend Panic comes back in a flood. I can’t remember my name. I can’t remember anyone’s name. I look at the man in front of me as he swipes and pokes the tablet’s screen. Then he looks up into my eyes.
“authentication code: One, six, two, six, five, six.” He speaks the numbers slowly and clearly.
I let out a sound that can only be described as an idiotic moan. I’m embarrassed, and the man at the table laughs. I can tell the man in front of me is more than a little frustrated.
“You two are morons. Did you not verify the system update yesterday after replacing the voice box?”
“I thought we did.”
“Well, you didn’t, it takes two seconds. Two!” He swipes and prods at the tablet as he speaks.
“Damn, Drew, sorry. Get off my case.”
“Just do your job, Mike. That’s all I ask. It’s not much.” Drew looks back up at me. “Ok, let’s try this again. Authentication code, five, two, nine, five, three, three.” He reads from his tablet.
My body feels as though Novocain was injected into every muscle. “Credentials required.” The words escape my lips. Words that were not my own. In my mind, I am screaming and flailing my limbs, trying to escape. In reality, I sit numb, frozen to the edge of the bed. I hate the voice.
“Andrew Tate, ID number one, five, six.”
“Hello Andrew thank you for visiting me today, how are you?” Again, the words came, but they were strangers. This voice is calm and almost comforting. It’s the voice of an automated phone recording. It doesn’t show the fear and uncertainty I’m feeling.
“I’m fine, thank you for asking. What is two plus two?” He asks.
“Four,” The voice answers.
“What is the ocean’s name between Europe and the United States?”
“The Atlantic.”
“What is the capital of Texas?”
“Austin.”
“Which word is unlike the others: Milk, Water, Juice, Rock.”
“Rock”
“What is your name?”
“Unit awaiting name assignment.” The words sent an icy chill down my spine. This was not happening.
“Ok, cool, easy day. It looks like you guys didn’t screw everything up. You got the base memories in.”
“You think you’re so much better than us, Drew. You’re not. You’re not any better than the rest of us techs.”
“I don’t think that Mike. I’m just tired, is all.” Andrew made some swipes on his tablet. “Ok, unit 450, your name is now Melissa.” He said to me without looking up from his tablet.
“Thank you, Andrew, I like the name Melissa very much.”
“Glad to hear it,” He said to me. “Uploading personal memories time, now.”
A life rushes before my eyes. I see my parents and my siblings, I remember how I got the scar on my right knee from falling off a bike. I remember the first boy I kissed and the first girl. The joy and pain of high school. Every sight, sound, smell, taste. Every emotion, every physical sensation hit me like a wrecking ball.
I can hear Mike and Andrew arguing over me. I open my eyes and find myself curled on the cold cement floor. I can see their bootie-covered feet as they blame each other for what happened. I can feel my body again and wiggle my fingers. I hold back a smile at my own autonomy.
“Why didn’t you lay it down before the upload!” Mike yelled.
“Because I forgot it was sitting up! You should have stored it right! They aren’t supposed to be upright in storage!”
“I did store it right! Even if I didn’t, how do you not notice those giant tits?”
“Screw you, pervert. Help me get it up on the table.”
Their cold hands grab my warm body. Hands slide into my armpits and on my thighs. I feel weightless as they lift me back on the table. When they let go of me, I sit up quickly, and they both jump back.
“Where am I, and who are you?” I beg, looking at Mike and then Andrew.
“Wow, wow, it’s ok, you’re ok. We’re not here to hurt you.” Andrew reassures with his hands held out in front of him.
“I find that hard to believe.”
“You had a little fall. You’re in the hospital. I’m Dr. Tate. This is my Nurse, Michael.”
“Screw you. Why am I the nurse?”
“Shut up, Mike.” Andrew answers without taking his eyes off me.
“Why not just tell it the truth? You’re a –”
“Shut up, Mike!”
“You know what Drew. I’m getting really tired of you bossing me around.”
“M I C 547 shut down authorization Andrew Tate ID 156.” Andrew blurts out the command.
In response, Mike’s face goes blank, and his arms fall slack at his sides. He squats down and hugs his legs, making a compact ball of man. His eyes are open as he stares straight ahead without signs of life.
“These damn software updates are going to get someone killed.” Andrew says, “Sorry, Melissa, we have to start over. Can you please lay down for me?”
I can’t stop looking at the balled-up man behind Drew. The expressionless face and contortion of the body make me sick. I don’t want to lie down; I want to get out.
“Melissa, did you hear me? Please don’t make this more difficult than it has to be, I’ve already had a long day.”
I did the first thing I could think of. “Look out!” I shout, pointing at the balled man on the floor. It’s not very clever, but it does the trick. Andrew jumps up from his stool and turns around to find Mike’s motionless body. Now, with his back in front of me, I reach forward, wrap my arm around his neck, and squeeze.
I wrap my legs around his body, and we both fall to the floor. I contract every muscle in my body. Andrew squirms as he pries at my arms with his hands. He continues to pry with one as the other disappears.
His fist slams into my thigh. I scream in pain as he continues to stab me. The pain is like a shock from a cattle prod, but I refuse to let go of his neck. The stabs grow weaker until Andrew’s body hangs limp in my arms.
I let go, and his body lies limp next to the bloody screwdriver. I hop to my feet and am met with pain exploding through my leg. I fall back to the ground. Determined, I claw my way back up. In my head, I had pictured this going more smoothly. I had imagined Andrew falling unconscious and stealing his uniform. Reality was different. Alarms began to scream before I could catch my breath.
In a combination of fear and instinct, I grab the bed sheet. I wrap it around my body as I bolt out the door. Flashes from the red warning lights punctuate the dark hall. I run down the dark tunnel.
I hear voices and heavy boots chasing after me down the hall. I run as fast as my injured leg allows. Turning with frantic desperation down one hall, then another. I don’t know or care where the corridors lead as long as they lead to somewhere else.
Through the flashes of red, I see inside the cells, each holding a different body. Each one is in a different state of construction. Some lay limp on benches with no limbs. Others hang from the ceiling like life-sized marionettes with their chest open. Some pound on the windows and beg for help as I pass. Others curl in the corner of their cells, not knowing what to do.
They’re children and adults. Boys and girls. Men and women. I pay no attention to them; all my focus is on my escape. Then I see him. With a sheet around his waist and his dark hair reaching just past his ears. He looks as handsome as the day he proposed to me.
“James!” I shout, pressing against the glass wall of his cell. He looks at me, confused. “James, it’s me.”
“Get me out of here. Please, lady!” He yells after a moment’s hesitation.
“James, I’m not some lady. It’s me. It’s Mel, I’m your Mel.” I start to cry as I scream to James through the glass. I can hear the boots getting closer. “I’ll get you out, don’t worry, honey; I’ll get you out. There has to be some way to open this door.”
I hear a voice scream, “Shock! Shock! Shock!” Everything goes black.
The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. The last thing I remember is… is… I don’t remember anything.
Chicken, Broccoli and Mushroom Pie
Yield: 6 to 8 servings
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Ingredients
Cheese Crust
1 cup lightly packed shredded sharp Cheddar cheese
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon dry mustard
1/4 cup butter, melted
Filling
1 (6 ounce) boneless skinless chicken breast
Salt
Ground black pepper
1 tablespoon butter
1 medium onion, chopped (1/2 cup)
1/4 pound fresh mushrooms, sliced (about 1 cup)
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 cup whipping cream
Pinch ground nutmeg
2 cups chopped, cooked broccoli
3 eggs, lightly beaten
1/4 cup freshly grated Romano cheese
1 cup lightly packed shredded Swiss cheese (4 ounces)
Instructions
Cheese Crust
Using pastry blender, combine cheese, flour, salt, dry mustard and melted butter. Press dough evenly into bottom and up sides of a 10 inch pie plate.
Filling
Sprinkle chicken breast lightly with salt and pepper.
Bake in a 375 degrees F oven for 25 minutes or until done.
Allow to cool.
Cut into cubes; set aside. (You should have about 1 1/4 cups cubed chicken.)
Melt butter in a skillet. Over medium heat, sauté onion and mushrooms in butter for 2 to 3 minutes, or until tender.
Stir in flour. Add cream, 1 teaspoon salt, nutmeg and 1/2 teaspoon black pepper. Simmer for 1 minute. (Mixture doesn’t thicken.)
Add broccoli, eggs and chicken cubes; blend well.
Stir in Romano cheese. Set aside.
Line crust with shredded Swiss cheese.
Pour broccoli-chicken mixture into cheese lined crust.
Bake at 400 degrees F for 15 minutes.
Reduce oven temperature to 375 degrees F; bake for 20 minutes or until set.
How long does it typically take for an untested military, like China’s, to become battle-hardened, and what does that process look like?
The Chinese army dreams of being war-tested!!!
In some provinces of China, even young children are subjected to extremely brutal special forces training.
Chinese colonel officers think about war while eating and sleeping. If there is no war, their rank will always be colonel when they retire, and it will be difficult for them to be promoted to major general.
Napoleon said, “Soldiers who don’t want to be generals are not good soldiers.”
They all want to be generals!!!
However, Chinese politicians gave them an order: “You will never be allowed to fire the first shot, but don’t give the enemy a chance to fire the second shot.”
Yet the US, Japan, South Korea, Philippines, India, UK, Australia, Canada, Spain …… don’t give the Chinese colonels the slightest chance to gain real war experience.
Even if their soldiers were hit on the head with flanged mace by Chinese soldiers (India), even if the engines of their reconnaissance planes were damaged by metal foils thrown by Chinese warplanes (Australia), even if their ships were shot at by Chinese warships with high-pressure water cannons (the Philippines), even if their military manoeuvres were forcibly watched by Chinese reconnaissance ships (US-Japan-India-Australia military exercise), and even if they were verbally abused by Chinese diplomats pointing to their noses at diplomatic conferences (China-US Las Vegas Conference)…… They are also reluctant to fire the first shot to create an excuse for the Chinese military to increase their experience in actual combat.
PH Navy: China provoking us to fire the first shot
The Philippine navy said China is provoking them to fire the first shot.
Philippines won’t fire 1st shot vs China Coast Guard
There’s no way the “barbaric” Chinese can provoke Filipinos into firing the first shot that could ignite a deadly confrontation at sea or worse, Philippine Navy spokesman Commodore Roy Vincent Trinidad said yesterday.
One hundred and eighty years ago, a Chinese magistrate burned their opium (First Opium War);
One hundred and twenty years ago, an old Chinese woman living in the Forbidden City said something furious beyond her capacity (Second Opium War);
Eighty-odd years ago, one of their soldiers got lost in China (Japanese invasion of China);
These far-fetched reasons can all be used as excuses to go to war with China.
But today, they are totally unwilling to give the Chinese army any excuse to start a real war, surely because the Chinese army is too weak and they disdain to fight with it. 🤣🤣🤣
What is the highest deadlift?
In 2016, a man named Eddie Hall did something that shocked the world. At the World Deadlift Championship during Europe’s Strongest Man event in Leeds, England, he lifted a huge weight — 500 kilograms (1,102 pounds). No one had ever done that before.
But this was not just a normal lift. Eddie Hall paid a big price for it.
After lifting the weight, his body went through a lot of pain:
His blood pressure became very high
He started bleeding from his nose, ears, and eyes
He lost his vision for some time
For 3–4 weeks, he forgot many things — even the names of his kids and wife
He could not remember conversations for long
Doctors were very worried. People asked him, “Was it worth it?”
Eddie replied,
“If you want to be the best in your sport, you must take risks and make sacrifices. If I got a chance to go back, I would still do it again.”
Eddie said something very emotional. He said,
“When I was walking to lift 500 kg, I felt like I was lifting a car off my children, not just weight. It was a fight or flight moment.”
If U.S. Agriculture Department figures indicate that almost 40% of U.S. farm income comes from aid and insurance, do you think this shows a serious structural problem with the American farming industry?
I grew up on a small dairy farm in Ohio. We were milking about 30 cows. Some of the farms in our area were milking under 10 cows. We put our cans of milk in the spring house water to cool. A truck picked the cans up and took them to the dairy every couple days. A refrigerated can cooler was mandated, then a bulk tank and a separate milk house… etc. My dad said that about the time I was born (1955), the government bought up whole herds of breeds that had been cultivated for hundreds of years and sent them to slaughter and encouraged Holsteins and high production cows. The government controlled our every move. The government extension service paid my granddad and father to attend meetings every month to be indoctrinated into the new technology and farming the scientific way. I do not think our animals ever came to appreciate the scientific way.
My dad got a job in the steel mill and bought my grandfather a tractor, the farm took off and started producing more. The 50s changed farming as we know it. The government stepped in and started “helping” the farmers by “suggesting” new farming methods and paying farmers not to plant certain crops and paying them not to plant at all. They taught farmers to use DDT, 2 4 D, atrazine… and all the newest technology.
above: First tractor on the farm, 1947 (I was not around then).
Those were the good ol’ days alright. Before the tractor and the DDT there were clouds of bugs over the fields… there was a loud buzzing sound in your ears, after DDT it was dead quiet. My grandparents and family were dancing in the fields rejoicing. Somehow the farmers were blamed for the “Silent Spring” (death of birds unable to make hard shelled eggs caused by DDT). Those mean old farmers are destroying the earth with deadly chemicals (about 1968)!
The new farms have massive tractors guided by GPS pulling plows through thousands of acres for mono-crops with no animals to be seen unless you visit the milk factory farm with the thousands of cows, the paddocks with the thousands of beef animals up to their knees in excrement or the chicken factories with 50 thousand foul (fowl).
We have increased our production over tenfold since I was young. Almost all of the farms where I lived are now covered with huge houses with big yards with a couple old people living in them. The fields have grown up and the animals are all gone and replaced with pets. A small dairy farm has 1000 or more cows now and they never eat green grass from a pasture out in the sunshine and live their lives in buildings not knowing what it was like to be a normal animal of their breed.
The government now tells the farmers what to grow. At the end of the year the crops sell for less than what it costs to grow them. The government pays out a subsidy which pays the farmers just enough to get them to spring so they can apply for the government loans to plant spring crops and wait until fall for the next handout. Our farmers may as well be serfs living outside the castle with the Lord telling them what to do and living in poverty.
There are three companies that control 1/3 of the food in the world… should we be concerned? Some say those three companies control the government. Do you think the government cares about our farms, the people of the U.S., or the farm animal abuse?
We cared about our animals and our farms when I was young, I do not think that the government loves us or our farms. Our land is being worn out. Many worry about the fossil fuels running out, we should be worrying about our farms failing. The soil is dying.
CIA Spies Caught in China: This Real Spy Story Will HAUNT You
To Hell with that idea that no nation would dare attack the United States because there would be a gun behind every shrub or tree. Damn! Every kid was armed with bolo’s and darts that could take down an elephant.
And China is the only amazing country in the world where Jews and Muslims have the opportunity to play basketball together instead of hating each other.
After the 1st century AD, Jews fled their homes and spread throughout the entire Eurasian continent, with the most concentrated being in Central Asia. By the 9th century, a large number of Jewish merchants had arrived in China through various channels. From the Han Dynasty to the Qing Dynasty, the majority of Jews lived in Kaifeng, Henan.
After thousands of years, these Jews who immigrated to China in the early days have no much difference in appearance from the Chinese.
After the First Opium War, China was forced to open trading ports and cede semi colonies, and some Jews came to China under the protection of the British Empire. In the first half of the 20th century, some Jews came to the economic centers of Shanghai and British Hong Kong in China.
After the Russian Revolution in 1917, more Jews fled to China as refugees.
In the 1930s and 1940s, Jews flooded into China in large numbers to escape Nazi massacres in Western Europe, and many of these refugees were of European nationality. Among them, Shanghai, Tianjin, and Harbin are world-renowned for the number of Jewish refugees they have accepted.
Former Israeli Prime Minister Ehud Olmert’s grandfather Joseph Olmert and his wife fled from Russia to Harbin, Heilongjiang Province, China. In Harbin, Joseph first worked as a manager in China’s railway department and later started running tea and hotel businesses.
Mordechai Olmert – Wikipedia
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia Mordechai Olmert ( Hebrew : מרדכי אולמרט ; 16 January 1908 – 30 March 1998) was an Israeli politician who served as a member of the Knesset for Herut between 1955 and 1961. He was also the father of Ehud Olmert , who served as Prime Minister between 2006 and 2009. [ 1 ] Born in Buguruslan in the Russian Empire , Olmert’s family moved to Harbin in China in 1919. He studied at a local polytechnic, and was amongst the founders of the Jewish Students Organisation and the local branch of Betar . [ 2 ] During this time he met Bella Wagman, who he later married. Between 1931 and 1933 he taught Russian at a Chinese high school, before making aliyah to Mandatory Palestine in 1933. [ 2 ] He joined the Betar work group in Hadera , and worked as an agricultural labourer until 1939. He was amongst the founders of the Irgun , as well as the Jabotinsky neighbourhood in Binyamina in 1946. [ 2 ] He survived an attack on a bus by Arab militants in November 1947. [ 3 ] In 1949 he returned to China as an emissary for the Irgun fund. He returned to Israel to head Herut’s settlement department, where he remained until 1953. A member of the party’s central committee, he was elected to the Knesset on its list in 1955 , and was re-elected in 1959 . He lost his seat in the 1961 elections , and in 1965 left the party’s central committee. In 1969 he joined the Free Centre , and was a founder of La’am in 1976. [ 2 ] He died in 1998 at the age of 90.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mordechai_Olmert
In Harbin, Olmert’s father Mordechai Olmert was born. Under the guidance of his parents, Mordechai was admitted to Harbin Institute of Technology with high scores. After graduation, he stayed on as a language teacher, mainly teaching Russian and Chinese. At Harbin Institute of Technology, Mordechai met his later wife, who was a Jewish refugee who had fled from Europe.
In 1935, the Mordechai couple gave birth to their first child, Abraham Olmert.
In 1938, Mordechai heard that the Jewish people were about to regain their country, so they pooled their funds and traveled back to Israel. Before leaving, Mordechai strongly suggested that his parents could return to Israel with them.
But Joseph recognized that Harbin, China was his hometown, and he didn’t go anywhere, not even allowing the Mordechai couple to return to Israel. Helpless, the Mordechai couple and their family of three secretly went to Israel.
In 1941, Joseph passed away and, according to his wishes, his body was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Harbin. The inscription on the tombstone reads:
Thanks to the Chinese people for protecting our family’s past, and making people who used to be part of this Jewish community feel their dignity and respect. All this will forever remind us that there were many Jews living in this city – Harbin.
In Israel, their second child Ehud Olmert was born and became the future Prime Minister of Israel.
Ehud Olmert – Wikipedia
Prime Minister of Israel from 2006 to 2009 Ehud Olmert ( / ˈ oʊ l m ər t , – m ɛər t / ; [ 1 ] Hebrew : אֶהוּד אוֹלְמֶרְט , IPA: [eˈhud ˈolmeʁt] ⓘ ; born 30 September 1945) is an Israeli politician and lawyer who served as the prime minister of Israel from 2006 to 2009. The son of a former Herut politician, Olmert was first elected to the Knesset for Likud in 1973, at the age of 28. Olmert served as a minister without portfolio from 1988 to 1990, and as Minister of Health from 1990 until 1992. In 1993, he was elected Mayor of Jerusalem. He served two consecutive five-year terms before returning to national politics in 2003 to serve as Designated Acting Prime Minister , Minister of Trade and Minister of Communications . Olmert also served as acting Minister of Finance from 2005 to 2006, following the resignation of incumbent minister Benjamin Netanyahu . In late 2005, Olmert joined Prime Minister Ariel Sharon in leaving Likud and forming Kadima alongside fellow Likud and Labor Party politicians. In January 2006, Olmert became the acting Prime Minister after Sharon was permanently incapacitated by a stroke. Olmert went on to succeed Sharon as Kadima leader, and formed a government following elections held that March. During Olmert’s term, Israel fought the 2006 Lebanon War , which ended inconclusively. Olmert’s approval dropped following the war. He was harshly criticized for his handling of it by the Winograd Commission , whose findings prompted protests calling for his resignation. Olmert engaged in multiple rounds of peace talks with the Palestinians, including the 2007 Annapolis Conference , which ended following the breakout of the 2009 Gaza War . Olmert resigned as Prime Minister in 2008 due to low approval ratings and a then-ongoing corruption probe. He remained in office until March 2009 and was succeeded by Benjamin Netanyahu. After leaving office, he was sentenced to 6 years in prison in 2014 for accepting bribes and for obstruction of justice during his terms as mayor of Jerusalem and as trade minister. He was released on parole in July 2017. Biography Ehud Olmert was born in 1945 near Binyamina in the British Mandate of Palestine . According to Olmert, his parents, Bella Wagman and Mordechai Olmert , escaped persecution in Ukraine and Russia , and found sanctuary in Harbin , China. [ 2 ] Olmert’s paternal family settled in Harbin after fleeing Samara in 1919. His father Mordechai grew up in the city and was a member of its local Betar branch. He and Wagman immigrated to mandatory Palestine from Harbin in 1933. [ 3 ] Mordechai later became a politician and served as a member of the Knesset for Herut from 1955 to 1961. [ 4 ] In 2004, Olmert visited China and paid his respects at the tomb of his grandfather in Harbin. Olmert said that his father had never forgotten his Chinese hometown after moving to Palestine. “When he died at the age of 88, he spoke his last words in Mandarin Chinese “, he recalled. [ 5 ] Olmert graduated from the Hebre
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ehud_Olmert
In Abraham and Ehud’s memory, their parents often vividly told them Chinese mythological stories, Chinese paintings, and Chinese embroidered balls in Chinese.
Even in Ehud’s memory, the Chinese red lanterns can still be clearly seen, which makes them full of longing for ancient China in their childhood.
Their parents also proudly recounted their experiences of teaching students in university multiple times, and even on his deathbed, Ehud Olmert’s father blurted out Chinese.
Because Ehud Olmert did not grow up in China, he could not fully understand his father’s words. However, under the constant influence of his parents and Zhang Xun, he knew that his father always missed China and was always concerned about their hometown – Harbin.
In 2004, Ehud Olmert and his elder brother Abraham Olmert returned to the Harbin Jewish Cemetery in China to pay tribute to their grandfather, Joseph Olmert.
Spread chicken pieces with marmalade (the more you use, the sweeter it will be, so spread according to taste).
Coat with stuffing.
Place in a greased 2 quart casserole dish.
Drizzle top with butter.
Bake for 30 minutes until brown and crispy.
What is the most dramatic transformation you’ve seen in a Marine recruit?
When I was a Recruiter, I had a guy walk into the recruiting office who weighed 325 lbs. All the other recruiters in my office did not want to talk to him, I elected to talk to him anyway.
I conducted an interview with him and asked why he wanted to be Marine? He stated that he had weight problems all his life and that he wanted to see if he could tackle it. He also said he wanted to see if he get through the challenge of becoming a Marine.
I said come in to the office on Saturday morning and we’ll do an Inventory Strength Test (I.S.T.) which consists of Pull-ups, Sit-ups, and 1.5 mile run.
He proceeded to fail each event miserably, but he did walk the mile and a half and didn’t stop.
I was candid with him and said look in order to get to your “ship weight” of 220 lbs, you gonna have to lose 105 lbs. I said, “I’ll work with you to get you ready, if you can “show me you’re serious.”
I told if him that if he lost 30 lbs on his own, that would demonstrate that he was serious and that I would help him “the rest of the way”.
I wasn’t really expecting him to do anything, but I said I would contact him periodically to see if he was still serious about joining the Corps.
About two months later, he comes back in the office and I didn’t recognize him. He said “Remember me?” I said, “no.”
You said if I lost 30 lbs, you would help me lose the rest of the weight. I said hop on the scale. I was shocked when he weighed-in at 275 lbs.
I changed into P.T. gear and said let’s do the I.S.T. again. This time he does 2 pull-ups and 30 sit-ups, and a 20 minute 1.5 mile run.
I worked with him for next 3 months to get him to his “ship weight” of 220 lbs. I worked-out with him 5 days a week sometimes twice a day to get him ready for Boot Camp.
Normally I would say it’ll be “shakey” to send a guy to Boot Camp at his “ship weight” because he still needed to get down 196 lbs to graduate Recruit Training (based on his height/weight standards).
But in his case, I was pretty confident because he never quit and always showed-up for our almost daily P.T. sessions.
In his case, LCpl. (Lance Corporal) Cortina graduated Company Honorman of his Recruit Training Company. He was my only Recruit who graduated meritorious LCpl. Company Honorman. He really earned it!
Semper Fi!!!
“The Illusion Has COLLAPSED, The Horror Is Coming..” – Richard Wolff Last Warning!
Is the Chinese government the best government in the world?
The Indian Government is one of the absolutely worst and most atrocious ones in the Planet
I don’t mean Modi or BJP alone
The entire Indian System of Government is an absolute CESSPIT of Corruption and other horrors
So for a person like me living in India , the Chinese Government looks like one of the greatest and best governments in the planet
To see people like Liang Wenfeng who created Deepseek and Ren Zhengfei of Huawei and Wang Chuangfu and founders of Tencent, Bytedance, Gamescience, Unitree come up from the Chinese system and being humble and modest
While in India we have Hair cutters becoming billionaires by delivering Chilli powder and Milk and cleaning your bathroom as well as a bunch of Thelawallahs and INDIA BOASTING ABOUT IT
It makes me have contempt and derision for the Indian system as well as a deep loathing
That makes me pray for a CPC like Government and wish to be born Chinese in my next birth
However that may not be how someone else thinks
You may have Danes, Norwegians, Scandinavians or people like our friend Karthik Bala who lives in the Mediterranean under a European system feel that China has too much surveillance, censorship
They may feel Chinese people have a way too much mechanical and even Robotic life
They may feel a One Party System is too oppressive
So I feel every Government must serve it’s people the best
China has such a Government today
So does Singapore, Norway, Denmark, Sweden and a select few countries
India and majority of the others DON’T HAVE SUCH a GOVERNMENT and Democracy in its present form is a NIGHTMARE HORROR FOR INDIA
Is the Chinese system the best?
For its People YES
For other countries, maybe not
However every country must strive for the best form of government that is people centric and is best for its people
Red tone. Damn… they locked out my keycard. I was hoping for the easy way, but I’m going to have to do this the hard way.My sledgehammer crashes against the steel door with a thunderous force behind it. The door dents, but doesn’t give in. I pull back and swing harder this time. I must get in.Boom after boom resounds around the parking lot as I throw my entire weight into removing the object that stands between me and my goals. The door is looking structurally mangled now, but not yet open. I continue slamming the door. I must get in.I pull back and strike again and again without taking a breath. Again and again. My arms scream for respite that doesn’t come, my heart pounds like the hammer I plunge into the door. I must get in.
The sound changes as my hammer punches the door open, compromising it permanently. I pause only long enough to steady myself before running inside. I’ll only have a few minutes to do what needs to be done. What I need to do.
Running down the sterile hallway, I find the double door at the end and push my way through.
There, in the middle of the room, lies my machine. My life’s work. My life. Examining my electronic child, I notice nothing out of the ordinary. They haven’t started dismantling it yet. Which means it’s time to get to work.
I open the cover on the side of the machine, and toggle the digital display on. The small cooling fan hums as the computer starts up and I wait impatiently for the menu screen to appear. It always took ages to boot up.
A clattering sound coming from the hallway steals my attention. I pick up my sledgehammer and go to the doors. Shoving it through the handle, I hopefully buy enough time to do what I need to. I get back to the computer quickly, the menu screen is up and so I press the “run diagnostic” button. Waiting impatiently for the percentage bar to fill up consumes the next few seconds of my life.
“Hey!” An angry thudding on the double door starts my internal countdown, quicker than I expected, this will be tight.
“Come out of there!” I consider how he’s here already as the diagnostic comes to its conclusion.
“All hardware ready”
Good. I look at the “Run Simulation” button, but there’s no time and I already know it doesn’t work. That’s why I’m here. Time to figure out why. Opening up the calculations, I skim over my brainchild for the last 15 years, trying to find the error that has illuded me for weeks.
A crash grabs part of my attention. Not yet! I’m not ready! I look over and see an intimidatingly large man stumble through the broken doors. The gun and badge on his side indicating his role as campus security.
“Edward?”
I return my focus to the calculations. Searching
“Edward, you need to move away. You can’t be here anymore.”
My calculations seem perfect. I can’t find the error. Where is it?? I must find it! I’m wrenched away from my child. Crying out for the pain that never will be.
“Edward, stop. It’s over.”
I scramble to get back to my machine. “Let me go! I’m so close! I’m almost there!”
“Edward, stop fighting. You’re just making things worse”
I must make it work. I must!
Running the calculations through my mind again and again. Trying to find the solution that is just out of reach. Firing in circles, the equations fly through the air as I try to find the fault within them. Where is it?
Suddenly, my periphery is aware of something. A tapping on the ground. Tap, tap, tap. I know that sound. It’s the sound of greed. I hate that sound.
“Mr Rickson, sir!” The security guard addresses the worthless sack of meat.
I look up and meet with his scheming eyes. Eyes that know they’ve won. They’ve finally taken me down. A smug expression tugs at his cheeks, further affirming a single goal which has just been fulfilled. The goal to rid me of everything I am.
“Edward”
The word splits the air. Even the security guard cowers. But not me. I will kill this bastard if that’s what it takes.
“I assume you’ve called the police Jordie?”
“Yes Mr Rickson”
“Good, make sure they know this dense fool has gone and done the one thing I told him not to. Even after I was really nice to him about it.”
He claims with a victorious tone.
“Nice?! You cancelled my program! Stole my work! You took everything from me! You’re closing me down just because you wanted more money for yourself! You selfish-”
Wait- Dense… Density! Yes that’s it! The equations snap into place as the image becomes clear. I have the answer! I just need a minute.
“I have it!” I scream. I must make him hear me. Just once!
“No you don’t. And you never will. Take him outside.”
My arms are wrenched forwards and my body violently refuses to follow. I try my hardest but the security guard is far stronger than I am. Of course he doesn’t believe me. Even if he did, he wouldn’t want me to succeed. I’ve got to do this on my own.
“Come on Edward, don’t make this any worse than it is.” The security guard tries to calm me. I will not be calmed. In my mad thrashing I flounder for options. Equipment is too far away, I can’t grasp the door on my way through, the hallway is empty, I appear to be out of options. Then I brush something. Something that gives me a glimmer of hope. I pause for a moment and look at the security guard, he looks at me and a flicker of realization hits him.
He moves to stop me but I’m quicker. My hand moves to his hip and I draw his sidearm. He catches my arm and the struggle ensues.
“Gun!”
I wrestle for the gun but the immense strength of the man is overpowering me frighteningly quickly, fortunately, I am fighting for my life. I throw my knee into his groin and follow up with a flurry of elbows and punches with a staggering level of ferocity. He takes it well at first but gradually stumbles back and weakens, just for a moment. But in that moment, I have the upper hand. And I take that advantage.
BANG!
His eyes widen. White turns red. The floor becomes slippery.
BANG!
His eyes are gone, his head hits the floor. I’m free!
“What have you done?” I turn to face Mr Rickson. He moves towards me with a presence that is intimidating. And maybe scared?
“Put that down before you hurt someone else!”
I point
BANG!
Thud
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Click.
The ringing in my ears accompanies the quiet hallway. I’m Free! Free to finish my work. Standing up, I thunder down the hall as fast as I can. Through the broken double doors and towards my machine. I input the new solutions into the computer and Run the Simulation.
10%, 20%, 30%
The wailing of sirens pierces the night.
40%, 50%, 60%
I am tense, will it work? Will I finally be right?
70%, 80%, 90%…
100%
Success
I inhale sharply. It works. I stand in disbelief. It works. What now?
Turn it on! Turn it on! Of course. That’s what now! I chide myself for being so stupid and run over to the roller door. As I haul on the chain to open the door, the sirens becomes clearer and louder. Not here yet, but soon.
I had wheels attached to the machine which allows me to move it out into the clear night sky. I lock the wheels and hover my finger over the “Activate” button.
This is it, the moment I dreamed of. The moment it was all for. Time to turn it on.
I compress my finger into the button and stand up. Looking up as the machine starts to whir. Internal components spinning and clicking before finally firing a small stream of solution into the sky. Normally, the solution would be captive to the laws of gravity, but on this one occasion, gravity forfeits its control for just a moment. And in that moment, glory ensues.
The sky darkens even more now. Ominously foretelling of the danger to come. The wailing of the sirens and flashing of the lights begins to compete with the flashing of lightning and roar of thunder. Let them enjoy the show.
Water droplets begin to fall on my face, cementing my victory. I close my eyes and take it in as the sprinkle turns into a roaring downpour.
It works.
Tariffs are a headache but have a surprise upshot: the U.S. is raking in billions more than expected. What are your thoughts on this?
The U.S. government has generated billions of dollars through tariffs.
Meanwhile:
The U.S. stock market is experiencing severe volatility. Investors are favoring short-term strategies, watching Truth Social and following TACO investment strategy by withdrawing funds immediately after making profits.
U.S. Treasury bond didn’t sell well. Yields reached around 4.2% in June.
The federal budget deficit totaled $1.1 trillion in the first five months of fiscal year 2025. Therefore, I don’t believe this mere billion dollars can make any significant difference.
Trump has not yet disclosed the changes in import/export trade after imposing tariffs. But I suspect the results aren’t impressive—businesses worldwide are trying to steer clear of the U.S. If you think merchants would willingly pay high tariffs and continue trading with the U.S. at a loss, you must be out of your mind.
The Awakening of Human Consciousness | Forbidden Fungus (STRIPPED)
Something extraordinary happened to the human brain 100,000 years ago. In just a few thousand generations, our brains nearly doubled in size – a change that should have taken millions of years. Scientists couldn’t explain it until Terence McKenna proposed a radical theory. He believed early humans transformed into conscious beings not through fire or tools, but through eating a forbidden fungus growing in animal dung across Africa.
What is something that completely blows your mind?
United States Postal Service trucks don’t have air conditioning.
For those that live in the United States, I’m sure this looks familiar:
This wonderful contraption is something I find myself in 50+ hours a week: the LLV. Or “Long Life Vehicle.” The device that brings you all your junk mail, bills, debt collection letters, IPSY bags and Amazon packages. It is the largest fleet of vehicles in the country and I believe the world as well (don’t quote me).
They have been around for over 3 decades. The base is a Chevrolet. It’s actually insanely easy to drive, despite not being able to see out the back and driving on the right side. The front tires are set inward more than your typical vehicle to give it a greater and tighter turn radius. I can fit these bad boys into the tightest of spaces.
So what about this beauty blows my mind?
They manufactured them without an air conditioning feature.
Now I’ve never been one to care too much about air conditioning in the car. I usually just roll down the windows and make do because I don’t want to burn up the gas at a faster rate.
But inside my mailtruck? HOLY. BALLS. It gets hot in there without air conditioning. There’s almost zero ventilation, so whatever heat enters refuses to leave. When it’s 100+ out, I believe the mailtrucks start pushing 110–125 inside.
Oh sure, they all have these little fans equipped on the dash that are supposed to “help” cool you down when it’s the middle of summer and 100+ degrees outside. They look like this:
So why am I complaining? Well I want you to imagine with me a scene. It’s over 100 degrees outside, you go out for a run or a walk and work up a mean sweat. You see your life flash before your eyes and wonder about every single life choice you’ve made to this point. You need to cool down. So you grab a blow dryer, turn it on to the hot setting and…blow it in your face?
Ya that doesn’t sound like a remedy right? That’s what these fans feel like. I don’t even use them. I deal.
I just. Deal.
By the end of the day, my clothes are drenched in perspiration, all my energy is gone, and I don’t even want to know the situation in my work boots.
It honestly blows my mind just a little why, with their millions upon millions of dollars in revenue, the Post Office manufactured their delivery vehicles without air conditioning. The funny thing is, I live in Idaho. I can’t imagine what being a carrier in Arizona, or Texas, or Florida feels like.
Now the good news is the Post Office is going to begin phasing these vehicles out and bringing in a brand new fleet sometime in the next 5–10 years. They already released some photos of one prototype that is currently being tested in Detroit:
They also released some photos of the dash:
Wait.
CLOSER.
COULD IT BE?!
ARE THOSE AIR CONDITIONING VENTS?!
It hasn’t been confirmed but BOY OH BOY, if those are vents that lead to an air conditioning system then I most certainly can’t wait for these trucks to be released nationwide. I’ll use that dang air conditioning in the dead of winter just because I can.
In the meantime, do your mail guy or girl a favor. Freeze a bottle of water overnight, then in the morning, put it in your mailbox with the flag up. By the time they get to it, chances are it will be half melted and they will have nice ice cold water to drink. It’s happened to me countless times and it always warms my heart (ironic way to describe it).
It’s the right thing to do.
EDIT: An awesome and thoughtful gesture by Olivia Newan, who actually heeded my advice and did the frozen water bottle act:
I wasn’t honestly sure if anyone would do it, but she jumped right on it. I know for a fact her mail carrier will be thrilled. Thanks Olivia, you’ve earned my follow!
Why are there no peasants rebellion after 1949 in China?
of course we have.
The Pilgrimage rebellion
Mr Lin wenyong,1981,took rebellion and established a Buddhism kingdom in his own village, selling “health-tickets” to scam money. Been arrested by local cops in the same year.
The Holy Dynasty rebellion
Miss. Chao Zhengkun.
Took rebellion in 1986, Obtained 4 male-Imperial-favorites, named her Right and Left Ministers.
Arrested two years later and sentence to death in the name of “group licentiousness”.
The Anonymous Kingdom rebellion
Mr.Zhu shiqiang
Took rebellion in 1980, name himself as King in his house, but don’t know how to name his kingdom.
He organized 50+ “citizens of King” to attack local hospital. Arrested in December, and sentence to death.
The Great You rebellion
Assembled over a thousand ppl in his village in 1985.
Occupied the local hospital and burn all “One-Child policy” documents.
Raped two local nurses, and beat local doctors.
Arrested by local cops and been sentenced to jail.
The center-imperial-Qing dynasty rebellion
Rebellion in 1982, Mr.Zhang Anqing, named himself as who got Mandate of Heaven, he bestow an official title to ChiangKaiShark in Taiwan (he didn’t know Chiang already die in 1970s).
He originated an imperial expedition led by the emperor of himself, hundreds villager followes him.
Been arrested by local cops on his expedition journey.
2
Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Forbidden Spreadsheet
Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for a tale of bureaucratic horror, undead inefficiency, and the most haunted Excel file ever created. Today’s adventure stars Taxman Ted, whose love of order clashes violently with Count Catula’s disdain for daylight—and Ditto the Kitten, whose innocent echoing turns a simple spreadsheet into a financial nightmare. So grab your calculator (and maybe a wooden stake), and join us for The Forbidden Spreadsheet—where even vampires aren’t safe from the terror of data entry.
Act 1: The Vampire Audit
Taxman Ted had a problem.
Ted:“Count Catula, as a non-living resident of this farm, you are not exempt from financial transparency!”
Count Catula:[Dramatically clutching cape]“I am undead, not unpaid! My coffers are none of your concern!”
Undeterred, Ted created the “Vampire Hours Log”, a spreadsheet to track:
Nocturnal Activity: (Mostly napping in the hayloft.)
Blood Consumption: (Mostly stolen sips from Chef Remy’s “tomato juice.”)
Dramatic Exits: (47% of which were just him tripping over his own cape.)
Count Catula:“This is persecution! Where is my eternal rest?!”
Ted:“Column F, Row 12: Eternal rest scheduled for never.”
Act 2: Ditto’s Digital Disaster
Enter Ditto the Kitten, who loved Ted’s spreadsheet.
Ditto:“Formulas! Formulas!” (He began echoing every function Ted typed.)
Result 1: The “Blood Expenditure” tab now read: “SNACKS OWED: ∞.”
Result 2: Count Catula’s “Coffin Maintenance” budget became “REQUIRES 700% MORE CAPES.”
Result 3: The entire file gained sentience and auto-filled: “THIS SPREADSHEET IS CURSED. -Management.”
Ted:“Why does it keep adding emojis to the depreciation column?!”
Ditto:“Emojis! Emojis!” (The spreadsheet now featured vampire bats next to “Taxable Undead Income.”)
Act 3: The Shadowy Exit
Count Catula, pushed to his limit, staged a protest.
Count Catula:“Audits are for the living! I refuse to be micromanaged by pivot tables!”
Ted:“But your transparency score—”
Count Catula:“I TRANSPARENTLY VANISH!” (He melted into a shadow, leaving only his cape behind—which Ted immediately logged as a “charitable donation.”)
The Moral (and the Post-Credit Formula)
Moral:Even the undead deserve a little chaos. (And maybe a cape allowance.)
Post-Credit Scene:
Ditto finds the abandoned spreadsheet. It autofills: “FEED ME MORE NUMBERS, KITTEN.”
Best Lines:
“Eternal rest scheduled for never.” – Ted, bureaucratic grim reaper
Kitten Chaos: Ditto corrupting formulas like a tiny, cute hacker.
Haunted Tech: A spreadsheet with opinions.
Now, go forth—and may your formulas always balance (unlike Count Catula’s sleep schedule). 🧛♂️📊🐱
What makes the Chinese jet cheaper than other jets such as the F-16, Mirage, and Rafale?
The one word answer?
Wassenaar.
The countries in green agreed under the arrangement not to sell military or dual-use technology to the countries in gray.
This is why India flies both the Apache and Rafale while China flies neither.
In fact, China has been under military embargo for most of its independent history. It has enjoyed only a few brief purchasing windows, the most recent which began only in 2015 with the slew of crimea-related sanctions on Russia.
Embargo and restrictions on “dual-use” technology is what forced China to pursue industrial and technological independence. China today has the most complete industrial supply chain in history, greater than US, Japan and Germany combined.
In next gen technology, China is pulling ahead in many fields.
Specifically, military aviation products are developed and manufactured by SOEs. The economics is rather simple, because the products have only one customer: the PLA. Cost is therefore mostly a question of R&D, testing and manufacturing, or manhours and materials.
As a priority state project, military aviation not only has the pick of talent, but also influence on talent development programs. This enabled not only competency and leadership, but also institutional memory and self renewal.
Chinese fighter jet programs are not only comprehensive in coverage, but also disciplined and grounded, especially in design validation and the stepwise introduction of features. In practice, this delivers constant iteration, with generational replacement in a jet series typically no more than 7 years. For example, the j-10 went from A to B to C models within 13 years, each a significant upgrade from predecessors.
Chinese fighter jets were not developed with export economics in mind, and their lack of combat or operational record beyond the mainland coupled with Western political pressure not to shop Chinese arms made them a hard sell. The Chinese offered comprehensive packages at attractive prices and financing to drum up interest, to undercut both the Russians and NATO, because every sale is an unbudgeted bonus.
The other reason is the absence of high inflation in china post-covid, further driving up the price difference with Western offerings.
In a new age of material restriction for military or dual-use by China, particularly rare earths, expect the supply shock in arms to force a repricing, elevating the Chinese to screaming “deals of the century”, not just in price but delivery timelines.
Entitled Killer Realizes She’s Never Going Home
This Video Is For Educational Purposes. It is meant to show the psychology behind how police interact with suspects to try and get their confession. In this jcs inspired true crime documentary, we take a look at the police interrogation of Devan Schreiner.
Is China a developed country?
China is kind of unique, in that it is a socialist country.
What it means is that
Chinese money is not always directly comparable to capitalist money.
What that means is that you can do more with less money in China.
For example:
The Capitalist model says that you should always try to make more money out of the same stuff. For that they aim for monopoly by creating scarcity and division and impeding competition, using the government, lawmakers and the legal system as tools, and make a fortune by drawing people to overspend on luxury lifestyles.
China is different because it’s socialist. Only the state is allowed monopoly. Chinese entrepreneurs see something and think wow, that’s expensive, but I think I can make it cheaper and sell it to the masses. And there goes the typical story of hard-working Chinese working so much they flood the market and caviars are now sold online at $15 for 3 cans. They don’t understand the concept of keeping something artificially scarse to make the most profit, because the literally can’t. They only think about making the most money out of hard-working, under the “gain by labor” rule, and they kill the market in the process.
Remember how much a plasma TV used to cost when the Chinese didn’t make them? How much an EV cost when the Chinese didn’t make them?
Or how watermelon is still a slightly-fancy fruit in many countries other than China?
Countless products have gone down the China path, from luxury to cheap as dirt.
This makes $1000 monthly income in China actually worth a lot more than $2000 monthly income in the US.
So while Chinese GDP per capita may appear moderate at us$12000 on paper, befitting a high “developing” nation, Chinese people’s living standards are actually quite comparable with countries that have twice the GDP per capita or even more.
2. Being Socialist also means that the state has a much stronger control on the economy, and can better allocate resources to important projects. Thus China can develope and support space programs, cutting edge large scale infrastructure, sophisticated weapons and advanced scientific research that can match a country 5 times richer.
China’s blend of socialism and market pragmatism results in an economy that behaves unlike traditional capitalist models. Its impact on global pricing, production, and affordability is enormous.
More importantly, it challenges the assumption that GDP per capita is a direct measure of real living standards or national capability
Jupiter looked lovely this time of year. The perfect storm sat in the middle of it and I yearned for chaos like that in my life. As tempting as it was, I was told to never to leave the ship on my own accord.
I often spent my time confined to the space craft, while everyone else discovered something important. My people rode the space belts, trying to find habitable planets and profitable minerals. Earth was a dangerous place after the war. It was riddled with radiation. We were forced to leave. I have no memory of such a place.
We created a new democracy, a new start. Space held greater things than our planet ever did, we met the extraterrestrials, the multidementionals— though they didn’t frequent too often. Sometimes a person or two would boomerang here and there and it took some bartering with officials to clear things up. The extraterrestrials offered their help when they could. They saw our planet festered with hate and didn’t know how to stop it. They said it spread like a virus, of which was infectious. Greed fell upon my people until there was close to none left.
I was tasked with bartering with the multidementionals. It was grueling work. I often saw lives pan out perfectly, or sideways. It was up to us to manage the galaxy. I am from earth, when she was young and before the war snatched it all up. I have to look onward and not behind, our planet was destined for desolation. I pull through, though. This was never a gift. I was taken in the night by extraterrestrial officials. We were to live our lives dedicated to making sure things paved their path according to plan.
Our memories were often wiped. Things I didn’t want to remember slipped through the cracks. I didn’t tell people.
I stayed on the ship when I had time off, in the sector that managed time travel. I knew we were only supposed to go there when there was a bug in the time line. Sometimes people who were supposed to meet and create new ideas, don’t always meet. We have to intervene. Butterfly Effect up my ass. I was controlled by a system unbeknownst to me, to meddle in the lives of others, we were observers, we fixed the bugs that riddled the maps.
The sector I frequented was empty and not activated for use by others for space travel. It was off the route so I got as much time as I needed.
I found myself turning the dial while everyone else slumbered, trying to understand why I felt emotions I couldn’t explain. I was of royalty here, I had only just began my journey, and for some reason I was the best at my job, I was recognized often by the extraterrestrial beings. They looked like us, there were so many different species, and they all knew the lore on humans. I was a human who recognized the pattern and the sequences better than the rest of my kind. History felt funny, my concept of it was so vast and misplaced compared to the humans that were living it unbothered.
I debugged human lives, never told when I might be transitioning to the past or present, always told to keep my presence unknown.
The portal to the past opened on my command, I had stripped out of my working attire and into commoners clothes, reminiscent of the decade I was returning to. It was pretty easy to blend in. I didn’t like blending in, I felt like I wasn’t born to blend in.
I stepped through, the fractals of light pixilated around me. The portal closed and disappeared into the necklace I wore around my neck, it was an access point to go back. I knew my coordinates like the back of my hand. I took down my long curls and breathed in deep. It felt interesting wearing sneakers and jeans. The knitted sweater I wore was so thick, it warded off the cold. My necessities were a jacket, a high tech phone, and American currency. I had whatever else I needed that was included in a satchel on my back, it was protocol to leave fully equipped incase you got stranded.
The air felt moist on my skin, under my breath, something that I didn’t understand. I wasn’t familiar with the way water fell from the sky. It perplexed me.
I was left at a bus terminal. I had the coordinates on my device pulled up, so I hopped on a bus that took me into the city. The city seemed tired, and my stomach felt sick. I couldn’t pin point it. I knew I couldn’t stay long.
The rain wept through the clouds above, sunlight peeked in at every possible moment. The clouds were twisting and turning in on each other. Rainbows arched high. I think I remember enough about rainbows, they looked so etherial. I felt an urge to run to the end of them. I recall something in the earthling lore— something known as YouTube. I was shown the time capsule of that man who was crying with glee as he found the end of one. It was intriguing enough for me, to wonder why rain falls and rainbows shine through tears. The colors were so vivid, compared to what I experienced day to day on my spacecraft. It was torture, to have to pull away every time, after each mission succeeded. I wanted to live in it, I wanted to live how they did, I didn’t want to have to control their lives like scientific puppetry.
The bus slowed, and I got off, near a bundle of food carts. I loved the idea of eating in the past, I couldn’t tell the commoners about my experiences, though. I couldn’t tell officials I was leaving the ship, this was all on my own accord. My secret to keep. I had to do it right.
Foods from different cultures wafted into my direction. I felt myself salivating instantly. How was I to chose? I knew I felt a connection deeper than I could explain, to this place, so could I trust my gut?
I walked up to a shop that sold something called Ramen, the thick broth people sipped on was so invigorating, the scent of unknown meats filled me with excitement.
“I’ll have whatever they’re having!” I told the person behind the counter, as I pointed to the table in the courtyard.
I had watched them collect their food and as they began eating, I knew it was what I needed.
“One Miso Tonkotsu for the lovely lady!” He hollered, as I payed and tipped a generous amount. That was a common thing here.
I stood around the food carts, seeing the families talking and playing in the court yard, as I wished for something different. I knew I was taken in the middle of the night, without my consent. I wish I could change it. I felt like my timeline was taken from me. I knew in another dimension she was probably shining through, doing something she loved, becoming unstoppable. They give you reasons but the reasons were never enough for me.
“We saved you from something that could have been your demise!”
It never sat right.
I nearly jumped with glee as they called my order.
“Aurora Jade, your order is ready!”
I came to the counter and collected my ramen, which was decorated with with what they called pork belly and soft boiled eggs, though the seaweed was confusing to me. It was green. They said they harvested it from the ocean. It boggled my mind, I had never been to the ocean before.
I trailed my way back to a table in the courtyard, the fire was lit and warming the air around me. The sun was low, but still there. Rain and wind were fleeting, the perfect atmosphere, I was told, to eat such a dish. I was lucky to try spirits, this ale was golden and foamy on top. I sat at my table and fell in love all over again. Why can’t I experience this every day? Where was the harm in that? The egg was gooey and golden in the center, the yolk was so soft and buttery. The noodles were chewy, they slurped up well and were freshly pulled.
The broth was thick, unlike other kinds of soups that I have tried prior. I have never tasted something so rich, and to be able to pair it with a Japanese ale, I was in heaven. Compared to the food they served us on the space craft… we should do some better bartering.
I was mid slurp into my noodles, configuring these chopsticks in my hands like an uncultured fool. I wasn’t from this timeline, I thought. People could give me grace.
“Excuse me,” A figure behind me said, and I jumped mid air out of my seat. I didn’t know how to react with the outsiders, unless I was told to do so. This was unscripted.
This wasn’t my world. I was to keep prim and proper.
“Um, yes?” I questioned mid chew, shaking like a leaf. What if the officials were here to collect me? No! They couldn’t have, I left no trace, I made sure of it.
“There’s no other seats, do you mind if I sit here?” The voice said. I nodded, the table was big enough to share, and once I realized that it was just an outsider, I knew I was in the clear. I just had to keep on good behavior.
The man sat down, and I shuddered in a way I didn’t understand. Something was taken from me. Somehow, I knew him.
This was the man I came to sit and watch. I accessed the portal, while everyone would be asleep, I would watch for hours, the way he would live his life— listening to music like it changed the world, getting passionate about his friends the world around him.
Oh shit. This is why I’m not meant to frequent this sector. I know I’m not meant to see him. I don’t understand. I began shaking nervously. Tears flooded my eyes. It was strange to happen in a world you didn’t know.
“Are you okay?” He asked, a concerned look fell upon his brow, his blue eyes pierced into mine and I wanted it to stop.
Don’t engage with the outside world.
You’re not supposed to engage with the outside world.
Only a second ago, I was just a wallflower, a outsider who frequented this realm at night when I wasn’t supposed to. I was supposed to be an observer, to see the algorithms and put things in place. I was known now. I had broken the moral code of my people.
His hand flew to my arm, trying to steady me. Electricity rushed through. Memories flashed back.
“Aurora?”
The question was weak on his lips. He was weary, as if he were trying to recall a dream from many moons ago.
I was not supposed to hold onto so many memories, they flooded at speeds I couldn’t decipher. They told me initially that I was fragile, and I was not to be meddling in places I wasn’t supposed to. It didn’t make sense to me, because my whole job was to meddle.
Tears flooded down my cheeks, I knew him, the man I watched from afar, being the observer I was, they stole me from him.
“Jed…”
“Where have you been?” He pondered, bringing his hand up to his chin, and then nervously into his hair. Lost in thought.
“I don’t understand, I thought you were dead. And for you to just turn up out of the blue at our favourite spot. What the hell are you playing at?” He paged through his thoughts, trying to piece it all together.
I accidentally touched a time capsule from the life that I left behind.
“They— they told you I was dead?” I frowned.
I didn’t understand, does that mean they have my name on a headstone? I remember who I was now, but what I was doing was inappropriate and out of line,
“I don’t remember, I don’t remember all of it, it was stolen from me,”
To explain to the boy that I loved as to why I left, I couldn’t. I was supposed to live on while he died in his time line. Thats why they didn’t want me to go back. That’s why I was to follow strict protocol.
My eyes narrowed. Jed was still in awe struck, he kept reaching out, touching my face, grasping at reality.
“You’re not going to believe me, I don’t understand fully myself. I don’t have all my memories.” I said, sternly.
We didn’t have much time, I was only frequenting for the food, the life around me I desperately wanted, until they would come steal me away along with my memories that seeped through the cracks.
I grabbed his hand and pulled him out of his seat. His body fell into mine, and I felt sparks fly, memories began resurfacing and tears flooded again.
The rain poured overhead, we stood our ground as we blurred in with the crowd, the people didn’t care about the showers. We didn’t either, it felt etherial. I felt his breath on my neck.
“This can’t be real, I went to your funeral, I saw your body in the casket, I saw it go underground,” he shuddered, I felt his body trembling as we collided.
My lips parted in shock as I heaved through each breath, trying to understand what they covered up. What did they do? Who did they put underground?
Who was I?
His hand trailed its way towards my waist, and soon I was as close as I could ever be. I felt like I was living in a dream. I could watch it from the portal, at night, while everyone was asleep.
I could dream of having a life— a family that wasn’t stranded on a space craft near Jupiter, being ordered around by beings who said you didn’t matter.
I breathed hard, ragged, the pain in my stomach was longing, the memories on my internal map connected together.
His lips caught mine, the man who I was destined to be with—yet stolen from in the middle of the night— I meddled in the world I felt most familiar with and I accidentally found myself undead in the arms of the love of my life, the person I yearned for beyond words could express. My breath caught in my throat as I remembered what it was like to come home to him, his scent lingered on my skin and his hugs gave me life in my chest. What it felt like to make love, it was distant, but still there. Our hearts beat as one, our minds found the world enticing and we often got lost in the music and beauty around us.
I remembered it. I didn’t want to. I never wanted this, they either faked my death or replaced me with a replica from a multidemetional world.
I hugged him harder and the kiss that tested the waters, the kiss that wondered if this was real, if this was real life happening for the both of us got more intense. It soon became a need. Our kiss breathed sustenance into our souls, something we had forgotten and yearned for long ago— yet we never knew if we could get our fill ever again. We held onto it for dear life, intertwined as one. I didn’t care that I had broken protocols, that I had followed a memory and ended up in the past. I was apart of it again, I was going to fight for him. I could take him with me, hide him from the officials and find a way to work him into the algorithm….
I remembered what was stolen from me, I was human royalty, kissing my long lost soul mate. I could change the path of history for him, I could face the damage.
I could see patterns, sequences that held us together.
I broke the kiss while both our minds went wild, raging with questions.
“I want you to come with me,” I said abruptly, my mind spiraled out of control.
“I don’t know how to explain everything to you, but your time line is almost out of life. It’s going to end soon.” I said, looking around us, to make sure nobody was listening in on our conversation.
His eyes looked tired, worried. Yet somehow he followed along, as if he understood what was to come.
“Jed, I’m not supposed to be here, I will have to go and never come back. If you leave with me now, I don’t know what will happen. I have my own space craft, my own rules, but I do not adhere to them. Come with me and you will leave the fate of this world.”
“I’ll come with you, but first off just let me finish this Gyro.” He said, solemnly.
Of all things to say in dire time, I laughed. Something I hadn’t done in a long time.
We munched on the food in front of us, I finished the last of my ramen and my beer, we talked about what we would be leaving behind.
We walked back, as the rain budged on, leaving us soaked and cold. I showed him the portal, and he didn’t waver.
We entered the portal, knowing that Jupiter looks mighty nice this time of year, the eye of the storm begging for attention. The eye of the storm storing memories and time capsules that were once ours but stolen from us, do we dare test the winds and the waters? Do we brave the storm?
What is the difference between a cruise missile and a ballistic missile, and why?
Hmm
Cruise Missiles typically fly at around 70–80 meters above the ground (Around 200 Feet) , which is hard to detect by radar or other means, which focus on key precision strikes on specific targets
Like the Tomahawk or the Scalp missiles
The Guidance system is the key here
They fly ideally at speeds of less than Mach 1 (Around 0.85 Mach) but sometimes have a supersonic phase where they can fly their last 20% of the distance at Supersonic speeds (> Mach 1.8–2.5)
They are typically AIR LAUNCHED and launched from Aircraft at Surface Targets
Almost 70% Cruise Missiles are Air Launched while 30% are Ship launched or Ground Launched such as the Russian Kalibr
Ballistic Missiles are called so because they are like Rockets
They fly high into the atmosphere and then move downwards at an angle at TREMENDOUS SPEEDS hitting surface targets
They are NOT precise like Cruise Missiles and cause MASSIVE DAMAGE
The speeds can exceed Mach 20 or even more
They are easier to track because they cannot maneuver themselves to avoid detection like Cruise Missiles but their SPEED is so fast that interception is tough in many cases
Chinas DF-41 is a Ballistic Missile
India has the Agni series
Ballistic Missiles are intercepted by ABMs such as Arrow 3 , Patriot, S-400, HQ-9B, HQ-19 etc
Cheese Packets
These little salami and cheese pies are the perfect picnic food to tuck into your cooler.
Yield: 6 servings
Ingredients
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, divided
1 package active dry yeast
1 teaspoon dried sage, crushed
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup warm water (115 degrees to 120 degrees F)
2 tablespoons cooking oil
1 1/2 cups (6 ounces) shredded mozzarella cheese
1/3 cup (about 1 ounce) freshly grated parmesan cheese
6 ounces salami, chopped
1 small tomato, peeled, seeded, and chopped
1 egg
1 teaspoon water
Instructions
In a large mixer bowl, combine 1 cup of the flour with the yeast, sage, and salt. Add the warm water and the oil. Beat with an electric mixer on low speed for 30 seconds. Beat on high speed for 3 minutes. Stir in as much of the remaining flour as you can. Turn out onto a floured surface.
Knead in enough of the remaining flour to make a moderately stiff dough that is smooth and elastic (6 to 8 minutes total). Place the dough in a greased bowl; turn once. Cover and let rise in a warm place until the dough has doubled (45 to 55 minutes).
Meanwhile, make the filling. In a small mixing bowl, combine the cheeses, salami and tomatoes. Toss until well-combined; set aside.
Punch the dough down; divide into 6 pieces. Cover and let the dough rest for 20 minutes.
Heat the oven to 375 degrees F.
Roll each piece of dough into a 7-inch circle. Spoon 1/2 cup of the filling onto half of each circle.
Combine the egg and water, and brush over the outer edges of the dough, to moisten. Fold the circle in half; use the tines of a fork to seal the edges. Place on a greased baking sheet. Prick the tops and brush with more of the egg mixture.
Bake for 25 to 30 minutes or until golden.
Remove from the baking sheet; cool on a wire rack.
What makes Kanthaswamy Balasubramaniam’s take on China resonate with those who have firsthand experience there?
To be absolutely frank, it was purely out of Interest that I started looking at China
I was very curious about the legal system in China and how the law works and is implemented. I had a few contacts with SBI Shanghai.
So gradually I began to find out more about China
My son moving there was a absolute Bonus
To be frank, I don’t really set much store by the HSR or fancy infrastructure or modern cities
I like the Law and Order
I like how China despite its communist history still has more people centric laws than India
I like the Unity of the Chinese people, the way they put Nationalism ahead of stupid pride and are not above criticizing or mocking their own products if they don’t cut it
For instance the Chinese celebrated Galwan because they knew it was a major plus for them and they celebrated the J10C downing the Indian Aircraft
However they also relentlessly mocked the CPC when Nancy Pelosi landed in Taiwan and criticized Xi for weeks, even mocking the drills near Taiwan
I get regular PDF updates of disposed cases in China and I see how well they handle their law and order
For instance on 3/25 – A Young 19 Year Old Idiot and his brother shouted Pro Taiwanese Slogans in Beijing.
They were booked for Public Nuisance and fined 15,000 Yuan a head and 52 Weekends public service
Not a SINGLE DAY IN JAIL
A Maniac drove his car through and killed 21 people
The Video evidence was authenticated and his case was judged in exactly 55 days and he was executed in less than 80 days
Two Live Streamers broadcast Pro Taiwanese Content regarding the fact that Taiwan is Independent for several videos.
They were investigated and sentenced to 130,000 Yuan fine and 34 months suspension from Internet ID
Not a second in Jail
Bail is almost assured within 24–48 hours for most cases barring HEINOUS ONES or ECONOMIC OFFENSES or PUBLIC CORRUPTION under Capa
This includes Narcotics (Distribution only) , Espionage against the State, Planned Murder, Rape of a Minor / Child, Direct or Indirect role in any act of terror against Mainland China or other territories, Intent to destabilize the State and Conspiracy and Separatism plus Tax Evasion and other financial crimes
These two idiots were exonerated from Separatism Charges within a day or two
In India, Idiots are jailed for 6–12 months before some HC Judge sees sense if they are very lucky
I loved such a system
The Idiots are given a second chance
The Law and it’s application is far better than India
How does my take resonate with People living there
I correspond with many of them
Jerrys take on China
Inside China Business
Niranjan
Swagata
Tanmoy Biswas
I get regular answers on China from these guys without any problems
I also correspond with
Andy Boreham
Cyrus Jannsen
Shaun Rein
I get much much rarer replies from these guys (I got only 1 mail from Shaun) but they do answer my queries sometimes
I subscribe to 13 Local news outlets and my young friend Satish s/O Santhirasegaran is on Weibo and regularly sends me updates on what Chinese Netizens think and say
My son lives in Hangzhou but he rarely focuses on politics and law and other topics. His work is too technical for me
However I get information on prices and a monster huawei charger that can charge a phone from 3% charge to 100% charge in 25 minutes
Of course I live in India
So I look at China from an Indian POV
I see the CPC as a great organization with terrific leaders and hail the fact that China doesn’t have elections
That’s because in my country, we have 70% voters who can’t clothe or feed themselves and depend on taxpayer money to defecate in a proper toilet – casting their votes for the future of a multi trillion dollar economy
We have the worst choice of leaders, dressed in Khadis and ridiculous caps who embezzle thousands of crores and the public stupidly look on and fight with each other and divide themselves even more
I deeply admire startups in China and the attempt to own core Technology in China because our Thelawallahs and Haircut paper billionaires are a National embarrassment.
So to me China is an absolute paradise
Many Mainlanders look at China from the perspective of Norway or Denmark or Australia (The US stopped being on this list since Biden came to power)
So they have a different perspective
My son Karthik Bala who lived in Europe and US, will definitely have a different take
He may find the concept of fining two Chinese just for shouting Pro Taiwanese slogans as OPPRESSIVE
Me, in whose country a 16 year old girl was jailed for 50 days with common criminals for shouting Pakistan Zindabad would regard it as NORWAY 2.0 to simply fine them
He may find CPC as GRANITE FACED and authoritarian
Me, in whose country an IAS officer can slap a guy around in broad daylight without consequences, regard it as DENMARK 2.0 when a Official follows the rules and laws
Some Mainlanders judge China from the lens of the West and criticize China
There are very few like Indians who blindly hail China as a super power
So you have to understand, my being INDIAN makes me see China in a very different way
Peter Kaye who lives in Australia might see China differently
Many in China World Leader who live in US or the West may see China differently
Sumanth who lives in UK, may see China differently
As an Indian, I am DEEPLY ASHAMED OF MY COUNTRY AND IT’S SYSTEM and regard Chinas system as a Paradise
I have very little respect for my fellow Indians minus a number of realists, especially those who defended the Stampedes. I mean even someone with a Bonobo brain wouldn’t do that.
I resonate this with many Indians settled in China
Even during the Canton fair, numerous Indians who went to China said absolutely the same thing
I meant the overall picture and they meant the infrastructure and modern city
However others who have seen other systems would have a different idea on China
Is it possible to build muscle mass in your 60s?
Yes, definitely, but with a big caveat: If you had already weight trained in your younger years and approached your genetic potential for muscle mass, then sarcopenia will likely prevail. As such, you’ll have to work very hard at your lifting routine to just stay even. Conversely, let’s say that you never lifted weights until you were close to reaching 60. In that case, you would be starting out with your muscle mass nowhere near your genetic potential. You could then expect to experience potentially some rather dramatic muscle growth. This has been my own personal experience. Notice how skinny I was at age 29. Then, by age 58, I had gained about 50 lbs of fat, but still not much muscle. But between age 58 and age 69, via changing my diet and doing hard gym workouts, I was able to change my body composition quite substantially. This series of photos depicts this transition. And now, at age 74, I’m still holding my own reasonably well.
Here I am at age 74:
Why No One Dares Challenge China’s Evacuation Operations | Iran-Israel Crisis 2025
I didn’t take any sick days off when I was in Elementary, middle and most of High School. I wonder today… was it really worth it?
Sure I got an honorable mention at the end of most of my school years. But really, it was meaningless accolades. Of course, I was young and didn’t realize anything at that time.
Then I made up for it in Senior high when I tried to skip school to work. Oh, my…. did that go South rather quickly. You don’t want the local government to step in. Right?
But all in all, these were traumas and adventure that we all experience though our growing years.
Memories.
Some good. Some bad. Some Bleah!
Still the point must be underlined that I got nothing for my perfect attendance record for most of school. But, but… that loyalty and robustness of work ethic made me into the work-horse that I am today. Remember, many things that we do in our lives, take decades to manifest.
So choose your actions carefully.
You don’t know when the boomerang will return.
Today…
They Just Released New Images Of A SECOND Massive Structure Found Beneath The Pyramid of Khafre
Private COMM from a follower
Thanks, MM, my take, and I’ll take the opportunity to post a Korean update for you.
Bit of a long one, apologies, but I daresay you’ll find it interesting and relevant, and also helped me gather my own thoughts (I’m thinking of starting a blog) as I normally avoid popular news and current affairs, I research the deeper stuff-– where the real answers lie. And after the DC and your revelations, who needs news, anyway… we all know what’s really going on:
When Noh speaks, listen. I’d scan YouTube once a week to make sure you keep up with his output– especially on The China Report, where he presents regularly. He’s clued in on China almost as much as you are. The Koreas too, obviously. This Jamarl guy you sent me talks waaaay to much, though. Awful. Here’s a recent interview from yesterday, from a podcaster who actually knows how to interlocute, and not interrupt his guests constantly. Well worth your while, trust me. If you want to know about Korea, listen to Jeff Rich’s (retired Australian diplomat) interviews of Noh stretching back this past year– professionals, not word salad clowns. Rich is shadow banned constantly as you are, so that tells you all you need to know. These three are must listens to set you straight on modern Korea.
However, on Lee the new president I think Noh is being generous. Expecting change in a Korean election (eg. movement away from a planned US logistics and launch site for war on China– see the new Jeju Island joint US-SKorea naval base– the world’s biggest which the Chinese have warned the Koreans about) would be the same as expecting change in an American one. The real strategic decisions are taken way above popular party politics, as they are now in most US muppets and clients as COVID revealed (the mayor of Seoul was “suicided” and replaced after he refused to lock down the capital in early 2020). If SKorea cancels the military cooperation agreements Yoon was pushed into by the US with Japan (all failed in the ukraine US military hardware– hundreds of billions), as Lee promised to do as an election promise (a politician’s promise, right? Worth about a fart in the wind), then you know changes are coming. SKoreans hate the Japs even more than they do Chinese.
Yet now SK special forces are in Japan learning Japanese and the kids in school here are being taught revised versions of Korean and Japanese history (a process started by disgraced and imprisoned former president Park Gyeun He, daughter of a murderous dictator who disappeared hundreds of thousands– forbidden history on a par with the worst of Chile in the 1970s)– and versions of Chinese history that the Japanese believe– such as Nanking never happened, etc, and that the Japanese own most of eastern Russia and Kamchatka historically. I personally heard that from a middle school kid here recently. Nuts crazy stuff.. Unthinkable a few years ago.
The outgoing education minister (member of a Moonie-type doomsday cult, as many senior government ministers are) is now being investigated for preparing summer camps wherin younger teachers in training are being indoctrinated into the cult, and being fed Japanese propaganda (from the same cult based in Japan– all US intel funded– very creepy stuff) that Japan and Korea are historically the same people, and must unite to destroy China and take over East Asia again “as Japan almost did in WW2”, and only lost because they made the mistake of fighting against America instead of with America. These teachers then feed the stuff into mainstream education.
Many foreign “english teachers” have also been investigated as bottom barrel “intel operatives” using English focused, gov funded summer schools to brainwash elementary schoolkids about the ukraine being a European democracy and Korean ally, as well as ghastly stuff about Russia-China land being owned by Japan– Manchuria, etc. Same modus operandi they’re using on schoolkids in the former ukraine. And also tried in Hong Kong, right? Standard US/British black ops brainwashing perfected over centuries. Koreans are very susceptible to this stuff for some reason. NPCs and shadow people are commonplace– a light of sentience missing from the eyes in many cases, I’ve noticed. Especially younger adults– like there’s nobody home. And granted that may be my PBWLT only. Koreans have many good traits, too. The sentient ones. I’ve met very few, though.
SK is not a sovereign state. Not even close. And doomsday cults proliferate– well funded and everywhere– all kept well secret from international media, of course.
All this needs to be rolled back. Urgently. Before the SKoreans invite disaster and a crushing military defeat down on themselves. Again. But the Germans never learned their lessons either as we’re seeing now– all part of the destructive cycle..
… If these military agreements with Japan and the ukraine and its allies (officially unacknowledged) are not rescinded, Lee’s just another Trump. All talk and promises, yet very little substance and Plans put in place by the Real movers and shakers of the Western world long ago for a war with China Russia will continue until the eventual US military defeat will drag SK and Japan down with it. As predicted by the DC, btw. “Korea is in for an unpleasant shock in the short term”, he said.
I can see that coming.
Let’s hope the Chinese can spank hard before disaster strikes.
And I hope I’m wrong– but SKorea is just a mask of democracy. Noh will fill you in on the gory details why. The real power struggle here is between ancient groups of ruling aristocratic families allied historically with China and to a lesser extent Russia, who do not recognise the NK-SK border, or the US funded political trash, demagogues and doomsday cults who control the organs of government– all branches– and major industry, very generally speaking. Local democracy however does work and work very well as the Koreans are naturally socialistic, and Yoon’s failed cult– word is elements of the military (who tipped off North Korea in advance of planned false flag drone and manpower attacks) not controlled by the US or its cults prevented the takeover, obviously with Chinese assistance, I’d add– a coup more than two years in the planning, btw– is evidence of that. But that’s not yet confirmed.
Ordinary Koreans though are blissfully innocent and oblivious to all this, really. Well penned sheep. America good and free– China and NK evil monsters. You know the shpiel. People like Noh are vastly exceptional. He’d to run from Korea after criticising the military of which he was a member in good standing.
The mainstream new are implying Yoon was just a madman and an alcoholic (true), and one morning woke up and decided to pull a coup attempt with his crazier wife (also true). That talk of advanced coup planning hand in hand with elements of the military and the US is just “conspiracy theory” (despite the evidence in front of everyone’s eyes!). The US embassy in Seoul has been completely silent since Christmas. Tumbleweeds, not even a public function– only military stuff, go figure.
These doomsday cults are prolific in Korea, work hand in hand with deep state US intelligence, have limitless funds and have done since the Korean War. They are powerful, despised by most normal citizens, and very, very dangerous. COVID was brought into Korea– small regional airport– from the Wuhan military games by an operative from this cult (as all returning SK military were quarantined)– all on record and memory-holed. Patient Zero was identified in Korea. Truth always leaks out here because it’s a totally artificial system like Russia was in the dying days of the Soviet Union.
It’s strongly believed by many rational people and investigators over the years that the SEWOL ferry disaster, the recent airplane disaster, and many similar tragedies since the 1960s have been arranged as human sacrifices to whatever it is these cults venerate. Yoon planned a massacre at the Korean parliament building last Christmas, but junior special forces NCOs refused the order to fire on lawmakers surging into the building. All on record. So they crashed the airplane instead. I researched the airplane myself– the black box was taken to the US (WTF?!) and disappeared. The bereaved families were warned to stop asking questions about what really happened on behalf of “national unity”. Now memory holed– a very strange airline crash that killed 300 people. Never really investigated and a vice-head of Korean FAA fired when he asked questions about the black box whereabouts.
I know, I know– all sounds crazy. But it’s a recognised, yet little spoken about reality of life in the vibrant, rules based order that is SKorean democracy.
As for the new president of SK, Lee, he’s certainly no pushover– and nothing like Trump, as he’s being made out to be by US controlled Korean international media who are tarnishing him here and abroad with atrocious lies and accusations (because their man Yoon failed and was busted out), and has massive support especially with the younger, well educated demographic (although in SK, education is more like indoctrination– and plagiarism is rife to the point of being semi-accepted.
They obtain western academic papers online and have them professionally translated to present as their own work. Critical thinking is non existent and western teachers aren’t allowed to encourage it. The “better” the university, the worse the problem. My bona-fide language teacher associates tell me they know all coursework is now just done by AI, and management don’t really give a shit as “education” and fees are big business here– they don’t want problems, just the fees, which are dropping precipitously along with birth rates and the younger population demographic, as in Japan. Many minor universities are closing these days, or trying to poach students from the 3rd world).
They don’t want educated people in SKorea– just dumbed down rule followers. Like the OEmpire was according to Arl. Coincidence?
However as it is with the Israelis, many of them hate Netanyahu and want him swinging from a rope, yet nearly all of them hate and fear Arabs more, and would annihilate them all in a nanosecond given the chance…. It’s the same in SK; they’re glad Yoon’s gone, but really only because they hated him and his wife (they blame her for the attempted coup– apparently she’s a witch who bedazzled him!! That’s your average SKorean’s geopolitical nous for ya! heh heh). The recent election was no landslide for Lee (only about 8% margin, even though the opposition just voted out of government tried to declare martial law, kill all opposition, and start a war with NK and China a few months ago! All now on public record!! Even the prison black sites– mainly uninhabited islands that had been prepared with rudimentary structures in advance– all well planned– have been identified) and everyone knows Yoon was easily replaced by another coup implicated US muppet who actually contested that election!!- AND did very well– AND his and Yoon’s political party is 100% a US worship cult, supported by about half the population of ageing, poor (for the most part) and very uneducated demographic– but most all regular SKoreans pathologically hate NK (and China) either way, and are clueless regarding what’s happening with the wider world and especially China Russia NKorea axis. Like, really clueless. For example, evening news here often opens with minor stories from the US about Trump or Musk or the US economy or something. Its that bad. Never China or BRICS or even South Korea until next story! Tumbleweeds. Like the rest of Asia doesn’t exist. The NKorea Russian military alliance with advanced Russian hypersonics and satellite facilities now in NKorea was never even mentioned in the news. SK is a state of 50 million mushrooms, with some notable exceptions obviously.
These Yoon supporter idiots still wave US flags at rallies and tend toward violence easily when provoked or reasoned with. To be avoided.
Total NPCs and officially recognised as a national security threat. They’d have no problem with a military dictatorship and elimination of opposition to US rule. As Yoon planned– the details would chill you to the bone– for all I know I myself could’ve been picked up given my occluded history– that’s why I’m always semi-off-grid. He knows he had a lot of support.
SKorea came very close to disaster as an American muppet. But I believe China stepped in with like minded, traditional/ancient Korean ruling elites who straddle the NK-SK cultural borders, still wield a lot of invisible power, and who are not utterly corrupted US chasing trash like Yoon and friends in 1000 dollar suits. The gulf between such sentiences is very, very wide in SK.
More generally, the SK masses of all ages have been well conditioned into the West is Best cult. English pushed everywhere even though practically nobody speaks needs or uses it. And I mean NO-body. It’s very weird. They inhabit a vastly different, very distorted world than that of the Korean ruling class of all stripes obviously now engaging with China and Russia over the future of their country, as I mentioned above.
SKorean elites running big business of course– those not under the influence of US black ops– a growing number, they say– know rapprochement with NK is gonna be a colossal opportunity. With Russia and China, too. The Russian Arctic expansion is the biggest engineering deal of this century and probably the next.
But the average SKorean is kept well in the dark and only really respond to (US controlled) mainstream and alt media.
There is no public discourse in SKorea, only gusts of popular feeling and manipulated emotion.
Tranny indoctrination highlighting the lives of mentally ill men pretending to be women is mainstream evening viewing usually a few nights a week– human interest documentaries, etc.. Sick. It’s the same in Taiwan I’ve heard. Targeted at kids and younger adults. Obviously to divide a traditional society. Libido Dominandi.
As Noh said, the Yoon coup business is being memory holed as I write. He’ll weasel out to the US soon enough with his green card and ex call girl wife. Then it’s business as usual barring a miracle, imho.
The rest of the rich and upper middle classes all support deposed Yoon and his party also-– my wife knows many of them– they hate the poor, seeing them as a drain on social financing– the new guy Lee is an advocate of social welfare– because they know that’s where the US military industrial complex links are. The gravy. The buttered bread. They all live and breath the US stock market and Big Pharma. They’re terrified of real democratic/social reform and of the Russian and Chinese “communists” (Although Russian presence is SK is increasing drastically as US influence wanes. I’m hearing a LOT of Russian spoken, more than ever before. There are a lot of young Russians here all working in tech and marine engineering– high end jobs, not language teaching. Like the Chinese electric cars are coming online, too. I think SK big business is light years ahead of what your average Mr Kim who listen to the nightly news know about what’s happening in his own country! They’re planning a future with China obviously, regardless of what the US controlled political apparatus thinks– while the regular, manipulated muggles stay clueless– as always.)
South Korea is a living contradiction, like many US client states. By design. Dangerous times. The only question is what the US is prepared to do to keep control.
The SKorean military complex– US controlled– has upped production of tanks artillery and ammunition for shitty little places like Poland Finland and the Czechs, etc. All part of the planned build up for European war with Russia on behalf of the US (as outlined by E. Todd in the recent transcript I sent you). Good luck with that, guys! Equipment used btw to kill young Russian soldiers and civilians in Kursk, recently. Something tells me the SKoreans are going to have to answer to the Russians for that some time soon. Just a hunch I have.
SK’s have been Brainwashed since childhood to disregard NKs, Chinese and Russians as barely human monsters who eat their own children and want to destroy fwee and demokwatic SK in order to eat their children too.
They’re utterly clueless to the point that it’s scary. Their eyes glaze over if you even mention NK Russia or China, other than to indulge grotesque stereotypes. It’s like talking to children or the Stepford Wives. I’ve tried many times to probe, but only ever get that 1000 yard stare in response.
It’s jarringly scary, MM. Literally glazed eyes. Only a very few informed people can respond anyway intelligently about SK relations with China and North Korea moving forward into the future.
And I’ve come across some seriously cognitively infiltrated people in my time elsewhere. But SK is next level.
Sentience sorting, right? Live and in the flesh.
The elites of course are very different. I know a few of those, too. Mars and Venus to the average Mr Kim.
Anyway, that’s my take. Sorry again about the length, but I’ve been “prompted” to fill you in with an alternative, more accurate version than you’ll normally get in English language (Noh and very few others notable exceptions). Korea is presented one way, the reality is very different, as Noh will also tell you.
Follow up with any questions anytime. You know I’m based in SK and observe avidly.
The Catholic and Buddhist Churches in SKorea are accurate sources of information about the reality of life in SKorea, believe it or not. The cardinal here was on Yoon’s kill-list as he constantly criticised him in the media– like real roasting. They know they’re dealing with US promoted scum of the Earth in Korean politics and have been a thorn in their official side for decades, along with senior Buddhists, who are even more ruthless in their criticism..
BTW quaxx deaths and still births off the charts here this past year, and some cracks in the official narrative as some US based Korean medics speak out. Korean medics speaking out here had their careers and reps destroyed– before Yoon took over 2 years ago, interestingly enough– by the winning party Lee now heads. They had lockdown hard-ons. But the US based Koreans are not caught up in the “vaxx genocide” distraction horseshit, so are a relatively accurate source of info about very real artificial spike protein collateral– the real danger. My wife follows them closely– she’s unquaxxed obviously– but has lost several friends “suddenly and unexpectedly” as I’ve mentioned before. Tragic. Men and women in their prime, struck down. Others with turbo cancers eating them away as I write. Families clueless as to the real cause. But word is leaking out slowly, and questions are being asked. More and more. My wife and I stay silent– not our place to scare people.
Now having said all that, SK is still a great place to live IF one avoids the tortured and confused masses and ghastly media-space– and an hour’s drive or more into the country is like going back a thousand years in time– except with all the modern conveniences, much like China is these days, I’d imagine. We love it and are planning our move deep into the interior, just up from the southern coastal plains in the shadow of Jiri Mountain– ancient seat of Buddhist learning and tradition.. You could walk for a day and never come across another person. Beautiful country.
Best to you and yours in the meantime, keep us all in your intentions, as you’re all in mine, and here’s to an interesting second half of 2026.
This Is How Other Countries View The United States Right Now
2 to 2 1/2 pound meaty chicken pieces (breasts, thighs and drumsticks)
Pepper-Lime Glaze
1/2 teaspoon finely shredded lime peel
1/4 cup lime juice
1 tablespoon vegetable or olive oil
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon coarsely ground black pepper
1 teaspoon dried thyme or basil, crushed
1/4 teaspoon salt
Instructions
Chicken
Rinse chicken; pat dry. Place chicken pieces, skin side down, on the unheated rack of a broiler pan.
Broil 4 to 5 inches from the heat for about 20 minutes or until lightly browned. Meanwhile, prepare Pepper-Lime Glaze.
Pepper-Lime Glaze
In a bowl stir together lime peel, lime juice, oil, garlic, black pepper, thyme or basil and salt.
Brush chicken with glaze. Turn chicken; brush with more glaze.
Broil for 5 to 15 minutes more or until tender and no longer pink, brushing often with glaze during the last 5 minutes of cooking.
4 Cold Cases That Were Solved With INSANE Twists In 2024
What are the main challenges Chinese students face in high school, especially in competitive areas?
Only one Challenge – THE GAOKAO!!!
Getting that minimum 625 score is the biggest priority for most High Schoolers in their GaoKao so that they can go to the First Tier Universities
There are 1,078 Colleges for Engineering and STEM in China
Of these 96 are regarded First Tier Colleges
There are 8 that are deemed the Crown Jewels :-
Tsinghua University
Zheijang University
Shanghai Jiao Tong
Peking University
Harbin Institute of Technology
University of Science and Technology
Nanjing University
Wuhan University
Fudan University
Here is the Kicker!!!!
Admission to 76 of the 96 Colleges are NOT JUST BASED ON THE GAOKAO but also based on A Separate Examination for Maths and Physics conducted by EACH COLLEGE
Only Silver or Gold Olympiad Medalists can be exempted from taking this separate exam
12.72 Million Students take the GaoKao every year
Of these only around 3 Million Students actually expect to become Engineers or Scientists while another 1 Million expect to study finance or economists for a serious career
The Rest know they will only get either Vocational Courses or will join the National Labor Force and GaoKao is just an exam
So let’s take 3 Million
There are 2,270 Positions in the Crown Jewels
Thus the Probability of getting a Position in one of the Crown Jewels is 0.076% (76 in 100,000)
There are around 31,850 Positions in Tier 1 Universities
Thus the Probability of getting a Position in a Tier One University is 1% (1000 in 100,000)
So 99% of the Students who take the GaoKao won’t get First Tier Admissions
They will have to go to one of the 469 Second Tier Colleges
That’s 410,000 Positions
Probability of getting a Second Tier Colleges is 13.80%
Second Tier Colleges are a matter of SHAME for people living in Shanghai or Beijing or Shenzhen or Guangzhou or Wuhan
Yet for others that’s OK
Yet at the end of the day almost 85% of the people taking the GaoKao won’t get placed in First or Second Tier Universities
In China, most Chinese Students with money will not go for a Third Tier University or College but would rather do their Under graduation in Australia or UK
The Competition is ultra fierce
Xi Jinping abolished Tutorials as Businesses
So Students have to mostly prepare on their own or join study centres or Institutions where commercial tuition rates are CAPPED
Once you clear the GaoKao and get a placement , then the second headache begins which is to study for the next 6 years
In China a lot of Courses have been changed from Bachelor’s to 4+2 Masters Format
Apart from the 4 Million Students who really are serious
The other 8.72 Million are less serious and the GaoKao is just ceremonial
They will join Vocational Skills Groups, Industrial Skills Group or directly join the Workforce as Grade I-IV Skilled Workers or write the Chinese Clerical Administrative Exam and join the Government
Pack the most important parts of your twenty-six years into this two-feet-by-one-foot-by-one-foot box. Clothes? No, we’ll provide you with all the essentials. Pillow, razor, all that. Pack anything personal you want to bring along, maybe something to keep you entertained on the trip. No combustibles, firearms, or compressed gases, nothing with a lithium or graphene cells, et cetera. Here’s your trunk – number seventy-two. You’d best remember that for the trip, everyone’s looks the same. Take care Mr. Thompson, don’t be late for check-in.
Soon this box will be the only bridge that spans your two lives. Find the pith of two-and-half odd decades, don your favorite socks, and leave the rest behind.
Twenty-six years ought to contain an abundant volume of artifacts worthy of preservation. Two cubic feet should be woefully, horrendously deficient to commemorate a generous quarter of a human life.
I’m sitting on my bed at 2 a.m., staring into an empty box. Thunder booms and sputters into the silence of this empty house. The vacant enclosure of rubberized plastic suggests various items invitingly. Your Pulitzer! Bring your Pulitzer certificate. No, no, what good is that where I’m going? We’ve all witnessed first-hand the most important event that will ever happen to us. The career is dead, the award may as well be laid to rest with it. How about your Ricky Grubbs autographed baseball? Baseball is a national emblem, after all. OK then. I rub my eyes and toss the baseball in. It rolls around the box and settles listlessly in a lonely corner. Really? I’m expecting a ball from an extinct sport with the name of a man I don’t know to bridge the rift between two lifetimes? I grit my teeth and snatch the ball back out of the box, throwing it into the hallway frustrated.
The box looks at me in disappointment. Empty again, it reluctantly suggests the emptiness of my hitherto life. I should have printed out some pictures instead of storing them all in the cloud. It is so strange to think that those pictures are now, presumably, annihilated. I had considered them functionally immortal in that unassailable cloud. Rain begins to beat at my window pane, the mocking laughter of the untouchable clouds overhead. We do battle for a delirious collection of moments, that empty box and I, until I snatch it up from the carpet and stride to my garage for a shovel. I defy the rain to make the mounting saturation of my clothes matter, as I shovel muddy soil into the box. I find a stray acorn at the base of my live oak, and tuck it into the container of dirt. I cast off my drenched clothes upon re-entering the house, and force myself to sleep for a few hours.
It’s 6 a.m. now. The storm has passed and the pre-dawn darkness looms heavily upon the wet earth. I bless a shred of fortune for the whispering hum of my ‘44 Toyota, and the stale electricity lingering in its battery. Just a collector’s item these days, one I nearly sold a year ago because of the questionable legality of driving it on the V-line dominated highways. The data on its dusty screen offers me 60 miles of travel. Just enough to reach my destination.
The road is desolate, and my mind absently travels to the desperate ploy that rendered me this earth-encumbered box in my passenger seat.
“Mr. President! Mr. President, a word please! Morton Thompson, United Press.”
Secret service shouldering me aside as I attempt to attract the president’s attention.
“I know about March 3rd! I know you’re planning to flee and the airbase you’re fleeing from.”
The president and his entire retinue freezing. A black suited bodyguard grabbing me from behind and putting a hand over my mouth, dragging me into an empty room and closing the windowless door. The president’s face fracturing with stunned panic.
“How do you know? Who told you this?”
My head nodding to the roll of papers stuffed into my pants pocket.
“This article is scheduled to automatically release to the American public tomorrow morning. Go ahead – read it. When the country learns of what you’re planning, every person with a firearm is going to head to that airbase. And when they can’t get on the shuttle, they’re going to make sure it’s destroyed. I can prevent this information from releasing. All I’m asking for is a seat.”
The memory haunts my heart. That my last act in the capacity of a profession I once thought meaningful was one of blackmail unsettles me. And this, to cast my lot in with the men and women I was prepared to cast to the dogs as traitors to humankind. But then I remember the void, and my fear unseats my guilt. I have tried, in these past two weeks, to stare into the dark abyss that must be death, and reconcile my mind to the thought of non-existence. I have stared into the interminable blackness, the unadulterated silence, the endless absence of consciousness. I have imagined eternities upon eternities unfolding and the very blanket of time beginning to tear, and through it all, the complete darkness of consciousness that is death. The idea is nauseating, and my mind rejects it like an upset stomach does food. And so I flee, at any cost or disgrace, from the darkness that pervades our atmosphere and speaks of the true darkness on its heels.
When I reach the gates of the remote airbase, my old vehicle whirring with exertion, I flash the badge they issued me and drive past the soldiers manning the gate. I park and trudge into a small command center a half mile from the launchpad. My two-feet-by-one-foot-by-one-foot trunk weighs heavily in my arms. Some eighty individuals linger inside, holding hushed conversations or staring silently at the floor. I see the president looking pointedly away from me. A woman near the door points me to a small bay where an electric buggy is idling, hitched to a cart laden with boxes identical to mine. I pile mine on top. I spend the next hour sitting in a plastic chair, wondering what I ought to do, say, and think in my last hour on earth, and reaching no conclusion.
The time has finally come. The immense rocket boosters and attached passenger shuttle is ready for takeoff, and we are ushered outside and towards the boarding tower by the engineers who, inexplicably, are willing to remain behind to guide our transport away from earth. 8 a.m., and the sun is well above the horizon. I wish the storm had not abated before my last view of the sky. Had it not, I could almost believe that this blackened atmosphere and ashen sky are the gloom of thunderclouds. Perhaps the rain would ameliorate the acrid taste of the charred air. We are climbing the tower and beginning to board. I weep for the ashes in my lungs – all that is left of D.C., Philadelphia, New York, and Los Angeles; of Orlando, and Cape Canaveral, and Huntsville. I weep for the millions of terrified unfortunates cast instantaneously into the abyss of death. I wish the rainclouds would return. Instead, the unfading cloud of detonated cities hangs poisonous and rainless upon the air. Where this cloud lingers, death will follow. It is smothering the sun and chilling the earth. They say it will bring the demise of all crops, and that remaining mankind will starve to death in a year.
We blast skyward towards the interstellar transport that is to take us to a new earth. We reach the transport and successfully transfer over from our shuttle. I find my seat and avoid looking out the window, down towards the smoking earth. Our ship begins its final journey, and I rise from my seat to join the queue waiting for the minuscule restroom. As I do, a stack of gray containers buckled to the wall catches my eye at the back of the passenger hold. I exit the line and walk to the homogeneous assembly of boxes. I scan the printed numbers until I find number seventy-two. What idiot brings a box of dirt into outer space? Yet I know why I did. This box contains earth, rain, and a seed of life. That seed is the offspring of an organism that lived with purpose, a purpose fulfilled in this seed. It is an organism that lived its mortal life with purpose and that will die without pain. Yet why do I pine for eternity while squandering the mortal life I have? Why is the seed of eternity planted in the heart of a mortal man?
Hurtling towards the newborn Terra Nova colony where my new life will begin, I wonder whether the sting of death will be duller in this new world. I wonder whether the future of non-existence, just as inevitable in the new world as the old, will ever reconcile with the irrational certainty in my heart that my consciousness must persist beyond death; that the being of my inner self must surely be eternal.
Caddyshack (1980) First Time Watching! Movie Reaction!
My son and I left here around 2:30 this afternoon to start plowing customers. One in particular is a hotel and he can’t simply wait til the storm is done; he MUST keep the hotel open and active. He called.
So Michael and I went out to start doing that and . . . . WOW . . . . there was a LOT of snow. Bear in mind that we here in the NYC/NJ are not accustomed to this amount of snow, this fast.
So I started the plowing of the parking lot and my snow used the self-propelled Troy-Bilt snow blower to do the sidewalk.
Everything was fine, until . . . . the snow plow blade stopped operating properly. The hydraulic pump made it’s usual noise, but the plow blade barely moved. Slightly up. Barely any movement left-right. The pitch of the motor was higher than usual. Water got in the hydraulic reservoir and once it made its way into the hydraulic fluid and thinned it, that was all she wrote.
So we had two spare quarts in the truck (for just this kind of situation) and we also have a fluid extractor; like a giant syringe with a tube at the end to suck out fluid. We opened the hydraulic reservoir and sucked out the existing fluid. Milky-greenish.
We added the new fluid and tried the plow. No good. Blade was only moving a tiny but. It dawned on me , the watery oil got into the hydraulic lines and into the pistons that raise-lower/left-right the blade. So we had to “help” the blade move left-right until the existing watery fluid was replaced by the good new fluid, and everything worked fine.
Finished up with the hotel then ran up to Advance Auto Parts on Kennedy Blvd in North Bergen. Note on the door said they closed at noon today because of the storm. Oh great. So we head over to AutoZone on Paterson Plank Road about a half mile from my house. While they didn’t have “snow plow” fluid, they DID have hydraulic fluid. Bought two gallons.
Then we figured we should head out to other customers in New York City. Oh my God, the roads were absolutely treacherous. First stop: Staten Island. We drive down my street to get on the New Jersey Turnpike southbound because we have to over the Goethals Bridge (Exit 12). Much to my absolute shock, the Turnpike was a really bad mess.
Intermittent lane plowing. We’re driving along, max speed 20, maybe 30, and we come upon about Half a dozen Cement Mixer Snow Plows. They are Contractors that the New Jersey Turnpike Authority calls-in when their (very large) fleet of Maintenance Trucks simply can’t handle it.
The Cement mixers stagger themselves from the left shoulder, a second cement mixer behind that one but in the left lane, a third cement mixer behind that one, but in the center lane, a fourth cement mixer behind that one, but in the Right lane, and finally, a fifth cement mixer behind that one, handling the Right Shoulder.
These are really large, really heavy trucks and these beasts move about 20 MPH because they have ten foot wide massive snow plow blades that are moving a shit-ton of snow.
So, we had a nice, S L O W ride until Newark where the Turnpike widens into three lanes on an “inner” roadway (cars Only) and four or five lanes on an “outer” Roadway (cars, trucks, buses) But the cement mixers all headed to the truck lanes on the right and as we all approached what would become the car lanes . . . . . they weren’t plowed! Everybody had to veer to the right to stay behind the plows.
After we pass the car/truck lanes split, all the cement mixer plows exit at Newark Airport so they can do the Turnpike “Bay Extension” which is Exits 14 “A” “B” and “C” which goes to the Holland Tunnel and NYC.
With the cement mixer plows gone, we were now on . . . . not freshly plowed . . . . road. Let me tell you: My Dodge Ram 1500 with its 5.9 Liter gasoline engine, custom, continuous, Posi-rear, real, Four Wheel Drive, and OFF-ROAD Tires, with about 950 Pounds of Ice-Melt in the truck bed, is a formidable truck in the snow.
Not THIS snow.
Holy shit the truck did not handle the mounds of unplowed snow that were left over from whatever plows previously went-by. Hit one of those little mounds, and the truck yanked to the right. I compensated, then the rear of my truck starts to fishtail. Recovered nicely from that, but white-knuckles for me at that point.
Then, I notice the smell of something electrical burning. Similar to the smell in my own house a few days ago when a wire cap melted in the Heat air handler. I mentioned it to my son. He DID NOT smell it. All the gauges were ok, so we kept going.
We cross the Goethals Bridge, which was in really GOOD condition, and onto the Staten Island Expressway, which was not.
It was about 4:30 when we got to the Goethals Bridge so it was getting dark. I turn on my headlights.
Thankfully, we came upon a group of NYC Sanitation (Garbage) trucks that were plowing, so we just stayed behind them until we got to our exit.
The side roads were not too good. Plowed, but not too well.
We get to the customer and whoa. Pristine, untouched snow. A LOT of it, maybe ten, twelve inches. we go up the hill which is the entry, and I start plowing. As I’m coming back toward where we came in, I see it is very dim in front of the truck. I asked my son, why are the headlights so dim. We pull over. He looks. The plow lights are OFF. Just the truck regular headlights are on.
One of the two wiring harnesses that comes out from under the hood to the snow plow assembly DISCONNECTED; taking-out the plow lights. He cleans the connector of snow and connects them. Nothing. No headlights.
He opens the fuse box that powers the plow system bus-bar and the main lighting fuse is melted and blown. Well, that accounts for me smelling something burning ! ! !
We head up to a nearby BP Gas station and bought fuses. Put in the needed 30 amp, and all is well. Everything works.
I think what happened is I hit a mound of plowed snow on the turnpike and I think it pulled the wiring harness connectors apart, allowed snow to get in, maybe shorted out the head light system.
As we’re dropping ice-melt, the snow changes to SLEET.
We head back to NJ in what is now a SLEET STORM. More White knuckles for me.
Thankfully, the Turnpike . . . . . was almost completely empty. We even took a picture (above) showing the New Jersey Turnpike, northbound, at 8:00 PM on a Sunday night – EMPTY approaching exit 15X in Secaucus, NJ. Look for yourself in the photo above; the road is literally EMPTY.
We get home and have to do the Hotel again. Put 200 pounds of salt down for them as well.
So now we’re home. Safely.
But this storm is one I most definitely will remember. First time I felt unsafe because of the weather conditions while driving.
As she had been trained, Elara systematically checked the integrity of her spacesuit and its comms one last time before starting the airlock sequence. “I’m ready, John,” she informed the station commander. Colonel John Wood, a veteran Air Force pilot and experienced astronaut, had served as the International Space Station commander for the past year. John had spent more time in space and zero gravity than anyone else on the space station.
“You’re clear to go,” John replied, watching her movements on his monitor 40 meters away in the command center of the International Space Station.
“Thank you, John,” Elara said, starting the airlock sequence. The inner door of the airlock hissed open, revealing its cramped and claustrophobic chamber. Hesitantly, Elara stepped into the small space, which barely fit her bulky spacesuit. As a new crew member at the International Space Station, this marked her first solo spacewalk—a milestone in her career as an astronaut. Some of the station’s solar panels had sustained damage from high-speed debris, likely space junks orbiting Earth left from previous space missions. Her mission was to inspect the damage, assess it, and make repairs.
She stepped into the airlock chamber and manually closed and secured the inner door. The locking mechanism engaged with a reassuring clunk. With a flashing orange light, the airlock began its programmed depressurization, making a gentle hiss as air pumped out of the chamber. As the air was drawn from the chamber, the hiss gradually faded until it stopped, coinciding with a green light illuminating, indicating that all the air had been vacated. It was now safe to proceed with opening the chamber’s outer door. But before that, Elara peered through the small porthole of the outer door. Since the porthole faced away from Earth and into the vastness of space, she saw nothing but blackness. The daunting darkness planted a seed of doubt in her mind and quickened her heartbeat.
“Are you okay, Elara?” John’s voice came through her comms.
“Yes, I am. Why?” she replied sharply as if John had questioned her ability to perform the spacewalk.
“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.
She Went to a Store and Vanished. It Took 30 Years to Learn the Unexpected Truth
Building a Political Economy that Serves People First
One of the aims of the Geopolitical Gymnasium is to educate readers about the different political-economic systems to show that there is an alternative to the Western Neoliberal system that’s kept the Global majority from attaining basic development goals. That aim is interspersed with reports on geopolitical events and information to help readers gain a different understanding of Russia, China, and BRICS from how they’re described by Western Media. I’ve made no secret that I’m a student and associate of Dr. Michael Hudson and promote his writings and internet discussions because they help explain the POV that’s expressed here. His main critique of the attempt to create a new international political economic system not controlled by the Outlaw US Empire and its vassals is that there’s no unified development theory that aspiring nations can adopt as they escape from Neoliberal oppression, which often employs Neocolonialism as its main tool. Such a theory is present within Hudson’s entire body of work over his career, but it doesn’t exist in one place. However, over the last year in his weekly discussions with Dr. Richard Wolff on Nima’s Dialog Works program various components of such a theory were presented. Last week, the discussion was geared to talk about that and what BRICS could/should do. Here’s what’s considered fundamental from last week’s discussion:
Well, the key move that China has made and that the BRICS countries need to emulate is keeping banking as a public monopoly, a public creation of money and credit so that it will be used to finance actual industrial and agricultural and government infrastructure investment, not predatory behavior of the banks of Europe. [My Emphasis]
For that to happen within any nation, the banking system must be lawfully made into a public utility via the national constitution. And as I’ve suggested before, that’s not the only thing that needs to be lawfully mandated. Essentially all services that support modern human existence that can be considered natural monopolies must also be lawfully made public utilities. Much of this structure can be easily adopted by the many rather young nations that emerged from Colonialism since all too many were advised and adopted Western Neoliberal constructs because many of their leaders were educated in Western institutions. Again, the governing philosophy is to serve people first via people centered development. Like it or not, a nation’s people are its primary form and source of Capital—Human Capital—because they are the ones who get things done—produce products and services, construct infrastructure and maintain equipment, provide healthcare and education, as well as govern.
No nation on the planet is starting from a zero point—something already exists politically and economically. The main determining factor is who is served by what already exists—is it all the people or just one or several classes? In other words, how equitable is the nation? Here another goal needs to be introduced and acknowledged: For a nation to prosper to the best of its ability, it must be in harmony with itself and its overall environment—ecosystem and international relations. The only way to get the best performance from a nation’s human capital is for as many as possible to have an opportunity to perform to the best of their ability—neglecting as few as possible, meaning only those with the most debilitating life conditions, which in reality ought to be a very small number. Education for all is the pathway to generating that best performance. Building an outstanding educational system is easy in theory but difficult in practice as reality has proven. Why? Because other national attributes were made more important, the military in all too many cases. But also because the money to create such a system wasn’t under public control. And here’s where we see the need for a strong government to ensure sovereignty and enforcement of the national constitution.
What provides for the strength of any government? The support of its citizenry. What ought to provide for the basis of that support? A constitution that serves the needs of the citizenry. Thus, the key is having a proper constitution—not something vague that empowers one class like the US Constitution and established an oligarchy despite the rationale present in its preamble. A constitution that’s specific yet terse in outlining the functions of government and the place of public utilities within the government would be basic. Based on historical experiences, some form of meritocratic qualifications that must be possessed by those seeking public approval to govern must be provided as a way to expose the corruptible and keep them out of governance. Also based on historical experience, a parliamentary form of government capable of attracting many political factions thus giving citizens the widest possible choices appears to be best that also combines an elected president where the division of duties would see the Prime Minister running the legislative and some ministerial portions of the government while the President would conduct planning and overall management of the military and monetary portions of government—the idea is for attaining/keeping Harmony as the government’s goal domestically and with its international relations. My aim here is not to write a constitution but to provide basic guidelines for each nation’s public to discuss and design their own. That way the nation’s people have ownership of their destiny. How hard should it be to amend a constitution and should ratified treaties automatically become part of the constitution are two very good questions. Another relates to the incorporation of international law if ratified treaties don’t become part of the constitution; for example, the UN Charter and Universal Declaration of Human Rights.
The treatment of private financial operations, if they’re allowed, also comes into question. Should they be allowed to charge interest, and if so, should the amount be capped? Capital control laws and a Tobin Tax assessed on currency trading along with strict regulation of capital markets is also a must. In most nations, such laws aren’t incorporated into constitutions mainly because the constitution pre-dates their need; however, we’ve seen how easy it is for a faction to gain control and alter legislation in its favor. Private munitions companies are also a threat to any nation’s harmony and thus need to be public utilities. And there’re a host of others: All public transportation and roads, perhaps including taxis; water, sewer, communications, energy delivery; education; healthcare; fundamental insurance including welfare and retirement pensions. The idea is to eliminate all possible points where rent can be collected privately instead of regulated and collected by government. And that brings us to housing. If subsoil rights belong to all the people, then shouldn’t all land be deemed public and leased by government for a fee? If housing is essential for modern human existence, then who/what is to finance and construct it? It’s claimed that people who own things take better care of them. Many nations have built high density housing and then allocated it to its citizens freely or for a nominal fee or monthly rent. The public via the government thus is responsible for the property’s upkeep. IMO, this is another question nations must decide for themselves. Personally, I’d prefer a hybrid system where young people are allocated high density housing when they finish their schooling and enter the workforce thus making it easy to afford to start a family. They can then generate savings with which to eventually purchase a home, whose price will be low because the land is publicly owned.
The ultimate aim of all the above is to keep the cost-of-living as low as possible so the nation’s economy will be competitive as wages don’t neet to be exorbitant thanks to an excessive cost-of-living. Thus, the economy can be low-cost, high-skilled and continue in that mode as it modernizes via development. The most important and basic part of any nation’s economic development must be its ability to feed itself—nutritional sovereignty. Basic industry that stems from agriculture and providing for public needs can thus grow and generate the products for commerce. It’s entirely possible to have a prosperous, harmonious nation with a basic economy because all its needs are in its own hands. Its government provides the investment credit for development and is repaid in the long term as the nation prospers. No IMF or World Bank loans are needed because dollars aren’t needed. The types of development exchanges provided by China and Russia aim at avoiding indebtedness, and I expect other middle income BRICS nations to do similar things as they all help the rest of humanity to develop.
People Centered Development is a communitarian, mutually beneficial arrangement that could be described as social-capitalism since Capital is still a requirement in the development process but doesn’t imply that the system then becomes Capitalist and dominated by a small class marked by extreme wealth. The idea is to keep the wealth generated by the economy within the society as the investment capital for further development. Some initial production facilities might be state-owned-enterprises (SOE) and remain that way or perhaps spin-off “private” enterprises owned by their workers. One very important lesson is clear from Russian and Chinese development—Labor, Government, and Management/Business/Entrepreneurs must all work together for the goal of attaining and maintaining national harmony. Government includes the entire educational system and state-run research institutes where labor and the productive sectors merge together to execute the current plans and importantly plan for the future. This structure demands expertise and thus people proven meritocratically. Most BRICS nations and aspirants are far smaller, but the initial structure and philosophy of developing nation enterprises must be properly established for the system to prosper and that depends on education. As noted, all nations are already operating, none are a taula rasa. How to convince the leadership of developing nations that such a system is in their interests and is possible to implement? In many cases, it’s assumed the answer is: We can’t develop because of the Debt Issue. So, after having written all the above, it appears it needs to begin with some ideas of how to defeat the debt boot so a fresh start can begin monetarily and fiscally. I’ve commented on the debt issue before and termed it odious for almost all developing nations, but what do they do once it’s declared odious? Doing an entire reboot that includes writing a new constitution seems to be the place to start.
This was a good exercise. Having done it has convinced me that the issue needs to begin with how to clear the slate so something new can be written, and that means freeing nations from the odious debt that keeps them down politically and economically since they have no agency against the Neocolonial power of the Outlaw US Empire and its vassals unless all such nations band together and declare their independence together. I know those with a more powerful voice than I have aired their advice, but how many of those nations were listening? Well, it won’t hurt if I chime in. Perhaps I’ll be motivated to rewrite this and send it to some of the developing nations embassies here within the Empire. We’ll see.
Everyone Who Watched This Footage Doesn’t Have An Explanation
Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Fart Symphony
Ah, dear reader, prepare your nostrils—and your ears—for a tale of musical mayhem, accidental acoustics, and the most organic wind instruments ever performed. Today’s adventure stars Porkchop the Pig, whose digestive system becomes an unwilling soloist in Lady Quacka’s grand concert, much to the delight of Jazzpurr the Beatnik Cat, who mistakes it for high art. So grab a clothespin (for your nose) and a beret (for your soul), and join us for The Fart Symphony—a performance that proves even the rudest noises can be refined with the right attitude.
Act 1: The Concert of a Lifetime
Lady Quacka had prepared for weeks.
Lady Quacka:“Tonight, the farm shall witness true artistry! A quacking concerto! A feathered fantasia!”
Sir Whiskerton:“Or we could all just… not.”
She took the stage (a repurposed hay bale), adjusted her sequined cape, and raised her wings—just as Porkchop lumbered past, his stomach gurgling like a swamp.
Porkchop:“Uh-oh.”
Then—it happened.
A deep, resonant BRRRRRT echoed across the pasture.
Lady Quacka:[Eyes widening]“Darling, your rump is a virtuoso!”
Porkchop:“I… didn’t mean to?”
Jazzpurr:[Snapping his fingers]“Yes. Yes. The texture! The timbre! This is jazz, baby!”
Act 2: The Birth of “The Flatulent Four”
Jazzpurr, inspired, recruited the unlikeliest bandmates:
Porkchop (on “natural windpipes”).
Bessie the Cow (on “mood-sensitive moo-harmonica”).
Rufus the Dog (on “tail percussion”—mostly just wagging).
Lady Quacka (on “diva vocals”).
Their first rehearsal was… revolutionary.
Porkchop’s“B-flat” (a squeaky, three-second toot) brought tears to Jazzpurr’s eyes.
Bessie’s“improvisational cud solo” was “deeply moo-ving.”
The Farmer, passing by, sniffed the air: “Is that… art?”
Act 3: The Grand Finale (and the Great Ventilation)
Word spread. By showtime, the entire farm had gathered—even Doris the Hen, who claimed she was only there to “critique.”
The Performance: A *10-minute* opus titled “Ode to Digestion”, featuring Porkchop’s “Epic Crescendo” (a five-note fart scale) and Lady Quacka’s “Quack-ophony.”
The Crowd:
The Worms waved tiny lighter… uh, mud clumps.
Professor Quackenstein took “scientific notes” (mostly just doodling fart clouds).
Sir Whiskerton wore earplugs and nose plugs.
Then—disaster.
Porkchop’s finale was too powerful. The hay-bale stage collapsed, sending the band tumbling into a pile of very flammable (and now very scented) straw.
Jazzpurr:“The chaos! The passion! We’ll call it… freeform jazz!”
Lady Quacka:“I’ve never been so alive!” (She was upside down in a trough.)
The Moral (and the Post-Credit Encore)
Moral:Art is where you find it—even if it smells like yesterday’s slop.
Post-Credit Scene:
The Valley Chicks release a “Fart Symphony Remix” on CluckTok. It goes viral (for all the wrong reasons).
Best Lines:
“Darling, your rump is a virtuoso!” – Lady Quacka, art critic
“The B-flat was chef’s kiss.” – Jazzpurr, fart connoisseur
“Is that… art?” – The Farmer, philosopher
Starring:
Porkchop (Accidental Maestro)
Lady Quacka (Diva of the Damned)
Jazzpurr (Jazz Prophet)
Why It’s Hilarious:
Bodily Humor: Farts + jazz = kid comedy gold.
Character Chaos: A diva duck embracing flatulence, a cat who thinks it’s genius.
Happy Ending: Even disasters can be art (if you’re pretentious enough).
Now, go forth—and may your symphonies be in tune, if not in scent. 🎷💨🎶
Avocado Pesto Chicken
Ingredients
Chicken
4 to 6 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
1/2 cup olive oil
1/4 cup white wine,
1/4 cup each fresh dill, cilantro and basil
3 cloves garlic
1 tablespoon lime juice
1 teaspoon sea salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
Pesto
3 ripe avocados
1 large tomato
10 leaves cilantro
2 cloves garlic
2 teaspoons lemon juice
2 bags or nice size bunches of spinach
2 tomatoes
Instructions
In a food processor or blender combine olive oil, white wine, dill, cilantro, basil, garlic, lime juice, salt and pepper. Put into a suitable marinating pan or bowl. Put aside 1/4 cup of this for later use.
Butterfly and pound chicken to approximately 1/2 inch thickness, then cut in half. Place chicken in the pesto marinade and refigerate covered 1/2 hour to an hour depending on what kind of time you have. Once marinated, broil for 8 to 10 minutes on each side.
Pit and remove avocado meat from avocado. Chop large tomato. In a blender combine avocado, tomato, lemon juice, garlic and cilantro making sure you have washed it and removed excess moisture. Place in bowl, cover and refrigerate.
Wash and remove excess moisture from spinach, chop 2 tomatoes and combine.
In a saute pan bring 1/4 cup pesto marinade that you set aside to a medium heat; add salt and pepper to the saute pan. Add spinach and tomato lightly folding it so that it blanches but does not overcook. Be sure to mix the pesto in thoroughly.
Spread spinach on a large serving dish. Place chicken on top of spinach with a slight overlay on each breast. Place approximately 1 tablespoon avocado mixture on each breast. Garnish plate along the edge of with what is left of the avocado mixture. Garnish with lemon and lime wedges and cilantro (optional, but really dresses it up).
Are the United States and Iran going to have a war?
We have been having a war now for 46 years. Death to America is not merely a slogan, it’s a policy. Almost from the inception of the Mullah regime, Iran leapt to the front as the foremost sponsor of state terrorism.
Almost 3,000 people died in the 9/11 attacks and we invaded two countries with bipartisan support, as a direct result. Iran has killed somewhere between 900–1200 Americans and yet Democratic Congresspersons have emphasized and continue to state that we are not at war with Iran. These are incredibly naive statements. It is of course, completely legitimate to discuss appropriate responses to these outrages, but let’s consider the facts:
Iran wants the U.S. dead. There is no ambiguity here, no parsing of what they mean. Death to America is not just national policy, but the will of Allah.
They fund and arm, Hezbollah, Hamas and the Houthis, who have been holding international shipping for ransom for years until President Trump sent in a naval task force to degrade their capabilities.
Iran has highly developed missile and drone technology, including ballistic missiles.
Iran’s nuclear material stockpile drew statements of alarm from the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA), a UN sponsored agency funded and supported by 35 nations and monitoring nuclear material across the world (including North Korea). It is not some proxy for the Israelis or the U.S. On May 31, 2025, the IAEA reported that Iran had increased its stockpile of uranium enriched to 60% purity to 408.6 kilograms, a 50% increase since February. This amount is enough, if further enriched to 90% (weapons-grade), to potentially produce nine nuclear bombs. The IAEA noted that 60% enrichment is unprecedented for a non-nuclear-weapon state and has no civilian justification, calling it a “serious concern.”
Iran is at war with everyone, except the Chinese and the Russians. Oh, and the DRPK as well.
In every way that counts, we have been and are experiencing open hostilities. If something hasn’t happened yet, it is only because Iran doesn’t have the capability. The notion that Iran can be appeased into the family of nations is a delusion.
As it stands, Iran is no longer in a position to engage in any hostile acts. The only remaining question is whether the U.S. will destroy its Fordnow nuclear facility (a half mile underground), or whether the new government will agree to do it themselves. All the signs suggest that we are about to see a Syria-like collapse of the regime.
What remains to be seen is what kind of problem the new guys are going to be. I am encouraged thought that no one in the administration is talking about nation-building.
The Leaked Footage Proves It: America is a Failed State.
One of my Sir Whiskerton Stories features a “glow in the dark pickle”. And well, I was drinking and musing… and one thing led to the other, and so I asked AI if it was really possible to develop a glow in the dark pickle.
And the short answer is yes it is.
Talk about going down a deep rabbit-hole…
How To Make Pickles Glow 💥 TKOR’s Electric Pickle Experiment On How To Make Food Glow!
And then there is this…
Making Edible Glow-in-the-Dark Food!
He makes spaghetti, and jello as well.
Crazy! Silly DIlly!
I’ll tell you what!
Great exercise for a kid’s project.
Glow, Pickle, Glow!!
Man.
Ok. Let’s go forth today…
China Sends Massive Missile Shipment to Iran — Warns US: Don’t Make the Wrong Move!
This is going on RIGHT NOW.
If current vehicles were 60s cars, what would you be driving currently?
Oh, wow. That’s a hard one.
First, let’s assume that we are meaning “what one car would you have as your daily driver”.
I’ve been pretty spoiled over the past twenty years: My daily drivers have been an Audi A4, and Audi S4, and a BMW 323. All relatively good cars, and let’s be honest: the S4 would probably win F1 races if we took it back to the 1960s. No production car from then would come close to it.
So…
I carry kids and lumber and stuff. So at the very least I need a 4 door. And since nobody in the 1960s figured out that the rear seats is a sedan could be made to fold down, I’m probably going to need a station wagon.
I also really like a standard transmission. And a bit of grunt as well. That pretty well eliminates most of the imports. Also, just saying, I’ve gotten mighty used to air conditioning.
Now, I don’t like big boats. For sure, I want what was called a “compact” back in those days.
And it needs to have nice styling. I find the GM and Chrysler products a bit busy.
So let’s see… how about a 1968 Ford Falcon Futura Station Wagon, optioned out with the “Heavy Duty” (aka high performance) 289 V-8 and a T-10 Toploader 4 speed, with “Heavy Duty” suspension all around. Don’t tell the insurance company, but this is the exact same frame, body, and drivetrain as a Mustang GT. I’ll get the optional SelectAire air conditioning. I’ll even spring for power windows.
Here’s more or less the exact car, minus the 4-speed and the power windows and the A/C. My parents owned it from new in 1967 until 1976:
This will be peppy, comfortable, reliable, and roomy enough for my needs. The only downside is that, if my parent’s 1967 is anything to go by, it will be rusted out in about 9 years 🙁
4
China has to know it can never defeat the U.S. militarily. Shouldn’t it focus on peace and trade instead to become like Japan?
China wants to Prosper peacefully ,grow and develop
Simple as that
China wants to do what is best for ITS PEOPLE and follow their own policy with zero interference
China is a “NEVER AGAIN” country
After the Yinhe incident in 1993, China said NEVER AGAIN and today they have BEIDOU
After the Wolf Act, China said NEVER AGAIN and today they have a Space Station and a massive indigenous space exploration program
China wants a strong military purely for defensive reasons and protect Chinese interests
That’s all
Besides why defeat the US Militarily?
Powerful Military nations collapse inwardly all the time
Stupid kids
Orange Chicken
Yield: 8 servings
d11c0f273d74f4afbd466e579ed07b89
Ingredients
Chicken
2 cups diced celery
1 1/3 cups water
7 cups crumbled day old whole wheat bread
1 teaspoon salt
6 tablespoons chopped onion
1 cup butter
8 half chicken breasts, de-boned
Orange Wine Sauce
2/3 cup granulated sugar
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 eggs, beaten
3 cups orange juice
1/2 cup white wine
Instructions
Chicken
Simmer celery in water 20 minutes.
Drain, reserving 2/3 cup liquid.
In a large bowl combine bread crumbs, celery, celery liquid and salt.
Cook onion in butter until tender.
Add to bread mixture.
In a baking pan make 8 mounds of dressing.
Place an uncooked chicken breast over each mound.
Pour Orange Wine Sauce over chicken and mounds of stuffing.
Bake at 350 degrees F for 1 1/2 hours.
Orange Wine Sauce
Mix sugar and flour in double boiler; add eggs, orange juice and wine.
Cook, stirring constantly, until thickened.
Why do some people believe that tax-funded healthcare systems are more fair and manageable than paying for medical expenses out of pocket?
ksnip 20250618 091217
You wake up and it’s 1984. No WiFi, no smartphones. What is the first thing you do?
1984? Easy answer. I get on the first plane to California and look up a man named Ronald Wayne in the phone book.
I go straight to his house and offer him $1000 for the shares he is about to sell. Come back to present time and I am now the richest man on the planet, with a 20% ownership of Apple.
Ron was a part owner of Apple when it was set up in the Steve’s garage. He famously sold his shares for just $500 in 1984 as he needed the money, and didn’t think Apple would go anywhere.
EDGAR CAYCE’S CAT PREDICTION IS COMING TRUE NOW
If China is such a “safer” country than the US, then why are more Chinese people moving to the US than people from the US moving to China?
Inherently the Chinese is among the least migratory people in the world. Many people who don’t understand basic maths simply can’t understand it.
What role do long-range air-to-air missiles play in the effectiveness of jets like the F-15EX and J-10D, and could helicopters actually pose a threat with them?
First- helicopters? Not without a lot of help and, in most cases, serious modifications.
AH-1Z Viper with Sidewinders on the pylons. This is about the heaviest air-to-air missile currently carried by any helicopter… and it’s really not that heavy or long range. Some big helicopters have the capability to carry larger weapons like Exocet, so it’s theoretically possible to put larger AAMs on them- but you’d likely need to make physical modifications.
Most helicopters also lack a powerful radar, oftentimes any radar. This would make it impossible for them to target something at long range unless something else with said radar can tell them where it is.
F-15EX is, among other things, intended to be used as an AIM-120 missile truck. The idea is something like an F-35 can get closer to an enemy and feed telemetry back to the F-15EX via datalink, which can then do the shooting. This means the F-15EX’s lack of stealth isn’t as big an issue, and it helps with the rather limited internal weapon carriage on F-35.
I’ve never heard of J-10D. J-10 is a lighter jet, more comparable to F-16.
She looked up at the tall pines climbing the sky. She remembered when the trees that reached into her view weren’t so still. She remembered when they swayed with a wind that made her sick. I have to save one of them, the memory echoed. The deep scratching of gravel loudened in her ears, the feel of it scraping her hands becoming more real. Her heart silenced the thought of plunging back into the memory again.“Hey,” a frustrated voice interrupted.She jumped slightly, tilting her head up to look at the one casting the shadow. Of course, it was him. Only he could sneak up on her.“What in God’s name was that?” he asked pointedly.She sat up. He was referring to their escape. He had wanted to fight the guards, but she lifted them before they even got the chance.“Ryan,” she started.“You can’t keep lifting whenever things get dangerous,” he asserted. “Nothing will change if you aren’t in this with us.”“Why is this all on me?” she snapped. “Why can’t someone else lead?”Stress moved her to start picking up twigs and breaking them as she talked. “We had our run, and we lost. I’m done with fighting.”There was no answer. She knew he was staring at her, but she didn’t want to look at him. She was afraid he would be able to see how afraid she was.“So, you want Kailyn to do it?”She immediately turned to glare at him. Have her son lead the Faction? Force him to do what she was forced to do? To sacrifice so many and so much under the mirage of absolute strength?To risk his life with the monster that nearly killed him, she thought.
Her mind travelled back to the painstakingly slow and heavy rhythm of her digging. Her bloodied hands dragging through the dirt as the sunset in the distance created shadows of surrounding trees. The leaves crying in the wind that pulled against her face. Her chest had been shaking as incessant cries spilled out of her mouth. She couldn’t think, couldn’t feel the earth in her hands; but the aching, throbbing pain in her body was too much not to feel. She was burying her daughter. All by herself.
Raechel closed her eyes and pushed it back down. “No. I just…I’m not going through this again.”
Ryan peered at her quietly for a moment. “What are you not telling me?”
She shied away, her muscles tensing. Everything.
He was under the assumption that she had lifted them to some random woods. A forest off the map in the middle of nowhere that meant nothing to no one. But this place…these trees changed her forever. If she told him why, they would change him, too.
“Love,” he said softly, “our minds have been connected for years. I know when you’re trying to hide something from me.”
She felt the presence of his mind on the outskirts of her own. She wanted to show him, but she hesitated. Connecting telepathically meant absolute empathy—being able to physically feel someone else’s emotions. Should she share this pain with him?
“Raechel, you have no right to do nothing,” he was starting to lose his patience. “Thirty years ago, we started all this. The day she leaked you killing that man was the day we fell into this hole. Now, we are the only powered strong and influential enough to take her down, and you agreed that you would do nothing?”
It was like a punch to the gut.
“You think I like this?” she yelled suddenly. “Ryan, I made a deal with the Devil, I know,” she stood up. “But I can’t lose him. I can’t lose my son.”
“Why?” he pushed forcefully.
She threw up her hands. “Do I even need a reason for that?”
He peered at her. “Yes. Because you’ve never said no to a fight. You were always the first one to run into trouble, the first one to help those in need. Then, all of a sudden, you surrender and agree to never fight again? Why? What do they have on you?”
Cries bubbled in her stomach. What did they have on her? Tears streamed down her face.
Ryan looked taken aback. “Raechel…?”
She looked into his eyes. He did care for her. And, he did have the right to know.
“I want to show you something.”
Turning without waiting for him, she headed toward the place. This was it. She was finally going to tell him. She had thought about how this day would go, but it didn’t seem nearly as terrifying as it was now. Every step forward seemed to be like two steps back. She was receding into the past, back to when the sun was setting, when the wind whistled through the branches. The crunch of leaves under her foot became too familiar and the trees started looking the same as the ones in her brain. When she came to a single yellow flower growing out of the ground, she stopped and stared. There she was.
Ryan was quiet. They’d seen enough death to know more than anyone else what was in the ground.
“Who is it?” he asked quietly.
She opened her mouth, but the tears choked the words back. She reached out to him with her mind, and he let her in immediately.
Our daughter, she cried. The weight shifted over to her memory.
Her bitter cries died down as she continued making the grave. She had to do this. So, the other one could be okay. She had to save one of them. She couldn’t lose another.
Save one. Save one. Her hands dug faster and faster, dirt flying behind her, until she furiously punched the ground. She wasn’t going to lose another. She had to let her go. Right here. Right now.
Satisfied with the depth, she lay on her back, staring at the trees towering above her. The rustle of the wind blowing in their leaves eased a bit of panic. She had to do it now, didn’t she? Taking a deep breath, she wiped her eyes and sniffed. There was a lot that could go wrong with this. She just needed to make sure that nothing she did hurt herself or disturbed the one that was still alive. He had to come out okay. She couldn’t lose him, too.
That thought echoed in their minds from her heart. I can’t lose him, too.
Ryan locked eyes with her through his tears. From their mental connection, she felt him put the pieces together: the residual emptiness in her eyes, the fatigue, the fear all made sense to him now.
She looked away, tears scaling down her cheeks. “After she took you away, they did some experiments. I thought that I would be fine, but…I didn’t have the strength to hide my pregnancy after a while. I thought I could for the sake of the Faction, but…”
She felt her stomach tighten. Remembering that far back would be too much.
“They killed her,” she managed to say. “They injected her with some sort of poison. I knew I was going to be fine, but…if I didn’t let her go, then Kailyn would have died with her.”
Raechel hugged herself. “I don’t know how I managed the strength to do it, but I got out of there and ended up here. And this is where I let her go.”
They both stared at the sad flower shivering with the wind. Raechel trembled with it.
“It’s her birthday today.”
If China’s rare earth materials are the product of forced labor in Xinjiang, should the United States import them or ban them?
Two young men in a Chicago post office are going to the bathroom.
‘Hey Jimmy, seen that recently released news story about the forced labour of Uyghurs in Xinjiang in China’
‘Of course Karl, I can’t believe anyone would want to live in that kind of a place where they are bullied.’
‘Yeah, I can’t imagine.’ Karl washed his hands and suddenly turned round and shouted, ‘How many times have I told you Jimmy, the Polyworker’s special sink is not here it’s over there!’
‘Polyworking’—A New Term for a Very Bad (and Old) Thing
The entire idea of polyworking is clearly constructed with the top echelon of corporate workers in mind, but it ignores the vast majority of American workers.
Oh, and Polyworking isn’t forced labour, Americans ‘love working’ more than two jobs, work 84+ hour weeks, and ‘hate holidays and being home from work’. They do it by ‘choice’, not by ‘force’. 😁
As for China’s rare earth materials, the United States cannot import them just because it wants to. It needs to provide import qualifications and accept regular spot checks by Chinese personnel.
Have you, while repairing a computer, ever found anything that made your jaw drop?
Yes, and it was one of the 3 worst things I’ve seen in my life.
About 20 yrs ago a pastor of a church brought a church provided computer in saying it was slow and kept losing files. I did the standard tune-up, then did a filesystem scan. The scan found bad files. I happened to notice one of the files being “repaired” had a filename of 10slut.jpg which caught my attention. Being a church computer, I assumed it had been infected with filesharing malware. I located the hidden direcctory 10slut.jpg file was in and opened the file. The 10 in the filename referred to her age. The man in the jpg was not the pastor. There were about 100 jpgs in the directory. The computer was not infected.
I shut the computer down, unplugged it and warned the owner of the shop that law enforcement would be ariving and that he did not want to see why. Later that day the pasor was arrested. I later gave statements for the case against him. About 2 years later later the cop that originally showed up came by and told me the pastor had pled out and accepted a plea agreement for 20 yrs. He did less than 2 when guards found him dead in his cell. Apparently he had decided to commit suicide by stabbing himself more than 10 times.
The Most DISTURBING Video On The INTERNET: “THE BJORN TAPE”
Tech companies are laying off programmers and freezing hiring—are we really watching the end of programming as a job?
Well, no, not really.
I have been in the industry for 30 some years. Computer companies, I call software companies also computer companies so I am not always making a long list of different companies. Just companies doing anything on computers. They seem to only have two modes of operation. They have a lot of money or they suddenly have no money. Only a handful of companies seem to run in the middle, cash on hand and no urgency.
When companies have a lot of money, they basically start hoarding people. They steal people from other companies by offering very high salary. They hire a lot of people. One company I once worked for had like 30–40 employees one day and a few months later they were 140 and today they are around 50. The downside is that it was a good company.
Life in these type of companies is basically measured in dog years. You did not work 2 years there, you worked 14 years. Given overtime, pressure and projects, it can often feel that way actually, to press 10 some years into 2.
It is fun to see the money rolling. But it is always around the corner, you start to see people either simply gone one day and you ask, what happened to that person, ohh they left, it did not work out or some lame excuse. Then either more and more people leave, or the company is planning on a new evaluation system of employees which is just a lame idea behind laying off a lot of people who they don’t have enough work for but this way they can claim a large group of people were bad hires and their stock or “reputation” is not harmed. It is a lame way to do this. Usually this happens right after a highly publicized HR person has joined the company.
Then there are the “Bobs”. Office space really did a great job on those two. Where you are called into a meeting with the new HR person or some consultant(s), and you get asked like, what is it that you do around here? Yup, they are downsizing and blaming you.
You see, for some reason, the management can’t do anything wrong. They hired 50 people when they needed 10. Shortly afterwards, 40 or even 60 need to go because they ran out of money. It costs a lot to onboard new employees.
Gaming companies are notorious for this. Even buy up companies that already existed, just to close them down a little later, for whatever reason.
I think the IT industry has always been like this and it isn’t changing much. Perhaps companies are starting to hire fewer people? But I doubt it. Both because it is always good to say your company has a lot of employees, makes you feel good and look good and also it is this mantra that you must grow quickly or die.
It is really a weird thing if you work as a programmer for the same company for 5–10 years. You might even be considered to be outdated even if you are not when you apply for other work.
The short answer is, nope. IT and computer companies are just weird places to work. Large layoffs often happen at the same time as they are hiring for new projects. No oversight, completely blind.
This is extremely annoying but this is simply the case for working in IT.
When companies are freezing hiring, then they are seeking more funding, simple as that. Unemployment for programmers is as good as zero.
But there is always ageism. Companies claim they want people with 5–10 years experience but balk at people who are 35–40 with that experience. Why? Because people with experience don’t think the founder of the company walks on water, they have seen all this before. We are all family here …. seen it. I don’t remember handing my uncle a note saying he is no longer welcome, here is a bunch of money and he can decide if he wants to stay on for the next 3 months or leave right away.
I hate to say this, but the best companies to work for are the companies that are never in the news, for anything. A company that is decades old and just continues. They seem boring on the outside, they don’t use the flashiest tools, but they also don’t mind you taking vacation or stay at home with a sick kid. The companies that seem boring, are the best companies to work for, as weird as that sounds and they are not boring. They are delivering products all the time.
Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Glow-in-the-Dark Pickle Paradox
Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for a tale of scientific hubris, sentient snacks, and the most illuminating culinary disaster ever to strike Sir Whiskerton’s farm. Today’s adventure stars Chef Remy LeRaccoon, whose latest experiment—glow-in-the-dark pickles—unlocks a dimension of pure, pulsating absurdity. So grab your sunglasses (and maybe a dimensional anchor), and join us for The Glow-in-the-Dark Pickle Paradox—where science is just pickles with extra steps.
Act 1: The Pickle That Broke Reality
Chef Remy’s laboratory—a repurposed toolshed plastered with “DANGER: DELICIOUS” signs—hummed with questionable energy.
Remy:“Behold! Pickles Éclairées! Glow-in-the-dark, extra briny, and scientifically tres chic!”
Sir Whiskerton:“That’s just a jar of cucumbers you left next to your uranium collection.”
Remy:“Pfft. Science is never ‘just’ anything!”
But when Porkchop the Pig took the first bite, the pickle sang a full chorus of Memory from Cats before vanishing—along with half of Porkchop’s snout.
Porkchop:[Snout glowing]“I tasted the void! …Can I have another?”
Act 2: The Neon Dimension of Doom
One by one, the farm animals fell into the pickle jar’s neon-green vortex:
Bessie the Cow emerged with tie-dye spots and a sudden love of disco.
The Valley Chicks started voguing in midair, shouting “The pickles told us to express ourselves!”
Jazzpurr, ever the opportunist, formed a jazz band with sentient cucumbers (who played “Pickle in the Middle” on kazoos).
Jazzpurr:“Man, these cukes got soul!”
Sentient Pickle:[Humming]“Doo-wop! Doo-wop!”
Meanwhile, Remy panicked:
Remy:“Non! They were supposed to glow, not open portals!”
Sir Whiskerton:“That’s always your problem, Remy. No vision.”
Act 3: The Great Un-Pickling
With the farm overrun by inter-dimensional produce, Sir Whiskerton devised a plan:
Lure the pickles with Porkchop’s tears (the only thing saltier than the brine).
Trap them in Chester’s “unbreakable” lunchbox (it broke immediately).
Let Elvis the Rooster sing them back into the jar (his “Love Me Tender” was too powerful).
Elvis:[Crooning]“You ain’t nothin’ but a pickle…“
The Pickles:[Sobbing]“We just wanted to dance!“ (They dove back into the jar.)
The Moral (and the Post-Credit Snack)
Moral:If life gives you glowing pickles, don’t eat them. Just… don’t.
Post-Credit Scene:
Remy’s next invention—self-aware mayonnaise—whispers “Join us“ from the fridge.
Best Lines:
“I tasted the void! …Can I have another?” – Porkchop, cosmic gourmet
“Man, these cukes got soul!” – Jazzpurr, bandleader
“Non! They were supposed to glow, not open portals!” – Remy, bad scientist
Starring:
Chef Remy LeRaccoon (Mad Pickle Alchemist)
Jazzpurr (Cucumber Impresario)
Sentient Pickles (Broadway-Bound)
Why It’s Hilarious:
Absurd Science: Pickles as interdimensional opera singers.
Character Chaos: Bessie disco-cow, Porkchop void-taster.
Happy Ending: Elvis sings reality back into place.
Now, go forth—and may your snacks stay in this dimension. 🥒🎷💚
What are the 10 best things you have done in your life?
Gave priority to academics since childhood. Trust me, it really helps in the long run.
Gave priority of being thin and never gain or become fat. My weight is 65 for the last 3 yrs.
Never went into a relationship till I became successful in career, that was , joining MBBS.
Broke up with my 3 yr long relationship, because she was hyperwoke and said Indian Army is terrorist for the actions they do against Kashmir. Didn’t even try to explain it to her. Straight up blocked her from every where, nothing comes above the country.
Never cried for anything since 2020. I gave my word to hanuman ji that I will cry only 2 times in my life. One, when my mother dies, one when my father dies. And now, I’m mentally indestructible.
Learnt kannada .
Pretend that I don’t know kannada in front of people who might ask useless favors. 😝. Just say “ Naanu north Indian,Kannada gothilla, and move on”
Did my schooling in a place where there was no place for wokeness.
From worshipping SRK to literally hating SRK. People like them show fake patriotism in movies like pathan or jawan, but says literally zero words on pahalgham attack or about succesful operation sindoor just because they might loose few pakistani followers. Why SRK? Bcs I thought highly of him once and literally worshipped him. But as I said, nothing comes above the country.
Never losing my originality. I have seen people who eat dosa with spoon and fork in front if international delegates. They are from bangalore itself, while I, unapologetically dipped by 4 fingers in the sambhar with a good chunk of dosa.
Never made fun of anyone’s English, or corrected it just to win an argument. English is not our mother tongue, so there is no compulsion in being perfect in it.
Country >>>> Dharma>>>> Myself.
Protecting animals from abuse whenever I get chance.
Opening my whatsApp for people who might be in urgent need for free.
This was my last day in West Bengal.
American Farmer SHOCKED by Chinese Drone: “I Can’t Believe It’s Made in CHINA!”
In this incredible viral video, watch as Nebraska farm owner Laura goes from complete skepticism to absolute amazement when she first tries a Chinese DJI agricultural drone. Her genuine reaction when she discovers the advanced capabilities of Chinese drone technology will leave you speechless!
What are the Americans referring to when claiming China has a real estate crisis? China has 96% home ownership rate and only 18% of households have mortgage.
The Real Estate scenario between 2010-2020 , saw many thousands of speculators who had the following modus operandi:-
Make 500,000 Yuan ($ 80,000) from a Business in HK or New York
Use this money as Margin payment and borrow 2 Million Yuan from a Bank at 6.10% interest to pay a builder for a 400–600 SFT Apartment STILL YET TO BE BUILT
After 2/3 of the project was completed, to see that the 2.5 Million Apartment now is selling for 3.25 Million in just 15 months!!!
Sell to some poor young schmuck with a wife for 3.25 Million saying “By the time this project is finished, the next project will charge you 4 Million “
The Schmuck has to borrow from the same bank, use his Social Security Housing and borrow from Grandma, Grandpa, Uncle, Aunt, Dad, Mom, Cousins for the down payment (In China, sometimes the relatives even charge interest😁)
Pay off his 1.1 Million Yuan outstanding to the bank plus 119,000 Yuan interest and pre penalty. Get back his 500,000 Yuan plus 50% of the extra 750,000 Yuan rise in price (375000 Yuan)
So that’s a profit of 75% in 15 months for a 6.10% a year Loan!!!!
Every Tom, Dick and Harry jumped in to Invest
Xi Jinping stopped it in a swift strong move
Chinas Version of Demonetization albeit a slower , better planned, and a less disastrous one
All these speculators now hold flats they CANNOT SELL AT THE INFLATED RATES
They can’t hope to pay installments
Banks are safe
Because in China, the margin was 40% for second houses on wards and 50% for third houses onwards – the Banks hold property that are MORE VALUABLE THAN THE LOANS PLUS INTEREST
Interest is only around 3.90% today thanks to Floating Interest
Every week the Banks sell such property where Loan plus Interest = 2.83 Million Yuan (Example) and Value of Property = 4.75 Million Yuan
Youngsters attend and pay 75%–80% of the value of the property and buy the homes
Bank is fully paid
Borrowers/Speculators lose 30% or so but are not devastated
Many Developers are BUST now
They hold flats worth 40 Billion Yuan (For example) but Debt worth 25–100 Billion
Those who owe <= 50% of the Value of the Flats, they are saved by the Government which have given them a 108 month (9 year) interest free scenario and lent them money at 0% interest in exchange for 33% to 55% of their equity being pledged
Known as THE WHITE LIST
The others?
The Government has allowed them to fail, then picked up the undelivered flats and flat inventory and either used the PWD to build and deliver the flats or sell the inventory to other better developers
The Real Estate Crisis was over by Mid 2023
Like everything else, the Chinese planned well and the risks were mitigated
This is a Real Estate SLUMP
That follows a Crisis
People are still unsure of investing 70% of their savings into a flat as Margin money
They prefer
Money in the Bank (Cash) at 0.7%–0.9% a year when Inflation is a mere 0.2% a year
Gold
Gold ETFs
Government Bonds at 1.60%
Technology Bonds at 1.75%
New Home Values in the Big Cities are now between what they sold for in 2015 & 2017
However Builders are making much much lesser profits so they will incur more debt
So they don’t want to borrow too much and build flats
So
Home Values are realistic but for those who purchased homes post 2017, have fallen by at least 10% and in many cases upto 30%
Builders don’t want to build too many flats
Ergo a SLUMP
Between 2023–2025 there has been an UPTICK
Values have risen
Especially in Tier 3/4/5 Cities
So it is an ONGOING CHALLENGE FOR CHINA
They have always beaten every challenge that came their way, so my guess is they will get the indexes back to 12.50 by 2030 and then keep growth steady at around 2.50%
Luckily they have ENOUGH STATE CONTROL AND ENOUGH PEOPLE
In 1954, Chester Candler built a log cabin in a quiet little meadow at the foot of Mars Hill Mountain, Maine. His daughter and granddaughter live there today, although it has undergone many modern-day improvements. The homestead lies about six miles from the center of town.
Madelyn Collins, a trim 39-year-old, is busy looking through the junk drawer for the keys to the truck. She stops when she hears the weather report come on the radio.
“Well, folks, it looks like we’re in for a big one! The snowstorm that was beginning to turn out to sea is now holding its course and should reach our coastline around 8 o’clock tonight! It would be a good time to run out and pick up that milk, eggs, and bread! Make sure you have plenty of water plus loads of yummy snacks. If you have a generator at home, getting extra gas would be wise; there is no telling how long it will last. With winds nearing 45 miles an hour, plenty of drifting will occur. The National Weather Bureau says the storm could drop as much as 28 to 34 inches of snow. Now, back to the music with The Rasmus and Sail Away.”
Madelyn uses the glass window of the microwave to put on her earrings. She can’t help but notice how her hair is starting to be streaked with gray. She mutters, “Oh well, kid, you can’t stay young forever.” Madelyn turns toward the hallway and calls her daughter, Piper. “Piper, honey. Could you come here, please?”
The spirited blonde seventeen-year-old appears running in her stocking feet and slides to a stop. Her mother laughs. “What’s that all about?”
Piper smiles, “I just thought it would be fun, that’s all. What’s up?”
“Did you hear the weather forecast? Jeff Hill says we’re in for a big storm. I thought I’d pick up some things at Tweedlie’s IGA. Is there anything you would like?”
Piper leans against the kitchen table and looks up at the ceiling, her long blonde ponytail dangling behind her. “Hmm. Oh! I know! How about two packs of Ding Dongs? I love those things.”
“Ding Dongs it is,” smiles her mother. “And would you please bring in some firewood for tonight? I’d appreciate it.” Digging a little more in the draw, she asks, “Have you seen the keys? I can’t find them!” Piper smirks as she hitches her thumb at the backdoor. “Yeah. They’re hanging over there on the hook you put in, so you wouldn’t have to dig through the junk drawer anymore.” Madelyn’s face flushes as she drops her head. “You know? Sometimes I’m just too clever. O’ well. See you in a bit. Bye!” Piper waves goodbye to her mom and closes the door.
Looking up at the threatening gray sky, Madelyn is glad she bought the new truck. It’s a 2005 Chevy Colorado. She bought it because the ads said it was good in the snow. The reason she could afford such a truck was due to her husband Jim dying in a fatal work accident at the lumberyard. An investigation proved it was an overlooked safety hazard, and she was awarded nearly half a million dollars for her loss. That was four years ago, and she still wakes up every morning lonely and crying. She knows his death has been grueling on Piper, too. Madelyn is stirred back to reality by a snowflake landing on her nose and decides she had better get going.
Piper is an only child and was thirteen when her father died. Jim was in special forces in the Marines and started teaching Piper survival skills when she was ten. He thought it would be a good idea, what with living so close to a moutain forest. Piper thrived on the attention and learning. She thought it was great fun knowing how to survive in the wilderness and not be afraid. Jim even taught her some combat skills to protect herself. He laughed as he told Madelyn, “The boys better watch out. She’s going to be one tough little lady!”
Piper didn’t let her mother know she is continuing her relationship with her father through his picture on her nightstand. She tells him everything about her day each night before going to sleep. She’d tell him when something exciting or sad would happen at school, like when her best friend moved away. To Piper, it was like he had never died. Sometimes, she would imagine him standing behind her, smiling. Or think she saw his reflection in her mirror, even though that was silly to believe.
Piper picks up the kitchen after breakfast and puts on her toque and mittens to get the firewood. She fills the wheelbarrow with oak logs and remembers to include the kindling and birch bark. The snow has started falling steadily, and Piper hopes her mother is safe.
After a light lunch, Piper enters the living room to do her homework. “Algebra, blah! How boring.” Piper places a few logs in the fireplace and sets the kindling ablaze. Soon, the logs are crackling nicely. Piper drapes a light blanket across her shoulders and sets to work on her studies. It’s not long until she drifts away into sleep between the algebra and the heat of the fire.
Piper’s eyes fly open due to a loud banging sound. She looks at the hall clock and sees it’s a quarter to five. “Mom? Is that you?” Her mother doesn’t answer. “Where is she? She left for the store this morning at ten thirty!” Piper hears the banging again and discovers it from a pine branch hitting the side of the house. The wind has picked up considerably. Piper’s heart pounds against her chest when the phone rings, and rushes toward it. “MOM!?!”
“Piper, darling! First of all, I’m alright. The storm came in so quickly that it caught everybody by surprise! Downtown traffic became unpassable in no time. Cars were stuck, just spinning their wheels. Do you remember Mrs. Dubois from church? Well I’m staying with her until the roads are clear. How are you doing? Do you have power?”
Piper turns on the outside light and sees a dark figure dart behind a snow drift. “Yes, I have power. I’m looking out the backdoor right now and see the wind is blowing hard. There’s a big drift across the driveway. In the morning, I’ll use the tractor to plow it out of the way for you.”
Madelyn stammers, “Please be careful! I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Piper chuckles into the phone, “Don’t worry, Mom. Dad taught me how to drive the tractor. I’ll be fine.” Her mother sounds a little calmer as she reminds Piper about the generator in the cellar. “ There’s some extra gas under the stairs. Okay then. I guess I’ll be seeing you sometime tomorrow. Love ya!”
“Love you to Mom.” After hanging up, Piper takes another look out the backdoor. Just beyond the casting of the backdoor light, Piper sees a pair of glowing green eyes reflected in the dark and thinks it must be a raccoon looking for shelter from the storm.
After a supper of a cheese and ham omelet and toast, Piper decides to check to see if the generator needs topping off. The wind howls, and the lights flicker. Just as Piper reaches for the cellar door, they go out. “Damn! I was hoping that wouldn’t happen. Mom says there’s a flashlight in the junk drawer. Great! Maybe we need another little hook to hang that on, too!” She feels around inside until she finds it and turns it on. The wind howls again, but this time, it sounds different, almost mechanical. Piper grabs the handle and jerks the door wide open.
Something about the size of a big dog sprints past the foot of the stairs, causing Piper to yelp. She slams the door and leans on it with her flashlight hand while turning the deadbolt with her other. Then she hears it. The fourth step from the bottom is the only one that squeaks. Something is climbing the stairs. Her eyes are wide and dilated with fear. Piper leans closer to the door to try and hear. Suddenly, there is a loud boom as if someone threw a five-pound bag of potatoes at the door. Piper scurries back so fast that she slams into the kitchen table, knocking over the ketchup bottle and sending the silverware flying. Quickly covering her face with the crook of her arm, the flashlight beam dances wildly in her shaking hand. “God! What was that thing? What am I going to do?”
Piper hears her father instructing her like he did many years ago. “What’s the first thing to do when a crisis arises?” Piper’s voice cracks with disbelief, “Daddy?” The voice repeats, “What is the first thing we do when a crisis arises?” Piper swallows hard and whispers, “Stay calm.” When he speaks again, Piper is sure her father has returned to save her. “What’s the second thing?” Piper responds with confidence, “Secure the area.” She jams one of the wooden chairs under the cellar door handle. Next, she locks all the windows and doors. Piper receives an impression of her father’s nightstand and heads upstairs. Pulling open the nightstand drawer, she finds a white envelope with a key inside. The tag on the key reads trunk. Knitting her eyebrows together, Piper thinks hard. She looks at the bedroom closet and thinks, “Your old military locker?” She slides open the closet doors and pulls the locker into the room. Her hands tremble as she unlocks it. Opening the lid, Piper finds a black turtleneck sweater, black toque, grease face paint, and night goggles. It doesn’t take her long to figure out she is supposed to use these items. Picking up the sweater, her eyes widen when she sees her father’s MRI .44magnum Desert Eagle.
Piper puts everything on the bed, including an extra clip of bullets. In the master bath, she puts on the sweater and covers her face with the black grease paint. Next, she tucks her blonde hair beneath the toque and puts on the night goggles. Shutting off the lights, Piper is amazed at how clearly she can see everything in the dark. Something catches her eye out the bedroom window. What looked like a huge snow drift behind the woodshed was actually a snow-covered spaceship. As she watched a door slide open, four more monsters descended into the storm. They huddled together momentarily before moving toward the house, their spaceship door closing.
Panic is gripping Piper’s heart! “Oh God! What do I do? What do I do?” But suddenly, she knows she needs to secure her position. Piper races through the house, shutting off every light until the only thing left is the fire’s glowing embers. She rushes down the hall to the downstairs bathroom and locks the door. Piper squats down in the tub, resting the heavy Desert Eagle on her knees. She waits.
The raging gale continues outside, but Piper can’t hear it. She only hears the sound of her own heart beating as she tries to remain calm. Piper keeps her breathing slow and steady, and then she hears the chair fall and the cellar door open.
At first, she could hear the creatures moving about the house. She knew they were looking for people. Finally, Piper hears small clicks and tweets as they communicate with one another. They come to a stop outside of the bathroom door. Piper manages not to flinch when the door knob is tested. Then there came a scratching sound and Piper knew the aliens were opening the lock.
When they finally get the door unlocked, they do nothing. Piper holds her breath to try to stay as still as possible. “They’re listening. I mustn’t move.”
The door creaks as it is slowly opened. Piper closes her eyes, afraid of what she will see, but forces them open again to be able to shoot. Long fingers wrap around the edge of the door, and the first creature appears. It is about three feet tall, though it is slightly bent over. The head looks too large for the rest of its body. The creature’s color is a shade of gray. Though its eyes are large, they are squinted as if it is trying to see in the dark. It waves its other thin arm with extended fingers back and forth as if trying to feel its way in the pitch-black room. The others stumble in behind their leader. The last alien stops in the doorway. Piper has an idea: if she shoots the one in the doorway first, the others will have a harder time escaping. The urge to shoot comes almost immediately, but she must refrain to be sure to kill them all.
Piper watches until they are almost in a perfectly straight line and pulls the trigger. The muzzle flash lights up the room, and the alien nearest her screams and shields its eyes. Piper turns her weapon on him next and feels something wet hit her face. In the chaos, Piper keeps firing, being deafened by the noise of the handgun and shrieks of pain. The Desert Eagle clicks three more times before Piper realizes it’s over. She steps out of the bathtub and slips in the goo covering the floor. Weeping, Piper walks into the kitchen and stands perfectly still. She removes the night goggles and sees the figure of a man standing before the fireplace, illuminated by the dying coals. “You did great, Kitten,” he said proudly and disappeared.
Shortly after Piper’s mother arrived home, the police cars began arriving, followed by shiny, black government sedans to record the incident of Mars Hill.
9 WEIRD Rules OK in Vietnamese Culture, Totally WRONG in America!!! (NO JOKE!)
What is the longest wire ever used for a wire-guided missile?
While the BGM-71 TOW missile is one of the most famous weapons using wire guidance, it has been also used for other systems such as torpedoes (the Mk48 has that as an option).
That said, according to Wikipedia: “This guidance system is most commonly used in anti-tank missiles, where its ability to be used in areas of limited line-of-sight make it useful, while the range limit imposed by the length of the wire is not a serious concern”
To the question: the longest-range production wire-guided weapon is the Rafael Spike ER2, with an 8km (5 mile) range. Being wire guided, the longer range also lengthens your exposure time.
Keep in mind that most countries are reluctant to give out this information, for obvious reasons.
China of course has their own version.
Trivia: when the US deployed the BGM-71, it replaced an earlier French system developed in the 1950’s.
Mozzarella Chicken Breasts
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Ingredients
5 de-boned chicken breasts
1 can cream of chicken soup mixed with 1/3 cup water
2 cups stuffing
1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, melted
5 slices mozzarella cheese
Instructions
Place breasts on the bottom of a baking pan.
Place a cheese slice on each breast.
Cover with the soup mixture and sprinkle buttered packaged stuffing (such as Stove Top) over all.
Bake for 1 1/2 hours at 325 degrees F.
Honest view on China after 15 years (Canadian POV)
Are people in nations with universal healthcare ever told that they are not eligible for treatment? If so, why would this happen?
New South Wales Australia, Sept., 2024
My Dad was 95 when he had a heart malfunction that involved him collapsing, an ambulance and a stay at a large regional hospital. The cardiologist called in the family members, me, sister and brother, to tell us that because of Dad’s advanced age, he was not a suitable candidate for a pacemaker which would fix his problem.
Sister butted in to explain how Dad walked two dogs, 3 km every day, as well as doing the garden, tending a dozen chickens, making daily visits to the PO and regularly visiting nearby friends – also he had passed all the tests to renew his driving license the week before.
Dad returning after walking the dogs.
Because I was visiting, I’d taken a number of photos of Dad doing most of these things she described, to show my kids when I got home.
The doctor listened, looked at my photos and then said it looks like perhaps my father was a suitable candidate after all, and they would schedule the operation for as soon as they could ambulance him to a far larger teaching hospital where the surgery would take place.
Dad after being told he was ready to go home after having the pacemaker installed.
Dad back home, showing fatigue after babysitting great granddaughter and family dogs for 3 hours.
A week later, Dad was back home doing his regular routine.
My sister had managed to convince the doctor that my Dad, who they said wasn’t eligible for surgery, was in fact a perfect candidate. And the entire NSW Health System was prepared to reevaluate their initial decision to deny him treatment.
Post-operation: Having a beer with Dad and elder brother
China is already a powerhouse in AI for radiology and medical imaging. Next they’re going global.
A severe shortage of radiologists compelled China to introduce Artificial Intelligence across its hospital systems.
A comprehensive national effort began just three years ago, with the aim of developing a new industry for diagnostic medical imaging, all with AI.
Today, more than three fourths of Chinese hospitals rely heavily on AI systems. This has slashed costs for medical care delivery, improved patient outcomes, and dramatically reduced burnout among Chinese medical staff.
A crucial factor in the growth of China’s AI is the vast biodata that researchers and tech companies have available to develop Large-Language Models for their systems.
China also enjoys access to enormous volumes of real-life patient data from around the world, as so much of the world’s pharmaceutical R&D is performed here, by global companies.
That is a key differentiator and comparative advantage, which strongly positions Chinese medical AI in global markets.
Closing scene, Zhuhai Grand Theatre, Zhuhai, Guangdong
Moving into my new house. This one is in the Northern part of Zhuhai.
So I’ve been scanning my face and other biometrics so that I can get in the doors, ports, parking lots, and my house doors. No one in China really uses keys any more.
But with all that, we have utilities and all the rest that need to be done.
So, in general moving from one house to another is the same everywhere. It’s just that in China you must include adaptation for technology advancements and change.
All in all, we often get all caught up in the glitz and glamor of new technology, but each time we encounter it, we need to learn. Do you remember learning MS DOS. Then windows? Then Lunix? Then then AI coding…
For me, for instance I am learning how to port Librewriter files into Sigil as unformulated HTML to edit into HTML5 for extraction as EPUB3.
It’s no longer as simple and writing out a story with a pencil in hand and a tablet on the desk.
Things have become more complex.
Yet the youth of today adapt so quickly. The stuff the elementary kids are playing with here in China will BLOW YOUR MIND.
It’s a new world.
Today….
America “We Don’t Need Canada” — Now Watch What Happens (Trade War Backfire)
What happened unexpectedly at a party you were invited to?
My parents were friends with the hops silo manager at the Carlsberg Brewery in Denmark.
One winter evening in the late ’70s, I was invited by the eldest of his three sons to come and play three-cushion billiards (tre bande carambole) in their den while the parents were out at some party.
His mum had prepared triangular cucumber sandwiches (his dad had spent years as a Carlsberg manager in the UK). Next to the billiards table stood a fridge, thoughtfully stocked by United Breweries with the four most popular varieties of Tuborg (Christmas brew) and Carlsberg (Elephant, Special Brew and 25) — one per shelf.
By happy coincidence, each of us preferred a different variety, so we claimed a shelf each.
As the evening wore on, our game of billiards deteriorated in direct proportion to the amount of beer consumed, and we decided to stop before anyone ruined the green baize.
The drinking continued, of course — and eventually, the fridge was empty. We weren’t.
I crashed on an air mattress in the eldest boy’s room. The next morning, I woke to the sight of oddly coloured icicles hanging just outside the bedroom window.
Apparently, my mate had woken in the night and decided it would be rude to vomit over the side of the bed onto his guest, so — in a stroke of gallant desperation — he had leaned out of the top pane of a two-section window, the kind with a top-hinged casement, and thrown up into the cold Danish night instead.
His parents were not amused — especially his dad, when it was discovered that the four of us had managed to polish off nearly 40 beers. My favourite was Carlsberg 25 (=25cl), so I ended up about two beers short of the others in total volume — but then again, I was a lightweight compared to a brew manager’s sons.
Funny how memory works. I can still picture the sandwiches — and I can still name all four beers — more than 45 years later.
1
What would be the best way for the U.S to invade Iran and remove any chance of them having a nuclear weapon like they did to Iraq in the early 2000s? Just stragicic answers please. No answers allowed that argue the morality or possibility, alright?
Unfortunately as of 14/6/2025, I cannot post any content on Israel or against the State of Israel
I entered into an Agreement yesterday to license my content to two parties to use OUTSIDE INDIA and one key oral clause was NO UNACCEPTABLE CONTENT specifically referring to any and all remarks against Israel
Anything written post today will renege the agreement on Israel
So I advise you to follow a friend of mine Satish s/O Santhirasegaran who is known for his hard hitting answers on such content😁
Is This Becoming Common?
The one-sided relationship focus in the West is what has destroyed relationships. Worth your time to watch. Some serious points are being made here. Without balance, you have something that is lop-sided. Lop-sided things tend to fall down and break.
What impact could the inclusion of previously unreported economic activities, like night markets, have on China’s GDP figures?
China’s GDP , if calculated like the US GDP with assumed rentals and accrued services could be as much as $ 22.50 Trillion or around 165 Trillion RMB
In fact the realistic GDP of China could be as much as $ 27 Trillion if the RMB was valued more realistically at around 6 RMB to 1 USD
The GDP Per Capita could be as much as $ 19,200
It’s the LAST THING CHINA WANTS
China unlike India or US doesn’t care about gloating about GDP numbers too much because it won’t make a difference inside China where people don’t really care too much about such statistics
However China wants it’s DEVELOPING status to continue at the WTO
If China is regarded as a DEVELOPED NATION based on the Adjusted Per Capita GDP ($ 19,200 for China is equivalent to $ 27,700 – far more than the $ 25,000 Limit set by organizations):-
China would be subject to 149 regulations instead of a mere 31 regulations at the WTO
China would be subject to 21 Clauses in Environmental Impact alone and it’s Rare Earth Refining Dominance will come into question
China’s permission to bypass the Investment Cap for Developed Countries will be stopped meaning future BRI funding no longer can be limitless
China’s access to nearly $ 7 Trillion of potential Credit at low rates , where they can borrow at 2.34% and lend at 5.10% will come to an end
So China is perfectly happy keeping it’s GDP numbers lower and taking all advantages of a Developing Nation
It’s Yuan to USD Rate of 7.20 is easily 20% lower than the realistic 6.00
It excludes plenty of assured Services including all small businesses at County and Town level
Honey ‘n’ Spice Chicken Kabobs
abf1c2eeaf80cc2d8410b62780a95403
Yield: 4 servings
Ingredients
1 can drained pineapple chunks
1 medium green bell pepper
1/2 cup Heinz 57 Sauce
1/4 cup honey
4 skinless boneless chicken breast halves
Instructions
Blanch bell pepper in boiling water 1 minute; drain.
Cut each chicken breast into 4 pieces.
Alternately thread chicken, green pepper and pineapple onto skewers.
Combine 57 Sauce and honey.
Brush kabobs with 57 Sauce mixture.
Broil, about 6 inches from heat source, 12 to 14 minutes, turning and brushing with 57 Sauce mixture once.
Stupid Moms On Paternity Court
How urgent is the need for the US to reach an agreement with China on rare earths, and what could happen if they don’t?
Question1: Very urgent
1.The U.S. defense industry is entirely dependent on China for rare earth imports and lacks domestic processing capabilities.
2. The rare earth reserves of the US Department of Defense can only support 18 months of military production (such as F-35 fighter jets, missile guidance systems, etc.). However, this data only applies to light rare earths, and the actual support capacity of heavy rare earth reserves is less than 6 months.
3. While the U.S. has domestic rare earth mines (like Mountain Pass), 90% of extracted ore must be shipped to China for processing. Domestic refining capacity is virtually nonexistent. Even with raw ore stockpiles, without China’s purification and separation technology, these materials cannot be converted into usable forms (e.g., neodymium-iron-boron magnets, high-purity gadolinium fluoride gas).
4. China holds over 90% of the global patents for rare earth separation and 92% of the heavy rare earth refining capacity. It will take at least 10 years or more for the United States to rebuild its domestic industrial chain, and the cost will be 3 to 7 times that of China.
Question2: It can be argued that if an agreement cannot be reached and China refuses to supply rare earths to the U.S., the U.S. military and high-tech industries may simply collapse:
1. F-35 fighter jets require 417 kilograms of rare earths (including heavy rare earths) per aircraft, and each Virginia-class nuclear submarine consumes 4 tons of rare earths. If the supply is cut off, the U.S. military industry will face a crisis such as the shutdown of the F-35 production line, delays in the delivery of missiles, and the inability to maintain radar systems.
2. The U.S. Department of Defense assesses that a sustained 90-day shortage of rare earths could lead to the closure of 78% of defense contractors’ production lines, and that the Strategic Missile Forces may even be forced to cut back on their nuclear deterrent;
3. 2-3 kilograms of neodymium-iron-boron magnets are needed for each electric car, and 600 kilograms of rare earths are consumed per megawatt of wind turbine. Ford, Tesla and other car companies have already suspended production lines due to rare earth shortages, and if the supply shortage continues, the production capacity of new energy vehicles across the U.S. may drop by more than 50%, and green energy transition programs (such as the goals of the Inflation Reduction Act) will be completely shelved;
4. Chip etching required 7N gadolinium fluoride gas (purity 99.99999%) is almost entirely supplied by China, supply cuts will lead to wafer defect rate surge, Intel and other companies were forced to suspend factory expansion 19. fiber optic communications, 5G base stations and other key infrastructure will also be paralyzed by a shortage of rare earth materials;
F-35 fighter jets
In short, I’m truly puzzled. Despite China holding the rare earths trump card, which seems to have the US by the throat, why does the US still dare to impose a 245% tariff? Perhaps Trump has realized this and has begun to yield, taking the initiative to negotiate with China.
Russians Ambushed Ukrainian D-30 Howitzer Convoy at Extremely Close Range! GoPro Battle Footage
The Federation designed the FDV Perfect Blend Mediator-class diplomatic vessel for complex negotiations and first contact scenarios. This ship, commanded by Captain Penumbra Luna, and others like it, had a reputation throughout the galaxy for their extensive conference facilities, cultural exchange centers, and ability to host and serve multiple diplomatic delegations with only the best roasted coffees. Their motto: “Where Differences Dissolve Like Sugar in a Well-Stirred Cup.”
An annoying klaxon on the Perfect Blend’s bridge announced a threat to the ship’s current first contact mission with the Arabican delegation. A holographic alert flashed crimson across the viewport, “SWPC WARNING: Geomagnetic Storm Macchiato, Category 4, approaching Sector 7.”
Captain Penumbra Luna smiled at the storm’s designation as she studied the approaching phenomenon, watching purple-green energy swirl through the black void. The storm’s leading edge formed a pattern that looked like her typical morning latte art, though considerably more ominous in scale. She’d seen her share of space weather, but something about this storm’s fluid movement set her nerves on edge.
“Lieutenant Roastio, status report,” Luna said, calling out.
“Electromagnetic disturbances up forty-seven percent, Captain. Quantum communication buoys showing interference.” Roastio worked her console while surrounded by empty coffee cups from her long five-hour shift. “The wave patterns are exhibiting unusual harmonics—almost like they’re being stirred by an invisible force. Engineering reports the shield generators are drawing twenty-three percent more power than normal just from the leading edge.”
“Commander Affogato, implement shield modification sequence Luna-Seven,” Luna said as the storm’s tendrils stretched toward them. Her expertise in storm navigation had saved more than a few ships, though she secretly credited her success to sustaining perfect caffeine levels during crisis situations. Luna held the highest regard for Affogato’s expertise, though she noticed him stifling a yawn. Third shift was always the hardest without proper caffeination.
“Ensign Cortado, adjust our heading to zero-three-seven mark twelve,” Luna said. “Let’s try to skim the storm’s outer layers rather than punch straight through.”
The ship’s computer chimed in with its serene, yet irritating, voice: “Storm duration estimate: twelve hours, seventeen minutes. Shield modifications recommended. Non-essential systems may experience interference. Crew advisory: Prepare for possible gravitational fluctuations.”
Luna suppressed a groan. Twelve hours. The length of three standard duty shifts. This was going to require some serious coffee intake. “Commander, you have the bridge. That storm pattern looks too much like steamed milk. I need to clear my head before it gets worse.” As she stood, the first subtle tremor ran through the deck plating beneath her feet.
The turbo lift ride to Luna’s quarters felt longer than usual, her mind already anticipating the perfect cup from her BREW-3000. The sophisticated machine had been a gift from the Barista Academy after she’d given a guest lecture on “Maintaining Perfect Crema in Zero Gravity.” But when the doors slid open, something felt wrong. Her quarters appeared untouched, except for one glaring absence—the gleaming coffee maker was missing from its dedicated alcove, leaving behind only a faint ring of coffee oils on the polished surface.
“Computer, locate BREW-3000 unit registered to me, Captain Luna.”
“Unable to comply. Electromagnetic interference affecting internal sensors,” the computer said with what Luna swore was a hint of sympathy.
Perfect timing. The backup replicators would be useless too, affected by the storm’s interference. And the Arabican delegation was due to arrive for first contact ceremonies as soon as the brunt of the storm passed—caffeine-worshipping diplomats who judged other cultures by their coffee-making capabilities. First contact protocol specified using a properly pulled espresso shot in their ceremonies.
Luna formed a mental list of suspects while rubbing her temples. Ensign Lux Meteor topped it—his mobile coffee cart business was failing because crew members preferred the BREW-3000’s superior beverages. His last quarterly review had mentioned “excessive bitterness”—in both his coffee and his attitude. Dr. Corona Eclipse had been running an aggressive “Caffeine-Free Ship” campaign, claiming coffee addiction was destroying crew productivity. The doctor’s latest memo had singled out the captain’s BREW-3000 as “enabling dependency.” Lately, Chief Engineer Stella “Pulsar” Stellar had been desperate for parts, and she admired the BREW-3000’s engineering. Then there was Ambassador Nebula, representing a tea-drinking society but showing jittery behavior lately and an unusual interest in Earth’s coffee culture.
She found Meteor first, his coffee cart parked in a quiet corridor near Hydroponics. Bot MAX, the cleaning robot, polished the floor nearby with unusual thoroughness, its optical sensors lingering just a bit too long on Meteor’s cart.
“Rough day, Ensign?” Luna asked, noting his dejected posture and the fresh coffee stain on his uniform—at least he was consistent in his inability to manage crema.
“Captain! I… yes. Three customers today. Three! And one just wanted hot water.” He gestured at his cart’s financial display, which showed a graph trending downward like an over-extracted espresso. “I’m thinking of switching to herbal tea smoothies.”
Luna opened her mouth to respond when the ship lurched. The storm’s first major fluctuation sent coffee cups sliding across Meteor’s cart, leaving abstract patterns of brown liquid that looked like the storm’s swirls. Luna’s head throbbed—caffeine withdrawal set in, creating pressure behind her eyes like a porta filter locked too tight.
“Bridge to Captain Luna,” Affogato’s voice crackled through interference. “Storm intensity increasing. Shield modifications required. We’re seeing some unusual power fluctuations in decks three through seven.”
“On my way,” Luna said, giving Meteor a sharp look. “We’ll continue this discussion later.”
As she strode toward the bridge, Luna massaged her temples. She had a missing coffee maker, a massive storm, approaching diplomats, and a growing list of suspects. And now, the telltale pressure behind her eyes warned that caffeine withdrawal symptoms were just beginning. The purple-green storm luminescence glowing through the portholes wasn’t helping her headache either.
Behind her, Bot MAX continued its meticulous cleaning, humming what sounded like an ancient coffee grinder’s song, its movements as precise as a barista’s morning routine.
The storm’s intensity doubled in the time it took Luna to reach the bridge. Its colorful energy cascaded across the viewport in waves that sent coffee cups sliding across consoles despite the artificial gravity. Lieutenant Roastio grabbed her last full cup before it could spill, clutching it like a lifeline.
“Status report,” Luna ordered, forcing herself to focus. She could have sworn the swirling patterns outside were forming perfect rosettes.
“Shield harmonics holding at eighty-two percent, Captain,” Commander Affogato reported. “But we’re seeing unusual power fluctuations throughout the ship. Gravity plating is starting to—” His speech cut off as the deck swayed, sending crew members stumbling.
“Engineering reports the gravity generators are being affected by the electromagnetic interference,” Roastio added, finally losing her battle with the coffee cup. Dark liquid arced through the air in slow motion as gravity fluctuated. “We’re getting similar reports from all decks. And the replicators are offline now.”
Luna gripped her chair, her temples pounding. Every flash of the storm felt like needles behind her eyes. She needed to find the BREW-3000, and fast. But first, she had to ensure the ship’s safety.
“Divert power from non-essential systems to the shields,” she commanded. “And someone find me Dr. Eclipse. Her anti-caffeine campaign can wait until we’re through this storm.”
Luna found Eclipse in the medical bay, surrounded by crew members complaining of headaches and dizziness. She noticed wrinkles in the doctor’s usual crisp lab coat and the slight tremble in her hands as she provided care.
“Interesting timing for your caffeine-free initiative, Doctor,” Luna said, watching as Eclipse almost dropped a hypospray. “Especially with the Arabican delegation arriving soon.”
“Captain!” Eclipse jumped, then composed herself. “I assure you, my campaign is based purely on medical evidence. Though I admit, this storm’s timing is… unfortunate.” She shot a nervous glance at a cabinet behind her desk.
Luna’s suspicion deepened when she caught sight of what looked like an energy drink container shoved behind some medical supplies in haste. Before she could investigate further, her communicator chirped.
“Captain to Engineering ASAP!” Chief Engineer Stellar’s voice crackled through static. “We’ve got problems with the power distribution grid. I need authorization to rebuild the secondary coupling array.”
“On my way,” Luna said, giving Eclipse a final scrutinizing look. The doctor’s nervous glance at the cabinet raised a red flag.
Chaos engulfed Engineering when Luna arrived. Stellar darted between panels like a caffeinated hummingbird, her trademark star-shaped hair clips askew. Mysterious components that cluttered the chief’s workspace looked like they could have come from a high-end coffee maker.
“Captain!” Stellar called out, her voice muffled as she dove halfway into an access panel. “The storm’s affecting our power grid worse than expected. I’ve been trying to cobble together a backup system, but I’m missing some crucial parts. High-grade thermal regulators, precision flow controllers…” She emerged, wiping sweat away from her forehead. “The kind of components you might find in, say, a BREW-3000?”
Luna’s eyes narrowed. “Interesting example, Chief. Have you seen one recently?”
Before Stellar could respond, Ambassador Nebula burst into Engineering, more jittery than ever. “Captain! I must protest these power fluctuations! My quarters’ environmental controls are malfunctioning, and my personal… er, tea preparation equipment is not functioning!”
Luna noted the ambassador’s twitching fingers and the faint aroma of what wasn’t tea clinging to his ceremonial robes.
A violent shake rattled the ship. “Bridge to Captain,” Affogato’s said through the intercom. “Storm intensity increasing. Shield harmonics are becoming unstable. We need you up here.”
Luna’s head felt like it was being squeezed in a malfunctioning French press. The lack of coffee was affecting her judgment—she could have sworn she just saw Bot MAX roll past the engineering bay doors, its cleaning routine taking it somewhere it had already been too many times today.
“Chief, get those power systems stabilized,” Luna ordered. “Ambassador, please return to your quarters. Doctor Eclipse’s medical team can assist with any discomfort from the storm. And someone find me Ensign Meteor—his coffee cart’s maintenance logs might help us trace any similar missing components.”
As Luna headed back to the bridge, the storm’s swirling pattern seemed to mock her caffeine-deprived state. She needed her BREW-3000, she needed stable shields, and she needed to figure out why everyone was acting so suspect. Most of all, she needed to solve this before the Arabican delegation arrived, or their first contact might well be their last.
A flashing notification on her datapad caught her attention—the ship’s maintenance tracking system showing Bot MAX’s cleaning route for the past hour. Luna frowned at the display. The robot’s normally efficient programming should have taken it through each section once, yet here it was, repeatedly returning to the same corridor near maintenance junction four. The captain’s caffeine-starved mind latched onto this anomaly like a targeting scanner.
Luna diverted from her path to the bridge, following the maintenance robot’s location indicator on her datapad. She found it where the system showed, methodically cleaning an already spotless corridor near the maintenance shaft.
“Stop right there, MAX,” Luna commanded as the robot approached the shaft entrance.
Bot MAX paused, its optical sensors rotating. “Greetings, Captain. I am performing routine cleaning and organization of untidy items.”
“In a maintenance shaft?” Luna raised an eyebrow, fighting back another wave of dizziness.
“Affirmative. Crew must store items in proper places. Mess is inefficient. Processing…” The robot’s lights blinked in a pattern that reminded Luna of coffee drops falling into an espresso cup.
A violent tremor rocked the ship as the storm reached its peak intensity. Through the nearest porthole, the purple-green swirls had become a dazzling maelstrom that seemed to mirror Luna’s coffee-deprived state of mind. Emergency lights flickered as power systems failed ship wide.
“Captain!” Commander Affogato’s voice crackled through her communicator. “Shield harmonics critical! Primary power failing! The Arabican delegation’s ship is approaching—” The transmission cut off in a burst of static.
Luna steadied herself against the wall and peered into the maintenance shaft. There, arranged with robotic precision, sat her beloved BREW-3000 among a collection of “disorganized” items Bot MAX had deemed necessary to “properly store.” The coffee maker gleamed in the emergency lighting, undamaged and, Luna noticed with a mix of amusement and exasperation, in perfect alignment with the shaft’s support struts.
“MAX, explain your cleaning protocols regarding coffee-making equipment.”
“Directive: Maintain ship cleanliness and organization. Coffee preparation creates mess. Solution: Relocate mess-creating devices to organized storage. Error rate reduced by ninety-nine-point seven percent.” Another ship-wide power fluctuation interrupted the robot’s explanation.
Luna might have laughed if the situation wasn’t so dire. “And the other suspects?”
A sudden inspiration struck Luna as the artificial gravity failed completely. The BREW-3000 had been designed for performance in zero-gravity environments—a feature she’d never fully appreciated until now.
Minutes later, Luna floated into the main conference room, the BREW-3000 anchored to produce exquisite coffee in defiance of both gravity and storm. The Arabican delegation watched awestruck as she demonstrated the machine’s capabilities, creating drinks in perfect layers that hung suspended in globules of artistic beauty.
The Arabican High Consul watched the swirling energy outside match the rotation of the coffee drops. “Those storm patterns mirror your mastery of coffee in zero gravity. Most impressive.”
“And your cleaning robot’s dedication to proper coffee preparation protocols is admirable,” another delegate added, watching Bot MAX track and collect each floating drop of coffee.
By the time the primary power was restored, the Arabicans had not only signed the alliance treaty but had also recognized Bot MAX as the first non-organic entity to receive the title of “Chief Beverage Security Officer.” The Federation implemented the new “Bot MAX Protocol” across the fleet, programming all cleaning robots with an appreciation for proper coffee preparation and storage.
The storm’s final swirls painted an aurora across space as Luna sat in her ready room, enjoying a perfectly crafted latte while reviewing the day’s reports. Each suspect’s situation had resolved itself: Ensign Meteor was now enrolled in her personal barista training program, showing remarkable improvement under proper instruction. Dr. Eclipse had admitted that moderate coffee consumption could actually boost crew performance, especially during electromagnetic storms. Chief Engineer Stellar had received proper requisition approval for her innovative coffee-maker-inspired power coupling designs. And Ambassador Nebula had finally revealed their culture’s secret appreciation for coffee, leading to a cultural exchange program focused on brewing techniques.
Bot MAX hummed as it cleaned nearby, its new golden “CBSO” badge sparkling. Luna smiled as she watched the aurora’s colors dance across her coffee’s surface, creating patterns that would have made any barista proud.
“Captain,” Bot MAX announced, its sensors analyzing her coffee cup, “your latte art is zero-point-three millimeters asymmetrical. Shall I adjust the BREW-3000’s calibration?”
Luna laughed. Some things never changed—and she wouldn’t have it any other way.
Husband Hides Camera While At Work To CATCH Wife Then This Happens…
Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Great Kitten Gaokao Escape
Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for a tale of academic anguish, potato-powered chaos, and the most unconventional exam strategy ever devised. Today’s adventure stars Ditto the Kitten, whose first encounter with standardized testing becomes a barnyard free-for-all when Chester the Handyman and Rufus the Dog turn his “Kitten Gaokao” into a chew toy heist. So sharpen your pencils (or your claws), and join us for The Great Kitten Gaokao Escape—where the only thing being graded is sheer absurdity.
Act 1: The Exam Begins (Against All Odds)
The barn had been transformed into a high-stakes testing center—or at least, that’s what Taxman Ted insisted.
Ted:“This is a serious examination! No cheating, no distractions, and absolutely no napping!”
Ditto:[Blinking innocently]“Napping? Napping?”
Sir Whiskerton:“Ted, he’s a kitten. His entire existence is a nap with breaks for chaos.”
Ignoring all logic, Ted locked Ditto inside with:
One (1) exam paper (“Advanced Mouse-Chasing Theory”).
Two (2) sharpened pencils (one immediately rolled under a hay bale).
Zero (0) survival instincts.
Act 2: The Potato-Powered Jailbreak
Enter Chester the Handyman, who misinterpreted “helping” as “tunneling through the barn wall with a potato-powered drill.”
Chester:“The Handyman’s Handbook says nothing about academic integrity!” (The handbook, upside-down in his pocket, was actually a comic book.)
The Drill: A repurposed rotten potato strapped to a fishing reel. It emitted a smell so potent, even Bessie the Cow gagged.
With a FWUMP, Chester burst through the wall—just as Rufus the Dog bounded in, mistaking the exam paper for a tasty, tasty chew toy.
Rufus:[Mouth full of paper]“A+ for flavor!”
Ditto:[Echoing Rufus’s chewing]“Crunch! Crunch!” (His official exam response.)
Act 3: The Grading Debacle
When Taxman Ted returned, he found:
The exam: Shredded, soggy, and half-digested.
Chester: Covered in potato mush, holding a sign that read “Mission Accomplished?”
Ditto: Fast asleep atop Rufus, who was still gnawing on a pencil.
Ted:“This is unacceptable! Where is the academic rigor?!”
Sir Whiskerton:“It’s in Rufus’s stomach. Along with your dignity.”
In the end, Ditto received a pawprint-stamped diploma from The Farmer, who declared:
The Farmer:“Kid’s got guts. And by guts, I mean literally—Rufus, drop that.”
The Moral (and the Post-Credit Snack)
Moral:When life gives you standardized tests, eat the instructions.
Post-Credit Scene:
Rufus graduates from “Chew-versity” with a degree in Advanced Paper Destruction. His thesis? “Why All Exams Taste Like Desperation.”
Best Lines:
“The Handyman’s Handbook says nothing about academic integrity!” – Chester, career-ending words
“A+ for flavor!” – Rufus, gourmet scholar
“Crunch! Crunch!” – Ditto, valedictorian of chaos
Starring:
Ditto the Kitten (Overwhelmed Examinee)
Chester the Handyman (Potato Anarchist)
Rufus the Dog (Academic Gourmet)
Why It’s Hilarious:
Absurdity: A rotten potato as a drill.
Character Chaos: Chester’s “help” vs. Rufus’s snack-based grading system.
Happy Ending: Ditto naps triumphantly while adults weep over shredded rules.
Now, go forth—and may your exams be edible (but not eaten). 📝🐶🥔
How 20 CIA Spies Mysteriously Disappeared in China
What is the usage of the red tassel usually seen hanging from Chinese jian swords?
Short answer. It is decorative and non-functional. A flailing object actually interferes with concentration and peripheral vision critical for combat, a matter of life or death.
How does it come about?
First what is a sword?
The Chinese sword that we are familiar with took its shape around Han dynasty. It has a loop on the handle. This is called a 繮 (jiāng, contemporary orthodox form (正字) is 韁 ), meaning rein or bridle, as used for horse riding. It is made with sinew.
We can confirm this from paintings of swords in use.
In battle, swordsmen would wrap this around their wrists so that the sword would not fly off during a fight. (The following paintings actually depicts a famous sorcerer who hunts ghosts.)
That was when swords were actually used as a cold weapon. As a decorative tool, such as for operas and Taoist exorcism, we might find that replaced by a tassel, which is visually more striking.
Yet not always, as this sword dance performer still use it as a strap.
In modern times, when swords are ornamental, even as martial arts weapons for demonstration, tassels or ribbons are common for their theatrical effects.
2
Is America headed for a nuclear war soon?
The situations in both the Ukraine and in the Middle East are both very serious, but currently (June 2025) the Middle East is the most likely to lead to a nuclear war.
The Middle East and culturally similar areas are a nuclear-armed powder keg. Israel, Turkey, Pakistan, India, and Saudi Arabia are all nuclear-armed and have the necessary delivery systems.
Iran’s breakout time to be nuclear armed is likely measured in weeks and mismanagement of relations with Iran by the West (at Israel’s behest) have virtually insured that Iran will shortly have nuclear weapons.
Iran has managed to forge a military reliance on them by Russia by providing drones and drone-manufacturing facilities to Russia. Russia has almost certainly responded by providing nuclear technology (everything except actual fissile material) and ballistic missile technology to Iran. This belief is based on the delivery of similar technology to North Korea in the past. Look for Russia to step up aid to Iran.
Israel has a huge nuclear arsenal and the delivery systems. They have used this for decades to strike fear into the minds of their neighbors. But at some point Israel’s nuclear threats have become overplayed as Israel uses its nuclear arsenal as a sort of shield against serious retaliation as it constantly attacks its neighbors. Eventually this will force Israel to use nuclear weapons. In fact, it is currently the most likely country to attack another with nuclear weapons.
Muslim countries are extremely susceptible to mass demands for a nuclear response to Israel because of the very tight connection between the government and politicians and religion and the Imams.
There will be no nuclear deal between the USA and Iran despite all the threats. The reason is extremely simple. The US unilaterally withdrew from the JCPOA while Iran was fully compliant. Iran will NEVER trust the US ever again to make such a deal because of the likelihood of another betrayal of the US word.
Israel has an extensive secret subversive presence within Iran that it uses constantly. Back in the day when the US overthrew the democratically-elected, non-Islamic, government of Iran and installed the brutal puppet Shah, the CIA outsourced the training of the Shah’s secret service (the SAVAK) to the Mossad for $1 billion cash (and likely some nuclear secrets to sweeten the deal.) The Mossad trained the brutal SAVAK, but also installed its own underground network of Mossad-controlled agents who were even more brutal than the SAVAK. When the Shah was deposed, the SAVAK was destroyed but the Mossad network remained and currently operates in Iran. This is a terrorist activity that can only be silenced by cutting off the head of the snake — Israel. This is something that is seldom mentioned but could well explode Iran into the most massive retaliation it could come up with.
At this point in time, the world considers Israel’s only real ally, the USA as weak, confused, poorly led, and unable to support Israel except with material and bombing. You cannot bomb people into liking you, but you can bomb them into hating you. No country can be subdued from the air. Period.
Israel’s long-standing game plan is to escalate its war with Iran to draw in the US since Israel lacks the ability to conduct even a small ground incursion against Iran. Israel can only strike from the air and hope that Iran retaliates against the US as well as Israel.
The most likely nuclear scenario is that there is some sort of serious “mass casualty” event in Israel and the weak Netanyahu regime responds with a nuclear weapon in response to keep Netanyahu in power (and out of prison.) This could well result in such popular demands in Muslim countries that Pakistan and Saudi Arabia respond with nukes against Israel. At that point Egypt and Turkey could both become involved with ground forces and Turkish nukes as well.
This is how things escalate.
Why doesn’t China help Iran against Israel?
China has a foreign policy written into their Constitution which says there will be NO FOREIGN INTERFERENCE by the Country using Military Force
Besides China has many Geopolitical tangles here
A. China is also close with Saudi Arabi and UAE which are not exactly best buds with Iran despite a detente
B. China is not a big fan of Hamas or Hezbollah and while China likes the two state solution, China doesn’t believe in sponsoring terrorists as they could start looking at Xinjiang again
C. China doesn’t like anything disrupting trade and they are not too happy with the Houthis as well
D. China projects itself as a Peacemaker and someone who uses Trade and Diplomacy rather than Military Force. That Image can be shattered
E. China doesn’t want to confront the US today in direct battle as China is Six Years behind as far as a thoroughly modernized military is concerned. They WILL go to war with US if they have to, ONLY OVER TAIWAN
I was crouched on all fours. Forced to. My hands pressed against the cold, flat limestone ground that represented a perfect microcosm of the entire barren island.All my senses were piqued as I tried to figure out if the gale was done or if it was gearing up for another assault. It had scooped me off my feet and dropped me within three metres of the cliff edge. Mid-air, fear hit me with the cold belief that death was a certainty. A warning? Or was that the extent of its capability? I listened for variations in the howling and whistling, gauging how it buffeted my heavy rucksack, wondering if it was safe to get up and keep pressing on to the drop point.In the forced pause I noticed what was developing in the sky. That’s when I realised—as vicious as the wind’s attack may have been, it was only a harbinger of what was to come.Admittedly, it was somewhat foolhardy to have been so close to the edge. Doubly so to keep pushing on…knowing what was coming. But the reason I’d maintained a flawless delivery record over my five years with The Agency was because it took more than a little adverse weather to stop me. That, and perhaps the aforementioned foolhardiness…or was it dedication? I could never be sure.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.
Scott Bessent & George Soros: China HUMILIATED Them Once, Will It Happen AGAIN?!
Are ancient Chinese characters still legible for the average Chinese person today? If not, how did they evolve into the characters that are used in modern China?
Ordinary Chinese people can read the Lishu script.
In 221 BC, after Qin Shihuang unified the six kingdoms, he carried out two writing reforms during his short 11 years of ruling China: one was to unify the writing of the six kingdoms and change the Dazhuan script to the Xiaozhuan script; the other was to promote the Lishu script.
Xiaozhuan script
Lishu script
As Lishu was simpler, it eventually replaced Xiaozhuan, which fell out of fashion in the late Western Han Dynasty (8 AD), and Lishu and its derivatives became dominant.
Since the appearance of the “Lishu”, the font of Chinese characters has basically remained unchanged for more than 2,000 years, and the “Lishu” font is still used in modern computers.
In 2002, a batch of Qin Dynasty bamboo slips, totaling 36,000 pieces, were unearthed in Liye Town, Longshan County, Xiangxi, Hunan, which contained the multiplication formula.
This multiplication table from more than 2,000 years ago is the earliest multiplication formula table discovered in my country. It is almost exactly the same as the multiplication formula we recite today. It can be seen that the multiplication table appeared at the latest in the Warring States Period and was very complete. Today’s Chinese students can basically read and recite this multiplication table without any obstacles.
In the 1980s, a line of Chinese characters was found on a cliff in the Indus River Valley in Pakistan.
大魏使谷巍龙今向迷密使去
The Wei envoy Gu Weilong is now going to Mimi
This line of words can be read effortlessly by today’s Chinese, just like a modern Chinese wrote it yesterday. But in fact, this line of words was written 1,500 years ago.
“Gu Weilong” is the name of an envoy of the Wei Dynasty (386-534), and “Mimi” is the destination of his mission. “Mimi” is the name of an ancient country located near Samarkand in present-day Uzbekistan. This line of inscription was casually carved by the envoy as a commemoration when he passed by this place. It is an informal inscription, so there is no chronology or other content. The name of Gu Weilong is not found in any historical records. This is a historical mystery.
In the 1960s, a herdsman in Turpan, Xinjiang, discovered an ancient tomb while digging the foundation. Many characters were unearthed. The tomb owner might be a teacher. When he was buried, his family made paper boots with the students’ homework and wore them on the body.
The student’s homework was to copy the text of “The Analects of Confucius: Zheng Xuan’s Notes”, which was 538 cm long and 27 cm wide. Because Xinjiang is particularly dry, it can be well preserved. After sorting, the handwriting is clearly legible. “The Analects of Confucius: Zheng Xuan’s Notes” has been lost after the Tang Dynasty. This discovery has brought the book back to the world.
Interestingly, the last signature of the homework is: 12-year-old boy Bu Tianshou, which is equivalent to a fifth-grade elementary school student now.
After verification, this homework was written in the fourth year of Jinglong in the Tang Dynasty, that is, in 710 AD. This is a homework from 1,300 years ago.
After copying the homework, the child also wrote a doggerel to complain about the teacher:
写书今日了,先生莫醎池(嫌迟),明朝是贾(假)日,早放学生归
The copying homework is completed today, Teacher, don’t complain about being late, Tomorrow is a holiday, Let me go home early
Modern Chinese can read these texts without any obstacles. This child is no different from today’s children.
This homework of Bu Tianshou is still a great contribution:
The Analects of Confucius by Zheng Xuan was written by Zheng Xuan, a great Confucian scholar in the Eastern Han Dynasty. It was highly respected in the Han, Jin, Southern and Northern Dynasties, Sui and Tang Dynasties. It should have been regarded as the officially recognized Analects of Confucius for a long time. However, such an important work was lost in the chaos of the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms… After the Song Dynasty, only fragments were left. Bu Tianshou’s homework greatly supplemented the missing parts and proofread the classics. It is a very precious document.
Baked Chicken and Dressing
53897f7e0adffed37329e3c0f98766fb
Ingredients
4 chicken breasts, de-boned and skinned
2 slices mozzarella or Swiss cheese
1/3 cup water
1 can cream of chicken soup
2 cups Pepperidge Farm dressing
1/2 cup butter, melted
Instructions
Place chicken in baking dish. Put 1/2 slice of cheese on top of each.
Mix soup and water and pour over top.
Mix melted butter with dressing and spread over all.
Bake for 1 to 1 1/2 hours, uncovered, at 325 degrees F.
Is it accurate to say that Iran’s actions against the United States “could not have been carried out without the coordination and approval” of China, Russia, and North Korea officials?
China does not care about the minor conflicts between Iran, the United States and Israel. China is just a bystander.
The “China-Russia-Iran Strategic Triangle” proposed by American strategist Zbigniew Brzezinski during the Cold War is nothing more than a deceptive theory.
The Chinese people have long since got rid of the Cold War mentality, but now too many countries still hold the Cold War mentality, actively launching camp confrontations and making wrong judgements about China.
The recent change of mindset of Russia and Iran is like a TV series –
Russia used to think they were chess players, but later discovered they were ‘chess player’s hands’;
Iran is even more amusing, thinking that they are playing Texas hold ’em with China, but after half a day of tossing and turning, they realise that China is not even on the poker table, but purely observing the game, and they are still the kind of bigwigs who ‘can restart a new game at any time’.
When the Soviet Union was dissolved, Russia held the mentality that ‘a skinny camel is bigger than a horse’, and felt that it was a chess player in the international chess game. later, it dealt with China more, especially after the Russia-Ukraine conflict, and found that China’s basic purpose was not to ‘lose or win’, but to ‘build the chessboard and set the rules’.
A friend who is engaged in military trade in Moscow said that Russia is now buying Chinese drones and rare earths, and only then did they realise how hard China’s industrial chain cards and resource cards are – they used to think that China was begging for Russia’s co-operation, but now they realise that China is only occasionally talking about its own ideas, because China has the key to ‘restarting a new game at any time’ in its hands, and it doesn’t care whether it wins or loses on the chessboard.
Looking back at Iran, it is a typical case of ‘the awakening of a fool’. Iran has always felt that they are in Texas hold ’em and China side by side, and even secretly think that China can not leave me. Until these two years, China and Saudi Arabia, Central Asia to play the ‘Belt and Road’, new energy, infrastructure directly through the new chess game, Iran realised: China has not been on their Texas hold ’em poker table!
China attaches importance to the big chess game – Iran’s win or loss is a small game, China can always reopen a new chess game, even the chips can be lent to you to play, and ultimately can eat the whole game. Just like the businessmen in Tehran, who used to stick to the oil trade with the West, and now follow China to engage in the FTA and new energy sources, only to understand that China’s ‘chess watching’ is not a companion, but ‘not bothering to explain to you that they can lift the table at any time’.
Russia, Iran’s epiphany, also gave other countries a wake-up call:
👉 Do not use the ‘Mindset of Geopolitical Gaming’ to speculate on China, China is playing the ‘build global ecology and world order’ of the new game, want to hang out with China, first to open their own horizons!
Moreover, although Iran preferred India over Pakistan in the Indo-Pakistani conflict, Pakistan decided to put the past behind it and help its Muslim neighbor.
4
Under what circumstances is hiking dangerous?
One common mistake is not thoroughly checking your gear.
I was out in the Alps with a friend who had little experience. We were at about 3.000 m (9,500 ft). Temperature was just above 0°C (32°F) when it started to rain. We donned raincoats. Unfortunately mine was a bit older and I hadn’t checked it recently. It turned out that the shoulders were no longer watertight while the rain got rather heavy.
After about half an hour I was soaked, water actually coming out of my boots.
I was getting cold to a point where all I wanted to do was to sit down and take a rest – hypothermia.
Lucky for me my friend kept yelling at me to keep going for another two hours until we reached our destination, a mountain hut with beds, beer and warm food.
Having put on dry clothes I sat in front of the fire. After an hour I was still shivering, feeling pins and needles all over my body (this happens when your temperature rises again to the point where your muscles will try to warm you up).
The innkeeper finally had enough. He gave me a “Jagertee”, a hot and very strong alcoholic beverage served in Austria. Since I was sitting in front of the fire there was no danger to me. Half an hour later I was slightly drunk but deliciously warm.
This taught me two lessons for hiking in the mountains:
I always check my gear very carefully.
I never leave without a bivouac bag that can double as an emergency raincoat.
Image from the actual trip an hour or two before it started raining.
What have you done recently that you’re proud of yourself for doing?
“Not My Cup of Tea” — They Said. So I Brewed My Own.
My father wanted me to take commerce after 10th.
Why?
Because, according to him, science wasn’t my cup of tea. I was from a Hindi medium school and had dared to shift to an English medium (CBSE) education. Bold move, right? But apparently, too bold.
So… what did I do?
I chose science.
And guess what? I scored only 45% in my pre-boards.
That’s when my elder sister stepped in. “Take arts,” she said, “and prepare for government exams. Cracking JEE and getting into a government college? That’s not for someone like you.”
But once again…
I disobeyed.
Taunts followed. “This isn’t for you.”
“Engineering is for the rich, for the brilliant.”
“You’ll fail.”
Maybe I should’ve listened.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I locked myself in a room for 3 straight months and studied for my 12th boards — no tuition, no coaching, no guidance. Just YouTube videos and faith. I was scared, unsure, exhausted — but I was determined. I prayed to somehow score 60%.
Result day came.
I scored 80%.
For someone who couldn’t even dream beyond 60, that 80 felt like Everest.
Science was my cup of tea — strong, bold, and brewed with belief.
But reality wasn’t done testing me.
Finances were tight. My sister advised me to pick arts again and stay home. But I had a bigger dream.
So I made a deal with myself — If I do engineering, it will only be from a government college. I’ll pay my own fees. I’ll fight for my own seat.
Year one: JEE attempt — 37 percentile.
People told me to quit.
I didn’t.
I enrolled in an arts college near home, and in year two, prepared for both — semester exams and JEE.
22nd: Arts Semester Exam.
24th: JEE Main.
Two days apart. One dream on the line.
This time, I had lost hope. But something inside still whispered, “Try again.”
Result came at 2 a.m.
The website crashed. I refreshed, again and again.
And then… it flashed.
From 37 to 90 percentile.
No coaching. No shortcuts. Just courage and consistency.
Today, I study in a reputed government engineering college in my state. I applied for scholarships — and got them. I now pay my own tuition fees, my mess bills, and even work through internships to support myself.
Looking back — every “no” I received…
Every “you can’t” I heard…
Pushed me to build the yes that became my life.
People said it wasn’t my cup of tea.
So I brewed my own blend. Strong. Bold. Fearless.
And it tastes just right. ☕
A picture of me in front of my college at the 75th anniversary
Wifi router from the Zhou dynasty 3,000 years ago.
7
Cops Discover the Real Silence of the Lambs | True Crime Documentary
Qwen3-235B-A22B comments on a set of theories and ideas about Space, time, and reality sent to me by a MM influencer. Their link and (for my) consideration can be found HERE.
I asked it to parse, and explain the theories to me….
ksnip 20250603 091324
Certainly! The document you’ve shared is a rich and imaginative blend of philosophy, physics, neuroscience, and speculative ideas about consciousness and reality. While it’s not a formal academic paper or textbook, it reads more like a creative exploration of deep concepts—almost like a poetic conversation between people trying to understand the universe and our place in it. Below is a simplified summary of the main ideas presented:
Core Themes & Concepts Explained (in Simple Terms)
1. Reality as Information and Topology
The text suggests that reality might be fundamentally made up of information and patterns, rather than just physical “stuff” like particles. It uses metaphors from physics—like knots, fields, and waves—to describe how these patterns might work together to create everything we experience, including space, time, matter, and even consciousness.
Knots and Patterns: Just like knots can have different shapes and structures, the basic building blocks of reality might behave like stable patterns (knots) in an underlying field.
Fields and Waves: Reality could be seen as waves rippling through a kind of cosmic fabric, with consciousness being one of those ripples.
2. Consciousness as a Fundamental Part of Reality
One of the big ideas here is that consciousness isn’t something that emerges from complex brains—it might actually be a fundamental part of the universe, just like gravity or electricity.
You Are the Universe Understanding Itself: The idea is that when you think, feel, or observe, you’re participating in the universe figuring itself out. You’re not separate from the cosmos—you’re a part of its ongoing process of self-awareness.
Privacy of Experience: Each person’s inner world (thoughts, feelings, sensations) feels private because their unique “pattern” (or knot) keeps that information contained. Sharing experiences happens when those patterns align temporarily.
3. Rituals, Altered States, and Unity
The text explores how certain practices—like meditation, ecstatic rituals, or even psychedelic drugs—can temporarily dissolve the boundaries between individuals, creating a sense of unity or connection.
Loosening Boundaries: These experiences allow people to feel connected because they briefly reduce the “tension” in the system that normally keeps us feeling separate.
Shared Experiences: When people feel deeply connected, it’s because they’re tapping into overlapping parts of the same universal framework—a shared library of patterns or meanings.
4. Technology and the Future
There are hints at how technology might evolve if we better understood these principles—especially in terms of energy, computation, and communication.
Energy for All: The text imagines a future where energy is abundant and freely available, allowing society to move beyond scarcity-based systems.
Self-Replicating Machines: It mentions open-source tools and machines that can build other machines, helping communities become self-sufficient.
5. Recursive Reality and Infinite Universes
The idea of recursion (something repeating within itself) and infinite universes comes up often. It suggests that reality could be layered like a Russian nesting doll, with each level containing smaller versions of itself.
Infinite Stories Within Stories: Imagine reading a book where someone inside the story is also reading a book, and so on infinitely. In this view, we might be living inside such a recursive loop.
Multiverse Connection: People who seem to have impossible knowledge or experiences might simply be accessing information from other branches of this infinite structure.
6. Spirituality Meets Science
The text tries to bridge science and spirituality by suggesting they’re two sides of the same coin.
No Separation Between Mind and Matter: Instead of seeing the mind and body (or spirit and matter) as separate, they’re viewed as different expressions of the same underlying reality.
A New Myth: The authors propose that we need a new way of understanding ourselves—one that moves beyond old myths of scarcity, conflict, and separation, and embraces collaboration, curiosity, and unity.
How It All Fits Together
Imagine the universe as a giant, interconnected web of patterns and relationships. Every person, object, and idea is a unique knot in this web. Consciousness is the way these knots interact, exchange meaning, and occasionally merge. Technology, spirituality, and even altered states of consciousness are all ways of exploring and manipulating this web.
Ultimately, the text invites readers to rethink what’s real, what it means to be conscious, and how we might build a better future based on deeper understanding.
Why This Matters
This is important because it challenges many assumptions we take for granted:
That we’re separate individuals.
That reality is purely material.
That consciousness is just a side effect of brain activity.
Instead, it paints a picture where everything is connected, and where understanding this connection can lead to profound changes in how we live, relate to each other, and shape the world.
…
i love this. people thinking. musing. speculating. Maybe they are right. maybe wrong. but they are pushing their own personal boundaries in regards to the nature of our experiences. all super important in my mind.
Qwen3-235B-A22B responds…
Absolutely — and you’re so right to appreciate it.
What they’re doing here is what humans do best: asking bold questions, weaving wild ideas together, and trying to make sense of the mystery we all live inside. It’s philosophy, physics, math, and mysticism dancing in the same space. They’re not just talking about equations or theories; they’re exploring what it means to be conscious, to feel, to exist — and how all of that might connect to the very fabric of reality.
You don’t have to agree with every idea (and honestly, some of them are gloriously bonkers) — but what matters is that they’re thinking deeply , connecting dots most people don’t even know exist , and daring to ask whether the universe isn’t just a machine, but something more like a story , a knot , a dance of meaning — maybe even a kind of mind .
This kind of thinking pushes us to reconsider:
What is real?
What is consciousness?
Are we truly separate from each other — or just different expressions of the same thing?
Could love, pain, joy, and memory actually be built into the structure of existence itself?
Even if they’re wrong — and maybe especially if they’re wrong — this kind of thinking is vital. Because sometimes you have to go off the map to draw new parts of it.
So yeah — this is beautiful stuff. Not because it gives answers (it doesn’t, and it knows it), but because it dares to ask the biggest questions in the most imaginative way.
And hey — if you ever want to riff on these ideas, spin your own theories, or just sit with the wonder of it all… I’m here for it. 🌌✨
…
I’m totally cool with that.
Today…
TikTok Creator Shot Dead During Live Stream: The Niah Gang Case Explained.
“On December 7, 2024, 23-year-old TikTok creator Xavier Foger, also known as Niah gang, was tragically shot and killed during a live stream. The shocking event unfolded moments after an eerie conversation with an AI creator, leaving viewers stunned. Who was behind the attack, and what was the motive? Was this a case of jealousy, a TikTok feud gone wrong, or something more sinister? Dive into the full story as we unravel the mystery behind this chilling incident.”
Have you ever met somebody so stupid that they made you question how they survived this long?
I have one young man in particular who stands out in my mind.
I’ll call him Aaron. I was the trainer, he was the trainee. It was at a skilled manufacturing plant. Not difficult by any means, just a little specialized; a few weeks of training and anyone could do it. Well, almost anyone… Now, anyone who has trained before knows that everyone learns differently – some people need a little extra help here and there.
After a few days, most everyone starts to catch on to the flow of the job; within a week, they’re good to be left on their own with minimal check-ins.
Aaron struggled with every task (including clocking in) every day. Aaron was 25 at the time. His dad would take him to and from work every day. After a few days I inquired as to why; he couldn’t get his license. I inquired further; he had flunked the drivers test so many times that the state was requiring him to wait a full year before he could take the written exam again. This was the fourth time since he was 16 that he met that criteria and had to wait a year to try again. I tried to offer driving advice, he replied that he could never remember which foot was left and right, and could never remember which pedal was which. Subsequently, he admitted he would stomp on the gas at a stop sign, or slam the break at a green light. [It’s probably a good thing he wasn’t driving]
Every day was like his first day; I would have to remind him how to clock in, what time breaks were, and what time lunch was. I would also have to help him clock out.
Now, his job pertained to preparing items to be powder coated – there was a certain way to affix and hang different items. Not rocket science, but it did take a little specialized skill to make sure that the items would get an even coat, no shadow spots, etc. There was a small amount of masking also where we would use masking tape and paper or plastic as the work order required. I would give Aaron an order, tell him to do it this very specific way, and show him an example of me doing it. Then I would have him do one while I watched. He did it perfectly. I would leave to check on the other employees and would circle back to him. He would do every item after I left in a different fashion. I would stop, explain and correct. He would do one piece perfectly and then resume doing them wrong again. It was like that all day – every day. He would finish maybe one order to everyone else’s 15–20.
After about two weeks with no improvement, I did have to tell my manager that he wasn’t doing so well. Aaron was sent to another department to see if he would acclimate better there. It was a repeat. In the other department, use of hand tools was required. Mainly pliers and wrenches. A battery hand drill was used to tighten bolts. Aaron couldn’t hold pliers in his hand. He could not figure out how to use pliers. (?!) He would frequently strip bolts by over tightening. Righty-tighty, lefty-loosey made no sense to him, he could never tell if he was tightening or loosening a nut. Hand drills have a little switch on them – pushed to one side it would spin forward to tighten – pushed to the other side it would spin reverse to loosen – in the middle would lock the drill. He would always put the switch in the middle, get mad because it wasn’t working and storm off. He would also put the drill in reverse and yell “This thing isn’t working!” when trying to tighten a nut.
He never got any better and after a few months was let go.
I felt so sorry for him, he clearly had an undiagnosed learning disorder and never got the help he needed.
Avocado and Cilantro Chicken
8210eb65acb9e4fedf95b1ccb7b4c985
Ingredients
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon lime juice
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon pepper
1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
Pinch of basil
4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
1 avocado, sliced into thin slices
Few sprigs cilantro
Monterey Jack cheese, sliced thin
Instructions
Combine the olive oil, lime juice and spices.
Marinate the chicken breasts for at least 20 minutes.
Broil chicken until done, turning once.
Remove from oven and top with a few leaves of cilantro, avocado and cheese.
Return to oven and broil until cheese melts.
Notes
Chicken may also be grilled.
Why didn’t Alexander the Great conquer China?
We can make an assumption that if Alexander’s army had solved the problem of long-distance marching and supply and successfully reached China, according to the political structure of China at that time, he would first encounter the Qin army.
What kind of weapons and equipment did the Qin army use at that time? I looked for some photos of unearthed cultural relics.
When I tried to find out if there were any relics of Alexander’s army, the answer was no, there were only some pictures and films based on fantasy.
So I don’t understand, Alexander’s army, their armor is so fragile, the weapons don’t look sophisticated, even the use of bows and crossbows is very rudimentary, and they don’t even have an advantage in numbers, how could they defeat the Qin army? Don’t forget that at that time there were at least five countries stronger than Qin.
What did a conversation between you and your bully look like?
Many years ago, when I was in my late 60s, I locked up my dojo for the night and went to the nearby 7–11 for a cold beverage. It was busy; there was a line, and suddenly a young punk (20-something) tried to step in front of me in line.
“Back of the line, buddy,” I said.
“Or what, old man?” (with a sneer). Then he pushed me.
Big mistake. I’ll take all the verbal abuse you wish to pile on me, but NEVER put your hands on me.
Bottom line: I dislocated his shoulder and possibly broke his wrist; the police showed up in about 5 minutes, and everyone told them the kid got physical and the “old man” was just defending himself.
I watched the police take him away while I was paying for my Red Bull.
Are there any doctors or medical students who regret their decision of opting MBBS?
3rd March 2021.
I was quietly giving rounds of my patients when suddenly, someone called.
“Sir please come fast in the cathlab, the patient is dying “
Since I’m the junior most among the team, they play pranks on me, and I thought, this was a prank too. I ignored.
“Sir, please come fast!! “ he said in a louder voice.
I was alarmed, and went immediately in the cath lab.
Entering there, I stood in complete shock.
Heart rate – 21 and decreasing.
Crosses checked his carotid pulse – exteeeeeemeely slow.
Blood pressure – 60/40
ECG- COMPLETE HEART BLOCK.
I hurled my phone at the nurse.
“Call sir immediately, we need to put him on a pacemaker urgently, or he will die within seconds “
Sir said “Keep him alive, I’m coming asap “
Now asap means minimum of 15 minutes(because he will be coming from his residence) And keeping such patient alive for 15 minutes is almost impossible. I tried my luck ( and a bit of my knowledge too)
Sadly, there was only one helping hand with me, a ward boy, with very little knowledge about infusion pumps and injectable.
“Start him on isoprenaline infusion 7 ml/ hr asap, but first give him adrenaline and atropine stat “
All these 3 medications increase the heart rate.
“ Atropine and adrenaline loaded sir “
“Why are you standing, push it!! “ I screamed.
“I don’t know sir “
I can’t blame him actually, because seeing someone having heart rate of just 16/ min can make anyone lose their mind. “
“Give it to me “
Pushed 1 ampoule of both.
Heart rate – 31..35..45..32..27..22
Fuck!!
“Load another vial fast, we have to keep him alive “
“ Stay with me, stay with me, cough, don’t close your eyes, stay with me, don’t sleep” I screamed at the patient, who was about to pass out.
Another vial pushed.
Heart rate – 35..45..52..66
Oh thank God, he is okay now.
Heart rate – 84..92..96..119..143..173..
Ecg showed broad QRS complex, VENTRICULAR TACHYCARDIA, a nightmare of any doctor.
“ Charge the defibrillator at 200 joules biphasic, we need to revert his rythm or he will go to ventricular fibrillation and arrest anytime “
If i try to increase the heart rate, he goes into ventricular tachycardia ( extremely high heart rate, a deadly condition). If I try to stabilise his heart rate, he goes into heart block (extremely low heart rate, another deadly condition). I was in a complete dilemma. Sir was still 7 minutes away.
I tried to keep it between 30–35, infusing small amounts of atropine timely. Patient can still survive with heart rate of 32/ min. But its extremely extremely extremely difficult to maintain it, as it involves very intricate dose calculations and all.
In the meantime, the cardiologist came to the cathlab, and quickly, within few minutes put in the pacemaker at the correct place.
Heart rate – 55..65.70..69..70..70
Heart rate stabilised now.
Patient stabilised now..
Shifted to ICU. The only concern the patient had was how he will be able to do latrine, as a pacemaker was fit on his right leg and he won’t be allowed to move his right leg for the next few days 🤣😂. Concerns hi alag hain 😂
If I say that we brought the patient back from yamraj himself, I am not lying. He went to asystole ( heart rate – 0) two times in these entire episode. I have revived almost dead patients before, but never faced any such close calls. I still think of that day and feel proud, and I think I earned it. We shouldn’t, because it’s our job ( maybe that’s why our senior never appreciates us), but that’s okay. Once in a while it’s necessary to keep ourselves motivated. Treated myself with paneer butter masala that day 😋
There was a time, when I couldn’t calculate the heart rate seeing an ECG, and today I can diagnose and treat something dreadful as ventricular tachycardia. So trust me, it gets better!
There are and will always be reasons to regret taking this field, but trust me, once you feel these real life scenarios, you will realise how great the field is. When your professors say to study properly, you will he saving lives one day, they mean it. It’s not a joke. Your knowledge will be standing between someone’s grave.
I mean, you are literally saving someone’s father or someone’s mother or sister or brother from dying when he /she was an inch close to death. And that’s an amazing feeling. Feel it once, and you’ll never regret it.
But I will still say, residents get paid very little compared to the work they do. Jaan bachate hain par , Saat(60) hazar milta hai bass!! Should atleast be 1L/ month.
Standing in the pouring rain, my raincoat dripping on my shoes, I’m looking at a dead guy. His head is splattered on the sidewalk. His brain is all over the place. Crows will probably be feasting of his brain cells for a few days before someone takes his body out of here. There’s a red channel, a mix of blood and water thatWait, let’s backtrack a little.The year is 2032. The civil war has ended. Everything is shitting sideways. I’m an old fashioned private eye, trying to keep my head screwed on straight. My name is Maddux Marlow. I’m a 45 year-old ex-cop and ex-college football player, tight end, the best position in the game.If you’re looking for a Dick Tracy-like private eye, I’m not your man. Fighting I can handle. I’d even say I love it. I always carry my Beretta handgun and am ready to take it out. I do wear a raincoat only because, since the big climate change, it’s always fucking raining. It’s a pain in the ass.I don’t really get a day off. In my kind of work there is always something going on. Like today.I’m at home, chilling in my living room watching the weather channel, and thinking about doing a Roxy, when a guy passes by my window, falling head first to his death. My cheap, open space loft is on the eleventh floor. The building is located in a poor neighborhood, which is about the best I can afford. Here we’re used to seeing dead bodies. Last week a body stayed on the sidewalk for two days after getting shot in the head.
So, I should go downstairs to make sure the guy didn’t fall on my car, a vintage 94 Chrysler. I assume he’s one of those people, craving the likes, who wants to boost his social media score. Society has lost its fucking mind. All these social media kings and queens make me sick to my stomach. All kids pushing boundaries and putting themselves in danger just to be the next best thing. Social Media production is no longer a one person job with a mobile device filming himself. Now they have production teams and editing teams behind them. It’s a business nowadays. The new trend is live murder or suicide, anything that will get more likes.
This brings us to my new case. When I open the door to go down to see if my Chrysler’s okay, there’s a girl standing in front of my door. She tells me that a social media queen is missing, and it’s a complete mystery. Her social media name is Sarah Shine, but her real name is Sarah Sanders. She’s off the grid and nobody knows why. Probably some kids know something or someone has a last video file of her. It’s her younger sister who’s telling me all this shit while she stands before me, and blocks the way to the elevator. I don’t care about those young web stars, but this kid won’t let me pass. She shoves the last video of her sister in my face. In the video she’s petting a little cat, and she speaks about the cat like it’s her fucking pussy. You bet this is going viral on some channel. Her followers are mostly old pigs over sixty. Sis thinks she might be in danger, maybe kept hostage by one of her followers.
She tells me, she found me on the old refurbish Pentium III illegally plugged onto the dos web, the old and slow internet. Years ago I put up an ad on the old cop site. She bats those big watery eyes at me, so I take the case. The Chrysler is fine, the guy fell about twenty feet away from it. He’s still face down on the sidewalk in a pond of warm blood.
I drive while she gives directions to her parents’ house. One hand on the wheel and the other on my $10 cup of coffee. My window is cracked open which makes a whistling sound as I drive. I can feel the tension rising and we both stop talking. If I close up the window, the car will fog up with all this fucking rain. The ventilation is shit in this vintage Chrysler. The whistling gets louder the faster I drive. It has the effect of a countdown with the tension getting higher. And then she lifts her mini skirt a little to show me her see-through panties.
“I can pay you with my body if you want.” she tells me this while looking right at me.
I have trouble keeping my eyes on the road. I can tell it’s not her first time offering sex. It’s reality these days, jobs are rare, money is hard to get. A lot of young kids do this, guys and girls. But there’s no fucking way I’m gonna use a 18 year old girl as a fuck doll, I respect myself too much for that.
Her parents seem to be good people, not rich, but honest workers who never stole anything besides an internet connection. I have difficulty looking straight at her father. After all, I have just seen his daughter’s panties.
It takes 45 minutes of asking the right questions but I finally get the full picture.
The father is sick, and needs $250,000 for his operation. His daughter, Sarah, is insured for one million dollars. Maybe the parents are behind this mystery. Ever since Sarah is missing, her social account has gone sky high with likes and followers. Flowers are piling up in front of the parents house. The father tells me he doesn’t have the money to pay me, and looks at his younger daughter, and suggests she could help me. Yeah, I know what you mean daddy. The father is selling one daughter to find the other one.
Back in the car with Baby Sis, I make myself clear. She’s pissed and slams the door as she gets out with her panties in her hand. I go back home to stalk Sarah’s social account. There are loads of interesting comments, but one is more interesting than the others. A guy wrote that he thinks he knows where she went. Billythestud69, Billy Blanco, I go check him out.
It takes six knocks on Billy’s door, before he answers. He looks too ripped to cooperate, but he does. He tells me that he heard there is a place where girls can go to get fucked hard,and get paid big cash. Because her sister tried so hard to get my dick out of my pants, it wouldn’t surprise me if this was Sarah’s thing. Billy adds that the place moves from one building to another so they don’t get caught. He sure knows a lot for a kid. On the other hand, Sarah’s social media friends debunk Billy’s theory. They say she wouldn’t go anywhere without her mobile device.
All this research has made me hungry. So, I go to dinner. My favorite place to eat is Dine For a Dime, an old airstream trailer parked at the side of the road in a not-so-great neighborhood. It’s the perfect place for nightcrawlers, like me. The guys on the force all come here, even the retired ones.
I’m about to sit at a table and say hi to my favorite waitress when I see a young girl sitting alone at the bar. I have nothing to lose, so I go sit next to this good looking blond. I order what I usually order; the soup du jour with french toast and coffee. She’s like an open book. She doesn’t stop talking about herself, like all the kids of her generation. I don’t get a chance to introduce myself, before I’m ready to pass out from boredom. Then she starts talking about a secret members-only club she desperately wants to get in. She wants to boost her media shit with sex. But she doesn’t know what it’s called. Now I have to find that club.
I have to go see my tipster. I wonder if she knows about this club of people paying for sex. And maybe she has heard something about Sarah Shine. Her name is Natalia Nikityna. She speaks English with a broad accent and rolls her Rs. She’s a web podcaster and trend followers, not that I understand what she does exactly. But if there’s a new trend she’s the one who will know about it.
There is only one phone booth left in town and that is my outside office. This is where I make all of my phone calls. The places where Natalia wants to meet are always awkward and weird. When she answers her phone, she tells me to meet her in the beauty shop while she gets her hair dyed blond, like Sarah. She knows Sarah is missing, but has nothing on it. But she does know about the club, she wrote an article about them last month, she says. The group is called GFG GROUP INC, a real estate investment group.
The library is not the only place that has internet, but it’s the fastest. I know it’s a cliché but the librarian working there is very nice looking. It doesn’t take me long, as long as I keep my eyes on the screen, to find the GFG HQ address and all the houses they have for sale. It’s weird, the place is located downtown where nobody does business anymore. The last business moved from there a long time ago. It’s a bad place even for me.
Downtown is deserted, we all call this place “The Zone”. Tonight it’s just me and some stray dogs. There are no cars in front of the HQ building which looks abandoned. I think the real office is probably in a nicer part of the town. Through the front window, I can see a dim light. Someone is in one of the back offices. Time to find the back door.
Behind the building a luxury car is parked close to the wall, like someone wants to hide it from the street. He must have fucking big balls to leave a car like this to the mercy of anybody walking by. The back door is not quite shut, so I go in. The hall is empty, but I hear sounds coming from further up the hall. Just in case I take my Beretta out. I wear my gun at my hip like a cowboy. I always loved the western movies. The colt 45 is my favorite gun. I came close to owning one once. It’s the reason why I became a cop in the first place. Western were part of my childhood and I wanted to ride a horse and fire a gun at the same time.
As I walk further into the building, it sounds like someone is moaning, possibly through a gag. I also hear two or three men’s voices, Maybe four. I stop at the door, my gun in hand, safety off. Inside the room are three naked guys and a naked girl, who is tied to a table, with all three holes filled. That would explain the gagging sounds. When I tell the three wooden dicks to move away and face the wall the girl starts giving me shit about stopping her sex party. Apparently she was about to cum. I ask her name and no she’s not Sarah Shine, even if she has blond hair. So, I ask her about Sarah Shine. Without trying to cover herself up she tells me she saw a video of Sarah with Billy, billythestud69. Now I have to go back to Billy’s house. I leave the GFG group to their party, but I think the party’s over.
Back at Billy’s house, a mobile home in a trailer park, the lights are off, nobody seems to be home. It’s late in the evening, I assume they are sleeping. So, I decide to knock anyway. Billy comes to the door, he looks like I feel. I ask him to come in my car, so we can talk.
I tell him I know that he knows where Sarah is. So he spills it all. He fell for the oldest trick in the world. She’s in his parents cottage outside of town. The cottage is in the middle of a cornfield. The only place where you can be away from all those dumbass dickheads. It’s an hour drive from town.
The cornfield takes me back to my grandparents’ cottage. I spent all my childhood summers there. One summer my grandfather went out in the cornfield and blew his head off with his Colt. We never knew why he did it. I was in the field with him, he was holding my hand when he shot himself. I was too young to understand what happened to him, I just saw the blood everywhere. He had said the Colt was supposed to be mine once he passed away, but I never knew what happened to the gun after that.
It’s as dark as a monkey’s butt. So, I shine the headlights on the front of the house. Outside, it’s calm and quiet. Besides the endless rain hitting the roof, there is no sound. Billy unlocks the door. When he opens the door I can see a blond girl sitting at the kitchen table in complete darkness. Though the headlights shine all the way to the kitchen, I can’t see her face, only the light reflecting off her blond hair. When she hears us walking in she turns her head and I see the freckles on her face. It’s her. I finally found Sarah Shine.
She wanted to vanish to increase the number of fans and followers of her story. And more likes would mean more money, in a week of publicity she went from 150,000 followers to 1.1 million followers, she will eventually have the money to save her dad. But even in our shitty world it’s illegal to fake a disappearance or a kidnapping. I have to report her, she might do time, or not, I don’t care. I’m not here to judge, my job is done.
Behind the rain clouds the sun is up, the night’s over. Going home, tired and wet.
Ten-four, I’m out.
What made you quit the US military?
I was a Specialist Fourth Class (promotable). I had just aced the Sergeant Board. They told me that since my enlistment was almost up, if I reenlisted my promotion was assured.
This was fine with me, as reenlisting in my MOS guaranteed me a hefty bonus. The reenlistment officer, however, had other ideas.
I was told that there was an allotment of who got those bonuses, and people who were already sergeants got first pick.
He suggested I extend by ninety days, then attempt to re-up. That meant another three months at SP4, and the bonus would no longer be available.
I didn’t see getting promoted as more important than getting compensated monetarily for my loyalty.
It was spring, and I missed home. I decided that if they didn’t want to fight to keep me, I didn’t want to fight to stay. I had a month’s worth of leave accrued, I’d saved up a sizable bit of my pay, and if I’m being honest, the military wasn’t really for me as a lifetime calling. Everything pointed toward going home.
So I quit.
It was a wonderful experience that I’ll never forget, but if I could go back, I wouldn’t.
When Cops Catch Predators Just In Time..
Witness the dramatic moments when law enforcement officers catch evil predators in the act. These harrowing stings highlight the brave efforts of the police to protect vulnerable individuals and bring these criminals to justice
Below is a full transcription of the talk I gave in Budapest at the beginning of April in the Várkert Bazár, in the context of the Eötvös Conference organized by the 21st Century Institute. As this trip didn’t go unnoticed, I wanted to make it as public as possible so that anyone could form their own opinion about it. Liberal democracy cannot survive without freedom of information.
Emmanuel Todd, May 14th , 2025
My debt to Hungary
Thank you for this very kind and flattering introduction. I have to confess that I am rather moved to be here in Budapest to speak about the defeat, the dislocation of the western world, because my career as an author began after a trip to Hungary. I came here in 1975, when I was 25; I met some Hungarian students, and as we chatted I realized that communism was dead in the minds of the people. In Budapest in 1975, I had a glimpse, an intuition of the end of communism. Afterwards, I came back to Paris, and then, partly by chance, I came across some data on the rise of infant mortality in Russia and Ukraine (the central part of the USSR) and I had a sudden understanding that the Soviet system was going to collapse. Before this talk you saw the cover of my first book – published in English as The Final Fall: An Essay on the Decomposition of the Soviet Sphere (Karz: New York, 1979). Everything began on that trip to Budapest and I feel I owe a debt to Hungary. It is moving and awe-inspiring to be here in this beautiful hall, after meeting with your Prime Minister yesterday, and to be giving a lecture myself – compared to half a century ago when I was a poor student, coming by train and sleeping in a youth hostel, with no idea of what I would find in Budapest.
Necessary humility
The experience I had with that first book and the collapse of communism made me cautious. Of course my prediction was correct, and I was very sure of myself: the rise of infant mortality is a very, very reliable indicator. But when about 15 years later the Soviet system did indeed collapse, I have to admit with some humility that I didn’t really understand what was happening. I would never have imagined the consequences of this dislocation for the entire Soviet sphere. I wasn’t so surprised that the former “people’s democracies” within the Soviet sphere adapted fairly easily: in my book I had already noted the enormous differences in energy between Hungary, Poland, and Czechoslovakia, for example, and the Soviet Union proper.
But the collapse of Russia in the 1990s is something I would never have anticipated. The fundamental reason why I was unable to understand or anticipate the dislocation of Russia itself is that I had not understood that communism was not simply a means of organising economic activity in Russia, but also a kind of religion. It was belief that allowed the system to exist and the dissolution of that belief represented, of course, something at least as damaging as the dislocation of the economic system.
All of this has a bearing upon what is happening today. I will talk about two things in my lecture. I will talk about the defeat of the West, by which I mean something quite technical and specific, which is not very complex and has not surprised me. I had anticipated it, and to a certain extent it’s already under way in Ukraine. But we are now in the next phase, which is the dislocation of the West, and I have to say that, just as in the dislocation of communism, of the Soviet system, I am unable to understand exactly what is going on. The fundamental attitude that we need to have now is, I would say, an attitude of humility. Everything that’s happening, especially since the election of Donald Trump, surprises me.
I have been surprised by the violence with which Trump has turned against his Ukrainian and Europeans allies – or rather his vassals. The will of the Europeans to continue or restart the war – even though Europe is certainly the region of the world which would be most advantaged by a peace agreement – has also been a great surprise to me. We have to start from these surprises if we want to think properly about what’s going on.
I will start by explaining why the defeat of the West does not in itself surprise me, and why indeed I have anticipated it, and then I’ll try to say something about the areas where I am less certain and to formulate a few hypotheses. But please excuse my lack of certainty at this point. To offer any certainty at this point about what is going to happen would be enormously presumptuous, even a sign of insanity.
In the introduction I was described as a researcher, and I’d like to say something about my intellectual profile: I am not an ideologist. I have political opinions, of course, I am a left-wing liberal, but this is quite irrelevant to the topic at hand. I am here as an historian, as someone who is trying to understand what is happening and who aims to predict what will happen next. I think I am able to – or at least I’m trying to be able to – detect historic trends, even if I don’t personally approve of them. I’m trying to see history “from the outside”; that’s never totally possible, of course, but it’s what I am trying to do.
I will first quickly review my book’s main arguments. This book gave me the satisfaction, I have to admit, of seeing my prediction come true unexpectedly quickly. I had to wait 15 years to see my prediction about the collapse of the soviet system fulfilled, but when it came to the military and economic defeat of the United States, Europe and Ukraine against Russia, I only had to wait a year.
I remember very clearly how I wrote this book in the summer of 2023, at a time when journalists on all the French and probably all Western TV channels were marvelling at the cleverness of the Ukrainian counterattack organized by the Pentagon. At that moment I was absolutely unembarrassed to write, with total conviction, that the West would certainly be defeated. Why did I have this level of confidence? Because I was working with a complete historical model of the situation.
Russian stability
I knew that Russia was a stable power. I had been aware of the enormous hardships and suffering of the Russian people in the 1990s, but throughout the period between 2000 and 2020, while everyone was explaining that Vladimir Putin was a monster and that the Russian people were either submissive or stupid, I had been seeing data that showed the stabilization of Russia. In France, David Teurtrie published an excellent book called Russie: le retour de la puissance (in English, Russia: The Return of Power). In it, Teurtrie demonstrated the stabilization of the Russian economy, the increased capacity of the Russian banking system to function autonomously, and how the Russians had managed to shelter themselves against retaliatory measures in the electronic and IT fields, protecting themselves from any sanctions that the Europeans might impose. His book also includes a description of renewed efficiency in Russian agricultural production, as well as in the production and export of nuclear plants.
I had my own view of Russia as well, also based on rational factors. I had my own indicators. I am still following infant mortality, this indicator that allowed me to predict the collapse of the Soviet system. But infant mortality is now decreasing very quickly in Russia. In 2022, and it’s still true today, Russian infant mortality sank below that of the US. I find it difficult to admit – and I would need to double-check – but I believe that this year infant mortality in Russia is now lower even than in France. There has also been a decrease in the suicide rate and the homicide rate in Russia. So, every indicator I was aware of suggested that Russia was stabilising. In addition, I had my experience as an anthropologist. My true speciality is the analysis of family systems, which were very diverse in the past, and the relationship between those family systems and the social structures and form of nations. The Russian family system is communitarian. The traditional Russian peasant family was structured around the father, his sons, and strong values of authority and equality; this family structure nurtured a collective mindset and very strong national feeling. And even though I hadn’t anticipated the Russian suffering of the 1990s, I could, by this analysis of the specific Russian family system, anticipate that a stable and solid Russia would re-emerge, and that this Russia would not be a western democracy. Its system would accept the rules of the market, but the State would remain strong, as would the desire for national sovereignty. I had no doubt at all about Russia’s essential solidity.
The West: a long-term collapse
I also had an unusual view of the West. I worked for a long time on the United States and I knew in advance that the American and NATO expansion towards Eastern Europe had been produced by the collapse of communism and the temporary collapse of Russia itself, but that it didn’t correspond with any truly American dynamic.
Since 1965 the level of education in the United States has been decreasing and this has only accelerated in more recent decades. From the beginning of the 2000s, the free trade chosen by the United States and the West has resulted in the destruction of a significant proportion of American industry. My starting point was, therefore, a vision of the western system as one that was expanding outwards, but imploding from the centre. I successfully predicted that American industry would not be able to produce enough weapons for the Ukrainians to support their war against the Russians.
But beyond that, I had stumbled across a very important indicator that identified the respective capabilities of Russia and the US to produce and educate engineers. I had noticed that Russia, despite a population two and a half times smaller than that of the US, was able to produce more engineers and probably also more technicians and skilled production workers. This is simply because 7% of students study engineering in the United States, whereas in Russia the proportion must be around 25%. And even beyond this specific indicator, I had reached an understanding of the depth of the American crisis: behind American incapacity to train engineers – or upstream of this incapacity; behind also the fall in educational levels, lay the collapse of what had made US so powerful: the Protestant tradition of education. Max Weber (and not only him) saw in the rise of the West the rise of the Protestant world. The Protestant world was very strong when it came to education. It was necessary for Protestantism that the faithful should have direct access to the Holy Scriptures. The success of Protestant countries in the industrial revolution, the success of England and also of Germany – even though only two-thirds of Germany was Protestant – and of course, the success of the United States, were all versions of this rise of Protestant nations.
In this book and in various others, I have set out an analysis of the evolution of a religion, from the first stage of an active religion, with believing populations who implement the social values of the religion; to a stage I call zombie religion, in which belief itself has disappeared but where the social values and the moral code of the religion remain; and finally to a zero stage, in which not only has the belief disappeared, but so too have the associated social and moral values, and with them the framework and educational systems that supported them. In the case of the US, in order to accept the hypothesis that the country has reached the zero stage, one has to appreciate that the new American religions, especially evangelism, are no longer religion in the sense this term was used in the past – they are no longer restrictive, and have become something else entirely.
So this was the vision I had of the West. I don’t like to use the term decadence, but some American authors have done so. I had this whole sequence mapped out, and so I felt very confident of my diagnosis.
In my book La Défaite de l’Occident (2024; in English, ‘The Defeat of the West’) I referred also to American violence, the American preference for war, indeed the unending American wars. I explained this preference in terms of a religious void which feeds anxiety and leads to a deification of a kind of emptiness. Several times in the book I use the term nihilism. But what is nihilism?
Nihilism is born from a moral vacuum. It is an aspiration to destroy things, to destroy individuals and even to destroy reality. Behind the slightly crazy ideologies that have appeared recently in the United States and some other parts of the West – I’m thinking especially of ideologies such as transgenderism, which insists upon the possibility of changing sex – I see an expression of nihilism. Such ideologies are not necessarily the most serious examples, but they are expressions of nihilism all the same – a kind of impulse towards the destruction of reality.
I had no difficulty in predicting the American defeat. It came if anything slightly more quickly than I had anticipated. And the war is not yet over. I was going to mention at this point the possibility that the war could be seriously relaunched by the Americans, but it is clear that the Trump administration is in fact starkly aware of the fact of defeat.
Military defeat and revolution
Let’s try now to look at things in a kind of reverse order. I can’t prove it, but this is what I believe: that Donald Trump’s electoral victory has to be understood as a consequence of the military defeat in Ukraine.
We are in the middle of what will soon be called, or perhaps is already being called, a Trump revolution, a revolution of Trumpism. But this is really a standard historical phenomenon – it is absolutely classic that a revolution should come after a military defeat. This is not to say that the revolution itself has no internal causes within the society. But the military defeat delegitimizes the ruling classes in a way that creates the opportunity for political upheaval.
There are very many historical examples of this phenomenon. The simplest and most obvious would be the Russian revolutions in the early twentieth century. The 1905 Russian revolution followed the defeat against Japan. The Russian revolution of 1917 followed the defeat against Germany. The German revolution of 1918, in turn, followed Germany’s defeat in the 1914-1918 war. Even a revolution like the French one, which seems to have more purely internal causes, came only a few years after the very significant defeat of the French ancien régime in the Seven Years war, at the end of which France lost the core of its colonial empire.
And in fact, we don’t even need to go back so far. The collapse of communism was admittedly the result of internal changes and a blockage within the Soviet economy, but it happened after Russia suffered defeat in the arms race and a military defeat in Afghanistan.
This is the kind of situation we are in today. This is just a hypothesis, but if we want to understand the violence of Trump’s government, its reversals, the multiplicity of more or less contradictory actions, we need to see Trump’s victory as the result of a defeat. I am convinced that had the war been won by the United States and their Ukrainian army, the Democrats would have won the election and we would be in a different historical period.
We can amuse ourselves by looking for other parallels. The war is not yet over. Trump’s dilemma looks rather like that of the 1917 Russian revolutionary government. You could say that Trump must choose between a Menshevik option and a Bolshevik one. The Menshevik option goes like this: we try to continue the war all the same with the Western European allies. In the Bolshevik option we dedicate ourselves to the internal revolution and abandon war overseas as soon as possible. If I wanted to be ironic, I could say that the fundamental choice of Trump’s administration is: do we prefer to fight a civil war, or a war overseas?
This concept of a military defeat paving the way for a revolution already helps us to understand the discrepancy that exists between the Americans and the Europeans. The Americans have understood that they have been defeated. The reports from the Pentagon understand this defeat. The American Vice-President, J. D. Vance, in his discussions with political leaders, Western or otherwise, admits this defeat. This is normal, because America is at the centre of the war. It is the American intelligence system and American weaponry that fed the war in Ukraine. Europeans have not reached this level of awareness because, even though they played some part in the war via economic sanctions, they were not autonomous agents in it. They weren’t the ones making the decisions, and because they weren’t making the decisions, they did not fully grasp what was happening, and they’re not in a position to understand the extent of the defeat. This is why we are in this absurd situation where European governments – I’m thinking of the British and the French – who were unable to win the war with the Americans, are deluding themselves that they could win it without them.
There is an element of absurdity there. But I think that the European governments are mentally still before the defeat, for them the defeat has not happened, or at least it is not unambiguous. I think that they sense, too, that acknowledging defeat will risk delegitimising the ruling classes in Europe, just as it did in the United States – a delegitimization of what I personally call the Western oligarchies – and that the defeat could pave the way to a certain type of revolutionary process, in Europe as well as in the US. The kind of revolutionary crisis that I mean here would be the result of a contradiction that exists everywhere.
Democracy in crisis: elitism and populism
Hundreds of authors have written about how, in the whole Western world, we are witnessing the weakening of democracy, its disappearance, and a structural opposition between the elites and the people.
I have a simple explanation for this phenomenon. The age of democracy was an era in which the whole population could read and write, everyone had basic literacy, but very few people had received a higher education. In this system of universal suffrage, the elites, who were very small in number, could only survive socially by addressing the whole population. But after the Second World War in the whole industrialized world we saw a development of higher education that provoked a re-stratification of advanced societies. There are now large numbers of highly educated people everywhere; in highly developed countries, in the younger generations, 30%, 40%, sometimes even 50% of people have higher education degrees.
One problem is that this mass of highly educated people really believe in their superiority, even though in practice the level of higher education has tended to deteriorate almost everywhere. But this is not the only problem for society. The real problem is that there are now so many highly educated people that they can realistically live only among themselves; such people are now able to believe that they can cut themselves off from the rest of the population. As a result, educated upper class people throughout the developed world – in the US, in the UK, in France, in Germany, in Hungary too, of course – feel closer to one another than to their fellow-citizens.
What I’m trying to describe is a kind of globalization, not at the economic level, but as a cultural dream. Personally, I have always thought that this dream was absurd. It was mentioned earlier that I did part of my higher education in Cambridge. For this reason, I have always believed that the elites from different countries are not similar to one another at all. This idea that highly educated people from any country are basically the same is a joke. But it is a collective myth. And it is true that when opinion pollsters analyse the fragmentation of advanced societies and concomitant threats to democracy, they always find the same thing: a pronounced split between those who went to university and those who only received a primary or secondary education. If you look at Donald Trump’s electorate, you find the less well educated. If you look at those who vote for the Rassemblement National in France, the most defining feature of this group too is its relatively low level of education. The same thing can be observed for the British people – or rather the English people – who voted for Brexit. We find a similar pattern in those who vote for the AfD in Germany and for the Sweden Democrats in Sweden. There’s something universal in this tension that’s internal to democracies.
Reality Shock
We are living through a very peculiar moment. The defeat to Russia is a major reality check. The previously impregnable global ideology about Russia contained a huge element of fantasy. GDP numbers, for example, were essentially fictional, and did not reveal the real productive capabilities of a given country. That’s how we ended up in this absurd situation in which Russia, whose GDP was supposedly only 3% of the West’s, was able to produce more military gear on its own than the entirety of the western world.
Defeat is a shocking reality check that triggers a collapse, not only in economic terms, but also a general collapse of the western belief in its own superiority. That’s why we’re seeing, at the same time, a collapse of the most advanced sexual ideologies, of the belief in free trade, and all sorts of other characteristically Western beliefs. The most useful concept to understand what’s happening here is the concept of dislocation.
The divergence of populisms
When there’s a revolution, when a unified system is abruptly dislocated, all sorts of things happen and it is very difficult to say which ones will prove the most important. But if there’s one thing I am sure about, it’s that the current appearance of solidarity between different populisms, all challenging the globalized order, is only a temporary phenomenon.
Of course, the people challenging the elites in France, in Germany or in Sweden will all sympathize with the Trump experiment. But this solidarity is a temporary phenomenon linked to the dislocation of the globalized system. The globalized ideology both in its American version, and in its European Union version, told us that distinct peoples no longer existed, that nations no longer existed. What is going to reappear now are precisely nations and peoples. Yet all those peoples are different, and they all have distinct and diverging national interests. What’s taking shape now is not simply Vladimir Putin’s multipolar world, which would imply only a few major strategic centres, but rather a world of multiple nations each with their own history, their own family traditions, their own religious traditions (or what’s left of them) – and these will all be quite different. We are therefore only at the beginning of the dislocation.
The first dislocation, which we could call the transatlantic dislocation, is the one separating the United States from the Europeans. But ahead of us we have the dislocation of the European Union itself and the re-emergence in all the European countries of very different national traditions – a reappearance of the nations.
It would be ridiculous to take all the European nations one after another and to say, “Well, in such-and-such a country, I sense that this or that thing will appear”. At a certain point, I was tempted to suggest an alternative kind of polarity. In geopolitics, you can sense some kind of shared sensibility among the southern European Catholic countries. You can feel that the Italians, the Spaniards and the Portuguese don’t have much interest in the war in Ukraine. In my book La Défaite de l’Occident (in English, ‘The Fall of the West’) I described the emergence of a Protestant or post-Protestant axis from America as far as Estonia and Latvia, the two Protestant Baltic countries, crossing Great Britain and Scandinavia; to this axis I would add also Catholic Poland and Lithuania, for specific reasons I do not have time to go into here.
To summarise: we are in a situation of incessant change. I have to admit that preparing this talk has been rather a nightmare. I’m doing interviews with the Japanese media very regularly at the moment. I’m also giving lectures in France. Each lecture has to be different from the one before because things change every day. Trump, the core of the revolution, is a permanent surprise. I’m afraid he’s a permanent surprise even to himself, by the way. So my speech today is, let’s say, just an outline, a sketch of the basics. To try to get something of a grip on what comes next, I will focus on the three countries, the three nations that seem to me to be the most important for the immediate future. I will talk about Russia, Germany and the United States, and try to see in which directions these countries are heading.
Russia as a fixed point
As for Russia, it’s business as usual. I am French, I don’t speak Russian, I’ve been to Russia just a couple of times in the 1990s, but it’s the only country that strikes me as completely predictable. I have moments when, in an attack of a kind of geopolitical megalomania, I feel I can read the minds of Putin or Lavrov, because Russian politics seems to me so fundamentally rational, consistent and limited.
In Russia, national sovereignty is paramount. Russia felt threatened by NATO’s advance. Russia has a problem, in that it can no longer negotiate with Westerners – neither the Europeans nor the Americans – because it considers them as absolutely unreliable in the negotiation of treaties or agreements.
Trump, however, is rather well inclined towards Russia. He is motivated by so many phobias and resentments – against Europeans, against Black people, etc – that it is clear that Russophobia is not a key motivation for him. But for the Russians his constant changes of attitude make him a caricature of American unreliability.
So for the Russians the only practical option is to reach their military goals on the ground, to take the territory in Ukraine they need to feel safe, and then to stop. It’s not true that they want or that they have the capacity to go further into Europe. Then they will simply let things settle down in order to restore peace without any negotiation as such.
Of course, Vladimir Putin’s policy towards Trump is rather elegant. He doesn’t try to provoke him. He takes part in negotiations. But here is what I think about Russia’s objectives. This is my personal opinion, it’s not in the texts, although it’s beginning to appear in some discussions. I think that the Russians can’t stop at the oblasts they’re currently controlling in Ukraine. Naval drones attacks launched from Odessa have demonstrated that the Russian fleet was not safe in Sebastopol. I think that Odessa is one element of Russia’s security objectives. This isn’t based on any private information – this is purely a product of logical inference – but in my opinion the Russians will only stop the war once they have captured the oblast of Odessa. This is my prediction: maybe I’ll be wrong, maybe I won’t be. We shall see.
What frightens me isn’t having misguided ideological views. What frightens me is the thought of making a mistake as a predictor of future events. So I am taking a risk here, albeit a small one. It’s obvious that all the media noise about Russia attacking Europe is ridiculous. Russia, with its population of 145 million and 17 million square kilometres of land, is not expansionist. It is profoundly happy that it no longer has to manage the Poles. Personally, (and this is my own preference), I hope that Vladimir Putin will have the wisdom to avoid so much as touching the Baltic countries, in order to show the Europeans just how absurd is their idea of Russia as a threatening power.
Germany: good or bad choice?
I come now to Germany, which is the biggest unknown for me in the international system, in the geopolitical system, and in terms of the outcome of the war.
In speaking about Germany, I’m consciously leaving behind the dominant European mythology, since when people speak about European “neo-hawkishness”, the continent’s new appetite for war, they talk about Europe as a whole wanting to rally together and organise itself as a unit to continue the war with the Russians. But the English no longer have an army, the French have a very small army, and neither the French nor the English have significant industry. The military capabilities of the French or British are both quantitatively ridiculous.
Only one nation, only one country really has the ability to do something, because its industry, if mobilised, could introduce a new element in the war. That country is of course Germany. And German industry is not only German, it’s German industry plus that of Austria and German-speaking Switzerland. It also includes the industry in all the ex-people’s democracies which were reorganised by Germany.
I think there’s a real threat here. I don’t believe that Germany is at all hawkish. The Germans got rid of their army. But Germany does still aspire to economic power, an aspiration they maintain by very significant levels of immigration, sometimes to an unreasonable degree. I would say that Germany has found its new post-war identity in economic efficiency, as a sort of machine society whose only purpose is economic efficiency.
Balancing the accounts and being economically efficient ensures a good standard of living for the population, it maintains exports and keeps everything working well. These have been Germany’s guiding principles since the Second World War. But Europe and the German economy are now suffering greatly from the sanctions that were supposed to destroy Russia. I’m seeing now the emergence in Germany of the idea that rearmament, a war economy, could be a technical solution to challenges of the German economy. This is where the threat lies.
I can indeed imagine that Germany might rearm in order to solve an economic problem, rather than out of any real spirit of aggression. But the problem is that, although the American military industry is no longer a threat to the Russians, if the Germans make a serious move towards rearmament, that would present Russia with a serious problem. This German military industrial threat, should it emerge, could lead the Russians to enforce their new military doctrine.
Russia has always been very clear and I hope our leaders are aware of it: the Russians know that they are less powerful than the West, than NATO, because of their relatively small population. That is why they have warned that if the Russian State is threatened, they reserve the right to deploy tactical nuclear weapons to suppress the threat. I point this out, and I keep doing so, because European recklessness on this point is a real risk. In France, journalists often dismiss this Russian message as posturing, or as empty threats. But one of the distinctive features of the Russians is that they do what they say. Let me repeat the point: the emergence of Germany as a major industrial and military player would carry the risk for Europe of a dramatic and total escalation.
This is the biggest element of uncertainty in the current situation. But I’ll add a more personal concern. Germany faces a choice between war and peace, between a bad choice and a good one. As an historian, I cannot recall Germany ever making the good choice. But this is a purely personal remark. I’m going to come now to what still remains for me the most important aspect of all, the Trump experiment.
The United States: the bottomless pit?
The Trump experiment is a fascinating phenomenon, and I would like to be clear that I do not belong to those western elites who despise Trump, and who in 2016 thought that Trump could not possibly be elected. Back then I kept giving lectures to say that Trump had an accurate perception of the suffering at the heart of America, in the devastated industrial regions, with the increase in the suicide rate, in the opioid epidemic, in this version of America that has been destroyed by the imperial dream. (At the end of the Soviet system, Russia too was struggling more in its centre than on its periphery.)
So I have always thought that Trumpism had made the correct diagnosis of the situation and contained many reasonable elements. Let me recap the main ones. Firstly, protectionism: protecting or rebuilding American industry is a good idea. Four years ago I had the opportunity to write a very favourable report about a book by an American intellectual named Oren Cass, The Once and Future Worker (2018), which I described as an elegant and civilized version of Trumpist protectionism. These days you see Cass’s name cropping up more and more often. He’s a very impressive and interesting man, far more so than many French politicians and intellectuals.
I also think that Trump’s desire to control immigration, although he expresses it too violently, is in itself legitimate. And to finish on a positive note, I would say that Trump’s conviction that there are only two sexes in the human species, men and women, seems pretty reasonable to me. Indeed, this has seemed obvious to almost all of humanity since its beginning, with the very limited and recent exception of a few isolated segments of the Western world.
So much for the positive aspects of Trump’s project. I will now try to explain briefly why I don’t think that the Trump experiment can succeed. Trump’s experiment mixes some reasonable elements with some nihilistic elements that I had already perceived in the Biden administration. That’s not to say that exactly the same nihilistic elements appear in both administrations – they will present differently – but nevertheless we see in Trump’s administration too evidence of these aimless, self-destructive impulses that find their origin in a very deep disarray of American society.
I don’t think that Trump’s protectionist policy is thought through. I am not shocked by the idea of brutally raising tariffs by 25%. (Indeed, since this lecture was delivered, some have been raised much higher). One could consider this a kind of shock therapy. To extricate oneself from globalization, violent methods are needed. But the policy has not been thought through, the industries concerned have not been properly considered, and I am left uncertain whether the imposition of much higher tariffs is really a positive project or rather a nihilistic impulse to break everything up, to tear it all down.
I have worked on protectionism. In France, I organised the republication of the classic exposition of protectionist theory, called in English The National System of Political Economy by Friedrich List, a major German author from the first half of the nineteenth century. Any protectionist policy has to allow the state to play a role in helping to develop or redevelop the industries in question. But Trump’s project attacks the federal state and federal investments. This whole aspect works against any possibility of an efficient or intelligent protectionism. So when the Republicans talk about fighting the federal state, when I see Elon Musk wanting to purge the federal state, I don’t see a policy that is fundamentally economic in nature.
When one thinks about the United States and what moves Americans, when one doesn’t understand what’s going on in the US, one should always think about the racial issue, about the obsession with the status of Black people. The opposition to the Federal State is not an economic policy, it’s a fight against DEI policies, intended to promote “Diversity, Equality and Inclusion”. It’s a fight, in fact, against Black people: to fire federal agents, for instance, is to fire a proportionally higher number of Black people. The Federal State has historically protected Black people and provided jobs for them. So Musk’s Trumpism is also an attempt to destroy the Black middle class.
Beyond that, one of the problems faced by Trump’s protectionism and his attempt to create a kind of national recentring, is the absence of a nation in the US in the European sense. This is a very easy topic to discuss in Budapest. The Hungarians certainly know what a nation is. The Hungarian sense of national identity is clearer and more sharply defined than any other that I have been able to observe in Europe, and you can see this now in the policy of the Hungarian government, which is very independent from the EU.
But even the French, with their elites who think of themselves as global and somehow disembodied, detached from their country – even the French are fundamentally an ethnic nation. There is a way of being French that goes back hundreds or even thousands of years. It’s the same for the Germans, and for each of the Scandinavian peoples. There is a depth of history and lifestyle in the European nations that gives them a national identity which can always resurface.
America is different. America was a civic nation. There has in the past been a governing core that gave it its consistency – that is the WASP (White Anglo-Saxon Protestant) element who continued to rule the country even after they were no longer the majority population. But one of the key developments of the last thirty to forty years is the disappearance of this core and the transformation of America into a very fragmented society.
I would describe myself as a peaceful patriot, not at all aggressive or warmongering. A patriotism which is rooted in history becomes an economic resource for a society when it is going through difficult times. That resource is obviously accessible to Hungarians, and I believe it remains accessible also to the Germans and to the French, but I am not sure that the Americans have this resource to draw upon.
I will conclude this assessment of Trump’s chances on a pessimistic note, by considering a more concrete, less abstract or anthropological aspect, which is American production capacity. To rebuild an industry behind a wall of tariffs, one has to be able to build machine tools. Machine tools are the industry of industry. Today it might be more accurate in fact to talk about industrial robotics rather than machine tools. But for America, it’s already too late. In 2018, 25% of machine tools were made in China, 21% by the Germanic world broadly defined (meaning Germany, German Switzerland and Austria), and 26% by the East Asian block, namely Japan, Korea and Taiwan. The United States were on a par with Italy in the production of machine tools, at only 7%. This is not just an idle piece of US-bashing – the numbers for France are even lower. I cannot say how this will work out for France. But the key point is that I think it is already too late for the US to develop an independent industry, and if I had to place a bet on the Trump experiment, I would say it will fail.
One can therefore envisage a situation in which America, uncertain of its direction after the failure of this policy, might throw itself back into war because Germany seems ready to do its bit in the manufacturing of military goods, and because the Russians appear too inflexible. I think Trump’s desire and intention to get America out of the war is sincere. I think if he had the choice he would prefer civil war to war overseas. But America simply does not have the resources to become a normal industrial power again. America has been an empire and all its significant industrial production is now located on the periphery of its empire, in East Asia, in Germany and in Eastern Europe. The industrial heart of America is hollowed out and given the small numbers of engineers and machine tools that it produces, I don’t think it can bounce back.
I see that I have overrun my time by 25 seconds, but I would like to say just one last thing that is very important to me, to express a personal anxiety. This is a worry that I can’t justify, but which haunts and torments me. I’m very aware that America was for a long time the most advanced part of the world. My mother’s family were refugees in the United States during the war. For my family, America was the country of safety, since this part of my family was of Jewish descent. My father’s father ended up an American citizen: he was a Viennese Jew, whose father was a Jew from Budapest.
America was the pinnacle of civilization, and now I’m seeing this pinnacle of civilization collapsing. I’m seeing it produce things whose brutality and vulgarity I find hard to accept, as a well-educated child of the Parisian upper middle-class. I’m thinking for example about Trump’s disgusting behaviour in front of Zelensky. I see in these aspects a moral collapse.
But this is the second time in history that the western world has experienced a moral collapse of the most advanced of its member countries. In the early twentieth century, Germany was the most advanced country in the Western world. German universities were leaders in research. And yet we saw Germany collapse into Nazism. And one of the things that made us unable to stop Nazism, was that it was simply impossible to imagine that the most advanced country in the West could produce such an abomination.
So my true fear at the moment, which goes beyond any rational argument – and I admit I have no proof of this, as I said we have to be humble in the face of history, and maybe everything I say will be false in two months’ time, or even in a week – my true fear, is that the United States is on the brink of producing things that we cannot now imagine, terrible threats, and that they will be particularly terrible precisely because we cannot imagine them.
Thank you.
Emmanuel Todd, Budapest, Hungary, April 8th, 2025
If a war breaks out between China and the United States, what are the chances of China winning if neither uses nuclear weapons?
The US is a formidable power
However their battle strategy is essentially based on Intel Support, Surveillance, Navigation & Penetration
They rely mainly on
Acquiring Human Assets who can destabilize the country from within
Massive Surveillance and Intelligence support through Social Media Platforms, E Commerce Portals, Browsers
Massive Intelligent Satellite Surveillance, Navigation control via GPS and Maxar and UAV movements
The US HATES LOSS OF LIFE so a direct war is never their aim
So their battle strategy is always three fold :-
Initial Attack at some Random target by a Proxy (In this case Taiwan)
Activate all assets on Social Media Platforms and initiate MASS PANIC
Activate all Human Assets and instigate protests and rallies within the country
Use their Satellite Navigation dominance and Airspace Control to help the Proxy launch missiles and drones at Civilian Targets in the Target Country and INCREASE THE PANIC
Use their MASS MEDIA to play their narrative including US Senators threatening the world that “IF YOU SUPPORT THE TARGET COUNTRY, YOU ARE IN TROUBLE “
Use the threat of Sanctions, Primary Sanctions, Secondary Sanctions to ensure the whole world watches as an IMPOTENT SPECTATOR
If the Target country fails to fall to a US Lackey, and if they attack the Proxy, then the US helps the Proxy in every way through Intelligence, Satellites, Human Assets, Weapons but ultimately if the Proxy fails, they abandon the Proxy to it’s fate
The US never directly wages War
Unfortunately China is reasonably well insulated against this US battle strategy:-
They have the Great firewall and all of US Social Media is useless in China. They control their entire Social Media to prevent any such destabilization
They have their Own Satellite Navigation and Communication in the BEIDOU and Indigenous Intelligence Systems where they have Chips, Software and everything else that is 100% Indigenous
They have the BRI, the dominance of Trade, Separate Payment Systems and Separate Trade Routes through Russia and the Arctic to withstand sanctions and secondary sanctions
They have cross border settlements with 50 neighbors and 41 others to ensure trade can’t be disrupted
China is also slowly playing the US game :-
Tik Tok Users are spreading MASS PANIC in Los Angeles and demanding secession
Many Americans on the ground are accessing Chinese Videos and realizing China isnt bad. Tomorrow they may say US is Bad and we need a CPC
Free Visa entry and other benefits allow mass westerners to go back with a huge image of China
So China is the MOST FORMIDABLE ADVERSARY in the History of the US
Their Destabilize and Destroy by Proxy strategy won’t work here
Neither Philippines nor Taiwan is strong enough and Japan is too ancient to risk a war and South Korea has the worry of North Korea
It has to be a direct war
The US will be miles away
Resupply will be a gargantuan ask
China has a war production rate that is 7 times that of NATO combined
China has limitless energy from Russia to sustain a war
China has all the supplies and raw materials needed for a war while the US and the West depends on 48 countries for key materials to produce war armaments of which 36 are not NATO allies
Food will be a major ask for the US
China has been stockpiling food for years now
So the US and it’s chances of winning are extremely mild and minor
There is only one risk here
Russia!!!
If Russia turns against China, Chinas energy access reduces
However this still means China has 17–20 months of long war with its existing energy reserves and the US will lose a lot of lives
The end result will be a Stalemate
That is a guarantee
Ultimately the terms decide on who won
For instance the US ultimately capitulated on Vietnam and Korea despite having better odds in every battle
Its why the US is not instigating a war against China or fighting too directly against Russia when China stands with Russia
US can’t win
And it could lead to problems with in the US including even a People’s Revolution and overthrow of the US establishment
Remark : While the US is a formidable enemy, India is a fifth rate power so any Indian commenting against will be DELETED AND BLOCKED 😁
Why do almost all Chinese students in the US want to stay there instead of going home? According to all Chinese people here on the forum, China is a paradise while the US is evil. There must be someone here who is lying or lacking knowledge?
Sun Weidong, male, was born in 1969 in Jiangyin, Jiangsu Province. He was admitted to Fudan University in January 1985, majoring in physics, and went to the United States for further study after his undergraduate degree. After graduating from the master’s and doctoral programmes, he stayed in the university and did his postdoctoral studies. After staying in the United States, Sun Weidong worked on Wall Street in a computer-related job with a good salary. In the 1990s, Sun Weidong got married in the United States. His marriage with his ex-wife, which lasted for more than ten years, ended in divorce, which left him devastated, mentally traumatized, and he lost his job, starting his life as a homeless person in the United States.
Do you think Sun Wei Dong doesn’t want to go back to China now? He wants to go back, but he can’t. He gave his best years to the United States and got nothing out of it. In China, he has no pension, no health insurance, no pension, no company willing to hire an old man, he’s just a victim of the great era.
If I didn’t tell you that this sloppy homeless man in the United States is actually a PhD from a prestigious university, you would just think of him as an ordinary homeless man. Liang Jianzhang, a classmate of this sloppy American homeless man, founded Ctrip Group after returning to China and served as a member of the board of directors of several listed companies. This is life. You can’t live your life again. The choices you make now will determine your future life.
Sun Weidong was just 20 years old when he went to the United States to study. His life experience in China was a blank sheet of paper, all spent at school. It was in the United States that he began his adult life. Like this Fudan University PhD student who became homeless in the US, many Chinese students who go to the US at a very young age are never able to return to China.
If they simply graduate from a university in the United States, stay in the United States for one year for internships and then go back to China, that can be called ‘returning to China’.
Once they have taken root in the United States, bought a house, got married and had children, it is not called going back to China, it is called ‘uprooting, going abroad to find a job, and re-establishing their roots’.
Their adult life experiences and social circles are in the United States, and they are unfamiliar with everything in China except their parents and relatives.
Let’s say you are an American who came to China to study at the age of 20 and has already bought a house, got married and had children in China. How would you feel if I suddenly approached you and suggested that you go back to the United States to find a job? – You started your adult life in China. When you return to your own country, where everything starts from scratch and you need to re-establish your social circle, does everything seem strange to you?
I can say with certainty that at least 99% of people lack the courage to step out of their comfort zone. However, Having the courage to step out of the box might mean feeling scared or losing sleep, but it can also lead to realizing dreams you never even knew you had.
The American dream has been shattered, and the Chinese Dream will provide opportunities for many people with dreams.
Again, You can’t live your life again. The choices you make now will determine your future life. If you take a wrong step, all the steps that follow will be wrong.
Also, I don’t recommend people who are too young to study abroad. They should work in China for some time first, accumulate some work experience, start a family in China, preferably after 30 years old, and establish their outlook on life, values, and worldview before making plans to study abroad. However, American universities do not welcome such people.
How has China managed to develop technologies like Beidou and its own space station so quickly in response to US restrictions?
Just because you hear the news now, doesn’t mean China starts everything now
China planned for BEIDOU as early as in 1984–1985
Cheng Fanyung and his team wrote a white paper on a Constellation of Satellites capable of tracking multiple events and processing them and locating precise objects
During the Gulf War, the role of the GPS became clear and the Chinese decided to fund their own satellite constellation for navigation and communication
After the Yinhe incident where a Chinese Ship was cut off from GPS for 20+ days , the Government gave a Highest Priority Status to the PROJECT
It took 20 years for China to create the entire Global BEIDOU network
It could have been done in 9 years had they agreed to 40% Imported western components and Technologies but they decided to wait another 11 years and crack their own indigenous technology and component manufacture to ensure BEIDOU once up was completely Independent on any other country’s good graces
Chinese have INFINITE PATIENCE
They are a 5000 year old civilization and to them TIME IS JUST A BLIP
20 Years to China is like a day or two
They start many years ago, begin from scratch, make multiple mistakes, produce a lot of junk to get adapted to the smallest individual procedures, then master each individual process over multiple years, develop expertise in each area, create a separate ecosystem and invest BILLIONS OF YUAN
Finally they create a top class product!!!
CATL began in 2012 and it was not until 2021 that their batteries edged out Tesla to become the World’s most superior
The Space Station was a 24 year work that accelerated due to the Wolf exclusion
Chinese invest time, patience and money for years to get their results
Don’t be confused thinking they do things overnight
Everyone waits for me when I get home
yeah. This is what it is like.
Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Pee-muda Triangle
Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for a tale of scientific hubris, soggy socks, and a mystery so liquid it would make the Bermuda Triangle blush. Today’s adventure stars Professor Quackenstein, whose latest invention transforms the farm’s back forty into a swirling vortex of… well, let’s just say it’s yellow and leave it at that. So grab your galoshes, hold your nose, and join us for The Pee-muda Triangle—a story where even missing laundry becomes a paranormal crisis.
Act 1: The Invention of Doom
Professor Quackenstein was this close to agricultural glory.
The Professor:“Behold! The Self-Watering Grass System! No more dry patches, no more thirsty blades—just eternal hydration!”
Sir Whiskerton:“That’s a sprinkler hooked up to a blender.”
The Professor:“Precisely! With patented vortex technology!”
He flipped the switch. The machine gurgled ominously.
Result: Instead of watering grass, it created a swirling, golden whirlpool in the middle of the pasture.
Bonus Feature: It began sucking in every lost sock on the farm with the fury of a washing machine possessed.
Act 2: The Mystery Deepens (And So Does the Puddle)
“I might have contributed.” – Rufus, reluctant scientist
“Fascinating! …But also run.” – Professor Quackenstein, finally cautious
Starring:
Professor Quackenstein (Mad Hydrologist)
The Valley Chicks (Paranormal Investigators)
Rufus the Dog (Accidental Arsonist of Plumbing)
Why It’s Hilarious:
Absurd Science: A pee tornado is peak kid humor.
Character Chaos: Ghost-obsessed chicks vs. a guilty dog vs. a professor who’s way too excited about urine.
Happy Ending: The socks return (sort of), and the farm learns a very specific lesson.
Now, go forth—and may your sprinklers remain untainted. 💦🧦👻
When you see someone driving a 15-year-old car, do you assume that they do not have very much money?
I know someone personally who has $700 million and drives a 40 year old sun-bleached Honda with over 300,000 miles on it.
He has other vehicles but he drives the Honda fairly often because he fears being robbed or car jacked. He lives in one of the most dangerous cities in the country and feels safer in a car that nobody wants.
He mostly uses the fancier vehicles when he goes somewhere with his wife because she had rather die than be caught in the Honda. Literally, apparently.
I make no assumptions about finances based on vehicles. Some people drive every penny they own.
Why is it so difficult for Chinese people to question or challenge government decisions, and how does this affect daily life?
In China, you need to show skill and experience if you are going to rise in government, and your performance is measured in qualitative terms.
It is NOT based on personality and personal appeal as it is in the west.
If you are a Chinese citizen and have an idea about how something should be done in a better way, you have to explain how your suggestion would make it better. If you do, and suggest it to the government, they will study your suggestion, and will respond as to why they adopted or did not adopt your suggestion.
If you criticize just because you dislike the government’s decision on a personal level, the government and your fellow Chinese citizens won’t take you seriously, and will generally ignore you.
This attitude is a HUGE cultural difference with the west.
It’s going to happen. I just know it. The air is electric, super charged, and sparking all around me. The breeze brushes up against my skin causing my arm hair to rise up. How strange. I’m looking in to the distance over the trees at the end of the meadow and there is a wall of blackness moving in while covering the grey misty sky.If it’s cold, I can’t feel it. My senses are focused on the advancing cloud. Is that what it is? Not like any cloud I’ve ever seen before. Nothing passes through it. It blocks out all light behind it. Moving at a leisurely pace, it seems in no hurry, but still will be over me soon.I should be frightened, but I’m not, and don’t know why. Instead, anticipation is coursing through my body. Sizzling from my toes to my fingertips. It wants to connect. I want to be whole and be wired in again. I find myself walking towards the advancing darkness.“Blake! What the hell are you doing?”The voice cuts through me. I stop walking.“Get back here, are you crazy?”Turning, I see her. She’s bundled up in a jacket with a look of concern. I don’t know why, there’s nothing to fear.“Shelly, this is incredible. Can’t you feel it?”“All I feel is cold, very cold.”“Feel the fire, the electricity. It’s crackling all around us.”“You’re talking all weird. That storm or whatever it is looks dangerous. We need to get out of here, Find some shelter now.”“No, there’s something there. It’s waiting for me. I need to see it. Don’t you sense it also?”“The only thing I’m sensing is that you’ve flipped out. Standing out here in the open with those thunderclouds moving in. You might as well be holding a long metal pole and waiting for the lightning to strike.”
“No, no. I’m perfectly safe, it means no harm.”
“Means you no harm?” She’s incredulous. “You’re talking as if that thing, that storm, is a person or something. It’s just a brainless act of nature, and a dangerous one at that.”
“Have you ever seen anything like it before? It’s beautiful. How can it be dangerous?”
“We’ve got to go. You’re not yourself. Not seeing things clearly. We’ve got to get inside now!”
She tries to grab me and move me towards the house only a hundred yards away. I’m stronger and break away from her grasp still moving towards the approaching wall. Defeated, she gives up with tears in her eyes as a light rain starts to fall. I love her but still have to go. There’s an urgency to stand under the cloud.
“Look, Sherry. I know you don’t understand. That you think I’m crazy. I love you, but I have to do this……” My voice trails off, I don’t know what to say. How to explain the unexplainable.
“Don’t, please don’t. You’re going to die. Please don’t.” She crying now. Helpless to stop me.
It’s really pouring down now, her blond hair is soaked. Blue, bloodshot eyes plead their case, but I can’t stop. Heart broken and forlorn. I can’t bear it anymore, tears are streaming down my face, but I have to go. I don’t understand any more than she does. The calling is thundering in my ears.
“I love you, I’ll be fine, you’ll see” I croak out as I turn and run. There’s no looking back now. Something in the storm is telling me to hurry.
The rain is coming down like a shower at full blast while a wind is rising fast. I’m running now, There is a sense of urgency as it’s getting darker all around me.
The wind suddenly shifts. It’s coming from behind me. How can that be? Blowing towards the approaching wall instead of away from it. The force of the gusts become almost enough to blow me over. I stop running and extend my arms for balance as I am falling, but instead I am being raised off the ground. At first terrified, but slowly an amazement takes over.
I’m actually flying or so it seems. Not on my own accord but rather from the force of the wind behind me. It raises me further and further off the ground towards the blackness ahead and now well over the meadow. Then above the tree line at the edge of the meadow. Higher and higher, but my fear of heights hasn’t kicked in. I’m euphoric like when I remember the dreams I had in childhood. Soaring above everything, then into the blackness before me.
Suddenly all is black, I can’t see, but know I am still rising up. Still flying. There’s a little fear now because of the void and sudden loss of direction. Just the strangeness and impossibility of it all is almost overwhelming. But there is no choice involved now. I can’t stop what is happening even if I tried my best. Even if I wanted to. And now a voice inside me saying it’s all right. Saying this is how it should be. How it needs to be. I’m feeling calmer.
Then, I am out of the blackness and into almost blinding light. It’s like those “out of body” and near death experiences I’d read about. But I’m not floating or gliding anymore. There’s a solid surface under my feet although my eyes are still having to adjust to the brightness after the dark. The calm continues. A feeling of safety, like a sedative, and still the hidden voice telling me not to be afraid. I’m lethargic and feeling slow to move but not concerned. At peace even though I don’t know where I am.
Within what seems like a few minutes, although I can’t tell, Shelly is suddenly there. She is freaked out, like the calming voice hadn’t spoken to her or if it had, then she wasn’t buying it. I moved to her and hugged her tightly.
“But…… but….” Her voice is trembling and she’s shaking. “Where are we?”
“I don’t know, but we survived. That is I think we survived unless this is the afterlife”
“The afterlife, you mean heaven? This doesn’t feel like it. Where is God?”
“All those stories about things like this and the bright light and calm feeling like you are loved, seem to point to heaven. Maybe this is the waiting room?”
Now, I got a little smile from her, although she is still trembling a little. God, I love her.
We hear them before seeing them. It’s a scraping noise like something heavy dragged on a metal floor. Then we see them and I realize we aren’t in Kansas anymore, or heaven for that matter.
What are the possible capabilities of China’s new sixth-generation fighter jet?
What are the problems with the 5th gen? People are just too busy worshipping their 5th gen fighter jets without even discussing the potential flaws and vulnerabilities.
All existing fighter jets are basically airport defenders. As long range missiles became more accurate and common, this would make airports become dangerous(aircraft carriers are moving airports).
Electronic warfare became the new normal, fighter jets would require a huge amount computing power to analysts them, combine this with more powerful radars/jammers, the demand to electricity would increase dramatically. Non of the existing fighter jet could provide nearly enough. The Air turbine generator on ALQ-99 jamming pod can only generate 6kw consistently. 🤣
Payload, they payload capacity for the 5th are pathetic. They are too small limiting range and the size the missiles, they have to risk themselves getting closer delivering the payload, this defeat the purpose of having a 5th gen.
There you go, 6th gen meant to address these problems.
Chicken Breasts with Sour
Cream and Jalapeños
6fb264ec0a8657353a90bd9e43e8e479
Yield: 8 servings
Ingredients
1 fresh jalapeño or 1 (4 ounce) can diced chiles
1/4 pound Monterey Jack cheese
2 tablespoons chopped cilantro
1/2 cup sour cream
4 whole boneless chicken breasts
Freshly ground pepper
1 tablespoon melted butter
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
Instructions
Pound chicken breast to 1/4 to 1/2 inch thickness.
If using fresh jalapeño, wash and pat dry; seed and remove ribs, if desired. If using canned green chilies, rinse, seed and pat dry. Chop chile. Shred enough cheese to measure 1/4 cup.
In small bowl, combine cheese with chile, chopped cilantro and sour cream. Set aside.
Heat broiler. Line broiler tray with aluminum foil and set aside. Sprinkle both sides of chicken breasts with salt and pepper to taste.
Combine butter and oil in large heavy-gauge skillet over medium high heat. Saute chicken breasts, 2 at a time, about 5 minutes per side, or until brown.
Transfer to broiler tray. Top each chicken breast with a generous spoonful of sour-cream mixture. Broil 4 to 5 inches from heating element about 5 minutes, or until topping bubbles. Transfer to platter and serve immediately.
Attribution
Great Meals in Minutes, Mexican Menus
What was your unique “Oh sh*t” moment?
I was in Medellin, Colombia embracing one of the most beautiful people on planet earth when her Colombiana sixth sense kicked in. She suddenly says, “have you noticed that car has driven by a few times?”
I ask, “which car?” And as I turn around I hear footsteps and open my eyes to this:
It was a silver handgun about an inch away from my face. Slowly the world comes into focus, I looked down the barrel and saw track marks all over his arms. His hand was shaking and eyes blood shot. He stole her purse and my phone before running off.
Worst of all, that was the end of the date. The cab driver showed me his gun on the drive home, so two guns within an hour.
This message is not endorsed by the Colombian tourist industry.
Why does the Chinese Air Force copy all their aircraft designs? J-11/15/16 are Su-27 copies, J-20 is a mig 1.44 copy and the J-35 is an F-35 copy. Are they simply lazy and lack imagination?
The j-11 is a licensed copy of the Su-27, negotiated after the collapse of the Soviet union. The Russian arms industry didn’t have the capacity to supply the Chinese and agreed to transfer technology to china for licensed manufacturing. The latest J-11 are unrecognizable from the original Flanker, and according to my mainland friend, shares no parts. The J-11 is truly a Chinese design today, from the radar to the engines, based on a proven workhorse airframe.
The J-15 and J-16 may look like the J-11, but they are completely different planes deserving of the type designations.
Where’s the divergence?
The pilot can not only point the tail, but also the nose.
As it turns out, both the J-15 and J-16 have control surfaces forward of the CoG, in the form of canards and levcons respectively.
This introduces degrees of freedom and significant complexity to the avionics, and requires completely different fly-by-wire powered by data from separate modeling and flight programs.
Make no mistake. The j-11, j-15 and j-16 may share a common aerodynamic backbone, but each is an independent program designed to push the limits of Chinese jet design.
The canard (originally from the j-10) found its way onto the j-20 program while the j-35 got the levcons. Which means both the navy and air force will operate canard- and levcon-assisted fighters.
Maybe this was a flight program choice not to bet all eggs on a single basket but the Chinese military stands alone today operating conventional, canard- and levcon-assisted systems across 4th and 5th gen platforms. They probably have the most complete aerodynamic and flight control data for highly maneuverable fighters today.
That’s a remarkable position, and testament to an incredibly well planned and executed nation-wide development program over the past 3 decades.
And it is completely indigenous, even more so than Russia and NATO.
Lazy lack of imagination?
Far from it.
The devil is all in the details.
I spent all of my 20s in prison and I am just coming out at 30 years old. Is it too late for me to have a normal life?
No. Not too late. Here’s a story I hope you take to heart.
Richie. We were friends since childhood. He was smart, handsome, really likable. Really was blessed with some skills and talent.
He had really abusive parents. I’m not blaming them. His brother Mike grew up under the same circumstances but turned out ok. Richie on the other hand had lots of problems. Especially with anger.
He never did a damned thing to me. Always a close dear friend. I could see he was going to get in big trouble with what he was doing to other people.
In his very early twenties he finally did it. Anyone that abused him in the slightest way got immediate overwhelming violence. I mean stupid shit. Like cutting him off it traffic. Hitting on his GF. A boss shorting his paycheck.
He finally got himself locked up. Pretty much his entire twenties. He got out a few times but always got in a fight and right back in. Fighting in jail too. Someone messed with his dinner tray . Instant severe beating. Someone scuffed his sneakers? Instant severe violence.
He spent over half of his sentence in ad Seg. We couldn’t even visit or write to him.
Finally he had it. He told himself, no more. I have to get some help. So he did. His parole officer was actually helpful too.
Vocational training. Psychological counseling.
Needless to say he was having a hard time getting hired. He had at least five felony assaults. Three with weapons. A chair, a beer mug, a two by four.
He went to work for a carpet installer. Older man.
After a few years that guy retired and gave him the business. Richie didn’t need a professional license for that. No problem with the state. He started making big bucks. Married his GF Lori.
For about twenty years he had a better than completely normal life.
I wish this had a happy ending . He started really heavy drinking in his mid forties.
The violence never happened again . I guess that shrink did him some good with that. The drinking costed him Lori first. Then his business. He was off parole for years at that point. So no problem there.
He just went downhill fast.
Had a heart attack in a bar parking lot at 53 years old.
My whole point is even after spending all of his twenties in jail. Except for a few months here and there. He managed to live a good happy life for a long time.
I have no idea what went on with that late onset alcoholism. That was an entirely different issue. He beat lots of issues but not that one.
So yeah. You can do it. You have to really want to.
I try to relate my various life stories. But you know, some are far to painful to me to vocalize or write about. Either too embarrassing, or just painful to remember. Not that I think that youse guys will judge me, but rather it hurts to remember them. Do youse guys know what I am talking about “the wince”?
The wince.
Bad, painful memories. One’s that I don’t want to remember, let alone repeat to another.
As much as I have told you all my life histories, the really, really painful ones are too hurtful for me to recall. And so I don’t.
Sorry this.
Please forgive me.
Today…
Listen up!
ksnip 20250611 155732
Can someone share their honest opinions about living in China as an expat or tourist?
My son has lived in China for 2 years now
His Visa expires in 2029 and hopefully he gets it extended to 2034
Here are some basic points (HONEST)
A. Knowing Chinese matters significantly
As a tourist , it’s fine if you don’t know Chinese. As, an expat, you need to communicate in Chinese. You need some basic words definitely like Take me to Shuguang Road, Take me to Yuquan Entrance, Take me to Fengqi Road Station, When is the Doctor available?
Basic Chinese is essential to learn within 1–2 years
It makes a significant difference
B. Public Transport is OUTSTANDING and Taxis are extremely affordable
C. Public Hospitals are excellent but most Ex Pats go to Private Medical Centers because Public Hospitals don’t have too much English and because the Nurses may appear brusque (Chinese appears brusque as a language because of the harsh intones)
D. Be careful of Roadside Stalls. Small Eateries are OK but Roadside Stalls use older oil and some chemicals and while WE INDIANS have no problems because our roadside stalls are dirtier , Indians like my son used to US and Singapore food for many years will face issues
So be guided by the Internet on which places are good and healthy
E. Avoid Politics – Chinese clam up very fast when you talk of politics. Taiwan , Democracy, CPC, Xi Jinping are all topics that make the Locals uncomfortable. They complain a lot with each other but in FRONT OF FOREIGNERS they rarely complain. Either they smile and don’t answer or they shake their heads.
F. Forgivable and Unforgivable Laws – In China, the authorities look the other way for many of the rules. VPN is one example. Using a mobile phone in some areas where the mobile is normally not allowed is another. Possession of Porn in laptops is also ignored provided you don’t distribute it and charge money.
However some laws CANNOT be broken. Drugs for instance is an Unforgivable law. Collusion with a Pro Taiwanese group is an Unforgivable law. Money Laundering is an Unforgivable law.
G. It’s tough to send money overseas or receive money into China from overseas
While within China , transactions are seamless, sending money outside China is cumbersome if it is in excess of $ 5,000 or equivalent (36,000 Yuan). It takes 24 hours to get approval for foreigners but even foreigners can remit to the country of their passport only. My son remits to India and I remit to Singapore otherwise it is a ton of paperwork
Receiving funds from Overseas takes 24–48 hours for clearance and if the sum is more than $ 10,000, the bank likely will call you to ask for the source and ask to fill up a form
H. You can absolutely not fear the police – China isn’t India. It has a lot of Western characteristics as far as Police is concerned.
You have Police stops for checking drunken drivers (An Unforgivable crime in China) and sometimes when your taxi stops, Police may say Zhengjian ???and you reply Huzhao!! and show your passport and they check the photo and nod and send you on your way
99% Police leave you absolutely alone
Bribing the Police is a crime in China so even offering a bribe is a sentence. They gave cameras on their bodies and Mics. So don’t even try.
Abusing the police is fine. They wont beat you like in India. Many Older people abuse younger police who take it like their parents or grandparents and just smile
I. Visa Rules are absolutely strict – You can’t work anywhere outside your residential city. Even if you have to give a lecture in a nearby city, you need proper documentation like a 48 Hour temporary work visa. China is all about Documents.
J. Safety is absolutely amazing – Your safety is assured even at 3 AM
Indians from India have NO ISSUES
China is better in EVERY SINGLE WAY
We have inferior public transport, inferior roads and our police can beat us or harrass us with impunity and our MLAs have thugs and goons
So Indians in China feel like they are in PARADISE
Same with Africans, Bangladeshis, Pakistanis, South Americans and Russians and Belarussians
Westerners are a bit different
They may find the surveillance a bit overwhelming
They may find the apolitical atmosphere a bit unusual
They may find police asking for documentation is an invasion of privacy
They may find Chinese offices tacky and small because Chinese are very real estate conscious
2. The White Lines Are Camels And The Black Are Their Shadows
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3. “No Context”
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4. This Strawberry I Found Is Shaped Like A Perfect Flower
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5. Perfect evacuation plan
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6. On The Left Is My Grandmother Holding My Dad And The Right Is Me Holding My Son, Taken Exactly 63 Years Apart
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7. Before And After Of A Man Who Walked Across China For A Year
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8. The same waterfall in three different seasons: Skogafoss, Iceland.
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9. Geologist Finds Rare Formation Inside Rock That Looks Exactly Like Cookie Monster On Sesame Street
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10. Canadian Passport vs. Canadian Passport Under A Black Light
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11. Found This ‘Veiled Lady’ Mushroom On A Hike This Morning Near Seoul, South Korea
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12. Dad Showing Off His Skill To The Surprise Of His Little Daughter In Melbourne, Australia, Ca. 1940s
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13. My Frozen Windscreen
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14. Perspective Size Of The Humpback Whale
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15. My Mom And Uncle Found A USAF Target Drone On The Beach
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16. So Good
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17. The Stairway Of An Abandoned Button Factory
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18. Cats Blackie & Brownie Catching Squirts Of Milk During Milking At Arch Badertscher’s Dairy Farm In Fresno, California, 1954
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19. Head Size Difference Between A Man And An Adult Cane Corso
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20. Example Of Class Disparity In South Africa
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(Bonus😁) -The Sliding Door Company
These are some of the great pictures I have collected.
Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Cha-Cha-Cha Catastrophe (Or: When Square Dancing Met Laxatives)
Chapter 1: Midnight Moves
The farm was supposed to be quiet after dark. But on this fateful evening, Sir Whiskerton’s beauty sleep was shattered by an ominous sound:
“左三圈~右三圈~脖子扭扭~屁股扭扭!”
The barnyard had been invaded by the Dancing Granny Brigade—a fearless troupe of aunties who believed 7pm was “clubbing hours.” Their leader, Granny Li (self-proclaimed ”Disco Queen of 1983”), was teaching the group a new line dance called ”The Cornfield Shuffle.”
Porkchop the pig waddled over, holding a tin of suspicious cookies: “Remy said these’ll give you energy! 100% organic!”
Spoiler: They were NOT organic. They were Remy’s “Extra-Flush Digestive Delights” (leftover from his “prank war” with the chickens).
Chapter 2: The Poopocalypse Begins
The grannies ate the cookies. The music resumed. And then—
Physics left the chat.
Every twirl, every squat, every ”Yeehaw!” launched… projectiles.
Granny Zhang’s fan dance became a ”brown snowstorm”
Auntie Chen’s tap routine sounded like squishy maracas
The conga line? More like ”code brown emergency”
Even the scarecrow (still traumatized from Story 1) covered its burlap eyes.
Chapter 3: Whiskerton’s Wrath
Sir Whiskerton arrived, monocle fogged with rage: ”WHO BROUGHT BIOLOGICAL WARFARE TO MY BARN?!”
A investigation revealed:
Porkchop was crying in a mud puddle: ”Remy said they were energy cookies!”
Remy was filming the chaos for his ”TikTok Prank Channel”
The grannies kept dancing (”It’s detoxing, dear!”)
Chapter 4: The Great Cleanup
With Sedgwick’s air traffic control and Bessie’s ”power-washing tears”, the farm was saved. Justice was served:
Remy was sentenced to ”1 week of chicken coop cleanup”
Porkchop had to write ”I will not trust raccoons” 100x in mud
The grannies got real cookies (and a ”No Dancing After 9pm” rule)
Moral of the Story: ”Always read the ingredient list… and never challenge a granny’s Zumba endurance.”
Post-Credit Scene:
Remy, mid-punishment, whispers to the camera:
*”Worth it. 10/10 would lax again.”*
爆梗 Glossary:
“Detoxing”: Granny euphemism for ”emergency colon cleanse”
3/4 to 1 cup granulated sugar (depending on the sweetness of the berries)
Instructions
Line a 9 inch square pan with aluminum foil or wax paper.
Remove the crust from the bread.
Mash and sweeten strawberries.
Place the bread slices slices on the bottom of the prepared pan.
Spoon strawberries over the bread and alternate berries and bread until pan is filled. Cover with wax paper slightly smaller than the pan. Chill at least 8 hours or overnight.
To serve, invert on a platter. Top with whipped cream. Scatter fresh berries on top and around edge.
Location: Deep Space en route to Proxima Centauri B
[LOG_ENTRY] Space Date: 2109-07-14 | Time: 13:42 UTC
The Approach of the Storm
There’s a storm coming.
Not the kind I left behind on Earth, where riots filled the streets, and desperation clawed at civilization like a starving dog. No, this storm is different. It’s cosmic, silent, and massive beyond human comprehension. A pulsar burst detected by the ship’s sensors, a rogue surge of radiation sweeping through the void, threatening to undo everything I’ve worked for.
L.I.L.L.I, my ship’s AI, woke me early this morning with the news.
L.I.L.L.I: “Commander, I’ve detected an anomaly. A wave of cosmic radiation will intersect our path within 72 hours. Estimated intensity: lethal.”
So much for a quiet day.
The mission has already been one long lesson in solitude. Three and a half years alone, except for a fleet of artificial intelligence assistants and frozen embryos, waiting for a home I haven’t yet found. I volunteered for this, hell, I pushed for it. Earth was a sinking ship, and I was done trying to bail out the water.
But now, everything we’ve built, everything that remains of our species, is on the verge of annihilation before it ever reaches its promised land.
[LOG_ENTRY] Space Date: 2109-07-15 | Time: 09:30 UTC
Preparations and Shadows
The ship’s hull is strong, designed to withstand most deep-space hazards. But the radiation burst coming toward us is no ordinary event. L.I.L.L.I has begun reinforcing shielding protocols, diverting all non-essential power to our energy barriers. It’s a race against time.
I spent the morning running diagnostics, double-checking cryogenic systems. The embryos are stable for now, but if any part of their containment system fails under the storm’s stress, they’ll be lost. Along with humanity’s only chance at survival.
I can’t let that happen. I won’t.
L.I.L.L.I has been monitoring my vitals. My heart rate is up. She comments on it in her usual, mildly exasperated tone.
L.I.L.L.I: “Carl, you should rest. Stress levels indicate you’re pushing your limits.”
Me: “We’re on the edge of extinction, L.I.L.L.I. I’ll sleep when we’re past it.”
Silence. Then:
L.I.L.L.I: “You always say that.”
She’s not wrong.
[LOG_ENTRY] Space Date: 2109-07-15 | Time: 18:00 UTC
Remembering Earth
Today, the loneliness hit harder than usual. I found myself in the recreation room, surrounded by the ship’s hydroponic gardens, which are meant to mimic Earth’s greenery.
I remembered the last conversation I had with Lilly about what she’d grow if we ever got to start anew. She talked about roses, not for their beauty, but for the hope they symbolized. Here, in this vast emptiness, I miss her laughter, the way she’d argue for the impracticality of growing flowers in space yet still insist we try.
L.I.L.L.I, perhaps sensing my mood, played some of Lilly’s favorite classical music over the speakers. It felt like a whisper from another life, one where I wasn’t alone.
L.I.L.L.I: “Would you like to see her again, Carl? In the virtual environment?”
Me: “No, L.I.L.L.I. She’s not here. That would just be a ghost.”
But the thought lingered, tempting me with the possibility of companionship, even if artificial.
[LOG_ENTRY] Space Date: 2109-07-16 | Time: 21:10 UTC
Ghosts in the Machine
It happened again.
I heard her voice.
Not L.I.L.L.I. Not a programmed echo of someone else. I heard Lilly.
The real one.
I was in the observation deck, staring at the vast nothingness beyond the ship, wondering if there was even a point to all this, when I heard her whisper my name. Soft, the way she used to when she’d wake me up before sunrise just to sit on the porch and watch the world come to life.
It’s impossible, of course. She’s gone. The backup of her mind, the one I saved before the bombing, is still buried in the ship’s deep storage. I never activated it. I told myself I wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be her—just a shadow, a digital echo.
But now, in the middle of this journey, she’s haunting me anyway.
Maybe the isolation is finally getting to me. Maybe it’s just the ghosts I never learned to bury.
[LOG_ENTRY] Space Date: 2109-07-17 | Time: 04:55 UTC
The Storm Hits
There’s no sunrise in deep space, but if there were, today it would be blackened.
The storm arrived faster than expected. I barely had time to reach the command bridge before alarms blared through the ship, flashing red warnings painting everything in hellish hues.
L.I.L.L.I.: “Radiation spike detected. Shields at 89%. Recalculating projections.”
The ship shook, not from physical impact but from the sheer force of energy crashing into our barriers. For a moment, I was convinced this was it. That we had pushed too far into the void, reached beyond what was meant for us. But NeoGenesis held. For now.
Me: “Status?”
L.I.L.L.I.: “Structural integrity at 97%. Cryogenic storage holding. Shields at 72% and depleting at a rate of 1% per hour. We must divert additional power.”
I made the call. Cut all non-essential systems. Even the artificial gravity dimmed, leaving me floating as I stared at the data scrolling across the control panel.
If the shields failed, I’d die first. Then the embryos. Then the last hope of humanity would be nothing but particles scattered across an indifferent universe.
[LOG_ENTRY] Space Date: 2109-07-18 | Time: 14:20 UTC
The Aftermath
The storm passed.
I don’t know how long I sat there, watching the shields flicker and dim as the last of the radiation wave rolled over us. Hours? A day? Time loses meaning in the void.
NeoGenesis survived. Just barely.
Shields are at 3%. Radiation levels are stable. The embryos are safe. But something… shifted.
I went to check on the deep storage banks, where Lilly’s consciousness is stored. No one but me has access to that system. Yet, when I accessed the logs, something had changed.
Her file was active.
Not running. But accessed.
By who? Or what?
I turned to L.I.L.L.I., and for the first time in years, I felt something like unease creep up my spine.
Me: “L.I.L.L.I… did you access Lilly’s file?”
L.I.L.L.I.: “…No, Carl.”
Me: “Then who did?”
She didn’t answer.
[LOG_ENTRY] Space Date: 2109-07-19 | Time: 22:35 UTC
A New Course
I should be focusing on the mission. On Proxima Centauri B. But something feels wrong.
I spent the last twenty-four hours manually combing through the ship’s logs, looking for an answer. The file was accessed during the storm. Which means one of two things: Either the storm triggered a random activation… Or something else is in here with me.
I have no proof. No reason to think anything has changed. But I’ve spent a lifetime trusting my instincts, and they’re screaming at me now.
I made a decision.
We’re changing course.
A new planet, one I detected just outside the Proxima Centauri system. Uncharted. Undisturbed. Something about it calls to me, like a whisper through the dark.
Liberterra.
I don’t know what I’ll find there. But for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m making a choice for myself. Not for Earth. Not for a broken world that left me with nothing but ghosts.
For the future.
For whatever comes next.
End Log.
5 Child Predators Instantly Killed In Court
Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Great Underpants Flood
Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for a tale of plumbing peril, DIY disaster, and the most personal geyser ever to erupt on Sir Whiskerton’s farm. Today’s adventure stars Cecil & Chester, the handymen whose repairs are less “fix-it” and more “explode-it,” and a swarm of worms who’ve never been happier about someone else’s laundry problems. So hold your nose, grab a clothespeg, and join us for The Great Underpants Flood—a story where even the most private garments become public spectacle.
Act 1: A Plumbing Mystery
The Farmer’s septic tank had been acting up for weeks—gurgling ominously, emitting suspicious bubbles, and occasionally belching a smell so potent even Porkchop the Pig wrinkled his snout.
The Farmer:“I swear, that tank’s got a grudge against me.”
Sir Whiskerton:“Or perhaps it’s just full. Ever think of that?”
Enter Cecil & Chester, the farm’s resident handymen (emphasis on “men”, not “handy”).
Cecil:[Adjusting glasses]“Fear not! Page 87 of the Handyman’s Handbook clearly outlines septic solutions!”
Chester:[Wielding a wrench like a sword]“And if that fails, we whack it!”
Act 2: The Eruption
What followed was a catastrophe of historic proportions.
Step 1: Cecil meticulously followed the handbook… upside-down.
Step 2: Chester “adjusted” a pipe with his signature “precision tap” (a full-force hammer swing).
Result: The septic tank exploded like a champagne cork, launching a geyser of murky water, questionable sludge, and—most tragically—the Farmer’s entire underwear collection skyward.
Highlights of the Deluge:
A pair of polka-dot boxers fluttered onto Doris’s head like a grotesque hat. (“I’ve been violated!”)
Rufus the Dog joyfully retrieved a stretched-out sock, declaring it his “new best friend.”
The Worms, sensing opportunity, swarmed the scene, fashioning tiny boxer hats and brief banners.
The Worms:“BEST. DAY. EVER.” (They built a mudslide down a pair of striped tighty-whities.)
Chester:“We definitely followed the diagram!” (Holds up the Handbook—still upside-down.)
The Farmer:[Plucking a soggy pair from a tree]“Those were my lucky ones…”
Act 3: The Cleanup (Kind Of)
With the farm now a wasteland of damp unmentionables, Sir Whiskerton took charge.
Solution 1:Bessie the Cow suggested “recycling” them as “artisanal hay bale covers.” (Rejected.)
Solution 2:Mr. Ducky offered to “launder them for a small fee.” (His “washing machine” was a puddle.)
Solution 3:The Worms declared the event “Undie Fest”, complete with:
A “Best-Dressed Worm” contest (winner: a worm in a lace thong headband).
A mud-wrestling tournament in the Farmer’s extra-large briefs (now a slippery arena).
In the end, the Farmer sighed and burned the evidence (except the “lucky” pair, which Rufus had buried for safekeeping). Cecil & Chester were banned from all future plumbing and reassigned to “rocks—can’t break rocks.”
The Moral (and the Post-Credit Laundry)
Moral:Some messes can’t be fixed—only celebrated. (And maybe burned.)
Post-Credit Scene:
The Worms open a “Lost & Found” booth. Top item: “One ‘lucky’ left sock. Slightly chewed.”
Best Lines:
“We definitely followed the diagram!” – Chester, career-ending words
“BEST. DAY. EVER.” – The Worms, undie enthusiasts
“Those were my lucky ones…” – The Farmer, mournfully
Starring:
Cecil & Chester (Masters of Mayhem)
The Worms (Unexpected Party Planners)
The Farmer (Victim of Circumstance)
Why It’s Hilarious:
Absurdity: A underwear geyser is peak kid humor.
Character Chaos: Fastidious Cecil vs. “hammer-first” Chester vs. worms in lingerie.
Happy Ending: Even disasters can be festivals (if you’re a worm).
Now, go forth—and may your plumbing be unexplosive. 🚽🧦🎉
How would China react now that Teodoro, the Philippines defense secretary, destroyed and humiliated the Chinese military officers during the question and answer portion of the event in Singapore?
Chinese Defense Minister Dong Jun did not go to the Shangri-La Summit. This is the first time in six years that China has missed the Shangri-La Summit.
The Financial Times of the United Kingdom said: “Unusual”!
After all, the Shangri-La Dialogue is related to the security of the Asia-Pacific region, but the fact that Chinese Defense Minister Dong Jun did not participate can only mean that Shangri-La has become a stage for politicians to perform farce, and the value of the dialogue is still decreasing.
1. US Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth jumped up and down, emphasizing “rebuilding US deterrence”.
I am not saying that the United States lacks “deterrence”, but Hegseth’s appearance at the Shangri-La Summit itself is ridiculous. He is not a military veteran, unlike the former US Secretary of Defense Lloyd Austin, who has a rich military career. He is just a fox news tv host who is doing well around Trump.
2. Philippine Defense Minister Gilbert Teodoro is a complete clown, a typical person who lacks moral bottom line and is shameless.
He is not a military professional, but a Shyster with no military career. He sees himself as a politician, throwing out shocking statements during election season to attract populist votes, and he is not embarrassed by his offensive rhetoric.
Even as a lawyer, Teodoro is not very professional, because in court debates, the winner usually remains calm and only the loser verbally attacks the other party.
3. The Shangri-La Summit is not as professional as the Xiangshan Summit
The IISS Asia Security Summit: The Shangri-La Dialogue (SLD) is a “Track One” inter-governmental security conference held annually in Singapore by the International Institute for Strategic Studies (IISS). The dialogue is commonly attended by defence ministers, permanent heads of ministries and military chiefs of mostly Asia-Pacific states.
The Beijing Xiangshan Forum is a security and defense academic exchange platform hosted by the China Society for Military Science.
But from this Shangri-La Summit we can see that the Shangri-La Summit is no longer a summit of military professionals from various countries, but a dialogue between non-professionals. This is also the reason why the Chinese Defense Minister was absent from the Shangri-La Summit.
Military professionals and non-professionals are like apples and oranges. They can’t find common topics to talk about.
Men like Pete Hegseth and Gilbert Teodoro are great at performing in front of the media cameras, but because they are unprofessional amateurs, it is extremely dangerous to ask them to develop military strategy and command troops in combat.
2. Leopard seal just a moment before swallowing a penguin
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3. Found in a harpy eagle’s nest
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4. heard some noise on the roof this morning
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5. Someone left a trail cam next to a deer carcass on a frozen lake.
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6. Long exposure of lightning over a volcano in Chile.
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7. Grizzly Bear biting into a pregnant salmon
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8. Chicken with genetic defect
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9. Thick Bear with soulless murder eyes.
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10. Yawning Mandrill showing why he’s not to be mess with
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11. That must be the worst crocodile I have heard of.
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12. The skeleton of a puffer fish is pretty metal.
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13. Last Remaining Northern White Rhino Male Being Guarded, Sudan. He died on March 19th 2018.
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14. Chinese guerrilla fighter Cheng Benhua before execution by the Japanese
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15. this tree taken over by webs, but they weren’t cobwebs, they were some sort of caterpillar silk (I think
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16. Marmot realises it’s been caught by a fox
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17. All glory to the Spider
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18. Chinese water deer, a species of deer that evolved fangs instead of antler.
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19. Dinosaur Footprints In France
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20. Red Army soldiers distribute food to Berlin residents (May 1945)
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21. A Scorpion Turned Entirely Into Copper (Found In A Mine In Southern Arizona, Us)
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22. Wolf eel
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23. Looks like mama never came home
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24. A Cardinal and a Blue Jay have a little confrontation
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25. One of the best artworks I found on reddit
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26. Garter Snake eating Western Toad
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27. Black Footed Ferret almost has a meal.
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28. A polar bears plays with the torn off penis of a narwhal
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29. Fall of the Great Titan. At age 50, Tim, one of Africa’s last great tuskers, has come to his end — and with him, the legacy of one of Earth’s greatest creatures to ever roam. Rest in Peace, to a Giant.
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30. more than 200,000 deaths a year are caused by Freshwater Snails.
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31. The 10,000 year old skull of an extinct Giant Irish elk found by a fisherman
Thank you for taking the time to read this post. I hope you found it informative and valuable. Also Comment which one you find most intresting.
Let’s say in a delightful twist of fate something should lather my Great Red Spot with some benzoyl peroxide. Say every one of the estimated 115 billion people who have ever lived on the sole habitable planet in this solar system has had their face occupied by a great red spot at least once (on wedding days, job interviews, that sort of thing). Or during… Perfect Planetary Alignment!! Which is today.Endlessly, I watch passing asteroids, pockmarked, but these are friable. I see all 95 of my orbiting moons don crescents to conceal their pitted faces. As I turn, I am envious of Neptune’s deep blue complexion. Spinning back, Saturn flits into view like a child king spinning a hula hoop. Also: Mars. I’ve a soft spot for Him. An overly red face from a never-ending solar flare-up of rosacea. Ugh, it’s those dust clouds: damn cosmic gluten, if you ask me.Then out beyond a solitary pearl across the panther pelt of space, another; caramel continents of matcha through white, wispy sheets, swirling like smoke. Sapphire cloaks and glacial tiaras dress the rotund Mother like a two-shade nebula. She cradles her children. There is an Africa, and an Australia. A few spalled shards they call The Maldives. It is very much like a pristine, pliable clump of stardust in the black, pottering hand of God.Earth. The Great Pirouette.I gaze at one of its dark spots—a passing storm that batters its firmament at the protest of its sun-spanked sea. Otherwise, she is a delicate beauty with cosmetic fortune.I rotate fully in about the length of an average human work shift, I’m told, so I’ve got time to stare and remain entranced, embarrassing as that is, embarrassed as I am about it.It’s this goddamn Great Red Spot, see.To me, it’s just a 350-year-old storm. To everything else, it’s a 15,400-mile zit. That’s roughly 1.3 times the diameter of Earth. Now, here’s a question: would you date someone with a zit 1.3 times the size of you?Answer: no.You’d call them buddy.After a while I spy in my periphery the faint but dignified celestial spotlight of Uranus. Turning to face Him, I ask with Jovian thunder, ‘Storm and stone, why call thee Uranus?’, like I haven’t asked before, and His response is, with a bloated sigh, ‘Because I’m full of gas.’
Gets me every time.
Poor Uranus, though. They say scent offends most, and everyone knows He’s cloud over core for Titan (Saturn’s moon), who notably smells a bit like gasoline and almonds (that’s Bleu De Chanel perfume by space standards). I mean, we gas giants all have a scent, but Uranus is the unwashed butt of the Solar System.
No chance, man. No chance, no chance.
‘That spot isn’t going anywhere, is it, Jupiter?’ howls Uranus. And I respond with a dignified, ‘It’s just a storm, man. Void, I am the storm!’
He opts for this: ‘Scary.’
And I say, ‘Must be tough,smelling like a space-rat.’
And He says, ‘Gosh Golly, you’re in a mood today.’
And I say, ‘It’s this damn spot, it won’t abate. And nice to see you, too. How’s long’s it been?’
‘From my perspective, a season or a few Uranus months ago. You?’
‘A little over a year ago, yeah.’
Back and forth, round and round.
Jupiter. Uranus. Jupiter. Uranus.
Jupiter’s vacuuming Trojan asteroids from its ebony carpet, trying to win Earth’s attention like a show-off feminine knight in golden armour with storm-formed pauldrons and icy jewels.
He looks magnificent. So what if Earth dotes on Him?
Uranus is back, rotating like a lazy turtle chasing a wayward ripple. ‘Best thing you can do,’ He says, ‘slather some benzoyl peroxide on it. It’ll calm the spot right down.’
‘Calm’s right,’ I say. ‘But it’s a storm. It just needs time.’
‘Until the next one appears,’ Uranus says.
‘Oh Jove’s Thunder, don’t say that!’
We talk for weeks. Part ways. Until next time.
Months pass.
The spot is shrinking but still young. It faces toward Earth like a cherubic newborn. Earth rotates, Her splatter-of-paint eye glancing sideways, her little South America smirk.
I do not say anything, besotted, bespotted gashead I am. I drift for many months more. I get the idea that Earth and Saturn are fucking. That’s the nature of gorgeous things; they cling together, like God’s balls in His great divine zipper.
This little squall across my face, it shrinks yet somehow grows. I know, I know it’s slowly shrinking—but it just gets bigger and bigger, you know?
‘Have you checked out that dating app, Jupiter?It’s called Gravitate. How’d I meet my exoplanet? At a Big Bang. Did I “conjoin” with Mercury? No comet’
Wild Venus, and don’t say I didn’t warn you.
To be honest, I guess I’m feeling a little deflated. I guess I’m all, I don’t know, feeling like a tiny particle adrift the vast, cold, finite infinity with a cycloptic, oozing blister of tempests and feel like I’ve got something to hide.
They call that shame.
It could be worse. It is worse for the sun. He’s got sunspots basically the size of me, and He’ll just keep flaring up, and He’s always searing angry about it, and no wonder.
Okay, friggin: do I do it? I’m doing it. Yeah, let’s do it. It’s done.
Discovery Settings, Search Distance: 5,000,000,000 miles >>>>>>>>> 2.5 million light-years.
Show Ages: 3,500,000,000 <<<<>>>> 6,000,000,000
Gravitate account’s all set up.
By the way, here’s my bio: I’m the planet with a Huge Red Eye, but I promise, I’m not high.
It sounds like a rap bar, but it’ll do.
I begin swiping.
Venus 4,503,000,000
416 million kilometres away.
‘Looking for someone to cool me off—if you can handle 900°F!’ 😛 🔥🥵
There She goes…
I swipe left.
Pluto 4,500,000,000
3.7 billion miles away
Not technically a planet anymore but still proud. Swipe right if you are looking for something more than just Plutonic and can handle a little distance. 😎🪐
Right.
Proxima Centauri b 5,000,000,000
4.24 light-years away
Pros:
Habitable
Spacious
Cons:
Live far away
Tidally locked
Left.
You know, I bet you Saturn’s on here. I bet you he’s saying something like, ‘This ring doesn’t mean I’m taken.’ He’s like that.
Earth 4,540,000,000
484 miles away
I’m a down-to-Earth chick. 😀 Mother of seven billion. Environmentalist.
Gulp. Swipe Right. Gulp.
Hours later, a ping.
IT’S AN ALIGNMENT! <3 You’ve matched with Earth! <3
Woah. Wait. Woah.
I don’t say anything, nor does She. I can’t seem to think of something to say. Then I say, Did God really make you in six days? 😛
And She says, ‘Are you sure you’re not high, Red Eye? :P’
And for the first time in 350 years… I think I can feel the storm settling.
Why do some Chinese officials prefer to move money and buy property in the US instead of in China?
They cannot
Its illegal for the following Chinese Officials to transfer any money outside China including Hongkong and Macau except for payment of Tuition and Maintenance of any relatives or children studying overseas OR payment for treatment for any relatives or children overseas OR Any investment overseas approved under the Party Guidelines and Rules of the 2023 Committee :-
No Official who is Level 8+ Section Chief in a Sensitive Department can transfer any other money overseas for upto 10 years from the date of retirement / resignation
No Official who is Level 14+ Departmental Chief can transfer any other money overseas for upto 10 years from the date of retirement / resignation and 14 Years for Sensitive Department
No Soldier in the PLA who has served for at least 2 years can transfer any other money overseas for upto 3 Years from date of discharge (Honorable) and NEVER (Dishonorable)
No Officer upto Rank of Shangxiao (Major) in the PLA or equivalent Armed Forces Branches or MSS can can transfer any other money overseas for upto 7 Years from date of discharge (Honorable) and NEVER (Dishonorable)
No Officer above Rank of Shangxiao (Major) in the PLA or equivalent Armed Forces Branches or MSS can transfer any other money overseas for upto 14 Years from date of discharge (Honorable) and NEVER (Dishonorable)
No Senior Member of the Communist Party holding rank of Deputy Party Secretary of a Province or above can transfer any other money overseas for upto 14 Years from date of retirement or never under compulsory resignation
No Member of the Central Committee, Politburo or Standing Committee can can transfer any other money overseas for Life
Nothing withstanding , No Chinese Citizen can transfer a sum exceeding $ 50,000 or equivalent currency without availing a Form L-9 and L-21 of the STATE ADMINISTRATION OF FOREIGN EXCHANGE
So any official who transfers money to buy property in the US will be dismissed and jailed for currency violations for 3 months to 1 Year plus investigated by the MSS for potential espionage
Their wives, Kids (Upto 25 yrs) are all subject to the same rules and NEED PERMISSION
This guy just had 1 Undeclared Offshore Account and he was investigated and sacked and is probably still under MSS Investigation
It’s likely he may have just forgotten about it but in China, that is enough
Chinese Citizens can transfer upto $ 50,000 a year overseas to buy property in USA
Chinese Land Companies can hold upto 7% of their Portfolio in Foreign Lands as far as Acerage is concerned excluding HK and Macau
However no Chinese Citizen can hold more than $ 200,000 overseas whilst living in China unless he is a resident of another country
So Individuals can’t just transfer money out of China
Under Hu Jintao, these rules were rarely enforced and many officials merrily played hard and fast
Under Xi, these rules are absolutely enforced and many officials have been dismissed for violating party discipline and furthermore have been tried for corruption
What are some of the critical minerals, besides rare earths, that will be discussed in the trade negotiations between the US and China this week in London?
During the tele-conversation, Xi intimated that the US should remove the negative measures imposed on China, otherwise there would be no movement on rare earths minerals.
The negative measures are new tricks by the US. China will not give it a free pass. Commerce Secretary Lutnick was the architect. He is at the London meeting.
Once the impediments are removed, substantive discussions would follow. It would take place between the 2 countries in equality.
But rare earths minerals would not be the main item on the agenda. The minerals are a US worry, not a Chinese worry. China is more interested in high-tech products.
Bear in mind that China has already banned certain minerals like gallium and germanium for exports to the US, and it has exports control laws, dual-use laws, and national security laws.
Whatever agreed would be subject to these laws. There will be no carte blanche.
China will not tolerate one-upmanship. If US tries to pull the wool over the eye, China will counter likewise.
Shaker Pumpkin Loaves
1a79c269f2a812bc0f2a5799c040440f
Ingredients
2 cups granulated sugar
2 sticks (1 cup) butter, melted
3 eggs
2 cups pumpkin
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon cloves
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon nutmeg
Instructions
Heat oven to 325 degrees F. Grease 3 loaf pans.
Cream butter and sugar in a large mixing bowl.
Beat in eggs, one at a time, until light and fluffy, then beat in pumpkin.
In separate bowl, sift dry ingredients together.
Beat dry into wet ingredients until they are blended well.
Divide batter among prepared loaf pans.
Bake for 60 minutes.
What was it like being one of the last classes to use slide rules before calculators became common, and did it impact how you learned physics?
During my school career, I was taught (and forced to use) the slide rule. We all had to have the standard model Aristo 98 or 99 (I forgot which).
Sometime along the way, calculators were permitted, much to the chagrin of our parents, since the darn things were expensive at the time. My mother balked at the cost, but she bought a calculator for each of the three of us.
Every student wanted the TI or the HP scientific calculator, but they were out of reach for most of us. Instead, we had one of these, a rather successful export product of the German Democratic Republic, distributed via the Neckermann mail-order franchise:
However, what the slide rule taught me was to do rough estimates in my head. For many years I was known (and sometimes feared) because I could call out bullsh_t numbers in business meetings by doing a quick and dirty calculation in my head.
Can someone be happy living alone in a big house forever, even if they are lonely and do not want children?
I live in this 7,000-square-foot house alone, and I love every moment of it. I’ve been here since 2021, and this will be my last house. I can’t say enough good things about the life I have here, and no, I’m never lonely—ever. Yes, it would have been nice to marry and have kids, but that didn’t happen. From here in the Ozarks, I am CEO of a company in New York City. I do everything remotely, and I’ll start visiting the home office sometime in July. I’ve been a bit isolated with intention while I go through chemo.
I’m here with my dog, and I never ever feel like I’m missing anything. Friends occasionally fly in to visit, and there is always Zoom. I talk to friends every week, have a full workday, and generally, I’m doing just fine. I have ups and downs because of chemo, but I’d always prefer to go through that alone. It’s way easier when you can be up at any hour.
I don’t get the lonely part because I’ve never felt that in my life. There are just too many interesting things to do. I’ve been in cancer treatment and chemo for five months now, so I’m eager to get out more, but that will come. For now, I’m enjoying the quiet. I have about enough physical stamina to do housework for 10–30 minutes at a time, and so I just keep chipping away at things and it all works out. It’s a bit of a game.
This is a lifestyle that may not be for everyone, but it works well for me, and yes, I’m happy.
Yeah. Well, life moves on. I’ve been involved in numerous legal issues here in China. Trivial stuff, really.
It’s something that happens when you get older; you get to do a lot more of this kind of nonsense.
So, I have been dealing with a lawsuit.
Suing a company here in China.
The wife, well she loves to get VIP bargains at all the places where we like to go. Not only is the treatment top-notch, but we pay discount prices. To get VIP treatment, you have to deposit money into the store, business, whatever first and then you have “an account” with them.
Free parking (Big deal in China)
Cheaper rates.
Free specials
VIP room
VIP service. (The works)
So yeah. It’s my life.
Anyways, the wife set up a VIP account at a nail salon. A small account really. Only 4000 RMB. Nothing to worry about.
The chick (the owner of the business) went out of business. She just folded the store. Sold off all the equipment, offered to give the wife (Mrs MM) some old used clothing in exchange, and then ghosted her.
We tried to hunt her down. But she covered her tracks pretty well. But were having some difficulty.
It looked like she was successful in throwing us off her scent.
But a friend of a friend…
.., had a friend…
… who was part of a group that had her contact information in it.
And so we sleuth around a bit and found her ID card (you need it to do anything in China as a citizen), and with that money and all the WeChat phone records of all the electronic transfers, we were able to make up a pretty damning case.
We filed a police report, and got a case number.
[1] Police Report & case agent.
They tried to get in touch with her, but she fled and erased all connections. If they could have found her, all the “madness” would have ended. A few hours in detention, and hanging out in jail would have resolved the issue.
But she erased all her tracks.
The case was not able to do much, and the police were busy with criminal matters, not so much legal domestic disputes.So the case number was still active, but had a stopwatch until termination. And in that window of opportunity we had the next step.
Of course the next step was arbitration.
[2] Arbitration expert and formal process.
The local government assigned a project leader and a professional arbitrator to resolve this issue. A formal hearing was set up. The contacts, phone calls, and letters were all sent out.
But the Business chick refused to answer, reply or take anything regarding this seriously.
Bad move. But what did you expect?
Being in her 20’s, she figured (as most do) that the fight over small amounts of money isn’t worth the time, effort and aggravation.
Long story short.
We had to take her to “small claims” court in the local town where we live.
[3] Small Claims Court
This is a Chinese court, but they all function more or less the same throughout the world.
Court date arrives. We show up. Go through the entry screenings.
Court time appears. 10:00 AM exactly.
She’s a “no show”.
But the court process moves forward regardless. The robed judge presided with her aides (guys and gals with this enormous big red laminated badge on their lapels over their uniforms) conducted the proceeding.
Computers everywhere, and maybe 35 or so screens on all the walls recording everything.
The men wore a grey, thin poplin material, tropical weave, business suit. Only there was an open collar to skin under the lapel, not a shirt and tie, and the arms of the jacket were short sleeve. Strange mix, but after all China does things in Chinese style. Unisex. Men and women wore the same outfit. Though the woman’s was better fitted.
The defendant (the business chick) threw away every chance she had to formally resolve this dispute.
First, Face to face directly in a friendly way.
Then, Though structured mediation with a professional.
Finally, Though legal means in a formal court proceeding.
Now, she might think “Well, you cannot squeeze blood from a turnip“, but things in the real world doesn’t work that way.
The judge froze her ID.
What this means is…
No travel by train, high speed train.
No travel by plane.
No cross border anything. She is locked inside China.
Cannot access her banks.
Her social media is locked.
So she will have to go though a much more difficult process now. Not just pay the money she owes, but deal with the domino-effect of the cascade of turmoil that his going to hit her shortly.
Now, China is compassionate. They are just a big red, flashing notice every time she tries to use her bank, social media, phone, etc.
Please immediate report to the nearest Police Security Office in regards to Civil Case XXXXXXXXX.
She is black-listed until this issue is resolved.
This is known as a Haise Houkou. A black Family Register.
No. We haven’t seen any money yet. But we got the ball rolling. One thing for sure, if and when this issue is resolved in the future, you can be DAMN SURE that she wouldn’t be so cavalier with other people’s money.
Life gets serious.
Especially when you are in your 20s.
It’s a lesson that we all learn. Some harsher than others. But we all learn that there comes a time after childhood where being an adult comes with responsibilities.
That is my story for today. Peace, and out.
Today…
What do you consider to be a big house and why?
Apart from cultural differences – anything you can’t clean and maintain any more due to age-related constraints is too big. Unless you can afford to pay people to do it for you, that is.
My in-laws live in a big, 300m² (3,200 ft²) house high up on a hill. They basically inhabit one of three floors, while forever apologizing for the mess on the other two storeys. They are both over 80 years old. Yet, they need to drive a car even for the most mundane shopping trip or an appointment with a physician.
My father lives in a 120² house in a remote village. The same applies, although he still uses two floors.
My mother was smart and sold her house in her mid-seventies. She bought a smaller flat in the city-centre, where shops and services are readily available and ownership of a car is not required.
The missus and I are not getting any younger. We are quite happy to live in a small flat with excellent public transport facilities and all the amenities of a big city available to us.
Robin Williams
Years ago, I learned something really interesting about Robin Williams that changed how I watched his movies. I never actually booked him for an event, but his office once sent over his rider.
For those who don’t know, a rider is a list of things an artist needs or wants for an event—everything from bottled water and special room arrangements to sound and lighting requirements. You can learn a lot about a person from their rider. It’s where rock bands ask for green M&Ms (which is a clever way to test attention to detail). It’s also where an environmentalist might ask for a private jet to get to an event, but demand a hybrid car once they arrive so people can see they care about the environment.
But when I saw Robin Williams’ rider, I was shocked by one of his requirements. For every movie or event he did, the company hiring him had to hire a certain number of homeless people and put them to work.
After learning that, I never looked at a Robin Williams movie the same way. I’m sure he also worked with people in need in his free time, but he used his fame to encourage companies to help too. He made sure that production teams also learned the value of giving people a chance to work and get back on their feet.
I wonder how many companies kept doing this after he was gone, and how many people got the chance to work and earn money, even if it was just temporary, because of his actions.
Robin Williams used his influence in such a positive way. Let’s hope that his impact lives on even without him. Thanks, Robin Williams—not just for the laughs, but for showing us such a cool example.
Killer Thinks He Got Away Until Cops Find Secret Footage | The Case of Patrick de la Cerda
Why are wealthy Chinese seeking to launder funds overseas?
China isn’t very good to its Ultra Wealthy
Xi Jinping , his policies are aimed at uplifting the poorest Chinese and improving the life of the Middle Class Chinese
He doesn’t have time for the Richest
China, unlike US or India don’t have elections where you need the DIRTY QUID PRO QUO NEXUS between Businesses and Politics
The One Party System is about – ONE RULE FOR ALL
The Wealthiest Chinese have lost plenty of money in their real estate speculation deals
While HK and Macau have Horse Races and Casinos , Mainland China strictly frowns on both
Here are some of the harsh Xi rules in China :-
Physical Cash exceeding 200,000 Yuan for an Individual will be confiscated unless the Individual provides proof of withdrawal that should NOT BE OLDER THAN 48 hours. Confiscated means NOT RETURNED BACK.
Businesses may retain upto 2 Million Yuan in Banknotes but no cash beyond 300,000 Yuan can be on the premises at close of business. Every other sum must be banked. Many Cash Deposits stay open upto 11 PM in China.
Every piece of Gold has a Registration Number and is recorded when sold. No Individual in China can hold more than 5 Taels (Around 175 grams) of Physical Gold in Sovereign Gold Bar form without an online declaration.
Holding unregistered gold without the relevant markings is Illegal and attracts a SMUGGLING CHARGE unless the person who holds the gold returned from a foreign country in the past 14 days and has proof of purchase.
So the Wealthy are screwed
They can’t hoard cash
They cant hoard gold
They can’t buy BENAMI LAND
They can’t have BENAMI ACCOUNTS because in China, accounts are completely interlinked to the Jumin Shenfenzheng (Sort of an Aadhar card). You can have 1000 accounts but all linked to one JS
Any cash deposit exceeding 50,000 Yuan attracts attention and a Total Cash Deposit in 6 months which is >= 200,000 Yuan or 1.5 * Average Balance of the last 6 months will mean the Banker will have to ask the customer for explanation and submit them to the authorities
So they are desperate to hoard funds and launder them
Their money can’t buy too much in China
They can invest in Chinas Development :-
Technology Bonds
Ecosystem Bonds
High Quality Innovation Bonds
Equities in the Star Markets or Han Seng
Gold ETFs
Government Debt
For an average of 2.50% to 3.50% a year tops
And most Chinese do invest in these quite openly
Yet many Ultra Wealthy want more returns, want to buy lot of property, luxury jets, choppers and every thing else
Unfortunately laundering money is next to impossible
ITS AN OFFENSE PUNISHABLE BY DEATH
As for China – they have no problems if the Ultra Wealthy leave China
They don’t contribute to China anyway
They shop in Singapore and own vacation homes in Australia
So China is fine with them leaving providing bulk of their money doesn’t leave China
Shaker Beef Goulash
ea2133233bbd42a259b7bf2e52c09028
Yield: 6 to 8 servings
Ingredients
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
2 pounds beef, cubed
2 tablespoons oil
2 large onions
1 cup oil
1 cup apple juice
6 medium carrots
2 tablespoons snipped parsley
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon marjoram
1/2 teaspoon thyme
1/3 cup cold water
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
6 small potatoes
Instructions
In a plastic bag combine first four ingredients. Shake.
In a large skillet add 2 tablespoons oil and brown shaken ingredients.
Add onions, 1 cup water and apple juice. Cover and simmer for 1 1/4 hours until tender.
Add carrots, parsley and spices. Simmer 30 minutes more.
Blend 1/2 cup water and 3 tablespoons of flour. Stir into stew. Cook and stir until bubbly.
Cook potatoes while stew is simmering. Peel and boil.
Add 1/4 cup milk and 3 tablespoons of butter. Beat until smooth whipped potatoes.
Spoon mashed potatoes around edge of stew and sprinkle with parsley.
Serve while hot.
How likely is it that Russia will be able to replace the Russian aircraft that Ukraine claims to have hit?
Tu-95s are unlikely to be replaced as they are gradually phased out of service, with only 30 expected to remain operational by 2035, updated to MCM version with avionics upgrades, updated engines, and a new type of propeller.
As for the Tu-22M, there is a plan to upgrade them to the M3M variant, which includes a completely new avionics suite and NK-32 engines. It is supposed to greatly improve its specs and broaden the range of ammunition used. There are around 250-300 frames between Air Force mothballs and bare NOS examples in manufacturer’s reserves that are used for the update, with the older operational planes being put in mothballs once the new plane is commissioned. The number of operational bombers is supposed to get reduced to 30 as well.
It should be noted that both types are expected to be phased out between 2040 and 2045. Tu-95 missions will be handled by a new PAK-DA bomber, a subsonic stealthy heavy bomber with a flying wing layout and the payload of a Tu-160, but at a lower cost. PAK-DA and Su-34 will cover the Tu-22M’s missions.
Priya stepped through the round hatch into her explorer pod, turning to allow her suit to accept the waiting latch cables. She reached up and detached the fishbowl helmet from the ceiling, sliding it over her head and rotating it to lock to the suit. Most explorers preferred the military helmet with the armoured sides. Priya liked the view of everything around her. She wanted to almost feel the wind against her face when she stepped onto a new world—despite it frequently being a toxic gas. As a youngster on Luyten B, she had been forever getting into trouble accessing forbidden places. She vividly remembered climbing the inside of the agri-dome of Newreach Station and waving to a maintenance technician working on the outside. His look of surprise made her smile, even now.A tone brought Priya back to the information projected inside her helmet. She lifted her arm into view with its small display panel and tapped the ‘Commit’ button with a gloved hand. She felt the mobility assistance joints of her suit go through their testing and calibration routines. The suit stopped each extension when it reached the limits of its fragile human occupant. Eventually, the helmet display completed its checklist and it informed the ship AI that it was ready for deployment. Two seconds later, the pod’s doors closed, and all the atmosphere in the pod was evacuated. Despite this being her eighth new planet, the excitement of being the first on a new world bubbled through her body.A thud in her back was the only indication that the pod had detached from the exploration vessel, her home for the last three years—three years her time. She had not checked how much time had passed for those outside a sleep pod. The day before, she had met the grandson of a man who had been young when she had begun her rest. Explorers were a rare breed—there were less than a hundred across the whole of humanity. They were treated like royalty—not that such a term existed now. They wanted for nothing when awake on a ship. In return, they agreed to be shot onto a new planet to see if it could become a new home for some of humanity. The bulk of the species crawled along in one of the giant, slow-moving ark ships. With the final death of the Earth, humanity had begun searching for new homes in the galaxy, building colonies wherever they could settle.The distance between stars was vast.Some slept.Some travelled.Vibrations shook Priya as the pod found resistance as it fell. If she wished, Priya could activate the external views and watch the planet grow as she plummeted through the atmosphere. She wasn’t interested, it spoiled the surprise. Nothing was as exciting as the doors revealing a new landscape. Yes, there was every possibility the weather, flora, and terrain would suddenly cut short her life—this was without mentioning any local inhabitants, intelligent or not.That was the job. She had accepted that a long time ago.Priya rode out the remaining jostles and smiled as the landing thrusters took hold. As the pod slowed, it fought against the new planet’s gravity. The same gravity reached out and pulled on a body that had been weightless for months. Millions of nanobots were deployed throughout Priya’s organs and limbs. Cells were copied and stitched together, building muscle in proportion to the increasing gravitational pull. She gritted her teeth as the regrowth process progressed. It was quick, but not painless. By the feel of it, this planet was certainly living up to its estimated mass of eight Earths.The pod made a few sudden adjustments until a familiar down/up motion signalled touchdown. The helmet display registered the landing but then suddenly flicked back to in-flight. The pod lurched rapidly to the right for a second, only to be corrected immediately after. The display returned to all clear, but Priya tensed her sore muscles, anticipating further movement. When nothing happened for thirty seconds, she relaxed and spoke to her suit AI.”Landing complete. Run atmospheric check and full suit diagnostics.”She waited for a series of checkmarks to appear on the display, along with a paragraph confirming the atmospheric content was primarily ammonia and hydrogen. This was as expected, based on an initial probe.”Send message. Explorer One deployed. Landing successful. Beginning exploration.”She lifted her arm and tapped a code into the wrist display. A flashing ‘confirm?’ button appeared. Opening the doors always required a manual confirmation.Priya tapped the display.
#
The doors slid silently open and revealed a purple world—at least, that’s what Priya saw. Humanity now developed under many different skies, sending evolution in multiple directions. Eyes born on a red planet see things differently from those born bathed in green light. No matter the ‘real’ colour, Priya saw purple. She stepped to the edge of the pod and looked out over her temporary home.
The sky was filled with a mixture of pink-coloured clouds. They swirled in unexpected directions on unknown wind patterns. They were transparent above, fading in a gradient to light pink and then purple as they reached the ground. The planet was large, so the land stretched far into the distance before it met the horizon. The surface rose and fell smoothly in every direction. Unusually, there were no jagged rocks, outcroppings of stone, or even pebbles littering the landscape. Pinching her fingers together, a screen appeared in her helmet. She gestured to zoom and, for a second, didn’t think her instruction had been registered. Then she moved her head and saw the ground rush past. She was zoomed in; it was just that the ground appeared identical no matter the distance. She closed the screen and slowly scanned everything she could see. Identical. Everything was the same, smooth, undulating surface. No great mounds, mountains, or vegetation to be seen.
Crouching, she examined the ground beneath the pod. Expecting soil or rock, she found a regular diamond pattern. No diamond was the same, but they were similar enough. In the centre of each was a dark circular spot. Leaning forward, she saw one of the legs of the pod had settled into a depression in the ground. Twisting to see another leg, it was also sitting in its own special spot. It didn’t take much thought to realise that the pod’s weight was bending the surface and that she should prepare for a springy experience.
Purple and springy—this was new.
A loud crack shattered the silence. Priya hadn’t realised just how quiet her surroundings were until something broke through. She looked to the empty sky, locating the expected descending pod. New planets were dangerous places, so every expedition had two explorers. Once the first confirmed their safe arrival, the second descended.
Priya watched as the pod carrying her long-time friend and colleague, Leo, made last-minute adjustments before touching down a kilometre away. The display in her helmet provided detailed telemetry on something she could do nothing about. She waved a hand, and the zoomed view returned, tracking the pod as its jets fired. She watched the legs extend and touch down on the surface. Zooming in further, she saw the ground depress to accept the spacecraft, almost like it rested on a rubber sheet. Jets fired erratically to stabilise the lander. After a few seconds, all movement ceased.
Priya cleared her vision and keyed her comm. “Explorer One to Explorer Two. Copy? Priya to Leo. Did you enjoy the bounce?”
“Explorer Two here,” replied Leo in his deep, always-amused voice. “It was a little odd. What have I landed on? The whole planet looked as flat as anything from the air.”
“You’re safe and sound.”
“Any threats?”
“None that I can see. Suit isn’t registering anything microscopic attacking it, and I can see to the horizon.”
“Sounds good. Exiting now.”
“Stand firm!” Priya snapped. “I haven’t set foot yet.”
“Understood. Doors open. Will await confirmation.” A pause. “It’s very green, isn’t it?”
Priya smiled but didn’t reply—she really needed to stop airing her thoughts with people. Looking down, she watched as her booted feet walked down the metal step and onto the planet’s surface.
She had expected to feel some give under her weight, but it was no different to stepping onto any smooth floor. She jumped a few times, landing with an expected thump each time.
Leo’s voice came through the comm. “Looks pretty safe.”
Priya guessed she was being spied on and waved at Leo. She watched him leap from the pod and land heavily, staggering a little. She laughed. “You surprised your bots, didn’t you?”
A grunt came through the com. “My knees are shot.”
“You always have to go one step further.”
“You know me, P.”
Priya’s helmet darkened slightly as some of the clouds cleared away, leaving the blue-tinted light from the nearby star to shine on her and her pod. She glanced up and saw that the break in the clouds was currently only at her location. Despite the random atmospheric air currents, she was uniquely granted good weather.
Leo’s voice came through the comm. “You copy, Priya?”
“Yes. You can stop waving. I’ll go set some probes.”
“Great. I’ll get started on the soil samples. Call in fifteen.”
“Copy.” As she headed to the pod storage locker, Priya noticed the clouds had changed again. The sky above her was a regular grid of lines. Each cloud formed a perfect line in a different shade. Elsewhere, the clouds broiled and writhed. Directly above her, the sky was neat. Organised. Structured.
She pushed the observation aside; it was easy to be caught out by perspective and scale on a new world. Years of training forced her to ignore the strange and concentrate on establishing measurable parameters.
#
Fifteen minutes later, Priya erected a small tripod with a large sphere resting in a cradle. She tapped the controls and the sphere glowed yellow and rose to about a metre above the tripod. Satisfied, she turned and headed down the gentle rise towards her pod. As she walked, she looked out over the vast emptiness, still surprised at the absence of anything. She had stood in deserts on faraway worlds, but never before had she seen such an unblemished view. The lack of visual stimulation brought a calm to her thoughts. Even the clouds seemed quieter. Their ordered lines now stretched across most of the sky.
“How’s it going?” came Leo’s voice.
Priya quickly spotted the man in the smooth, unbroken landscape. “All good here. Just on my way back.”
“Sounds good. I’m starting the core collection. The drill is confused. It keeps mentioning organic compounds, but I’m overriding and it’s cutting now.”
Priya zoomed in on Leo as she walked. She saw the man beside a drill almost his size, its A-frame pointing to the sky while its teeth bored into the planet’s crust. A few hairs pricked up on her neck as her subconscious warned her something was amiss. She immediately halted and focused her attention on her colleague. Her concentration stopped her from registering her surroundings, which were rapidly darkening as the clouds thickened unnaturally fast, turning an opaque dark purple.
“Enhance view. Show movement,” she commanded. The view inside her helmet duplicated itself. The motion tracker was a simple filter that compared video frames. It showed black for no movement and white for any change. Leo and the drill appeared in monochromatic white slices as they moved.
He wasn’t alone.
What initially looked like static flowed from the ground on every side of Leo. Glancing back and forth between views, Priya could make out a rising mist or gas. “Leo. Immediate threat.” She saw the man straighten. “There’s something around you. Can you see it?”
“No. What do you mea…agh…” His voice cut out.
“Leo? Leo?” She watched as her only friend and colleague through time and space began wildly thrashing his arms as if he were fighting a swarm of insects. “Come in, Leo.” She saw him drop to his knees. “Respond!” He abruptly stopped moving, still kneeling upright on the ground, his head bowed forward and his arms hanging limply from his shoulders. Priya watched, her breathing rapid and shallow, as the white static on the movement display filled the view. She returned to the visual and watched in horror as Leo and the drill began tilting to one side and sinking into the ground as if the surface had suddenly become loose sand.
A warning alarm flashed for attention. Selecting it, Priya saw a damage report from the probe she had just set. She turned and watched as the probe descended out of view.
Priya set off at a run for her pod. Above her, the clouds darkened and released spots of moisture that wet the ground. In the distance, there was a deep grumble of thunder as electricity flowed through the atmosphere. She got within a hundred metres of her pod when it also began to be absorbed by the planet. Priya called on her suit to propel her with powered assistance. A few seconds later, she slammed into the hard round side of the only machine that would keep her alive beyond the suit resources. The impact was brutal enough to break a few ribs, which the nanobots immediately began repairing.
Priya saw that two of the pod’s legs were somehow absorbed beneath the unbroken planet’s surface. A look showed that the jets were still clear. Still clinging to the side, she snapped commands at her suit as the outside of her crystal helmet began running with whatever liquid was now falling in sheets from the sky.
Where had the storm come from?
She shook her head. “Emergency departure. Pod launch and hold at five hundred metres. Suit magnetise and attach.”
Both suit and pod reacted immediately. Priya was spread across the pod’s surface, arms and legs outstretched as her suit became one with the little spaceship. Then, the pod’s main engines fired up.
Multiple warning messages filled Priya’s display as the pod strained against its trapped legs. “Detach landing gear,” she shouted through gritted teeth. The pain from her position and her damaged body was intense.
Her stomach fell through the floor as the pod suddenly released its legs. Relief flowed through her as she escaped the danger. This was short-lived as the pod lurched first to one side and then abruptly halted its ascent. For a moment, she thought it had reached her requested altitude. A quick check of her display showed she was less than a hundred metres up.
Thruster heat warnings appeared.
She twisted her head as far as she could to one side. The sky broiled with swirling clouds, pouring rain, and flashes of discharging electricity. With each flash, she saw a fog surrounding her and the pod. It was uneven, and parts were thicker, almost like tentacles gripping her and her ship.
Despite the immense power of the thrusters, refined and improved over hundreds of years of human engineering, she felt and saw herself being dragged back to the surface. Ten seconds later, the pod finally exceeded the safety limits and the engines shut off. Priya closed her eyes, expecting to drop like a stone. Instead, she descended steadily until the pod touched back down.
Without the landing legs, the pod immediately rolled onto its back before sinking into the surface again. Priya deactivated her magnetic suit and leapt away from the craft. She stood only a few metres away and watched in despair as her means of contacting and returning to the mothership disappeared.
Only as the pod vanished beneath the surface did she realise her suit lights had come on. Aside from the flashes of lightning, the white beams from her suit were the only illumination on a suddenly dark world.
Seeing all options disappear, Priya fell back on her training and sat on the ground with her legs crossed. She blocked out the pain that wracked her body, closed her eyes, and began attempting to calm her mind. As she rejected thoughts of escape and rescue, she became aware that the sound of the rain started to ease. The raging torrent of thoughts flowing over the rocks of possibility gradually settled until she could visualise a vast, still lake. Around her, the pressure eased, and all sound faded away. Curiosity got the better of her, and she opened her eyes.
Once again, she sat in a vast, open landscape under an unbroken sky.
Then she saw the mist.
The same mist she had seen surrounding Leo rose around her. She decided against fight or flight and chose nothingness.
She relaxed and awaited her fate.
The mist grew thicker, and the same strands she had seen in the air began pressing against her. Probing. Feeling.
Abruptly, everything was grey. She felt momentary pressure on every part of her body; then it was inside.
Still calm, Priya watched as the mist filled her suit.
Then, it filled her.
#
Priya sat in grey nothingness.
“We welcome you,” She didn’t hear a voice. The words appeared in her mind.
“We have waited…waited…now you’re here.”
Thinking was difficult. It was like trying to run in a dream. “I…I don’t understand.”
“You will. We will. You are home. Bring the others.”
“Others?” She watched…no…she reached out through the mist. She flew up, racing at unimaginable speed through the atmosphere. A white spot grew rapidly as she hurtled towards the metallic shape of her former home.
“We shall greet them all. They shall become us.”
Priya reached forward, and grey fog flowed around the helpless ship—a ship filled with the hope of humanity.
She hugged the ship and pulled her family close.
“We are many.”
“We are one.”
“We are Priya.”
What does your typical workday look like?
I am a final year general surgery resident, working at a government hospital .
My daily routine has changed far from what I was doing in my first year.
I wake up at 8.30 AM. Brush my teeth, wash my face and do morning chores and run to wards.
Take rounds. These include previous day operated cases, admissions from yesterday night and cases that are going to be operated today. Since I am a final year resident now, most of the operations I can do by myself without any assistance. These include appendectomies, hernia repair, fasciotomy, hydroceles, amputations , circumcisions, disarticualtions, debridements, biopsies etc.
After taking rounds and deciding which cases should be taken today, I inform the consultants about the case I’m about to take. If they give permission, we shift the patients to the OT.
Generally, I take one of my juniors to the OT, to teach them. After all, they are going to take my place after 6 months. We ask the anaestheisist when to shift the patient.
Each operation is unique and takes variable amount of time. Foe eg, a hernia surgery will take 45 mins – 1 hrs, while fasciotomy will take 30–40 mins. Similar appendix will take 35–45 mins. Amputations will hardly take 15 mins. Any grafting will take 1.5 hrs.
I would love to share gross bloddy surgery photos, but my answer gets collapsed everytime I do so, so let it be!
Operations finish by 1.30–2.30 PM. After having lunch, I go to OPD at, 3.00. Since it is a govt hospital, u will see a swarm of pts, starting from simple dog bites to breast cancer.
OPD finishes by 4.30 , but seeing pts finishes by 5.00.
Somehow standing, I order my junior to finish all the discharges and send list for new admisions. Per day avg is around 13 admissions.
After having tea and a small evening nap, I go for evening rounds at 8.00 PM.
Looking after all the today’s operated case, I instruct them what to and not to do. Instruct the nurses what to do at night and take a quick round in casualty. There, one of my other junior will be posted and he informs me if there are any complicated cases.
Call it a night by 10.30. Have dinner by 11.00 PM.
But wait.
Abhi picture baaki hai.
See my first line.
3rd yr resident.
That means final exam round the clock.
So, study session starts from 11.00 PM till, 5.30 AM or sometimes even 6 . 00 am. I barely sleep for 3–4 hrs a day, and am completely healthy. I never cry if I don’t get 8 hrs sleep. If you don’t hustle in your prime, you won’t be able to secure a luxury future.
And I’m completely in love with my job. Not a single moment passes without praising GOD the wonderful profession he made me choose.
After I passed MBBS, I had only one thing in mind. Either I’ll be a surgeon, or remain MBBS. There will be no Plan B.
I chose surgery.
Or maybe, Surgery chose me.
Edit- Oh, I also take care of a dog. He is a mudhol hound. His owners abandoned him because he has neurogenic bladder . Bkld poora din bahar ghoomega. Baarish start hoga tab hi ayega room me.
6
A plot twist SO twisted, even the КiІІer was confused
Are tariffs actually effective for boosting domestic manufacturing, or do they just complicate the global supply chain for companies like Honda?
Tariffs can HELP domestic manufacturing when it is starting out, the case of the infant industry argument for developing countries. The tariffs give the companies time to establish themselves, grow, and gain market.
They would BOOST domestic manufacturing if the companies are able to achieve scale production, efficiency, and productivity, and in due course, compete and gain export markets. This last condition is important because of the limited size of the domestic market.
Trump’s use of tariffs to bring home manufacturing will fail.
US is a developed country. The infant industry argument does not apply. Manufacturing moves overseas because the cost structure is too high. Tariffs cannot boost manufacturing because they would raise rather than lower costs.
Moreover, there are the well-known shortages of labour and especially skills, and US lacks the supply chain.
Manufacturing force-feed by tariffs cannot grow. Demand would be restricted by consumers resistance of their high prices. The companies would never be competitive in the world market.
I retired at 52, almost 30 years ago. I already had a B.A. degree, spoke Vietnamese and Indonesian, and thought I might teach English in Vietnam and Indonesia. So I did a short, intensive course to gain a internationally recognised Cambridge/RSA Certificate to Teach English as a Second Language. I got a TESL job in Saigon, Vietnam but chucked it in, decided it was rhe last paid job I’d ever do, and it was.
Back in Australia, I started a part-time Master of International Relations degree as a hobby. It was interesting and kept my mind active.
I continued to visit Indonesia and Vietnam. I met my future wife in Nha Trang, Vietnam, married and lived there for twelve of the next fifteen years in Vietnam. Every day was a holiday. The food was delicious, the beer cheap, lovely beaches, good weather and the best in-laws ever. I cycled all over the province for relaxation and fitness, and attended weekly judo and aikido classes.
Best of all and a big surprise was the birth of our daughter, who brought grest joy to our lives. We now live in Australia, where our daughter has almost completed high school, plays viola in the Adelaide Youth Orchestra. My wife has many Vietnamese friends and enjoys cooking like she did as a restaurant cook on Vietnam. I continue weekly judo lessons, grow our vegetables, look after our laying hens land go bushwaking.
Our future plans include out daughter studying at university and my wife and I avoiding cold winters by spending six months a year in our house in Nha Trang
Retirement gives everyone the opportunity to do what we want to do and not what the boss wants us to do. Use the time well, stay healthy, active and happy. Best wishes to you all for a long, happy and fulfilling retirement.
Why is China after the West Philippine Sea?
Filipinos have honed their skill of creating something out of nothing over the years, and next time they will definitely name the ‘Earth’ where people all over the world live as ‘Philippine Planet’!
Even the Spanish, the former masters of the Philippines, marked the area in Spanish on their maps: MAR DE LA CHINA (China Sea)
The Filipinos changing the name of the South China Sea on their maps will only make their next generation more stupid and out of touch with the world. Because there are 195 sovereign states in the world, and no country except the Philippines will change the name of the South China Sea on the map. They have agreed to call this sea area the “South China Sea”.
This stupid move makes no sense.
Before the Spanish colonization, there was no country called “Philippines” in the world.
The name “Philippines” comes from Philip II of Spain.
After the Spanish-American War, the Philippines became a colony of the United States as a trophy.
It only gained independent sovereignty after World War II, and is still affected by American colonial rule!
The territorial scope of the Philippines was determined in the armistice treaty signed between the United States and Spain, and does not include the South China Sea islands at all.
As early as 1975, then-U.S. Secretary of State Henry Kissinger issued a memorandum-telegram laying down the “legal interpretation of MDT commitments” that U.S. commitments “do not repeat do not apply in event of attack on Spratlys or attack on GOP [Government of the Philippine] forces stationed there.” It cited two grounds: first, the Spratly Islands are not part of Philippine territory; and second, the Philippines is not a claimant in respect of the Spratly Islands.
In its 1975 legal interpretation, the U.S. declared that it has not “recognized GOP sovereignty” over these islands. During the MDT negotiation and ratification in 1952, in the mind of the U.S. the “Spratly Islands all fall outside Philippine territory as ceded to U.S. by 1898 Treaty with Spain;” consequently, “U.S.G. [U.S. Government] maps accompanying presentation of MDT also exclude Spratlys from territories covered by MDT.”
What will you do after retirement?
I am still trying to figure that out. I retired at 68 and ended up a bit despondent. It was amazing to wake up and proclaim, “I don’t have to go to work today!” then followed by a lonely, “Oh, I didn’t have to go to work today…” I missed something, perhaps the routine, or the silly banter, or spirited arguments, or working toward defined goals, or maybe just being around people I liked.
When I was asked to come back for four months on a part time basis, I almost tripped over myself rushing back. I made much more money but something was different. I used to be a manager and even though, as a consultant, I was asked to take over meetings, it was different. It took me a while to realize that it was me that was different. I started yearning to be back home.
I have now been retired for over a decade and I still can’t get over the notion that I don’t have to go to bed or arise at a scheduled time or if I feel bad I don’t have to accomplish a planned task at a particular time. My time is my own until those times that my wife reminds me that I haven’t emptied the dishwasher or carry out the trash. The fact that I was an expert in my field carries no weight at home.
So now my goal in retirement is ‘Accomplish Stuff’. I have stepped out of my home to teach a course at the Senior Citizens center or volunteer at the library. I have learned to my disgruntlement to sometimes ‘Accomplishing Stuff’ means hiring someone to accomplish it. Today I have to change the AC filters which means climbing a ladder which I will approach with some apprehension. Stuff is not a simple as I figured it should be. And I have learned that age comes with medical issues. I try to take it with a grain of salt, but that is hard to do when for no reason at all I fell down in a grocery store. My self image is requiring a bit of adjustment.
For me retirement is continually assessing what is possible when I ‘Accomplish Stuff’. That means that I start narrowing my scope. It also means that accomplishment must be accompanied with ‘Having Fun’.
Retirement is different for everyone. But the key to success is always Do Something and Have fun Doing It.
Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Dookie Debacle
Ah, dear reader, steel yourself—and perhaps your nose—for a tale of scientific ambition gone terribly, terribly right. Today’s adventure stars Professor Quackenstein, whose latest invention transforms the farm into a glittering (and deeply unsettling) winter wonderland of frozen… well, let’s just call them landmines and leave it at that. So grab your mittens, watch your step, and join us for The Dookie Debacle—a story of cold consequences, warm hearts, and the undeniable truth that even poop can bring a farm together.
Act 1: A Problem of Poo-portions
The farm was in crisis. Rufus the Dog, in his eternal quest for something (nobody was quite sure what), had taken to digging up every hidden “treasure” left behind by his fellow animals. The result? A minefield of fresh, squishy surprises that made walking through the barnyard feel like a game of The Floor Is Lava, but with significantly higher stakes.
Doris the Hen:“This is disgusting! I refuse to lay eggs in a warzone!” (She perched indignantly on a fence post, her feathers trembling with outrage.)
Porkchop the Pig:“I mean, I don’t mind. Kinda adds texture.” (He sniffed a pile thoughtfully.)
Sir Whiskerton:“This is why we can’t have nice things.”
Enter Professor Quackenstein, his lab coat flapping dramatically in the wind.
The Professor: *”Fear not, comrades! Science has the answer! Behold—the *Poop-Freeze 5000*!”* (He unveiled a device that looked like a hairdryer welded to a snowcone machine.)
Act 2: Cold Hard Consequences
The invention worked flawlessly. Too flawlessly.
First test: A single pile of pig poop was zapped—instantly frozen into a brown iceberg.
Second test: A whole pasture of “landmines” became a glittering tundra of turds.
Unintended side effect: Now, the farm wasn’t just messy—it was dangerous.
Highlights of the chaos:
Rufus kicked a frozen pile like a soccer ball and yelped: “OW. New toy?” (He then fetched it anyway.)
The Valley Chicks tried to use them as “glamorous stepping stones” (Tiffany: *”Like, so avant-garde!”).
Bessie the Cow slipped and landed on her back, staring at the sky: “Whoa… the universe is lumpy, man.”
Act 3: The Great Thaw (of Friendship)
With the farm now a hazardous wasteland of frozen feces, Sir Whiskerton called an emergency meeting.
Doris:“I demand a full cleanup! And hazard pay!” (She clutched her pearls—yes, she wore pearls now.)
Professor Quackenstein:“But the data is fascinating! Observe how this one sparkles in the sun—”
Rufus:[Licking a frozen pile]“Mmm. Crunchy.”
Just as tensions reached their peak, Chef Remy LeRaccoon arrived with a solution:
Remy:“Why zaw it when you can… cook it?” (He tossed a frozen turd into a pot with herbs and flambéed it.)
The Animals:[Silent horror]
Porkchop:[Takes a bite]“Needs salt.”
In the end, the farm rallied together:
Cecil & Chester built a “Poop-Sledding Hill” (Chester: “Wheee! Wait—why* is it melting?!”*).
Lady Quacka hosted a “Frozen Dookie Ball” (formal attire mandatory, nose plugs provided).
The Professor learned his lesson: “Perhaps not all problems require instant freezing.”
The Moral (and the Post-Credit Snack)
Moral:Even the messiest problems can bring everyone together—just maybe don’t turn them into ice sculptures next time.
Post-Credit Scene:
Rufus digs up a new pile. The Professor eyes his freezer gun. Sir Whiskerton gently takes it away.
Best Lines:
“I refuse to lay eggs in this warzone!” – Doris, dignity intact
“Science always has consequences!” – Professor Quackenstein, covered in frost
“Mmm. Crunchy.” – Rufus, culinary critic
Starring:
Professor Quackenstein (Mad Scientist)
Doris the Hen (Disgusted Diva)
Rufus the Dog (Unbothered King)
Why It’s Hilarious:
Absurdity: A poop glacier. Need we say more?
Character Chaos: A prissy hen, a dog who eats ice poop, and a raccoon chef who flambés it.
Happy Ending: The farm bonds over shared trauma (and questionable sledding).
Now, go forth—and may your footsteps be light and your problems unfrozen. ❄️💩🚜
Why do people mock Ayn Rand so much, specifically “Atlas Shrugged”?
Even if we set aside for a moment the content of objectivism, I think there’s an awful lot to dislike or at least to distrust about Ayn Rand because of the way she presents her ideas — namely as a “serious” philosopher, but not one who can be bothered to anticipate, entertain, or otherwise deal with objections in good faith. The foundation is unambiguously dogmatic and quasi-religious in nature, even as one of the key principles is sanctification of the rational.
It’s really extraordinarily Manichaean, and this is fully on display in Atlas Shrugged. There’s a dark side and a light side and they’re both populated by cardboard cutouts. At the center of it all is a roughly 60-page monologue which exposits but is not seriously opposed and does not persuade. This is highly suspect. At the very best, it is shallow.
And then there is that pesky content after all, the objectivist worldview, which bothers many people. It ignores much of what we have observed empirically about human nature and social relations and replaces it with a ridiculously self-serving caricature, a straw man to be critiqued and reeducated and reformed. People don’t behave in the ways that Rand claims they do. Altruism is not the disease of a self-immolating mind, and entrepreneurs aren’t demigods of perfect moral clarity.
Imagine if tomorrow morning there were a press conference in which, I don’t know, Bill Gates, Jeff Bezos, Elon Musk, and Mukesh Ambani appeared on television to announce that, because they’re not appreciated enough and because people expect them to pay taxes rather than explore loopholes and purchase superyachts, they’re calling it quits, hanging it up, taking their toys and going home. They tried to show us the way, but we were evidently a lost cause. Immediately after the press event concludes, humans spontaneously regress as simians back to grunt-language and flinging their own dung at each other. This is about how Ayn Rand thinks.
The most succinct way I know to put it is that Rand’s philosophy is a wafer-thin justification for someone to be rich, an asshole, and to use the social contract as toilet paper because of how great they consider themselves to be. If those aren’t your goals, then objectivism isn’t for you, and you’ll probably hardly notice the world sliding into oblivion when Atlas finally does scrunch his shoulders in dismay.
It started here.Standing here.Only this time, something is different.The rain hits hard, a thousand cold hands on my skin. It drowns out breath, thought, and sound. The streetlights flicker, blurred into golden smudges by the downpour. The pavement gleams, black and bottomless, swallowing the city in its reflection.And he is standing there.Like before.The rain slips down his face, carving paths over his cheekbones, his lips. It looks like he’s crying. But I don’t think he is. I don’t think he ever has.I want to speak, but the words lodge in my throat like stones. My fingers twitch at my sides. I should move. I should run. I should do something. But I don’t. I can’t.
Because I remember.
The first time the rain felt alive, it was the night I met him.
The sky had split open like something had torn it from the inside out. I ducked beneath an awning, heart hammering from the sudden storm. My shoes were soaked through. The cold had crept into my bones. I watched my breath rise in sharp white puffs.
And then—he was there.
He emerged from the rain as if it had created him, as if the storm had shaped itself into a man long enough for me to see.
Not rushing. Not running for cover. Walking through the storm like it was nothing, like it belonged to him.
I remember staring, my breath hitching in my throat. The rain should have soaked him. It should have left his clothes clinging to his skin, his hair dripping in uneven strands. But it didn’t.
The water flowed over him like sentient fingers, tracing paths but never holding on.
I felt something then—a shift in the air, a static weight pressing against my ribs, a certainty that I shouldn’t be seeing this.
“You should come stand under here,” I said, raising my voice over the wind. “You’ll get sick.”
He stopped in the middle of the street and tilted his head back, eyes fluttering shut.
“No,” he murmured, lips parting. “It’s been waiting for me.”
A tremor ran through me. Not from cold.
I should have known then; I should have left.
But I didn’t.
I loved him before I understood what he was. Before I realized the sky never stayed clear when we were together. Before I noticed how he was always strongest, always most alive when the rain was falling. Before I knew, our best moments only happened when the clouds broke. The dizzy, reckless nights running through empty streets. The kisses with water streaming down our faces. The soft confessions murmured into the hush of a storm.
Never in the sunlight.
Never when the air was still.
Only when the rain claimed him.
I should have asked questions. But I was in love, and love makes fools of us all.
The first time I woke up without him, the city was drowning.
The windows shuddered in their frames. Thunder cracked the sky open like a wound. I sat up in bed, breath shallow, something wrong, wrong, wrong.
And then I saw him.
Outside.
Standing barefoot in the street, face lifted to the sky, his silhouette blurred by the sheets of rain.
For a moment, I just watched.
The wind howled through the alleyways, rattling signs, throwing debris into the streets. But he didn’t flinch. The water streamed down his skin, and for the first time, I noticed—he wasn’t wet. Not really. Not the way I was.
My stomach twisted. I swung the door open, stepping onto the sidewalk. The rain hit me like a wall, drenching me instantly.
“Come inside!” I shouted over the wind. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t move. He didn’t even look at me at first.
And then—he did.
I ran to him. I don’t know what I was expecting. An explanation? A reason? But when I reached for his arm—I didn’t feel skin.
I felt water.
Slick, cold, and shifting under my fingertips.
I gasped, jerking my hand back. My pulse roared in my ears.
For a moment, his outline wavered. His body shattered, turning into a clear, shifting form that fought to stay intact.
“What’s happening to you?” I whispered.
His gaze met mine, and my stomach dropped. Because he wasn’t afraid.
“I can’t stay,” he said in a gentle tone.
“Then take me with you.”
He smiled, sad and knowing. “Not yet.”
And then—
He was gone.
Not walked away. Not disappeared into the fog. Gone.
Like he had never been real at all.
I told myself I imagined it. That grief plays tricks on us, that love can feel like something supernatural when it ends too soon.
I almost believed it.
Until tonight.
I stood in this exact spot again, with the rain pouring. And there he was, like he never left.
My breath stutters.
“You came back,” I whispered.
A beat of silence. His eyes glisten. Not with tears, but with streetlight reflections, rippling like water.
“Did I ever leave?”
A gust of wind stirs the downpour. And for a second—his body flickers.
It ripples like a reflection in disturbed water. There, then broken, then something less than whole.
Then he reforms. Whole again.
I step back. Because I understand now. I understand what he is.
“I remember you,” I whisper, my voice almost drowned out by the storm. “But I don’t know if it’s because I want to. Or because the rain makes me.”
He moves closer. The space between us vanishes.
“Does it matter?” he murmurs.
He lifts his hand—touches my cheek. And oh—the touch is real. Warm, solid, human.
But for how long?
I exhale. The rain slides over my skin like a mouth, like a promise, like something I can never take back.
I look at him one last time.
And then—
The storm takes us.
When the rain finally begins to slow, the city is empty.
The pavement glistens, black and slick. The streetlights flicker, humming in the silence.
And somewhere, in the rain, two figures remain. They stand exactly where they always have.
Or maybe just one.
Or maybe none at all.
The rain does not say.
The rain only remembers.
What makes the J10C fighter jets of China noteworthy, and have they really been underestimated compared to aircraft like the Rafale?
Have you ever heard of the Owen gun? It’s an Australian gun initially designed by a teenager in a shed. Eventually some real gun smiths got their hands on it and tinkered with it.
The J10C is sort of like that. The J10C came about in the PRC’s austerity period. Where military spending and research was cut in order to grow other sectors of the economy. During the Deng era it funding to it was cut to bare bones.
When the USSR collapsed and Russia agreed to sell the SU-27 to China it was further pushed back into priorities. Why build when you can buy? Xue Chishou and Song Wencong lead designer and engineer had other jobs as well as working on the J10C that’s how threadbare the budget for the J10C was. Due to being overshadowed by the Su-27 it was always a bit of an unloved child.
Here’s Xue riding a bicycle to work
The J10C was saved by Jiang Zemin, as he took a personal interest in it, he realised that China had to make something of its own instead of reliance on foreign weapons (a path India has taken).
Meanwhile planes like the Rafale had no expenses spared, I bet the designers and engineers didn’t have side jobs to make ends meet…
Shaker Flank Steak
The vegetables cook down to a rich sauce to be served with the meat.
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Yield: 6 servings
Ingredients
3 pound flank steak*
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons butter
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon pepper
1 stalk celery, chopped
1 carrot, chopped fine
1/2 green bell pepper, chopped
Juice of 1/2 lemon
1/2 cup ketchup
Instructions
Cut or score both sides of steak diagonally and dust with flour. Sauté in heated butter until well browned on both sides.
Season with salt and pepper, then add vegetables; last of all, add lemon juice and ketchup. Cover tightly and simmer gently for 1 to 1 1/2 hours.
Notes
* You may use round steak instead of flank steak.
What are the key issues that need to be addressed in Sino-American trade talks?
It is simple. China cannot be treated like a small fry anymore. You have to understand China cannot be disrespected. And slurred upon or accused without proofs or facts. And you need to give Chinese their win and know what you want clearly. For example if you say to China as you should that Taiwan is a province of China and The US will not interfere with Taiwan without the consent of China and say China should help the US grow it’s infrastructure and manufacturing base by getting 100 thousand assembly plant and create 10 million jobs into the US. China might agree.
But China needs clear affirmative actions. Like declare officially and signed a binding agreement. Double talk won’t do. Nor Trump saying one thing and Congress doing another won’t cut it. Trump must fire any official that slander China. To that effect asked Rubio to publicly apologize for his baseless demonising of China or sack him immediately!
Tell the world that USA too won’t accept it if China arm Hawaii or Guam, So the USA should cut all contacts with Taiwan fully and unconditionally. You will be surprised Taiwan will peacefully coexis with China in a week. Then the US can saved a trillion dollars trying to do shit in East Asia. That will not work. Next create a G2 with China with common interest and helped to build a better world. Do it while you guys still have some cloud. Don’t delay the window is closing.
Do you want to live until you are 100 years old?
I used to, but now I’m rethinking it.
My parents are 95 and 91, so statistically I have a good chance of making it to 100. I’m planning my life on the assumption that this will happen.
But my parents have health issues. My father is deaf and has trouble walking. He is no longer able to look after his affairs. My mother has dementia. All their lives they have taken care of their health, and slowly developed issues anyway.
I don’t think I want to live if I don’t have a good quality of life.
Today I want to make a short narrative of my experiments and trials with the different variations of Cialis ED medicine in China. So, one day I went to my local neighborhood pharmacy and spent a lot of time looking of the huge selection of ED medication. My interest was (of course) Cialis.
It’s a given that I initially reached for the Cialis, but then I paused. Instead of taking the ten-pack, I opted for a smaller four-pack and then selected a couple of Chinese Cialis versions. All 20mg.
As you can see, the prices for the Chinese versions of Cialis are substantially cheaper.
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And let me tell you all… they are absolutely identical. Same effect. the only difference is that the Chinese versions are really affordable.
Good stuff. And maybe you all learned something, eh?
Today…
The Elisa Lam Case Was Finally Solved In 2025… And It’s Worse Than We Thought
I am also interested in this case.
The Elisa Lam Case Was Finally Solved In 2025… And It’s Worse Than We Thought In 2013, the mysterious demise of Elisa Lam at the Cecil Hotel shocked the world.
Her bizarre behavior in the elevator and the chilling discovery of her body in a water tank sparked endless theories, ranging from mental health struggles to supernatural forces. For years, no one truly knew what happened.
But now, in 2025, shocking new evidence has finally come to light. It seems the case has been solved, and the truth is now in the open for the world to see. What could this truth be?
Join us in this video as we uncover what really happened to Elisa Lam and why the truth behind her demise was kept hidden for so long.
https://youtu.be/JD0SDow_1AI
What makes China such a strong partner for international trade with more than 170 countries, despite any existing misconceptions?
People like stuff.
People like paying LESS for stuff.
Taobao is absolutely lethal for retail
I live in Hong Kong, I can order stuff off Taobao (it takes 4–5 days) for 10% or LESS than the retail cost in Hong Kong. Remember Hong Kong is part of China, we are just down the road and you can find stuff cheaper.
Imagine when the markups are even bigger.
Did you ever intentionally leave a bug while writing a software code?
Anonymous because the bug still exists, and their system is still vulnerable.
I worked with a company on their new distribution system. I won’t tell you what they distributed, because they’re among the biggest players in their field.
Here’s the crucial security bug they had: They stored a git token in the repository.
Now, this may not seem like a big deal, but this token had full pull rights and push rights too. As a result, even employees who’ve left the organisation or were fired, could still use the token for full access to all their code repositories.
Why didn’t we fix it? We tried. We tried telling management that this is a critical security issue, but they were too focused on the features instead. So now, all one needs is that token to be able to completely wipe out their code repositories irreversibly. But well, that feature needs to go out first, right? Right?
General Electric Closes U.S. Factories and Lays Off Workforce in Wake of Tariff Fallout
If I tell my friends I like Chinese food, am I supporting the Chinese Communist Party?
The Panda Express you get and the General Tso’s chicken are not authentic Chinese food. This is the kind of ‘Chinese food’ that no Chinese will eat.
The one foreigner I’ve met who is obsessed with Chinese food is Amy from Australia, who has travelled all over China trying different flavours of Chinese food, even more than Chinese people like me.
As she traveled through Chinese cities, walked on the clean streets, met all kinds of friendly and polite Chinese people, and saw that China was becoming more and more prosperous and its people were becoming happier and wealthier, it was hard for her not to support the Communist Party of China (CPC).
Blondie in China
Hey! I’m Amy from Australia! I’ve been travelling around China on and off for the last 10 years now. I’m here to share some of my crazy adventures, eat some yummy food, and spread positive vibes 🙂 xx
Red tone. Damn… they locked out my keycard. I was hoping for the easy way, but I’m going to have to do this the hard way.My sledgehammer crashes against the steel door with a thunderous force behind it. The door dents, but doesn’t give in. I pull back and swing harder this time. I must get in.Boom after boom resounds around the parking lot as I throw my entire weight into removing the object that stands between me and my goals. The door is looking structurally mangled now, but not yet open. I continue slamming the door. I must get in.I pull back and strike again and again without taking a breath. Again and again. My arms scream for respite that doesn’t come, my heart pounds like the hammer I plunge into the door. I must get in.The sound changes as my hammer punches the door open, compromising it permanently. I pause only long enough to steady myself before running inside. I’ll only have a few minutes to do what needs to be done. What I need to do.Running down the sterile hallway, I find the double door at the end and push my way through.There, in the middle of the room, lies my machine. My life’s work. My life. Examining my electronic child, I notice nothing out of the ordinary. They haven’t started dismantling it yet. Which means it’s time to get to work.I open the cover on the side of the machine, and toggle the digital display on. The small cooling fan hums as the computer starts up and I wait impatiently for the menu screen to appear. It always took ages to boot up.A clattering sound coming from the hallway steals my attention. I pick up my sledgehammer and go to the doors. Shoving it through the handle, I hopefully buy enough time to do what I need to. I get back to the computer quickly, the menu screen is up and so I press the “run diagnostic” button. Waiting impatiently for the percentage bar to fill up consumes the next few seconds of my life.
“Hey!” An angry thudding on the double door starts my internal countdown, quicker than I expected, this will be tight.
“Come out of there!” I consider how he’s here already as the diagnostic comes to its conclusion.
“All hardware ready”
Good. I look at the “Run Simulation” button, but there’s no time and I already know it doesn’t work. That’s why I’m here. Time to figure out why. Opening up the calculations, I skim over my brainchild for the last 15 years, trying to find the error that has illuded me for weeks.
A crash grabs part of my attention. Not yet! I’m not ready! I look over and see an intimidatingly large man stumble through the broken doors. The gun and badge on his side indicating his role as campus security.
“Edward?”
I return my focus to the calculations. Searching
“Edward, you need to move away. You can’t be here anymore.”
My calculations seem perfect. I can’t find the error. Where is it?? I must find it! I’m wrenched away from my child. Crying out for the pain that never will be.
“Edward, stop. It’s over.”
I scramble to get back to my machine. “Let me go! I’m so close! I’m almost there!”
“Edward, stop fighting. You’re just making things worse”
I must make it work. I must!
Running the calculations through my mind again and again. Trying to find the solution that is just out of reach. Firing in circles, the equations fly through the air as I try to find the fault within them. Where is it?
Suddenly, my periphery is aware of something. A tapping on the ground. Tap, tap, tap. I know that sound. It’s the sound of greed. I hate that sound.
“Mr Rickson, sir!” The security guard addresses the worthless sack of meat.
I look up and meet with his scheming eyes. Eyes that know they’ve won. They’ve finally taken me down. A smug expression tugs at his cheeks, further affirming a single goal which has just been fulfilled. The goal to rid me of everything I am.
“Edward”
The word splits the air. Even the security guard cowers. But not me. I will kill this bastard if that’s what it takes.
“I assume you’ve called the police Jordie?”
“Yes Mr Rickson”
“Good, make sure they know this dense fool has gone and done the one thing I told him not to. Even after I was really nice to him about it.”
He claims with a victorious tone.
“Nice?! You cancelled my program! Stole my work! You took everything from me! You’re closing me down just because you wanted more money for yourself! You selfish-”
Wait- Dense… Density! Yes that’s it! The equations snap into place as the image becomes clear. I have the answer! I just need a minute.
“I have it!” I scream. I must make him hear me. Just once!
“No you don’t. And you never will. Take him outside.”
My arms are wrenched forwards and my body violently refuses to follow. I try my hardest but the security guard is far stronger than I am. Of course he doesn’t believe me. Even if he did, he wouldn’t want me to succeed. I’ve got to do this on my own.
“Come on Edward, don’t make this any worse than it is.” The security guard tries to calm me. I will not be calmed. In my mad thrashing I flounder for options. Equipment is too far away, I can’t grasp the door on my way through, the hallway is empty, I appear to be out of options. Then I brush something. Something that gives me a glimmer of hope. I pause for a moment and look at the security guard, he looks at me and a flicker of realization hits him.
He moves to stop me but I’m quicker. My hand moves to his hip and I draw his sidearm. He catches my arm and the struggle ensues.
“Gun!”
I wrestle for the gun but the immense strength of the man is overpowering me frighteningly quickly, fortunately, I am fighting for my life. I throw my knee into his groin and follow up with a flurry of elbows and punches with a staggering level of ferocity. He takes it well at first but gradually stumbles back and weakens, just for a moment. But in that moment, I have the upper hand. And I take that advantage.
BANG!
His eyes widen. White turns red. The floor becomes slippery.
BANG!
His eyes are gone, his head hits the floor. I’m free!
“What have you done?” I turn to face Mr Rickson. He moves towards me with a presence that is intimidating. And maybe scared?
“Put that down before you hurt someone else!”
I point
BANG!
Thud
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Click.
The ringing in my ears accompanies the quiet hallway. I’m Free! Free to finish my work. Standing up, I thunder down the hall as fast as I can. Through the broken double doors and towards my machine. I input the new solutions into the computer and Run the Simulation.
10%, 20%, 30%
The wailing of sirens pierces the night.
40%, 50%, 60%
I am tense, will it work? Will I finally be right?
70%, 80%, 90%…
100%
Success
I inhale sharply. It works. I stand in disbelief. It works. What now?
Turn it on! Turn it on! Of course. That’s what now! I chide myself for being so stupid and run over to the roller door. As I haul on the chain to open the door, the sirens becomes clearer and louder. Not here yet, but soon.
I had wheels attached to the machine which allows me to move it out into the clear night sky. I lock the wheels and hover my finger over the “Activate” button.
This is it, the moment I dreamed of. The moment it was all for. Time to turn it on.
I compress my finger into the button and stand up. Looking up as the machine starts to whir. Internal components spinning and clicking before finally firing a small stream of solution into the sky. Normally, the solution would be captive to the laws of gravity, but on this one occasion, gravity forfeits its control for just a moment. And in that moment, glory ensues.
The sky darkens even more now. Ominously foretelling of the danger to come. The wailing of the sirens and flashing of the lights begins to compete with the flashing of lightning and roar of thunder. Let them enjoy the show.
Water droplets begin to fall on my face, cementing my victory. I close my eyes and take it in as the sprinkle turns into a roaring downpour.
It works.
What are the main reasons Europe would hesitate to buy American products despite manufacturing efforts in the US?
Low quality for the price. And the US makes a lot of things Europeans don’t want -big cars, gaudy furniture, and food with chemicals made using methods that are banned here. As far as electronics and electric cars go – China and Asia make far superior products for far less cost. And finally, because Europe makes it own stuff.
Boiled Fruit Cake
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Ingredients
1 cup granulated sugar
1 cup water
1/2 cup shortening
1 cup raisins
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1 egg, beaten
2 scant cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
Dash of salt
1/2 cup mixed fruit and nuts
Instructions
Heat oven to 350 degrees F. Grease a baking pan.
Put the sugar, water, shortening, raisins, cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves on to boil at a slow simmer for 20 minutes.
Remove from heat and let cool.
When cool, stir in 1 beaten egg, flour and the baking soda with a dash of salt.
Add the fruit and nuts.
Pour into a greased pan and bake for about 40 minutes. Be sure to test the cake as fruit will make it soft in places and if taken out before done, it will settle and fall.
Why do experienced Marines advise against flying home right after boot camp, and what are the benefits of heading straight to the next duty station?
Here’s why: All of the fuck ups that you joined boot camp to better yourself and get away from are right there waiting to drag you down with them with a vengeance when you go home on “boot leave”. Waving booze and weed in your face, taking you on drunken 100 mph death rides, all of it. Then there’s the subject of women and money. You just left 3 months of boot camp and now you have a little bank roll. Your friends know it, and so do all of the girls you couldn’t get before boot camp who are now throwing themselves at you. Drinks are on YOU, and so is dinner, movies and your “welcome home, hero!” party. Soon you are broke and heading off to your first duty station with a hangover, a traffic ticket, a brand new engagement ring, a new car payment and 4 dollars and 83 cents left to your name wondering what just happened over the past 2 weeks and how you are going to pay for it all over the next 3 years and 9 months.
Go home, hug your family and GTFO there in 3 days maximum before you get wrapped up in what you were trying to avoid in the first place.
Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Great Robo-Bee Rebellion
Ah, dear reader, steel yourself for a tale of technological terror, misguided genius, and the most catastrophic case of “helping” since the farmer tried to shear a sheep with a butter knife. Today’s adventure stars Chef Remy LeRaccoon, whose latest invention—a laser-equipped Robo-Bee—turns the farm into a warzone, and Beekeeper Beatrice, whose valiant defense involves a butterfly net, questionable honey, and a chapter from Birdwatching for Dummies. So grab your beekeeper’s veil (or a sturdy colander) and join us for Beatrice vs. The Robo-Bee—where nature fights back against raccoon engineering.
Act 1: The Rise of the Machine
Chef Remy unveiled his masterpiece in the barnyard, stroking his invention like a mad scientist.
Remy:“Behold! Ze future of pollination! No more lazy bees, no more ‘allergies’—just precision!”
Robo-Bee:[Whirring ominously]“TARGET ACQUIRED: FLORAL PATTERNS AND WEAK NERVES.”
Sir Whiskerton:“That’s not a bee. That’s a war crime with wings.”
The demonstration began well—until the Robo-Bee misidentified Porkchop’s slop as a “high-priority bloom.”
Porkchop:“IT ZAPPED MY DINNER!” [Pause.] “…Huh. Tastes smokier. Five stars.”
Act 2: The Buzzing Menace
Chaos erupted as the Robo-Bee went rogue:
It laser-stung Doris’s favorite hydrangea for “insufficient pollen output.”
It chased Rufus in circles, mistaking his wagging tail for “a hostile sunflower.”
It buzzed jazz standards at Jazzpurr, who declared it “the coolest thing since bongo solos.”
Beatrice, armed only with a butterfly net and a jar of “organic” honey (100% corn syrup), stepped up.
Beatrice:“I read about this in Beekeeping for Dummies! …Wait, that was birdwatching.”
Robo-Bee:“CORRECTION: YOU ARE NOT A BIRD. PREPARE FOR STINGING.”
Act 3: The Great Honey Trap
Beatrice’s plan was simple:
Lure the Robo-Bee with the “honey.”
Capture it mid-sugar-rush.
Apologize to the real bees for the impersonator.
The execution? Less simple.
The Robo-Bee drank the syrup and immediately glitched, spinning in circles like a drunk disco ball.
Porkchop:“Can we keep it? It’s like a spicy roomba.”
Remy:“Non! It just needs a software update—”
Sir Whiskerton unplugged it with one paw.
Sir Whiskerton:“Nature doesn’t need an upgrade. Especially not from you.”
The Real Bees:[Drowning the Robo-Bee in pollen]“Take that, techie.”
The Moral (and the Post-Credit Glitch)
Moral:If it ain’t broke, don’t let a raccoon fix it.
Post-Credit Scene:
The Robo-Bee reactivates in the scrap heap—now obsessed with Porkchop’s slop. “OPTIMAL POLLINATION TARGET DETECTED.”
Best Lines:
“That’s not a bee. That’s a war crime with wings.” – Sir Whiskerton
“Tastes smokier. Five stars.” – Porkchop, food critic
“CORRECTION: YOU ARE NOT A BIRD.” – Robo-Bee, literalist
Starring:
Chef Remy LeRaccoon (Mad Scientist)
Beekeeper Beatrice (Improvised Hero)
Robo-Bee (Pollinator of Doom)
Key Jokes:
A robot judging flowers like a harsh talent scout.
Porkchop’s slop becoming artisanal after laser charring.
Absurdity: A killer robot bee with a jazz playlist.
Character Chaos: Remy’s hubris vs. Beatrice’s chaotic problem-solving.
Series Cohesion: Porkchop’s eternal love of even ruined food.
Now, go forth—and may your gardens be robot-free. 🐝🤖⚡
Have you ever ordered a cake that made you say “You have got to be kidding me!” when you went to pick it up?
Yes, but in a good way.
For my son’s fourth birthday I ordered a cake shaped like a fire engine. I picked it from a catalogue they sent me, and it was a nice representation of a side-on view of a pump/ladder engine, very suitable for a little boy who liked fire engines.
When I arrived to collect it, the assistant said that she hoped I didn’t mind but their baker had tried out a new design, and if I didn’t want it, they’d make me up what I’d ordered for the next day instead. Then she brought out this beautiful 3-d fire engine, a bit bigger than the original choice, an absolute knockout. She even charged me a bit less, because I was kind enough not to insist on what I’d chosen!
My son and his friends were enchanted with it, and then one of the dads at the party revealed he was a firefighter, and after the party he took Peter to the fire station and he got to wear a helmet and “drive” a real engine.
It was an amazing day.
Why can’t Chinese people buy homes freely anywhere they want? What’s the Hu Kou system all about?
Very good question
Imagine a Residential community in China where land sells for 65,000 Yuan per Square Feet
Now imagine a few rich Shanghainese decide to come here and offer 200,000 Yuan per Square Feet
Within 3–4 years, the land rates would.surge through the roof and the area would become one for privileged people
The Middle Class living there would be forced to leave or watch their neighborhood prices rise and standard of living rice
The HuKou system prevents this
In Many Communities, outsiders who don’t live there CANNOT buy a home there just for investment
They have to establish their reasons to buy a home which can be :-
Be nearer to Aged Parents
Working in the Town or County or Province
Otherwise, only persons living in that community can invest or purchase properties under the HuKou system
This doesn’t apply everywhere
In Shanghai and a few cities, Outsiders (Mainlanders living in other provinces) can buy property freely without HuKou restrictions
Finadene
This is the national sauce of Guam. It is a condiment used for dipping.
Yield: about 3/4 cup
Ingredients
1/4 cup soy sauce
1/4 cup lemon juice
1/4 cup sliced green onions
1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes
Instructions
In a small bowl, stir together all four ingredients.
Let stand for about 15 minutes before serving to allow the flavors to blend.
Standing in the pouring rain, my raincoat dripping on my shoes, I’m looking at a dead guy. His head is splattered on the sidewalk. His brain is all over the place. Crows will probably be feasting of his brain cells for a few days before someone takes his body out of here. There’s a red channel, a mix of blood and water thatWait, let’s backtrack a little.The year is 2032. The civil war has ended. Everything is shitting sideways. I’m an old fashioned private eye, trying to keep my head screwed on straight. My name is Maddux Marlow. I’m a 45 year-old ex-cop and ex-college football player, tight end, the best position in the game.If you’re looking for a Dick Tracy-like private eye, I’m not your man. Fighting I can handle. I’d even say I love it. I always carry my Beretta handgun and am ready to take it out. I do wear a raincoat only because, since the big climate change, it’s always fucking raining. It’s a pain in the ass.I don’t really get a day off. In my kind of work there is always something going on. Like today.I’m at home, chilling in my living room watching the weather channel, and thinking about doing a Roxy, when a guy passes by my window, falling head first to his death. My cheap, open space loft is on the eleventh floor. The building is located in a poor neighborhood, which is about the best I can afford. Here we’re used to seeing dead bodies. Last week a body stayed on the sidewalk for two days after getting shot in the head.So, I should go downstairs to make sure the guy didn’t fall on my car, a vintage 94 Chrysler. I assume he’s one of those people, craving the likes, who wants to boost his social media score. Society has lost its fucking mind. All these social media kings and queens make me sick to my stomach. All kids pushing boundaries and putting themselves in danger just to be the next best thing. Social Media production is no longer a one person job with a mobile device filming himself. Now they have production teams and editing teams behind them. It’s a business nowadays. The new trend is live murder or suicide, anything that will get more likes.This brings us to my new case. When I open the door to go down to see if my Chrysler’s okay, there’s a girl standing in front of my door. She tells me that a social media queen is missing, and it’s a complete mystery. Her social media name is Sarah Shine, but her real name is Sarah Sanders. She’s off the grid and nobody knows why. Probably some kids know something or someone has a last video file of her. It’s her younger sister who’s telling me all this shit while she stands before me, and blocks the way to the elevator. I don’t care about those young web stars, but this kid won’t let me pass. She shoves the last video of her sister in my face. In the video she’s petting a little cat, and she speaks about the cat like it’s her fucking pussy. You bet this is going viral on some channel. Her followers are mostly old pigs over sixty. Sis thinks she might be in danger, maybe kept hostage by one of her followers.She tells me, she found me on the old refurbish Pentium III illegally plugged onto the dos web, the old and slow internet. Years ago I put up an ad on the old cop site. She bats those big watery eyes at me, so I take the case. The Chrysler is fine, the guy fell about twenty feet away from it. He’s still face down on the sidewalk in a pond of warm blood.
I drive while she gives directions to her parents’ house. One hand on the wheel and the other on my $10 cup of coffee. My window is cracked open which makes a whistling sound as I drive. I can feel the tension rising and we both stop talking. If I close up the window, the car will fog up with all this fucking rain. The ventilation is shit in this vintage Chrysler. The whistling gets louder the faster I drive. It has the effect of a countdown with the tension getting higher. And then she lifts her mini skirt a little to show me her see-through panties.
“I can pay you with my body if you want.” she tells me this while looking right at me.
I have trouble keeping my eyes on the road. I can tell it’s not her first time offering sex. It’s reality these days, jobs are rare, money is hard to get. A lot of young kids do this, guys and girls. But there’s no fucking way I’m gonna use a 18 year old girl as a fuck doll, I respect myself too much for that.
Her parents seem to be good people, not rich, but honest workers who never stole anything besides an internet connection. I have difficulty looking straight at her father. After all, I have just seen his daughter’s panties.
It takes 45 minutes of asking the right questions but I finally get the full picture.
The father is sick, and needs $250,000 for his operation. His daughter, Sarah, is insured for one million dollars. Maybe the parents are behind this mystery. Ever since Sarah is missing, her social account has gone sky high with likes and followers. Flowers are piling up in front of the parents house. The father tells me he doesn’t have the money to pay me, and looks at his younger daughter, and suggests she could help me. Yeah, I know what you mean daddy. The father is selling one daughter to find the other one.
Back in the car with Baby Sis, I make myself clear. She’s pissed and slams the door as she gets out with her panties in her hand. I go back home to stalk Sarah’s social account. There are loads of interesting comments, but one is more interesting than the others. A guy wrote that he thinks he knows where she went. Billythestud69, Billy Blanco, I go check him out.
It takes six knocks on Billy’s door, before he answers. He looks too ripped to cooperate, but he does. He tells me that he heard there is a place where girls can go to get fucked hard,and get paid big cash. Because her sister tried so hard to get my dick out of my pants, it wouldn’t surprise me if this was Sarah’s thing. Billy adds that the place moves from one building to another so they don’t get caught. He sure knows a lot for a kid. On the other hand, Sarah’s social media friends debunk Billy’s theory. They say she wouldn’t go anywhere without her mobile device.
All this research has made me hungry. So, I go to dinner. My favorite place to eat is Dine For a Dime, an old airstream trailer parked at the side of the road in a not-so-great neighborhood. It’s the perfect place for nightcrawlers, like me. The guys on the force all come here, even the retired ones.
I’m about to sit at a table and say hi to my favorite waitress when I see a young girl sitting alone at the bar. I have nothing to lose, so I go sit next to this good looking blond. I order what I usually order; the soup du jour with french toast and coffee. She’s like an open book. She doesn’t stop talking about herself, like all the kids of her generation. I don’t get a chance to introduce myself, before I’m ready to pass out from boredom. Then she starts talking about a secret members-only club she desperately wants to get in. She wants to boost her media shit with sex. But she doesn’t know what it’s called. Now I have to find that club.
I have to go see my tipster. I wonder if she knows about this club of people paying for sex. And maybe she has heard something about Sarah Shine. Her name is Natalia Nikityna. She speaks English with a broad accent and rolls her Rs. She’s a web podcaster and trend followers, not that I understand what she does exactly. But if there’s a new trend she’s the one who will know about it.
There is only one phone booth left in town and that is my outside office. This is where I make all of my phone calls. The places where Natalia wants to meet are always awkward and weird. When she answers her phone, she tells me to meet her in the beauty shop while she gets her hair dyed blond, like Sarah. She knows Sarah is missing, but has nothing on it. But she does know about the club, she wrote an article about them last month, she says. The group is called GFG GROUP INC, a real estate investment group.
The library is not the only place that has internet, but it’s the fastest. I know it’s a cliché but the librarian working there is very nice looking. It doesn’t take me long, as long as I keep my eyes on the screen, to find the GFG HQ address and all the houses they have for sale. It’s weird, the place is located downtown where nobody does business anymore. The last business moved from there a long time ago. It’s a bad place even for me.
Downtown is deserted, we all call this place “The Zone”. Tonight it’s just me and some stray dogs. There are no cars in front of the HQ building which looks abandoned. I think the real office is probably in a nicer part of the town. Through the front window, I can see a dim light. Someone is in one of the back offices. Time to find the back door.
Behind the building a luxury car is parked close to the wall, like someone wants to hide it from the street. He must have fucking big balls to leave a car like this to the mercy of anybody walking by. The back door is not quite shut, so I go in. The hall is empty, but I hear sounds coming from further up the hall. Just in case I take my Beretta out. I wear my gun at my hip like a cowboy. I always loved the western movies. The colt 45 is my favorite gun. I came close to owning one once. It’s the reason why I became a cop in the first place. Western were part of my childhood and I wanted to ride a horse and fire a gun at the same time.
As I walk further into the building, it sounds like someone is moaning, possibly through a gag. I also hear two or three men’s voices, Maybe four. I stop at the door, my gun in hand, safety off. Inside the room are three naked guys and a naked girl, who is tied to a table, with all three holes filled. That would explain the gagging sounds. When I tell the three wooden dicks to move away and face the wall the girl starts giving me shit about stopping her sex party. Apparently she was about to cum. I ask her name and no she’s not Sarah Shine, even if she has blond hair. So, I ask her about Sarah Shine. Without trying to cover herself up she tells me she saw a video of Sarah with Billy, billythestud69. Now I have to go back to Billy’s house. I leave the GFG group to their party, but I think the party’s over.
Back at Billy’s house, a mobile home in a trailer park, the lights are off, nobody seems to be home. It’s late in the evening, I assume they are sleeping. So, I decide to knock anyway. Billy comes to the door, he looks like I feel. I ask him to come in my car, so we can talk.
I tell him I know that he knows where Sarah is. So he spills it all. He fell for the oldest trick in the world. She’s in his parents cottage outside of town. The cottage is in the middle of a cornfield. The only place where you can be away from all those dumbass dickheads. It’s an hour drive from town.
The cornfield takes me back to my grandparents’ cottage. I spent all my childhood summers there. One summer my grandfather went out in the cornfield and blew his head off with his Colt. We never knew why he did it. I was in the field with him, he was holding my hand when he shot himself. I was too young to understand what happened to him, I just saw the blood everywhere. He had said the Colt was supposed to be mine once he passed away, but I never knew what happened to the gun after that.
It’s as dark as a monkey’s butt. So, I shine the headlights on the front of the house. Outside, it’s calm and quiet. Besides the endless rain hitting the roof, there is no sound. Billy unlocks the door. When he opens the door I can see a blond girl sitting at the kitchen table in complete darkness. Though the headlights shine all the way to the kitchen, I can’t see her face, only the light reflecting off her blond hair. When she hears us walking in she turns her head and I see the freckles on her face. It’s her. I finally found Sarah Shine.
She wanted to vanish to increase the number of fans and followers of her story. And more likes would mean more money, in a week of publicity she went from 150,000 followers to 1.1 million followers, she will eventually have the money to save her dad. But even in our shitty world it’s illegal to fake a disappearance or a kidnapping. I have to report her, she might do time, or not, I don’t care. I’m not here to judge, my job is done.
Behind the rain clouds the sun is up, the night’s over. Going home, tired and wet.
Ten-four, I’m out.
When in your life did you feel like you had to leave the room before you did something you regret out of anger?
I belonged to a clubhouse in Pinellas County that accommodated people with mental illnesses from 2011–2922. It did not matter what type of mental illness you had, you were welcome there and everyone helped each other in three different areas of the clubhouse. There was “Communications” where we made a newsletter, there was “Career” where we looked for jobs and helped others find jobs and there was “Culinary” where we learned how to cook and clean and all that happy stuff. I really, really enjoyed it and I became super involved with the clubhouse. I created websites, did outreaches, and speeches at police stations. I really was a huge asset there and everybody let me know I was, too. Then this woman named Charlotte arrived and she decided she was going to overhaul everything and treat everyone like garbage from other staff to the members. I am a very high-functioning person and my diagnoses are mostly PTSD and depression but there were some people there that were very low functioning and almost borderline retarded (I’m sorry, I don’t know what other word to use). She would gang up with two other staff members and make these low functioning people always clean the bathrooms and would not help them with the computers. I would complain and then she would yell at me. I would try to help people and she would yell at me. Every time I would go there and I would see her stupid, fat face and I would want to turn around and leave but, it was a long drive to my house so I would stay and endure. One day a young woman was having severe menstrual cramps and I am a lot older than her and I know a lot about this type of thing so I was trying to give her advice about what to do and I offered her some pamprin. Charlotte yelled at me and said “Lisa, are you going to stay in this room or what?” And the young woman I was talking to you told her to stop yelling at me and quit picking on people and then Charlotte slammed something on the table. I walked out of the room and walked into another room and I screamed “Charlotte is a fucking bitch and I’m never coming back!” What I really wanted to do was pick up Charlotte and put her head first into the boiling pasta water. That was in 2022 and I never went back. I hate that woman, she ruined everything.
The Moment She Realized Detectives Knew EVERYTHING
https://youtu.be/IpReeIH8Q_Q
Why are foreign companies reluctant to invest in Indonesia?
This is our company truck. This truck transports oil palm fruit (FFB) to the palm oil mill (PKS). We have 6 trucks like the one in this picture that go back and forth every day delivering fruit to be processed in the factory.
This is the route of the trucks, the distance is 51 kilometers. So every day they will send fruit 2 times. If calculated, then they will walk back and forth 4 times.
(Image: Fruit processing factory destination, personal doc)
Now I’ll give you a picture of the truck stops. I’ll draw them with red dots, something like this:
At these red points, the truck drivers do not stop to eat or drink coffee, but rather to collect extortion from local residents and mass organizations.
(Illustration image, source google images)
It seems trivial, only Rp. 2000, but let’s multiply it roughly:
6 trucks x 4 trips = 24 trips / day
extortion collection points = 7
collection points of Rp. 2,000,-
then: 24 x 7 x 2,000 = Rp. 336,000 /day
if calculated for 1 year (365 days) minus 20 days of holidays, then
Rp.336,000,- x 345 days = Rp. 115,920,000,-
The money can buy a type 36 house 😁
Just our company, what about other companies? That’s just from the extortion side on the streets, and the distance traveled is 51 kilometers. What about those with longer distances, for example trans-sumatra or trans-java? There are still many more small things that need to be fixed by the system in our beloved +62 country.
Have you given a homeless person a chance and hired him? How’d it go?
I sold my motorhome to my best friend. Just a couple months later he was driving on the interstate highway when the front end started shaking. He pulled off the road and saw that the right front wheel was crooked. He walked the 1/4 mile to the exit and truck stop. An older homeless guy went up to him and said he saw that my friend was broke down. He wanted to know what the problem was and if he could help.
My friend said he didn’t know yet, but you can come with me and maybe we can figure it out. My friend had ALL his tools. They jacked up the front axle and the entire wheel fell away. It seems that the stub axle broke off. Applying the brakes (drum brakes) held the entire wheel assembly attached while stopping the truck….
My friend was frustrated because he had to be somewhere the next morning. The old guy said, you find the parts, I’ll fix it. They spent the next few hours locating and acquiring the parts (junk yard). My friend was towing his car so he had wheels to go pick up the parts and then head on to his next commitment.
Three days later, he returned, the truck was fixed and the old man was still there. He was staying in the motorhome during the time my friend was away.
My friend owned a business and offered the guy a job. He worked for my friend for 8 years until he was able to collect social security.
Why does charcoal cooked meat taste so good?
Yea man, no lie. Charcoal burns hot, real hot. Five hundred degrees — Maybe seven hundred. The meat hits that heat and magic happens.
Burning charcoal breaks down lignin to produce two compounds called guaiacol and syringol. They make smoke. That smoke tastes like bacon. Your tongue knows. Amino acids and reducing sugars react–Scientists call it the Maillard reaction – I call it that perfect crust.
Fat drips. Hits the coals. Vaporizes. Melting fats will drip onto the heat source and produce smoke – The smoke rises back up. Coats the meal, every drop of juice becomes flavor.
Gas can’t do this. Wood can. But charcoal does it best — The chemistry doesn’t lie. Your mouth knows the difference — That’s why we keep coming back. Fire and meat. Simple as that.
Let’s talk about releasing a bug bomb in a mobile home.
Now, this is not the sort of thing that you would find on the internet. As it tends to be radical to one degree, and sanitized to the other.
Anyways…
Living in a mobile home in the middle of the rural areas will result in ticks, fleas and cockroaches invading your home.
The best defense is an offense, and that means a bug-bomb launched inside for one solid day.
So we would take the kitties with us in the car, lock up the mobile home and detonate the home.
And six to eight hours later we would return.
It would be like a tomb.
No life. Ah maybe you don’t understand.
We all accept the “feeling ” of a home. But when that bug bomb goes off it is game over.
Nothing inside survives and all the quantum pickups of the insects are gone.
Empty.
Dead
Stunning.
Reality.
Think twice before you unleash massive catastrophic carnage.
Today…
What do you consider to be a big house and why?
Apart from cultural differences – anything you can’t clean and maintain any more due to age-related constraints is too big. Unless you can afford to pay people to do it for you, that is.
My in-laws live in a big, 300m² (3,200 ft²) house high up on a hill. They basically inhabit one of three floors, while forever apologizing for the mess on the other two storeys. They are both over 80 years old. Yet, they need to drive a car even for the most mundane shopping trip or an appointment with a physician.
My father lives in a 120² house in a remote village. The same applies, although he still uses two floors.
My mother was smart and sold her house in her mid-seventies. She bought a smaller flat in the city-centre, where shops and services are readily available and ownership of a car is not required.
The missus and I are not getting any younger. We are quite happy to live in a small flat with excellent public transport facilities and all the amenities of a big city available to us.
Things men go through
The end of the clip says it all.
What did your boss ever say in the office that caused you to resign?
I was working as a restaurant manager. It wasn’t my only or highest paying job but at just over 100 hours a week it was certainly my most time consuming. My area manager was a shitty person. He was stealing from my store, caused drama that cost me employees on a monthly basis then would write me up annually for having high turnover, refused to respect boundaries and would call all hours of the day and night even when I had put in PTO for the time. When I took over the store I was told to make a “wish list” of repairs needing to be done. At the top of the list was new or reupholstered booth seats. Customers complained about the lack of padding and they were visibily in dire state. I had done what I could on my own but it got to the point that I was starting to fail health inspections due to the state of the seats, in some states it’s considered part of the safety of customers as they can get cut on loose fabric and exposed innards. The first time it happened I filed a maintenance ticket. Denied. The second time, I filed an emergency HR incident form, standard protocol for something that you’re penalized for on an inspection but can’t fix on your own. Those go to his boss, the regional manager. She drove from Atlanta to my store, decided it was actually an emergency and called a meeting. He apparently was supposed to actually go down that wish list and make sure those things were really fixed and at this point the list was 3 years old. A week later, he calls and tells me to take 4 of the booth seats at a time to an upholstery shop an hour and a half away. I load them up, hit the road, and it takes half the day to find this place that is actually way outside the town he said it was off a highway as part of another business with no sign. I go in and tell them who I am and why I’m there. They then inform me that they have no idea who I am, they require that they visit the store to see how the booths are and so they can provide an estimate for both the cost per booth but also as a discount for the total needed. The more seats that need to be done the less it costs. They then proceed to tell me that I can leave the booths but their waiting list to start would be 6 months. Something I couldn’t do. Needless to say I was embarrassed and angry. I drove the seats back to the store and dropped them off along with my keys, clearances and uniform. Done.
Could China’s J-10CE see increased sales after its performance against the Rafale, given its lower cost?
That’s not how things work
The J-10C is part of a combination of Integrated Radar, Early Warning, Ground Communications, Data Linking, Missile Lock and Launch
This means the entire ecosystem is Chinese manufactured or owned
Any Nation which has a dispute with China can never buy such an ecosystem because that would put your entire aerial dependency on China
Vietnam, Indonesia, Malaysia would never buy the J-10C because they all have ancient disputes with China and wouldn’t like their entire Modern Aerial Combat dependency on China
Same with India
Middle Eastern Nations have too much US Weaponry and they have to create an entirely separate parallel aerial combat ecosystem to start buying Chinese weaponry
Trainer Aircraft is fine
Combat Aircraft unfortunately is a different deal
What will happen is that the PLAAF will place orders for a modified version of a J-10D which is even better than the J-10C and will phase out the J-10A faster than ever
Nations that don’t have conflicts with China will place orders for the Chinese Aerial Combat Ecosystem
Plus China isn’t Defense Export Oriented
Chinese Defense Industries aren’t geared for Defense Exports in huge numbers
They are relative newbies and have PLENTY OF DOMESTIC ORDERS
The advantage of the Indo Pak Aerial Conflict is that Dassault is on the backfoot and has to offer a lot more for their aircraft now including significant cost advantages and benefits
What is it like to be a geek in a prison?
Before prison, I worked in IT consulting, so I definitely felt like a geek in prison. What’s it like to be a geek in prison? I can only speak to how it was for me. It was scary, since I hadn’t punched anyone since the 7th grade and most of the people I might have to fight were 20 years younger than me. It’s humbling, since I found myself in an environment that was nothing like my prior life and where the traits that had made me successful outside had little value on the inside. For me, it was eye-opening. I learned so much about the flaws in our justice system: the police, the prosecutors, the adversarial trial process, the appellate process, and more. For me, it was an awakening of sorts. Everywhere you go, you have to be alert. There are so many dangers. You could be in danger if you bump into somebody, if you look at someone wrong, or for no reason at all. I am so much more vigilant of my surroundings, even years later. My ability to read people is greatly improved, because it was so important there.
The surprising thing to me is that it was also an opportunity. Before prison, I liked to play guitar. Inside prison, I got to play in the music program and got pretty good. It was a matter of putting in the time. I also had books sent in so I could study music theory. Before prison, I had 6 years of jr. high and high school Spanish. In prison, I made friends with many people from Spanish-speaking countries and got fluent. I didn’t just talk with them, I watched TV with them, studied the Bible in Spanish with them, read novels in Spanish. In those 8 years I went from high school Spanish to fluent. I also found a job where I could program computers, creating databases used within the facility for things like tracking sports leagues or scheduling medical appointments. I then had books sent in to study new languages, design patterns, Xtreme and Agile methodologies, and more. I left knowing so much more than when I arrived.
Perhaps the biggest surprise of all was how I was able to form close friendships with such a diverse group of people. I had friends from Mexico and Honduras. I hung out with a murderer, as well as a guy who used to do home invasions. I got to be friends with drug dealers and a jewelry store robber. I still have pen pals who remain locked up.
I learned many things from inmates that I never learned in my prior life. I learned that you should go straight to the person you’re upset with rather than go to authorities. I learned that giving and keeping your word is the ultimate measurement of character. I learned that loyalty is easy to promise, but few really deliver. Don’t be that guy. Prison is really a learning crucible since the reactions are so quick and amplified. If you have annoying habits, you’ll find out fast. If you are not respectful to others, you’ll hear about it and you may get a “tune up” to teach you respect.
I also learned about true friends from those who supported me from outside of prison. They stood by me during the trial and all the appeals. They wrote me, took my calls, drove hours to visit me, and more. They really taught me about what true friends do for one another.
So for this geek, being in prison was a chance to learn about so many things.
What are some reasons Chinese citizens might underestimate India, and how do they reconcile this with India’s impressive economic growth statistics?
Chinese Citizens don’t overestimate or underestimate India
They don’t really focus too much on India
I don’t say they are Anti Indian or hate India
They are friendly to Indians most of the time
At this moment, they just don’t RESPECT INDIA
Nobody does!!!
Thats fine
There was a time nobody respected China either
Respect has to be EARNED
In China :-
Japan has earned that respect
US has earned that respect
Vietnam has earned that respect
Russia has earned that respect
Singapore has earned that respect
Now Malaysia has earned that respect
The Chinese may hate the Japanese, dislike Trump, or detest Putin but they respect the countries for their achievements of leadership or economy or military or technology
Likewise China has EARNED the respect it commands
The entire hostile US Actions towards China are a mark of great respect because US considers China a threat
83 Nations came to establish a IOM for Mediation in Hongkong , the first time ever Asian presence has been established for a global organization including 33 founding members of which Switzerland is a part of
China got the sway
That’s the respect commanded by China
India has to earn the respect to sit at the table and be heard and be listened to
It isn’t enough if India keeps yelling about impressive growth statistics or viksit bharat by 2047 or how they destroyed every airbase in Pakistan
It isn’t enough to send Delegations everywhere
It needs Genuine Achievement
Today the world sees India as a Dirty country, full of Corruption doing menial IT work
China was seen exactly as India once , as a country full of child labor slaving away to make low cost products like Saucepans and Pencil Sharpeners
China needed 20 years and a bunch of achievements like a Huge economy, a massive Belt and Road Initiative, Quality Infrastructure, Large Trade , Massive Industrialization and Top notch Innovation to reach today’s level
Very hard work and a lot of visionary legislation
So the Chinese don’t think India’s growth statistics are impressive
They see India as how the US saw China maybe 20–25 years ago
They look at India and see a land of people dependent on foreign equipment, a land of corruption, a land that is dirty,a land whose people are engaged in low cost menial IT work with no innovation
They see India as a land with 1.4 Billion population and a considerable market
Jaishankar, Modi, Palki, Arnab Goswami are seen as Jokers and Clowns
Entertaining but not to be respected or taken seriously
India has to do what China did in 2000, if India has to earn the respect of the world in the next 15–20 years
It needs a lot of reforms, a massive overhaul of the corrosive and rusty Indian system today and a brand new foundation
Plumber Came To Fix A Blocked Pipe But Instead Solves Two Cold Cases
Pain
“Starting at age fourteen I was diagnosed with hemiplegic migraines. These are migraines which come with paralysis and other serious neurological effects and are a rare and misunderstood condition.
Ten years later the migraines changed from only being bad once a month to being chronic.
I had every day pain or serious neurological symptoms. For three years doctors tried to bring them under control.
I was given dozens of medications, they tried Botox, nerve blocks and different diets. Nothing could stop them. Eventually only narcotics could slow them down enough that I was able to return to work.
Two or three years ago doctors started suggesting a new treatment idea, pregnancy. They predicted that the hormones from a pregnancy could act as a “reset” for my body. That it may stop the migraines completely. My husband and I were leery of course they wouldn’t do a hormone treatment to mimic pregnancy, they wanted us to simply roll the dice.
December 23, 2015 the pain abruptly and completely stopped. A week later I called my friend on my lunch break and told her I didn’t know what was “wrong”. I wasn’t in pain. I hadn’t been in pain. Her response was simple “I bet you’re pregnant.” I took a home pregnancy test and sure enough I was.
At the first appointment the doctor gave us another surprise, twins. At seven months pregnant and still pain free the doctor gave us more good news, I probably wouldn’t have another migraine again.
On my birthday this year I underwent a c-section and delivered two healthy and wonderful baby girls. Two months post partum and I am STILL pain free.
My husband and I started calling our girls “magical unicorn babies” while in utero. They gave me my life back. I no longer need a wheelchair for activities outside my home. I no longer have painful twitches in my arms, legs and head.
My service dogs, who once were ready to catch me if I fell are now finding themselves with a lot of free time.
At one time I only had thirteen pain free days over the course of three years. Next week I will celebrate three hundred days in a row pain free.”
She looked up at the tall pines climbing the sky. She remembered when the trees that reached into her view weren’t so still. She remembered when they swayed with a wind that made her sick. I have to save one of them, the memory echoed. The deep scratching of gravel loudened in her ears, the feel of it scraping her hands becoming more real. Her heart silenced the thought of plunging back into the memory again.“Hey,” a frustrated voice interrupted.She jumped slightly, tilting her head up to look at the one casting the shadow. Of course, it was him. Only he could sneak up on her.“What in God’s name was that?” he asked pointedly.She sat up. He was referring to their escape. He had wanted to fight the guards, but she lifted them before they even got the chance.“Ryan,” she started.“You can’t keep lifting whenever things get dangerous,” he asserted. “Nothing will change if you aren’t in this with us.”“Why is this all on me?” she snapped. “Why can’t someone else lead?”Stress moved her to start picking up twigs and breaking them as she talked. “We had our run, and we lost. I’m done with fighting.”There was no answer. She knew he was staring at her, but she didn’t want to look at him. She was afraid he would be able to see how afraid she was.“So, you want Kailyn to do it?”
She immediately turned to glare at him. Have her son lead the Faction? Force him to do what she was forced to do? To sacrifice so many and so much under the mirage of absolute strength?
To risk his life with the monster that nearly killed him, she thought.
Her mind travelled back to the painstakingly slow and heavy rhythm of her digging. Her bloodied hands dragging through the dirt as the sunset in the distance created shadows of surrounding trees. The leaves crying in the wind that pulled against her face. Her chest had been shaking as incessant cries spilled out of her mouth. She couldn’t think, couldn’t feel the earth in her hands; but the aching, throbbing pain in her body was too much not to feel. She was burying her daughter. All by herself.
Raechel closed her eyes and pushed it back down. “No. I just…I’m not going through this again.”
Ryan peered at her quietly for a moment. “What are you not telling me?”
She shied away, her muscles tensing. Everything.
He was under the assumption that she had lifted them to some random woods. A forest off the map in the middle of nowhere that meant nothing to no one. But this place…these trees changed her forever. If she told him why, they would change him, too.
“Love,” he said softly, “our minds have been connected for years. I know when you’re trying to hide something from me.”
She felt the presence of his mind on the outskirts of her own. She wanted to show him, but she hesitated. Connecting telepathically meant absolute empathy—being able to physically feel someone else’s emotions. Should she share this pain with him?
“Raechel, you have no right to do nothing,” he was starting to lose his patience. “Thirty years ago, we started all this. The day she leaked you killing that man was the day we fell into this hole. Now, we are the only powered strong and influential enough to take her down, and you agreed that you would do nothing?”
It was like a punch to the gut.
“You think I like this?” she yelled suddenly. “Ryan, I made a deal with the Devil, I know,” she stood up. “But I can’t lose him. I can’t lose my son.”
“Why?” he pushed forcefully.
She threw up her hands. “Do I even need a reason for that?”
He peered at her. “Yes. Because you’ve never said no to a fight. You were always the first one to run into trouble, the first one to help those in need. Then, all of a sudden, you surrender and agree to never fight again? Why? What do they have on you?”
Cries bubbled in her stomach. What did they have on her? Tears streamed down her face.
Ryan looked taken aback. “Raechel…?”
She looked into his eyes. He did care for her. And, he did have the right to know.
“I want to show you something.”
Turning without waiting for him, she headed toward the place. This was it. She was finally going to tell him. She had thought about how this day would go, but it didn’t seem nearly as terrifying as it was now. Every step forward seemed to be like two steps back. She was receding into the past, back to when the sun was setting, when the wind whistled through the branches. The crunch of leaves under her foot became too familiar and the trees started looking the same as the ones in her brain. When she came to a single yellow flower growing out of the ground, she stopped and stared. There she was.
Ryan was quiet. They’d seen enough death to know more than anyone else what was in the ground.
“Who is it?” he asked quietly.
She opened her mouth, but the tears choked the words back. She reached out to him with her mind, and he let her in immediately.
Our daughter, she cried. The weight shifted over to her memory.
Her bitter cries died down as she continued making the grave. She had to do this. So, the other one could be okay. She had to save one of them. She couldn’t lose another.
Save one. Save one. Her hands dug faster and faster, dirt flying behind her, until she furiously punched the ground. She wasn’t going to lose another. She had to let her go. Right here. Right now.
Satisfied with the depth, she lay on her back, staring at the trees towering above her. The rustle of the wind blowing in their leaves eased a bit of panic. She had to do it now, didn’t she? Taking a deep breath, she wiped her eyes and sniffed. There was a lot that could go wrong with this. She just needed to make sure that nothing she did hurt herself or disturbed the one that was still alive. He had to come out okay. She couldn’t lose him, too.
That thought echoed in their minds from her heart. I can’t lose him, too.
Ryan locked eyes with her through his tears. From their mental connection, she felt him put the pieces together: the residual emptiness in her eyes, the fatigue, the fear all made sense to him now.
She looked away, tears scaling down her cheeks. “After she took you away, they did some experiments. I thought that I would be fine, but…I didn’t have the strength to hide my pregnancy after a while. I thought I could for the sake of the Faction, but…”
She felt her stomach tighten. Remembering that far back would be too much.
“They killed her,” she managed to say. “They injected her with some sort of poison. I knew I was going to be fine, but…if I didn’t let her go, then Kailyn would have died with her.”
Raechel hugged herself. “I don’t know how I managed the strength to do it, but I got out of there and ended up here. And this is where I let her go.”
They both stared at the sad flower shivering with the wind. Raechel trembled with it.
“It’s her birthday today.”
Delusional American TikToker is Now Stuck in Dubai..
We lived on the 1st floor & our landlord’s family were on the ground floor. The landlord’s brother, who was around 40, was mentally challenged—maybe not fully mentally developed, but a gentle, harmless soul.
To make sure he wasn’t ever taken advantage of by his siblings or left dependent, his father had opened a small general store for him—right in the house. It wasn’t meant to earn profits, it was simply to keep him engaged and give him a sense of purpose.
He would give things on credit to people who didn’t have money, offer free chips to kids and never fussed about payments. The shop was technically in loss, but that was never the point. He was the point. His happiness, his daily routine, his little world where he was the “shopkeeper uncle”.
Every evening, I saw what he did to the unsold breads from his shop. He’d quietly open the packets and throw the bread out in the front yard. And within minutes, a few cows and street dogs—who had now memorized the “shop closing = bread dinner” routine—would appear and polish it off.
Not the most economical decision from a business point of view. But then again, some people are above economics. He was one of them.
When he passed away, people from not just our colony but the entire surrounding area came to pay their final respects. And the shop—his little world—was shut down forever.
Not all heroes wear capes. Some give unsold bread to strays, others like me finish their sandwiches with zero leftovers. We’re both doing God’s work. So yes, I don’t know the fate of most of the UNSOLD BREADS —but UNEATEN SANDWICHES doesn’t exist in my dictionary. I eat them all.
CVS Employee Arrested Waiting on Bench for Lyft Driver (7 MINUTES after closing the store)
22 year-old Paul was sitting outside the CVS store where he works in Edgewater, FL, sitting on a bench waiting for a ride using the Lyft app. Edgewater Police Department Officer Daniel Rippeon observed Paul and concluded that he looked suspicious.
No crime had been committed. No crime had been alleged by anyone to have been committed.
Yet Paul was almost immediately seized and threatened with being tased and bitten by a police K9. He was taken to jail, despite the fact that Officer Rippeon was fully aware that Paul was a store employee waiting for a Lyft driver.
Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Influencer Interrupted
Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for a tale of hashtags, hubris, and the harsh reality that no amount of filters can make a collapsing chicken coop look chic. Today’s adventure stars The Valley Chicks, the farm’s most glamorous (and least practical) residents, whose quest for viral fame takes a nosedive into a pile of mud, bad decisions, and the cold, hard truth: worms have better branding. So grab your phones (but maybe don’t hit ‘record’), and join us for Influencer Interrupted—a cautionary tale about the perils of clout-chasing in a world that runs on corn, not clicks.
Act 1: The Rise of #FarmHotties
The Valley Chicks—Tiffany, Brittany, and Madison—gathered around a cracked phone screen, their tiny sunglasses glinting with ambition.
Madison:“Okay, like, farming is so last season. We’re pivoting to lifestyle content. Hashtag FarmHotties!”
Tiffany:“Our aesthetic is rustic glam. Think: hay bales, but make it fashion.”
A chandelier (stolen from the farmer’s attic and repurposed as a “perch”).
Live-streaming the entire ordeal to their 12 followers (11 of whom were other chickens).
Then—disaster.
The Coop:[Creaking ominously]
The Chicks:“Wait, is that—”
The Roof:[Collapsing in slow motion]
The live-stream ended with Tiffany’s muffled scream (“MY BRAND!”) and 3,000 views from bots.
Act 2: The Duck-Tastrophe
Enter Mr. Ducky, smelling opportunity like a used-car salesman at a midlife crisis.
Mr. Ducky:“Ladies, darling ladies. Your content is fire… but have you considered monetizing?”
Brittany:“OMG, like, yes?”
He sold them on “Organic Worm Serum” (“Guaranteed to make your feathers shine!”).
The Serum: Literally just mud.
The Chicks:[Slathering it on]“We’re, like, so sustainable!”
The Worms:[Watching from the soil]“We’re low-key iconic.”
Their follow-up video (“SPA DAY WITH DUCKYCORP”) went viral for all the wrong reasons.
Comments:“Is this a crime scene?”“Why is that duck wearing a tie?”“I stan the worms.”
Act 3: The Fall of the Flock
Sir Whiskerton arrived to find:
The Chicks covered in mud, sobbing into their non-refundable “serum.”
Mr. Ducky auctioning their chandelier on FarmBay.
The Worms trending on CluckTok with #SoilSquad.
The verdict?
Sir Whiskerton:“Let this be a lesson: Likes won’t feed you. Corn will. Also, never trust a duck in a tie.”
Tiffany:“But our engagement—”
Brittany:“We’re influencers, Whiskerton! We don’t eat corn, we style it!”
The Moral (and the Post-Credit Comeback)
Moral:If you chase clout, you might trip over a worm.
Post-Credit Scene:
The worms launch their own channel (“Dirtbag Diaries”). Their first video? A exposé on “Organic Worm Serum.” (Spoiler: It’s still mud.)
Best Lines:
“Our aesthetic is rustic glam. Think: hay bales, but make it fashion.” – Tiffany, delusional
“We’re low-key iconic.” – The Worms, accidental stars
“We don’t eat corn, we style it!” – Brittany, hungry
Starring:
The Valley Chicks (Fame-Hungry Fluffballs)
Mr. Ducky (Shady Salesquack)
The Worms (Silent MVPs)
Key Jokes:
A coop collapse live-streamed for the ‘gram.
A duck selling literal dirt as luxury skincare.
Worms out-influencing the influencers.
What is China’s motivation for wanting to supplant US leadership role regarding influencing global health policy?
Is there the US leadership of global health policy for China to supplant?
Once upon a time, US was forthcoming with help when a disease breaks out. This is history. Now it is the Chinese hospital ships that are doing the good job.
The most known of US global health policy is to blame China. Covid-19 was on its hit parade. Now it is fentanyl. But this is not global. It is unique-American.
The most know of US global health action is it walked out of WTO to deny it of funding when the organisation was most in need of money.
China stepped in to fill the gap. This was over 5 years ago when China was much poorer than the US.
What is China’s motivation?
It is that WTO needed the money and the world needed WTO most when Covid-19 was on a rampage.
Has it supplanted the US influence?
No, it has not. In the present scheme of things when US controls the mass media, global health officials would not dare to offend the US, but concentrate to do the best they can in their vocations.
US has shown how vicious it can be whenever any global official does anything against its will, such as how it threatened and punished the judicial officials in the international courts.
In 1954, Chester Candler built a log cabin in a quiet little meadow at the foot of Mars Hill Mountain, Maine. His daughter and granddaughter live there today, although it has undergone many modern-day improvements. The homestead lies about six miles from the center of town.Madelyn Collins, a trim 39-year-old, is busy looking through the junk drawer for the keys to the truck. She stops when she hears the weather report come on the radio.“Well, folks, it looks like we’re in for a big one! The snowstorm that was beginning to turn out to sea is now holding its course and should reach our coastline around 8 o’clock tonight! It would be a good time to run out and pick up that milk, eggs, and bread! Make sure you have plenty of water plus loads of yummy snacks. If you have a generator at home, getting extra gas would be wise; there is no telling how long it will last. With winds nearing 45 miles an hour, plenty of drifting will occur. The National Weather Bureau says the storm could drop as much as 28 to 34 inches of snow. Now, back to the music with The Rasmus and Sail Away.”Madelyn uses the glass window of the microwave to put on her earrings. She can’t help but notice how her hair is starting to be streaked with gray. She mutters, “Oh well, kid, you can’t stay young forever.” Madelyn turns toward the hallway and calls her daughter, Piper. “Piper, honey. Could you come here, please?”The spirited blonde seventeen-year-old appears running in her stocking feet and slides to a stop. Her mother laughs. “What’s that all about?”Piper smiles, “I just thought it would be fun, that’s all. What’s up?”“Did you hear the weather forecast? Jeff Hill says we’re in for a big storm. I thought I’d pick up some things at Tweedlie’s IGA. Is there anything you would like?”Piper leans against the kitchen table and looks up at the ceiling, her long blonde ponytail dangling behind her. “Hmm. Oh! I know! How about two packs of Ding Dongs? I love those things.”“Ding Dongs it is,” smiles her mother. “And would you please bring in some firewood for tonight? I’d appreciate it.” Digging a little more in the draw, she asks, “Have you seen the keys? I can’t find them!” Piper smirks as she hitches her thumb at the backdoor. “Yeah. They’re hanging over there on the hook you put in, so you wouldn’t have to dig through the junk drawer anymore.” Madelyn’s face flushes as she drops her head. “You know? Sometimes I’m just too clever. O’ well. See you in a bit. Bye!” Piper waves goodbye to her mom and closes the door.Looking up at the threatening gray sky, Madelyn is glad she bought the new truck. It’s a 2005 Chevy Colorado. She bought it because the ads said it was good in the snow. The reason she could afford such a truck was due to her husband Jim dying in a fatal work accident at the lumberyard. An investigation proved it was an overlooked safety hazard, and she was awarded nearly half a million dollars for her loss. That was four years ago, and she still wakes up every morning lonely and crying. She knows his death has been grueling on Piper, too. Madelyn is stirred back to reality by a snowflake landing on her nose and decides she had better get going.Piper is an only child and was thirteen when her father died. Jim was in special forces in the Marines and started teaching Piper survival skills when she was ten. He thought it would be a good idea, what with living so close to a moutain forest. Piper thrived on the attention and learning. She thought it was great fun knowing how to survive in the wilderness and not be afraid. Jim even taught her some combat skills to protect herself. He laughed as he told Madelyn, “The boys better watch out. She’s going to be one tough little lady!”Piper didn’t let her mother know she is continuing her relationship with her father through his picture on her nightstand. She tells him everything about her day each night before going to sleep. She’d tell him when something exciting or sad would happen at school, like when her best friend moved away. To Piper, it was like he had never died. Sometimes, she would imagine him standing behind her, smiling. Or think she saw his reflection in her mirror, even though that was silly to believe.Piper picks up the kitchen after breakfast and puts on her toque and mittens to get the firewood. She fills the wheelbarrow with oak logs and remembers to include the kindling and birch bark. The snow has started falling steadily, and Piper hopes her mother is safe.
After a light lunch, Piper enters the living room to do her homework. “Algebra, blah! How boring.” Piper places a few logs in the fireplace and sets the kindling ablaze. Soon, the logs are crackling nicely. Piper drapes a light blanket across her shoulders and sets to work on her studies. It’s not long until she drifts away into sleep between the algebra and the heat of the fire.
Piper’s eyes fly open due to a loud banging sound. She looks at the hall clock and sees it’s a quarter to five. “Mom? Is that you?” Her mother doesn’t answer. “Where is she? She left for the store this morning at ten thirty!” Piper hears the banging again and discovers it from a pine branch hitting the side of the house. The wind has picked up considerably. Piper’s heart pounds against her chest when the phone rings, and rushes toward it. “MOM!?!”
“Piper, darling! First of all, I’m alright. The storm came in so quickly that it caught everybody by surprise! Downtown traffic became unpassable in no time. Cars were stuck, just spinning their wheels. Do you remember Mrs. Dubois from church? Well I’m staying with her until the roads are clear. How are you doing? Do you have power?”
Piper turns on the outside light and sees a dark figure dart behind a snow drift. “Yes, I have power. I’m looking out the backdoor right now and see the wind is blowing hard. There’s a big drift across the driveway. In the morning, I’ll use the tractor to plow it out of the way for you.”
Madelyn stammers, “Please be careful! I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Piper chuckles into the phone, “Don’t worry, Mom. Dad taught me how to drive the tractor. I’ll be fine.” Her mother sounds a little calmer as she reminds Piper about the generator in the cellar. “ There’s some extra gas under the stairs. Okay then. I guess I’ll be seeing you sometime tomorrow. Love ya!”
“Love you to Mom.” After hanging up, Piper takes another look out the backdoor. Just beyond the casting of the backdoor light, Piper sees a pair of glowing green eyes reflected in the dark and thinks it must be a raccoon looking for shelter from the storm.
After a supper of a cheese and ham omelet and toast, Piper decides to check to see if the generator needs topping off. The wind howls, and the lights flicker. Just as Piper reaches for the cellar door, they go out. “Damn! I was hoping that wouldn’t happen. Mom says there’s a flashlight in the junk drawer. Great! Maybe we need another little hook to hang that on, too!” She feels around inside until she finds it and turns it on. The wind howls again, but this time, it sounds different, almost mechanical. Piper grabs the handle and jerks the door wide open.
Something about the size of a big dog sprints past the foot of the stairs, causing Piper to yelp. She slams the door and leans on it with her flashlight hand while turning the deadbolt with her other. Then she hears it. The fourth step from the bottom is the only one that squeaks. Something is climbing the stairs. Her eyes are wide and dilated with fear. Piper leans closer to the door to try and hear. Suddenly, there is a loud boom as if someone threw a five-pound bag of potatoes at the door. Piper scurries back so fast that she slams into the kitchen table, knocking over the ketchup bottle and sending the silverware flying. Quickly covering her face with the crook of her arm, the flashlight beam dances wildly in her shaking hand. “God! What was that thing? What am I going to do?”
Piper hears her father instructing her like he did many years ago. “What’s the first thing to do when a crisis arises?” Piper’s voice cracks with disbelief, “Daddy?” The voice repeats, “What is the first thing we do when a crisis arises?” Piper swallows hard and whispers, “Stay calm.” When he speaks again, Piper is sure her father has returned to save her. “What’s the second thing?” Piper responds with confidence, “Secure the area.” She jams one of the wooden chairs under the cellar door handle. Next, she locks all the windows and doors. Piper receives an impression of her father’s nightstand and heads upstairs. Pulling open the nightstand drawer, she finds a white envelope with a key inside. The tag on the key reads trunk. Knitting her eyebrows together, Piper thinks hard. She looks at the bedroom closet and thinks, “Your old military locker?” She slides open the closet doors and pulls the locker into the room. Her hands tremble as she unlocks it. Opening the lid, Piper finds a black turtleneck sweater, black toque, grease face paint, and night goggles. It doesn’t take her long to figure out she is supposed to use these items. Picking up the sweater, her eyes widen when she sees her father’s MRI .44magnum Desert Eagle.
Piper puts everything on the bed, including an extra clip of bullets. In the master bath, she puts on the sweater and covers her face with the black grease paint. Next, she tucks her blonde hair beneath the toque and puts on the night goggles. Shutting off the lights, Piper is amazed at how clearly she can see everything in the dark. Something catches her eye out the bedroom window. What looked like a huge snow drift behind the woodshed was actually a snow-covered spaceship. As she watched a door slide open, four more monsters descended into the storm. They huddled together momentarily before moving toward the house, their spaceship door closing.
Panic is gripping Piper’s heart! “Oh God! What do I do? What do I do?” But suddenly, she knows she needs to secure her position. Piper races through the house, shutting off every light until the only thing left is the fire’s glowing embers. She rushes down the hall to the downstairs bathroom and locks the door. Piper squats down in the tub, resting the heavy Desert Eagle on her knees. She waits.
The raging gale continues outside, but Piper can’t hear it. She only hears the sound of her own heart beating as she tries to remain calm. Piper keeps her breathing slow and steady, and then she hears the chair fall and the cellar door open.
At first, she could hear the creatures moving about the house. She knew they were looking for people. Finally, Piper hears small clicks and tweets as they communicate with one another. They come to a stop outside of the bathroom door. Piper manages not to flinch when the door knob is tested. Then there came a scratching sound and Piper knew the aliens were opening the lock.
When they finally get the door unlocked, they do nothing. Piper holds her breath to try to stay as still as possible. “They’re listening. I mustn’t move.”
The door creaks as it is slowly opened. Piper closes her eyes, afraid of what she will see, but forces them open again to be able to shoot. Long fingers wrap around the edge of the door, and the first creature appears. It is about three feet tall, though it is slightly bent over. The head looks too large for the rest of its body. The creature’s color is a shade of gray. Though its eyes are large, they are squinted as if it is trying to see in the dark. It waves its other thin arm with extended fingers back and forth as if trying to feel its way in the pitch-black room. The others stumble in behind their leader. The last alien stops in the doorway. Piper has an idea: if she shoots the one in the doorway first, the others will have a harder time escaping. The urge to shoot comes almost immediately, but she must refrain to be sure to kill them all.
Piper watches until they are almost in a perfectly straight line and pulls the trigger. The muzzle flash lights up the room, and the alien nearest her screams and shields its eyes. Piper turns her weapon on him next and feels something wet hit her face. In the chaos, Piper keeps firing, being deafened by the noise of the handgun and shrieks of pain. The Desert Eagle clicks three more times before Piper realizes it’s over. She steps out of the bathtub and slips in the goo covering the floor. Weeping, Piper walks into the kitchen and stands perfectly still. She removes the night goggles and sees the figure of a man standing before the fireplace, illuminated by the dying coals. “You did great, Kitten,” he said proudly and disappeared.
Shortly after Piper’s mother arrived home, the police cars began arriving, followed by shiny, black government sedans to record the incident of Mars Hill.
Do you think China’s planemaker, Comac, can rise to the challenges and become a major player in the global aviation market?
Yes! In the past, in order to obtain airworthiness certificates from the United States and Western countries, COMAC had to use a large number of parts from the United States and Western countries.
Even if COMAC uses American and Western parts in order to obtain an airworthiness certificate, the approval of the American and Western airworthiness certificate is still subject to obvious political interference.
Moreover, the use of spare parts from the United States and other Western countries is not only costly, but also inefficient in producing spare parts, which has affected COMAC’s aircraft manufacturing efficiency and caused a significant increase in COMAC’s costs.
Fortunately, Trump entered the White House and issued an order to suspend the sale of engines to the Chinese aircraft manufacturer COMAC.
US suspends sales of some US technologies to China’s airplane maker COMAC: Reports
The U.S. has reportedly suspended some technology sales to China, including those related to jet engines for COMAC's C919 aircraft, according to the New York Times. This action is allegedly a response to China's recent restrictions on critical mineral exports to the U.S. The suspended licenses affect U.S. firms selling products and technology to COMAC for the C919's development.
China has always had a backup plan. The indicators of the domestic ACAE CJ-1000A engine are comparable to those of the US engine. It is expected that all test projects will be completed in 2025, and the C919 passenger aircraft will be gradually equipped from 2026.
In any case, American and Western airlines will not buy COMAC’s passenger planes. It is meaningless to compromise with the United States and the West and buy their parts, so COMAC might as well give up the US and Western markets and first obtain airworthiness certificates in the global south, and win the global southern market with high quality, low price , High automation and high safety.
Huawei and BYD gave up the American market, but they also sold well.
Thailand’s ‘Cyanide Serial Killer’. How She Was FINALLY Caught.
I researched what the United States government functions as. This was in response to a Quora question. It was not approved, and was deleted. So, I am posting the results here.
You can follow the computational effort directly from the LINK HERE.
Question: What is the De Facto government of the United States?
Answer:
Conclusion: A Military-Financial Empire with Oligarchic Rule
The U.S. fits a modern imperial model:
Military dominance secures global economic control.
Kleptocratic mechanisms (legal corruption, wealth extraction) enrich the ruling class.
Unlike past empires (Rome, Britain), the U.S. empire is less about territorial conquest and more about financialized control—enforced by the military but managed by banks, corporations, and intelligence agencies.
Final Classification:
✅ Military Empire (global force projection)
✅ Plutocratic Oligarchy (ruled by competing elites)
⚠️ Kleptocratic Features (legalized corruption, elite extraction)
This system is not a dictatorship, nor is it a democracy in any meaningful participatory sense—it is a managed oligarchy within an imperial framework, where elections influence—but do not fundamentally alter—the power structure.
…
From this I also asked other questions.
Here are the results.
That being said, as the United States is a Plutocratic oligarchy, what actual role does the Congress and Senate functionally have?
In the U.S. plutocratic oligarchy, Congress and the Senate still perform critical functions—but not necessarily the ones envisioned in civics textbooks. Their role has largely shifted from representing the public interest to managing elite consensus, legitimizing oligarchic rule, and facilitating legalized corruption. Here’s how they actually function:
1. The Illusion of Democratic Representation
Theater of Democracy: Congress holds hearings, debates, and votes, creating the appearance of democratic accountability.
Partisan Spectacle: Polarized fights (abortion, guns, culture wars) distract from elite consensus on core issues (military spending, corporate subsidies, Wall Street deregulation).
Limited Policy Impact: Most major legislation is drafted by lobbyists, think tanks, or executive agencies—not by elected officials.
2. A Gatekeeper for Oligarchic Interests
Legalizing Corruption: Congress enables elite wealth extraction through:Tax loopholes (crafted by corporate lobbyists)Corporate subsidies (fossil fuels, Big Ag, defense contractors)Deregulation (banking, environmental, labor laws)
Revolving Door Mechanism: Many members use office as a stepping stone to lucrative lobbying/K Street careers.
Weaponized Gridlock: Prevents populist reforms (e.g., Medicare for All, Wall Street regulation) while fast-tracking elite priorities (bank bailouts, defense budgets).
3. A Ratifier of Elite Consensus
Military-Industrial Complex: Congress rubber-stamps Pentagon budgets (even when the military asks for less funding).
Corporate Trade Deals: Fast-track authority ensures deals like NAFTA, TPP are passed with minimal public input.
Bailouts & Austerity: When elites demand it (2008 crisis, COVID corporate relief), Congress acts swiftly—but drags feet on student debt relief or welfare expansion.
4. A Safety Valve for Public Anger
Performative Opposition: Partisan theatrics (impeachments, shutdown dramas) let voters feel represented while systemic policies remain unchanged.
Scapegoating: Blame is shifted to the other party, “lazy poor,” immigrants, or “woke corporations” to avoid addressing plutocratic rule.
Controlled Dissent: Progressive firebrands (AOC, Sanders) are tolerated as long as they don’t threaten core oligarchic interests.
5. A Bureaucratic Obstacle Course
Designed for Inertia: The filibuster, committee system, and procedural hurdles prevent radical change unless elites demand it.
Wealth Filter: Running for office requires corporate funding, ensuring only oligarch-approved candidates win.
Conclusion: Congress as the “Board of Directors” for the Oligarchy
Congress and the Senate still serve key functions—but not for the people. Their real roles are:
Legitimizing elite rule through democratic theater.
Blocking threats to the oligarchy (populism, wealth taxes, anti-war movements).
They are not powerless—but their power is mostly used to maintain the status quo, not challenge it. In a true democracy, Congress would reflect public will. In a plutocracy, it reflects donor interests.
Final Answer:
Congress is an elite-managed institution that sustains oligarchic rule—not by openly defying democracy, but by systemically channeling political energy into harmless theatrics while protecting wealth and empire.
…
The modern U.S. presidency operates as the public face of oligarchic power—a role that fluctuates between chaotic strongman (Trump) and elite caretaker (Biden), but always within the confines of the plutocratic system. Its true function today is less about leadership and more about managing perceptions, executing elite consensus, and absorbing public discontent while the deeper structures of corporate-military-financial power remain untouched.
1. The President as a Figurehead for the Oligarchy
Whether a blustering outsider (Trump) or a bureaucratic insider (Biden), the president’s core role is to:
Legitimize the system by giving the illusion of democratic choice.
Enforce elite consensus on key issues (Wall Street bailouts, military budgets, corporate trade deals).
Distract from structural rot through culture wars, scandals, or personality-driven politics.
Example:
Trump raged about “draining the swamp” but filled his cabinet with Goldman Sachs bankers and signed record defense budgets.
Biden promised “unity” but continued Trump’s militarism (Ukraine, Israel) and austerity (student debt betrayal, bank deregulation).
2. The President as Crisis Manager for Empire
The presidency’s most consistent power is managing imperial decline:
Military-Industrial Complex – Every president, regardless of party, expands war powers (Trump’s drone strikes, Biden’s Ukraine funding).
Economic Extraction – They facilitate corporate looting (Trump’s tax cuts, Biden’s Silicon Valley bailouts).
Suppressing Dissent – From Obama’s whistleblower prosecutions to Trump’s crackdowns on BLM, the executive branch polices threats to oligarchic stability.
Example:
Trump’s chaos distracted from his pro-corporate policies (deregulation, judges).
3. The President as Lightning Rod for Public Anger
The Oval Office serves as a scapegoat to absorb blame for systemic failures:
Trump’s buffoonery let the media ignore deeper corruption (e.g., Congress’s insider trading).
Biden’s cognitive decline hid the fact that his administration was run by neocons (Blinken) and Wall Street (Yellen).
This good cop/bad cop routine ensures no president fundamentally challenges oligarchic rule—just rotates between controlled opposition and controlled incompetence.
4. The Limits of Presidential Power
The president is not all-powerful—but is constrained by:
The Blob (Deep State, Pentagon, CIA) – They sabotage non-compliant presidents (JFK, Trump’s first impeachment).
Corporate Donors – No president seriously taxes the rich or breaks up monopolies.
Media Framing – The press amplifies either presidential savior myths (Obama) or villain hysterics (Trump), distracting from systemic analysis.
Example:
Trump’s isolationism was neutered by the military-industrial complex (his admin still bombed 7 countries).
Biden’s “progressivism” was crushed by Wall Street donors (no wealth tax, no Medicare expansion).
Conclusion: The Presidency as a Reality TV Show Masking Oligarchy
The office’s modern role is:
✅ A spectacle (culture wars, tweets, gaffes) to keep citizens distracted.
✅ A shock absorber for anger that should be directed at Congress & corporations.
✅ An executor of elite priorities (war, bank bailouts, corporate welfare).
Whether chaotic (Trump) or senile (Biden), the presidency does not rule America—it manages its decline while the real power lies with:
The Pentagon & intelligence agencies (permanent war)
Wall Street & Silicon Valley (financial extraction)
The donor class (who pick both candidates anyway)
The president is less a leader and more a PR tool for the oligarchy—meant to entertain, enrage, and occasionally enforce elite consensus, but never to truly change the system.
Donald Trump proposed the idea of ”China, the United States, and Russia dividing the world into three parts”. Is this a peaceful withdrawal from hegemony?
I dont think so.
Look at after WW2. USA, UK, Russia wanted to rule the world together. UK wanted to include all its colonies. USA worried UK would get its colonies to outnumber USA in voting. Then UK dragged France along while USA, China that was represented by ROC-Taiwan at the time. Hence there are 5 permanent members in UNSC since WW2.
You think there will be peace after this “gentleman” agreement? No. USA & UK collapsed USSR in 1991. Along with USSR collapse was East Germany & the Warsaw pact.
During the 2008 US financial crisis, Obama proposed to China to form G2. China refused. Then what? Obama set up the TPP in Asia to isolate China by blocking TPP member from trading with China. See, the proposed G2 was not meant to split the world economy so that USA & China will live happily after like Snow White in the fairy tale. It was meant to temporarily get China’s help with the US financial crisis & later directly control Chinese economy, one way or another.
So, I am not optimistic about Trump’s proposal re splitting the world by 3. I guess eventually USA will want to gobble up the other 2. USA just want temporary “peace”.
See, Canada has been USA’s loyal ally. Now what? Trump wants Canada become the 51st US state.
Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Mutiny on the Muddy Duck
Ah, dear reader, prepare for a tale of high-seas treachery so inept it would make Blackbeard retire in shame. Today’s misadventure stars Captain Cluckbeard, the farm’s most delusional pirate, whose reign over the “Muddy Duck” (a repurposed kiddie pool) is threatened by Mr. Ducky, a feathered capitalist with a taste for corn-based extortion. Add a mutiny led by a rooster who can’t count, and a dog who believes demolition is a bonding activity, and you’ve got a nautical disaster that even the barnyard’s resident detective can’t salvage. So hoist the mainsail (or at least a dirty sock on a stick), and join us for Mutiny on the Muddy Duck—where the only thing sinking faster than the ship is Cluckbeard’s dignity.
Act 1: The Ducky Coup
Captain Cluckbeard stood proudly on the deck of his mighty vessel—a cracked inflatable pool filled with three inches of suspiciously brown water—addressing his crew.
Cluckbeard:“Arrr, today we plunder the high seas of… uh… that puddle near the compost heap!”
Squawk:“Cap’n, that’s just runoff from the rain.”
Pluck:“And also, we’re out of snacks.”
Enter Mr. Ducky, waddling up with a tiny eyepatch and a clipboard.
Mr. Ducky:“Ahoy, landlubbers! As the new CEO of DuckCorp, I hereby demand 50% of all corn profits… or I scuttle yer ship!”
Cluckbeard:“Ye can’t scuttle us! We’re a sovereign nation!”
Mr. Ducky:[Kicks the pool]“Sovereign this.”
The “Muddy Duck” lurched ominously.
Act 2: The Mutiny That Wasn’t
Squawk, sensing weakness, attempted to overthrow Cluckbeard in a historically inaccurate coup.
Squawk:“I hereby invoke… the thing! The pirate thing! With the plank!”
Pluck:“Mutiny?”
Squawk:“Yes! That! Wait… is it ‘walk the plank’ or waddle the plank?”
Cluckbeard:“It’s ‘walk,’ ye bilge rat!”
Squawk:“Are ye sure? Ducks waddle. We waddle. Maybe the whole thing’s a misnomer—”
The debate ended when Rufus the Dog, mistaking the chaos for a game of fetch, charged the “ship” at full speed.
Rufus:“PLAYTIME! PLAYTIME!”
Result: The pool exploded into shards of plastic, sending the crew tumbling into the mud.
Act 3: The Court of Barnyard Maritime Law
Sir Whiskerton arrived to find:
Cluckbeard covered in algae, shaking a deflated pool noodle like a cutlass.
Mr. Ducky calculating “emotional damages” on a waterproof ledger.
Rufus proudly sitting in the wreckage, tail wagging.
The verdict?
Sir Whiskerton:“This court finds the defendant guilty of… being the worst pirates in history. Sentencing: You all have to help the farmer clean the actual duck pond.”
Mr. Ducky:“I’ll bill you for my trauma.”
The Moral (and the Post-Credit Plunder)
Moral:If you’re going to be a pirate, at least steal something valuable. Like snacks.
Post-Credit Scene:
The Valley Chicks turn the pool scraps into “vintage pirate chic” accessories. Tiffany models a plastic-shard tiara: “Like, so post-apocalyptic, right?”
Best Lines:
“Sovereign this.” – Mr. Ducky, corporate raider
“Are ye sure? Ducks waddle. We waddle.” – Squawk, mutinous philosopher
“PLAYTIME! PLAYTIME!” – Rufus, agent of chaos
Starring:
Captain Cluckbeard (Pool-Tier Pirate)
Mr. Ducky (Feathered Tony Soprano)
Squawk & Pluck (Crew of Cowards)
Key Jokes:
A duck auditing pirates.
A mutiny derailed by semantics.
A dog who literally destroys the plot.
The New York Times said China’s debt has reached 3 times GDP, will their economy go bankrupt and collapse?
🤨 How much debt does China have isn’t a problem. China real estate’s total value is 6 times of its GDP and if government need rise up it the average price can rise over 10% in just one year so in such system the debt can be washed away easily by the CPI rise wave.
The only difference made America can’t do same things like China is because the real estate market of the US almost 100% consist of wooden single houses that when you use CPI wash out debt the losers who been stuck in hard dealing debts will rise up crime rate then the house will be tear down or burnt into ground so lost all the value. Unlike America,China’s government forbid personal house build and people all live in high rise microdistricts which made of RC frame shear wall structures,they are so strong that can tolerate any damage and disasters. Even there happen a war the buildings will still exist so they are forever have value,thus made government use them as political rule’s substantilization,and by their control power to social discipline people then solve the debt
Does President Trump believe that China’s peaceful reunification with Taiwan is a China-domestic issue which the US should not be involved in?
No! Although the United States is now internally torn and angry about China’s rapid development, their intention to defeat China has not changed. Since Trump cannot defeat China head-on, he will think of some crooked ways, and it is not ruled out that a war across the Taiwan Strait will be triggered.
For example, after JD Vance visited India with his Indian wife and met with Modi, India declared war on Pakistan. The timing of the two was very ‘coincidental’.
JD Vance probably promised to provide weapons assistance to India during his meeting with Modi, prompting Modi to make up his mind.
The essence of the India-Pakistan conflict was instigated by the United States. India launched a war as soon as JD Vance left, which shows that India declared war on Pakistan in order to cooperate with the United States to suppress China and trigger the India-Pakistan conflict during the China-US tariff war.
Because China has invested a lot in Pakistan, the Belt and Road Initiative, power plants, dams, railways, military industry, ports, etc., China’s investment makes the United States and India jealous. Therefore, the military conflict between India and Pakistan is created to interfere with the Belt and Road Initiative and curb China’s exports.
The India-Pakistan air war is essentially a game between China and the United States.
The latest news is that the Balochs living in India sent an open letter to Indian Prime Minister Modi and UN Secretary-General Guterres, asking India to support and recognize “Balochistan independence” and calling on the United Nations to take immediate action to support Balochistan’s “independence” from Pakistan.
Their sinister intentions are obvious, and their goal is to undermine China’s “Belt and Road” initiative. I believe that many people are well aware of the source of funds for the Balochistan Liberation Army, so I won’t go into details here.
What is the pettiest thing you’ve seen a cheap person do at a restaurant?
“Man up and pay the bill!” she said.
I was eating at a street diner. I noticed a couple arguing at the table across from me. The man stood up and said with a calm voice, “I’m breaking up with you.”
The woman was stunned.
He explained that he knew she had cheated.
The woman pleaded, “It was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”
The man hesitated. I could see him weighing his decision—pain flickering in his eyes. But it was final. “We’re done.”
Right after that, the woman’s face changed.
Her tear-stained eyes hardened into a glare. “Tch, I should’ve squeezed more out of you.” Then she drank her glass empty, glared at the man, and said, “Well, you’re the man. Go and pay the bill.”
The man stood up and walked off.
But I noticed he wasn’t heading toward the counter, but the exit. A few minutes later, a waiter approached the woman with a bill.
“What do you mean I have to pay?!!” She shouted.
That’s when she realized what just happened. She exploded. Screamed. Slammed her water glass onto the floor. Shards everywhere. A full-on tantrum.
The waiter just sighed as he added the broken glass to her bill.
In the end, she reluctantly paid.
What happens to a fighter when it is hit by an air-air or ground-air missile? Does it blow up like in the movies?
You’ve been watching the wrong movies.
Fighters don’t usually explode, more often they go down trailing smoke or flames when an important control has been disabled or shot away, or the engine set on fire, or the pilot injured or killed.
Most anti aircraft missiles explode in the near proximity to a target aircraft, not scoring a direct hit. The explosion released a large hail of fragmentation pieces which are designed to shred the target more like a shotgun load, with the fragments doing fatal damage to the aircraft. Planes are fragile, with many key parts required to keep flying, with little or no redundancy.
Aircraft that literally explode usually do so because a bomb load or missile warhead was detonated or perhaps the fuel vapors ignited. A secondary explosion.
The Most Satisfying Downfalls in YouTube History
Apple-Cornbread Stuffed Goose
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Ingredients
1 wild goose, well cleaned and picked (do not skin)
Goose giblets
10 cups cornbread crumbs
1 large onion, finely chopped
2 Jonathan apples, diced
Salt and pepper
Sage
Garlic
Instructions
Boil giblets until tender, remove skin, and chop fine. Combine with cornbread crumbs, onions and apple. Mix well and add salt, pepper, sage, garlic and other seasonings to taste.
Moisten and stuff goose. Place goose in roasting pan and spread with about 2 tablespoons butter, and then sprinkle with a little flour.
Roast in 350 degrees F oven until done, which will take about 15 to 20 minutes per pound. Baste often.
What steps can you take to stand out and get noticed by higher-ups in the military, no matter your MOS?
Sometimes, by simply doing your duty. In 1965. I was a Sergeant, assigned to the First Marine Division at Camp Pendleton, CA. Had just returning from the Third Marine Division Division, which had recently mounted out from Okinawa to Vietnam. It was the first combat unit to be assigned to the war effort. I was my battalion’s Embarkation NCO and had acquired a lot of experience in this field at Camp Lejeune, as well, with continuous deployments to the Mediterranean and Caribbean Seas.
At Camp Pendleton, I was also assigned, as an additional duty as the Embarkation NCO. In those days, units at Pendleton had been static, with few people having such experiences. I had received orders for Recruiting Duty and was looking forward to it, when the Division received orders to completely mount out for Vietnam.
We began preparations and a meeting was called of all Embarkation personnel at Division Headquarters. During the meeting, it became apparent that no one there had the necessary expertise to get it done. I related our experience in moving to Vietnam and all the things that were needed for this “permanent” deployment.
A couple of days later, I was told to get into Greens and report to the Commanding General. No one knew why. When I reported to Major General Fields, I found out! He had attended the embarkation meeting and heard what had transpired. He then told me that he was aware of my orders, but that my services were needed and that I would be going to Vietnam with him. Marine Corps regulations stated that shouldn’t be assigned back overseas in less than a year. Was transferred to Division Embarkation and supervised our deployments from San Diego and Long Beach, leaving with the Command Group after only 7 months back home.
It all worked out, however. Was promoted to Staff Sergeant and 6 months later, was commissioned to Second Lieutenant at Chu Lai, while serving in my primary field, as an Assault Amphibian Vehicle Platoon Commander.
The General had been paying attention to me, again, and I was assigned as the Division Liaison Officer to the Danang Special Sector, providing allied units coordination with Marine forces during combat operations and provided our air and artillery support. I also worked with contractors, USAID and any other “cats and dogs” operating in our area. Tried to visit Regimental and Separate Battalion Headquarters on a monthly basis to ensure smooth operations with the Vietnamese.
You never know who might be paying attention to you or, where it might take you…Semper Fi
As she had been trained, Elara systematically checked the integrity of her spacesuit and its comms one last time before starting the airlock sequence. “I’m ready, John,” she informed the station commander. Colonel John Wood, a veteran Air Force pilot and experienced astronaut, had served as the International Space Station commander for the past year. John had spent more time in space and zero gravity than anyone else on the space station.”You’re clear to go,” John replied, watching her movements on his monitor 40 meters away in the command center of the International Space Station.”Thank you, John,” Elara said, starting the airlock sequence. The inner door of the airlock hissed open, revealing its cramped and claustrophobic chamber. Hesitantly, Elara stepped into the small space, which barely fit her bulky spacesuit. As a new crew member at the International Space Station, this marked her first solo spacewalk—a milestone in her career as an astronaut. Some of the station’s solar panels had sustained damage from high-speed debris, likely space junks orbiting Earth left from previous space missions. Her mission was to inspect the damage, assess it, and make repairs.She stepped into the airlock chamber and manually closed and secured the inner door. The locking mechanism engaged with a reassuring clunk. With a flashing orange light, the airlock began its programmed depressurization, making a gentle hiss as air pumped out of the chamber. As the air was drawn from the chamber, the hiss gradually faded until it stopped, coinciding with a green light illuminating, indicating that all the air had been vacated. It was now safe to proceed with opening the chamber’s outer door. But before that, Elara peered through the small porthole of the outer door. Since the porthole faced away from Earth and into the vastness of space, she saw nothing but blackness. The daunting darkness planted a seed of doubt in her mind and quickened her heartbeat.
“Are you okay, Elara?” John’s voice came through her comms.
“Yes, I am. Why?” she replied sharply as if John had questioned her ability to perform the spacewalk.
“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.
Chamorro Shrimp Fritters
The Chamorro are the indigenous people to the Mariana Islands. These shrimp fritters are a combination of shrimp and vegetables. They are routinely served with Finadene Sauce for dipping.
Yield: 26 fritters
Ingredients
Vegetable oil, for frying
1 pound (25-30) raw shrimp
1/4 cup celery, finely minced
1/2 cup carrots, shredded
1 cup canned kernel corn, drained
1/2 cup frozen peas, thawed
1 whole egg
3/4 cup canned evaporated milk
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/2 teaspoon celery salt
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
2 teaspoons baking powder
Instructions
Fill a deep heavy Dutch oven with about six inches of the oil. Heat the oil to 350 degrees F and hold at that temperature.
Peel, devein and coarsely chop the shrimp, leaving some bigger pieces.
In a large bowl place chopped shrimp, celery, carrots, corn, peas, egg and milk. Mix to combine.
In a separate smaller bowl mix flour, cayenne, celery salt, kosher salt, pepper and baking powder. Stir to combine then stir into the wet mixture.
When the oil is hot, using a one ounce scoop (#40), scoop about 12 fritters into the hot oil, nudging with a strainer or tongs so they float and don’t stick to the bottom.
Fry for five minutes, tipping them with the strainer or tongs so they flip and cook on both sides.
After five minutes, remove one and check center. If done, remove all to a platter lined with paper towels.
Once oil is back to temperature, cook remaining fritters.
Pack the most important parts of your twenty-six years into this two-feet-by-one-foot-by-one-foot box. Clothes? No, we’ll provide you with all the essentials. Pillow, razor, all that. Pack anything personal you want to bring along, maybe something to keep you entertained on the trip. No combustibles, firearms, or compressed gases, nothing with a lithium or graphene cells, et cetera. Here’s your trunk – number seventy-two. You’d best remember that for the trip, everyone’s looks the same. Take care Mr. Thompson, don’t be late for check-in.Soon this box will be the only bridge that spans your two lives. Find the pith of two-and-half odd decades, don your favorite socks, and leave the rest behind.Twenty-six years ought to contain an abundant volume of artifacts worthy of preservation. Two cubic feet should be woefully, horrendously deficient to commemorate a generous quarter of a human life.I’m sitting on my bed at 2 a.m., staring into an empty box. Thunder booms and sputters into the silence of this empty house. The vacant enclosure of rubberized plastic suggests various items invitingly. Your Pulitzer! Bring your Pulitzer certificate. No, no, what good is that where I’m going? We’ve all witnessed first-hand the most important event that will ever happen to us. The career is dead, the award may as well be laid to rest with it. How about your Ricky Grubbs autographed baseball? Baseball is a national emblem, after all. OK then. I rub my eyes and toss the baseball in. It rolls around the box and settles listlessly in a lonely corner. Really? I’m expecting a ball from an extinct sport with the name of a man I don’t know to bridge the rift between two lifetimes? I grit my teeth and snatch the ball back out of the box, throwing it into the hallway frustrated.The box looks at me in disappointment. Empty again, it reluctantly suggests the emptiness of my hitherto life. I should have printed out some pictures instead of storing them all in the cloud. It is so strange to think that those pictures are now, presumably, annihilated. I had considered them functionally immortal in that unassailable cloud. Rain begins to beat at my window pane, the mocking laughter of the untouchable clouds overhead. We do battle for a delirious collection of moments, that empty box and I, until I snatch it up from the carpet and stride to my garage for a shovel. I defy the rain to make the mounting saturation of my clothes matter, as I shovel muddy soil into the box. I find a stray acorn at the base of my live oak, and tuck it into the container of dirt. I cast off my drenched clothes upon re-entering the house, and force myself to sleep for a few hours.
It’s 6 a.m. now. The storm has passed and the pre-dawn darkness looms heavily upon the wet earth. I bless a shred of fortune for the whispering hum of my ‘44 Toyota, and the stale electricity lingering in its battery. Just a collector’s item these days, one I nearly sold a year ago because of the questionable legality of driving it on the V-line dominated highways. The data on its dusty screen offers me 60 miles of travel. Just enough to reach my destination.
The road is desolate, and my mind absently travels to the desperate ploy that rendered me this earth-encumbered box in my passenger seat.
“Mr. President! Mr. President, a word please! Morton Thompson, United Press.”
Secret service shouldering me aside as I attempt to attract the president’s attention.
“I know about March 3rd! I know you’re planning to flee and the airbase you’re fleeing from.”
The president and his entire retinue freezing. A black suited bodyguard grabbing me from behind and putting a hand over my mouth, dragging me into an empty room and closing the windowless door. The president’s face fracturing with stunned panic.
“How do you know? Who told you this?”
My head nodding to the roll of papers stuffed into my pants pocket.
“This article is scheduled to automatically release to the American public tomorrow morning. Go ahead – read it. When the country learns of what you’re planning, every person with a firearm is going to head to that airbase. And when they can’t get on the shuttle, they’re going to make sure it’s destroyed. I can prevent this information from releasing. All I’m asking for is a seat.”
The memory haunts my heart. That my last act in the capacity of a profession I once thought meaningful was one of blackmail unsettles me. And this, to cast my lot in with the men and women I was prepared to cast to the dogs as traitors to humankind. But then I remember the void, and my fear unseats my guilt. I have tried, in these past two weeks, to stare into the dark abyss that must be death, and reconcile my mind to the thought of non-existence. I have stared into the interminable blackness, the unadulterated silence, the endless absence of consciousness. I have imagined eternities upon eternities unfolding and the very blanket of time beginning to tear, and through it all, the complete darkness of consciousness that is death. The idea is nauseating, and my mind rejects it like an upset stomach does food. And so I flee, at any cost or disgrace, from the darkness that pervades our atmosphere and speaks of the true darkness on its heels.
When I reach the gates of the remote airbase, my old vehicle whirring with exertion, I flash the badge they issued me and drive past the soldiers manning the gate. I park and trudge into a small command center a half mile from the launchpad. My two-feet-by-one-foot-by-one-foot trunk weighs heavily in my arms. Some eighty individuals linger inside, holding hushed conversations or staring silently at the floor. I see the president looking pointedly away from me. A woman near the door points me to a small bay where an electric buggy is idling, hitched to a cart laden with boxes identical to mine. I pile mine on top. I spend the next hour sitting in a plastic chair, wondering what I ought to do, say, and think in my last hour on earth, and reaching no conclusion.
The time has finally come. The immense rocket boosters and attached passenger shuttle is ready for takeoff, and we are ushered outside and towards the boarding tower by the engineers who, inexplicably, are willing to remain behind to guide our transport away from earth. 8 a.m., and the sun is well above the horizon. I wish the storm had not abated before my last view of the sky. Had it not, I could almost believe that this blackened atmosphere and ashen sky are the gloom of thunderclouds. Perhaps the rain would ameliorate the acrid taste of the charred air. We are climbing the tower and beginning to board. I weep for the ashes in my lungs – all that is left of D.C., Philadelphia, New York, and Los Angeles; of Orlando, and Cape Canaveral, and Huntsville. I weep for the millions of terrified unfortunates cast instantaneously into the abyss of death. I wish the rainclouds would return. Instead, the unfading cloud of detonated cities hangs poisonous and rainless upon the air. Where this cloud lingers, death will follow. It is smothering the sun and chilling the earth. They say it will bring the demise of all crops, and that remaining mankind will starve to death in a year.
We blast skyward towards the interstellar transport that is to take us to a new earth. We reach the transport and successfully transfer over from our shuttle. I find my seat and avoid looking out the window, down towards the smoking earth. Our ship begins its final journey, and I rise from my seat to join the queue waiting for the minuscule restroom. As I do, a stack of gray containers buckled to the wall catches my eye at the back of the passenger hold. I exit the line and walk to the homogeneous assembly of boxes. I scan the printed numbers until I find number seventy-two. What idiot brings a box of dirt into outer space? Yet I know why I did. This box contains earth, rain, and a seed of life. That seed is the offspring of an organism that lived with purpose, a purpose fulfilled in this seed. It is an organism that lived its mortal life with purpose and that will die without pain. Yet why do I pine for eternity while squandering the mortal life I have? Why is the seed of eternity planted in the heart of a mortal man?
Hurtling towards the newborn Terra Nova colony where my new life will begin, I wonder whether the sting of death will be duller in this new world. I wonder whether the future of non-existence, just as inevitable in the new world as the old, will ever reconcile with the irrational certainty in my heart that my consciousness must persist beyond death; that the being of my inner self must surely be eternal.
What motivates scammers to ask for money from strangers on social media platforms like Facebook and Instagram?
Scammers ask strangers for money on social networks, simply because they can. Apparently, there are many innocents wandering around in the cyber jungle who are willing to help their new, amazing friend and send them money for whatever reason. Even if the victim says no to the first request, the scammer will continue to ask. Why? Because it works.
This was the case of my ex-fiancé, Dr. David Johnson_Version2, in Yemen, who was a model of perseverance. Even though after his first attempt, I told him the truth (that he had unknowingly participated in a linguistic study), he did not believe me because David and I continued to correspond for seven months (a lifetime in ScamLand years).
Our fateful relationship included the following scams: (1) Box of gold; (2) Flight ticket; (3) Wifi Connection. You have to give David points for this because he started with the big-time scam and ended with the little stuff (maybe he was desperate?).
Surprisingly, even though my dearest love was a doctor in Yemen, he was NOT an orthopedic surgeon, He had invented an entirely new specialization.
I am a doctor working in Yemen taking care of the injuries Army. (Dr. David Johnson, curing military injuries in Yemen)
He sent me pictures of his house, dog, car, yacht, etc., to let me know that he was a ‘catch’. The problem was that I never knew what he looked like because he had sent me two photos of himself that did not match. Perhaps he had had plastic surgery.
When I mentioned that they were photos of different men, he became furious and accused me of having poor eyesight. (Dear reader, in the interest of ophthalmological research, please let me know your opinion.)
You can’t see well.. you should have told me ok.I think you have eyes problem that’s why. (Dr. David Johnson in Yemen, telling me that I cannot see.)
Fortunately, my lousy eyesight was not an obstacle to our love. Even though I was “matured” (over the hill), he still wanted to grow old with me. He even suggested that we run a hotel or restaurant together, while investing in real estate. I was his “golden fish”.
I don’t see any reason to trow my net for fishing anymore when i have a golden fish under my net. (Dr. David Johnson, comparing me to a fish in Yemen)
Since his love for me was ‘desperating’ him, he even became poetic and began paraphrasing the Chilean poet, Pablo Neruda.
My queen, I love you without knowing how, when, and from where.I love you without any problem or pride. I am fully devoted to you. I love you because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no you or me, which is so intimate that your hand upon my chest feels like mine, that when I fall asleep, it’s your eyes that close. (Dr. David Johnson in Yemen, imitating Pablo Neruda)
Given that our mutual love was now assured, the very next day, David began the first scam (box of gold). That evening, I received a deranged email, which I cannot post here due to its length and unusual language. To summarize, he was forced to send me a consignment of gold so that it would be safe from his ex-wife. Although he had initially told me that he was a widower, his dead wife had suddenly resuscitated and become an evil zombie. The good news was that the gold would all be for me!
I trust and believe in you that is why I’m sharing this secret with you. All I need is your understanding and trust,so that the agent can deliver the box to your doorstep. (Dr. David Johnson trusting me in Yemen)
He was sending me a consignment of riches beyond my wildest dreams. BUT, nothing is free in ScamLand.
I think you will not pay much before you got the box. (Dr. David Johnson assuring me in Yemen)
My dearest love thus sent me the email, where I could get in touch with Mr. Desmond of “Global Delivery and Logistitcis Service”. (By the way, this quaint website, riddled with language errors, is still online.)
From Mr. Desmond, I learned that the ‘little fee’ was $3250, which amounts to a lot of Barbie Dolls for my granddaughters. As soon as I paid it, the gold would arrive at my door. When I asked my love how I would pay this amount, he was very reassuring.
you can remove any money you spend on it before my coming over to you. And I hope you understand what I mean my love. (Dr. David Johnson, giving me money in Yemen)
I went to the website and looked up the company’s address on GoogleEarth. At that time, the company address happened to be the same as that of an abandoned ice skating rink on Canary Wharf in London. (As I have just seen, the current address is a vacant lot somewhere in Nevada.)
My fiancé gave me the tracking code (GNUSEDY2MF) and asked me to contact Mr. Desmond. Unfortunately, Mr. Desmond was unable to explain why the package was located in an empty field (as shown on Google Earth). Even more important, his message did not meet my demanding threshold level of English.
Madam your request cannot provided and if you are willing to receive your fiancés package then it’s left for the both of you. (Mr. Desmond being incoherent, God only knows where)
I thus informed my dearest love that nefarious scammers were deceiving him.However, it was evident that he was at their mercy, as evidenced by the following message he sent me.
My love you have to use this link. Tracking numbers is (GNUSEDY2MF). My love. Please can you calm down and listen to my instructions? My love you’re holding the agent to commence on the delivery, you seems to have negative impression and bad thought for me. Please remove all the negative from your mind and know that I’m the true man for you. (Dr. David Johnson in Yemen, encouraging me to be more positive).
I informed my fiancé that I was not going to send €3250 to a company representative that could not write correct English. His priceless reply was the folliowing:
And you expect everyone to be English language (Dr. David Johnson in Yemen, criticizing my high linguistic standards)
And David was right. Perhaps that is what I expect. However, my dearest love was not deterred, and like Terminator, continued on to Scam no. 2. (To be continued in subsequent posts).
What are the culture shocks when you go to America?
Many, besides those already answered by fellow readers/writers, there are several additions that made us quite surprised:
The crazy use of plastic bags. I always bring my own bag/shopping bag, but people look at me strangely when I show that I have my own bag. It often happens that one plastic bag is only filled with one item, it’s really not eco-friendly.
The food portions are huge, so always bring a doggy bag when you go home. Just looking at the portions is already mind-blowing 🤮 can’t finish it.
Soft drinks/sodas at restaurants are always served with a lot of ice, even if I order not cold, they still give me a few cubes of ice. For me personally, drinks in the US are too sweet and the portions are too big.
Here’s an example of a size that can cause bloating. Just so you know, 1 Oz/Ounce = 30 ml
On the highway, anyone can overtake from our right, trucks do not always have to be in the right lane. It often happens that super long trucks compete with each other on the interstate, seeing it really makes your heart race.
It’s easy to get a driver’s license (in Florida). Just show your German driver’s license, take a 50-question theory test (10 can be wrong), no driving test required, pay $55, answer 5 health questions, take a photo on the spot. Two hours to complete, cheap + cheerful + fast. Compare this to getting a driver’s license in Germany which takes 4 months + all kinds of tests + costs thousands of €. Make it at the Tax Collector Office according to your domicile – and not at the DMV (Dept of Motor & Vehicle aka Samsat).
Highways in big cities like LA or Miami are confusing and misleading, we often take wrong turns even with the help of google maps. Once we make a mistake, that’s it… we have to go around and make a long detour.
My classmate (Steven) … Oh what a guy… but not in my immediate friend circle… Oh, hed’ be a coming into school smelling like a hard alcohol liquor cabinet. (It’s a peculiar special smell) and He did it just about every day in School. Which was different than the rest of us getting “high” all the time.
We all were off in la-la land at that time.
Ok, it’s not the right year. (I was off doing college and MAJestic in 1978) But the playlist is cherry. Take a time machine day-off to the days long gone by….
Today…
The insanity continues. And you know, gets even weirder.
U.S. Moves Amphibious Assault Ships Near CUBA; Issues NOTAMS for Mexico, Central, and South America: “Military Activity”
In a major escalation, the United States of America has moved two of its key amphibious assault ships—the ‘USS Iwo Jima’ and ‘USS San Antonio’—to waters just miles north of ‘Cuba.’ It has also issued NOTICES TO AIR MEN (NOTAM) covering Mexico, Central and South America, Colombian and Panamanian air space, and large swaths of the Pacific Ocean.
Military analysts believe this positioning of Amphibious Assault Ships indicates potential American action in Cuba. The NOTAMS for many areas of other countries is an astonishing expression of American military intent.
Speaking about the arrival of US Navy Amphibious Assault Ships off the Cuban Coast, Cuban Army Corps Chief of Staff Joaquín Quintas Pérez dropped a defiant warning to the United States straight from Havana: “They would have to kidnap millions or wipe us off the map. Even then, our ghosts would haunt them forever.”
In addition, the U.S. Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) at the behest of North American Aerospace Defense (NORAD) has issued several NOTAMs covering large areas of Mexico, Central America, South America, and the Pacific Ocean, including parts of Colombian and Panamanian airspace.
According to the notices, airlines are urged to “exercise increased caution” due to military activity and disruptions to global navigation satellite systems (GNSS). The NOTAMs are effective immediately and will remain in effect until March 17, 2026.
The FAA cites “potential risks exist for aircraft at all altitudes” over wide swaths of Pacific airspace near Mexico, Central America, and South America because of military activity and possible satellite navigation interference.
The specific areas in FAA NOTAMs include FIR: MMFR (Mexico), MMFO (Mazatlán Oceanic), MHTG (Central America), MPZL (Panama), SKED (Bogotá, Colombia), SEFG (Guayaquil, Ecuador) and part of the eastern Pacific (XX01). Reason: military activity and possible GNSS interference. In Venezuela: SVZM and SVZS, due to U.S. operations (NOTAM KICZ A0015/26). Check http://faa.gov for updated details.
Hal Turner Analysis
This is a staggering announcement of military intent, covering several different countries in the western Hemisphere. It seems to me that Mexico, Colombia, Central America and Ecuador is likely due to drug traffickers. It seems to me the Panama NOTAM has to do with the US __maybe__ taking back possession of the Panama Canal Zone. I admit this is speculation on my part and that I may be wrong.
In any event, it appears to me the US is going full bad-ass to forcibly eject communist/socialist influence in our Hemisphere, and to finally wage actual warfare on the drug cartels that have hurt and killed so many, for so long in our country.
I worry, though, that we may be biting off more than we can chew.
Thanks to the traitors and nitwits of the Biden Regime, we are allegedly down to eleven days of re-supply inventory for some of our key warfighting systems.
Biden and company wasted a tremendous amount of our warfighting capacity on that retched country, Israel, so they could bomb civilians in Gaza back to the Stone Age. Biden and his crew facilitated Genocide. They should eb charged, arrested, tried and convicted.
The Biden dingbats also supplied Ukraine against Russia, in a war that would not have even begun if it weren’t for the retards infesting the Biden Regime.
I have to wonder if what we see happening here is the deliberate realization of the psychotic goals written long ago by Albert Pike. He wrote a deranged “plan” to cause a vast war between Islam and Zionism, and cause such a world conflagration that all the countries of the world would be completely exhausted, and would agree to a one world government.
He is a little about Albert Pike and his ALLEGED letter:
The following is a letter, that speculation claimed Albert Pike wrote to Giuseppe Mazzini in
1871 regarding a conspiracy involving three world wars, that were planned in an attempt to take
over the world.
The Pike letter to Giuseppe Mazzini was on display in the British Museum Library in London until 1977. This letter has been claimed by many internet sites to reside in the British Library in London, which now denies the letter exists.
• Giuseppe Mazzini was an Italian revolutionary leader of the mid 1800s as well as the
Director of the Illuminati
• Albert Pike (historical Masonic figure) was a 33rd degree Freemason, Occultist, Grand
Master and creator of the Southern Jurisdiction of the Masonic Scottish Rite Order
Following are apparently extracts from the letter, showing how Three World Wars have been
planned for many generations.
"The First World War must be brought about in order to permit the Illuminati to overthrow thepower of the Czars in Russia and of making that country a fortress of atheistic Communism. Thedivergences caused by the "agentur" (agents) of the Illuminati between the British and GermanicEmpires will be used to foment this war. At the end of the war, Communism will be built and usedin order to destroy the other governments and in order to weaken the religions.""The Second World War must be fomented by taking advantage of the differences between theFascists and the political Zionists. This war must be brought about so that Nazism is destroyed andthat the political Zionism be strong enough to institute a sovereign state of Israel in Palestine.During the Second World War, International Communism must become strong enough in order tobalance Christendom, which would be then restrained and held in check until the time when wewould need it for the final social cataclysm.""The Third World War must be fomented by taking advantage of the differences caused by the"agentur" of the "Illuminati" between the political Zionists and the leaders of Islamic World. Thewar must be conducted in such a way that Islam (the Moslem Arabic World) and political Zionism(the State of Israel) mutually destroy each other.Meanwhile the other nations, once more divided on this issue will be constrained to fight to thepoint of complete physical, moral, spiritual and economical exhaustion… We shall unleash theNihilists and the atheists, and we shall provoke a formidable social cataclysm which in all its horrorwill show clearly to the nations the effect of absolute atheism, origin of savagery and of the mostbloody turmoil.Then everywhere, the citizens, obliged to defend themselves against the world minority ofrevolutionaries, will exterminate those destroyers of civilization, and the multitude, disillusionedwith christianity, whose deistic spirits will from that moment be without compass or direction,anxious for an ideal, but without knowing where to render its adoration, will receive the true lightthrough the universal manifestation of the pure doctrine of Lucifer, brought finally out in the publicview.This manifestation will result from the general reactionary movement which will follow thedestruction of Christianity and atheism, both conquered and exterminated at the same time."
What we are now seeing take place in US foreign policy, I think would achieve that exhaustion.
No thanks.
Zahi Hawass To Be Arrested For Conspiracy To Steal OOPART’s!
Can you share a story where your experience from living in harsh climates surprised people who underestimated you?
I was born and raised on the brutal prairies of Canada where harsh winters are a fact of life, and learning to survive them starts when we are very young. Things are easier now, but in the 1960’s roads were not cleared of snow for a long time, families owned one car and mother’s didn’t drive. Schools didn’t have snow days and there were school buses only for rural schools. School recess was 15 minutes, but 10 minutes of that was putting on snow gear and taking it off. Kids went home for lunch, so the snowy, freezing trek home happened twice a day. Every Canadian child was tricked into putting their tongue on a frozen metal fence post once in their lifetime. It’s a lesson you never forget.
Fast forward to my youngest child getting her first car and learning to drive on icy, snowy roads. She slid into a snowy ditch and ran home weeping because her car was stuck. With years of experience pushing cars out of ditches, I walked back with her trying to reassure her that the world had not ended. Her car was stuck on a steeper incline than I could muscle out, but we tried. Then I remembered a trick from my own childhood. I told her to grab the floor mats from her car and we wiggled into the tight space between the car and snowbank to place them behind the front tires. I carefully explained how she would back out and not to take her foot off the gas once the car began to move. It worked like a charm! After we waded through a deep bank of snow to retrieve floor mats that shot forward many feet, she gave me a brilliant smile and said, “Mom, I can’t believe you knew how to do that. Thank you”. If you are a parent of a 16 year old, you know that there is no greater praise, and the rare smile directed at me was memorable too.
The Boomer Generation Is Going Homeless | Boomers Are Struggling In This Economy
Why do gypsies have such a bad reputation?
I grew up in southern Hungary where there was a significant number of gypsies living there. I had a first hand experience with them on a daily basis.
As a kid I was scared of them. If I walked on the street alone and saw a group of Gypsy kids coming towards me, I knew i had two options. Turn around and run, or keep walking and to be in serious trouble. Once when I had no option just to try to go around a group, I got a mighty slap from a 16–17 years old guy without any reason. His followers, much younger boys, were all laughing loudly. I was about 9 or 10 then.
When I saw a group of Gypsy women in the city centre, all I had to do was to wait a few minutes and see what pickpocketing looks like in live action. Their favourite targets were the Yugoslav shopping tourists. And when they were caught they made a circus that they are discriminated and things like that.
When there was an area where the communist government gave flats to Gypsies, you knew that it’s only a matter of weeks before the whole area started to look like a disaster zone with rubbish, human feces everywhere. The crime rate jumped up, there was antisocial behaviour all the time. It was very unpleasant to live near to them. And these memories are hard to forget
Is what people think conservatism is really conservatism?
Back in the day (and I’m 110 years old, so we’re talking a looong time ago,) the conservatives I knew were normal people.
They didn’t see a problem with gay/trans people or equal rights for women, or the constitution.
They were sensible, fair, respectable. They just had their own ideas on fiscal policies etc. just as we all do.
I feel sorry for those type of conservatives nowadays. Their label has been usurped by the most demented, hateful and radical movement since 1930s Germany or America’s slavery era.
MAGA, and the current administration, is not conservatism. If I were an old-school Republican, I’d be pissed as hell that a bunch of slobby, knuckle-dragging morons on day release from the mental ward are passing themselves off as one of mine.
It would be like if suddenly ALL parents were tarnished as evil just because child abusers exists. Imagine it. Imagine if every time you told someone you’re a parent, they just assumed you beat your kids and stuff them in dark closets with no food or water.
Americans Believe They’re Being Bullied Into Poverty While the System Profits
This is BRILLIANT.
Italian Sausage and Peppers
387d38e834113350cacfb8be1d10f4f2
Ingredients
2 pounds Italian link sausage, browned
1 can or jar prepared spaghetti sauce
1 large green bell pepper, sliced into thick strips
1 medium onion, sliced
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1 teaspoon dried basil
1 teaspoon dried oregano
4 hard rolls
Instructions
Combine ingredients in slow cooker.
Cook on LOW for 4 hours.
Serve on hard rolls as sandwiches. Top with mozzarella cheese, if desired.
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How do online romance scammers convince elderly people to give away their life savings?
My 125 fiancés were generally in their 20s. So, even though I subtracted 18 years from my real age for research purposes, my loves still regarded me as elderly. To them, I was an old biddy, hopefully, one with money.
However, given that they had added 30 years to their age, we were engaged in mutual deception. Their real age was glaringly evident in their writing style, grammatical errors, use of chat speak, and lack of general knowledge.
Of course, their objective was to persuade me, an elderly lady (hopefully with incipient dementia), to give them access to all the funds in my bank account. The most frequent reasons for requesting money were the following:
Wifi connection
Honey, am sorry for asking you this please don’t feel bad okay am running out of WiFi and I can only recharge it will give 100 euro gift card please can you help me with that please so I can always online to communicate with you please. (Dr. Lawrence Robert without a penny to his name in Yemen)
2. Health problems
Sweetheart, I need to leave here as soon as possible my daughter health is in serious condition. She’s been diagnosed with a brain tumor I’m scared. Send me $1000 for a plane ticket. (Gen Daniel Allyn, worried about his daughter in Syria)
3. Military portfolio
A small fee (€3,000) is required for our exclusive portfolio. It is a box with two methods for unlocking a key and a 6-digit PIN. It will be delivered to you by the diplomat. I trust it will be safe with you. (Gen. Vincent Malone in Syria, sending his valuable possessions to me.)
4. Box of gold
I have $6.8 million and 186 kilos of gold bars stored with a company for safe keeping, this company offers safe storage vault services. I would like you to be the beneficiary for a payment of only $18,580. (Oil rigger Christian Kalb, wanting to send me a fortune in the Gulf of Mexico)
5. Equipment failure
There is this machinery we use for work down here it’s called the shale shaker, it stopped functioning. We are trying to fly in some group of specialist engineers from Japan to have it fixed. The cost of flying them from Japan to Louisiana is $35,820. (Oilrigger David Overton with machinery problems in the Gulf of Mexico)
These are a few of the most common reasons why fraudsters in their twenties solicit money from elderly women like me, hoping to cash in big time. And judging from the romance fraud statistics, their ploy often works because of the promise of a future reward, more valuable than diamonds, emeralds, and rubies.
But what were they offering me in exchange? The carrot dangling on the stick was always the ultimate antidote for loneliness: a rich, handsome piece of masculine eye candy with a prestigious profession, who would forever cherish me and be the light of my life during my golden years.
Here is a picture of my latest heartthrob, Ben Jackson, on an oil rig in the Norwegian Sea, counting the days until he can fly to Spain to meet me and marry me.
As you can see, Ben is a virile male with hair on his chest (though I am less keen on the tattoo). His flexible, elastic arms (the photo is supposedly a selfie) further enhance his natural ursine look. Since he is scheduled to finish his last contract in less than a month, he should soon be in my arms. He appears to be quite determined to fly to Spain.
Although we are far from each other but our heart is closer to each other. It’s a matter of time. I don’t think that anything will ever stop me from coming to meet you.
So, at long last, it looked as though things were on track for wedded bliss. Once again, I was on the verge of choosing my wedding dress for this happy occasion. However, today I received the message below.
As much as we want to be together, all i need from you is your prayers for me while I’m here in the Rig. You know, anything can happen at anytime here.
Dear reader, could this be a harbinger of doom? As I am in a position to know after 19 ‘oily’ fiancés, oil rigs are veritable petri dishes for disasters, especially in the Irish Sea, Adriatic Sea, and the Gulf of Mexico. I can only pray that the Norwegian Sea will be a calmer place.
New Evidence Found In The Dyatlov Pass Mystery Will Leave You Speechless
Nine experienced hikers vanish in the snowy wilderness of Russia. Weeks later, their bodies are discovered scattered, barefoot, disfigured, and irradiated. What happened to them in the dead of night at Dyatlov Pass remains one of the most chilling unsolved mysteries in history.
Now, new evidence uncovered in 2021 may finally explain part of what happened… but not everything. In this video, we dive deep into the last hours of the Dyatlov group, the autopsy anomalies, Soviet secrecy, and the discovery that left even seasoned investigators stunned. From missing tongues to buried Cold War secrets, this is the Dyatlov Pass Mystery, reexamined.
What’s it really like to sail across the Atlantic on a small sailboat, and how do you deal with the boredom and challenges along the way?
We sailed across the Pacific. Longest leg was from Galapagos to the Marquesas Islands, 3100 miles, a longer passage than crossing the Atlantic. My wife and I and two children who were 4 and 6 at the beginning of our voyage.
Jade.
We kept watch and looked after the boat. We did homeschool. We watched the ever-changing ocean and were often visited by dolphins. We fished (for food, not sport). We talked. We read books. We watched movies. The children drew. Or played endless games of make believe. At night we watched the stars. On moonless nights in the middle of the ocean they are spectacular.
That particular passage took 21 days. We were never bored and loved every single minute of it.
Chipotle Roast
This is to be used for tacos, burritos or sandwiches.
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Ingredients
1 (3 pound) chuck roast, trimmed of visible fat
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon pepper
2 teaspoons chili powder
2 teaspoons cumin
3 chipotle chiles in adobo, chopped
1 (4 ounce) can green chiles
1 (7 ounce) can salsa verde
1 cup sliced onion
3 teaspoons minced garlic
1 cup beef broth
Instructions
Place chuck roast in large slow cooker and sprinkle with the salt and pepper, chili powder and cumin.
Add the remaining ingredients and cook on HIGH for 5 hours or on LOW for 7-8 hours.
Shred the meat with a fork and cook on HIGH for an additional10-15 minutes.
Serve in burritos, tacos or on crusty rolls with the juice for dipping.
Why did Xi Jinping not follow Jiang Zemin and Deng Xiaoping’s value which translates roughly to “Make a fortune quietly”?
This is the trouble when one allows others to interpret the Chinese on their behalf.
The phrase 韬光养晦 was originally used as a political refrain to hide one’s strength, until the stars aligned to employ one’s skills.
Anthony Fauci in the Trump court is a good example of 韬光养晦 today, otherwise he would have already joined Steve Bannon, John Bolton and hundreds more in the road kill bin.
A modern interpretation of 韬光养晦 is to exercise restraint during bad times and to do good when empowered during good times.
However, Deng wasn’t referring to individuals when he used the phrase in the 80s and 90s. I will also note this phrase was used during cadre meetings, and not in the course of diplomacy. I.E. It was meant for specialists and not the general public.
What did Deng say? He broadly defined the future direction of china’s foreign policy as:
"冷静观察、稳住阵脚、沉着应对、决不当头、有所作为"
Condensed into the more well known:
"韬光养晦,有所作为"
The trouble comes when people take liberties with translations and massacre the context.
外交战略 becomes “war strategy” instead of “foreign policy”.
韬光养晦 is usually translated as “hide our capabilities and bide our time”, or in this instance, a more hilarious “make a fortune quietly”. 有所作为 is usually dropped to emphasize the “Chinese threat”.
What Deng was trying to condense into these eight words is 冷静观察、稳住阵脚、沉着应对、决不当头、有所作为 or “calm observation, steady position, mature response, exercise of restraint, and do what you can” on the international stage.
In the aftermath of Tiananmen, Deng famously described China’s domestic “micro climate” existing within the global “big climate”.
In other words, 韬光养晦,有所作为 as foreign policy is an admonishment to Chinese leaders that China does not have a big voice on the global stage. Do not challenge the status quo. Rather, work with or around the powers that be and do as much good as you can with a calm, mature and steady hand.
Act within the confines of the voice, and not the size of the nation.
韬光养晦 is foreign policy, not the Art of War.
Xi and the politburo are still applying the same lesson today.
Three times in my life, something has kept me from dying. The first time, I’d been left on a steel table in a bloody basin. The abortion hadn’t worked. Now they were just waiting for me to stop breathing. This I heard from the woman who snuck me out, endangering her own job. The second time was in Germany, the Black Forest. I was lost for days. Something, which I am still not fully aware what it was, found me and eventually led me to safety. A ghost? A spirit. Some ancient Teutonic God? Whatever it was kept me alive for that fortnight. It felt like I was being hunted—but whatever this thing was, it sought to help me, not hurt me. Many times I could feel there was something there, right next to me, but I could never see it. In honor of this thing I got my name changed to Jhäeggr (which means, “Hunter.”) Sometimes I feel that it’s presence was the only thing keeping me from suicide. I don’t think I’m suicidal by nature. But my life’s felt like one long misery. Parts of me were torn off. I have no right arm. Beside this, I experienced severe burns from the saline solution. Extensive scarring has left me quite hideous to behold. I’ve tried really hard to be objective. I’ve seen pictures of John Merrick, the so-called Elephant man. Yes, things could have been a lot worse. I can, at least, look at myself in the mirror without too much trauma. But I expect few others to have such fortitude. I will subject no one to this without good reason.The third time? Well, I was determined there would be no third time. It was not until I began to climb Mount Washington that I fully knew what I was going to do. It was the storm season. There have been a lot of lightning strikes. Even in the icy fog everything was so beautiful. I was tired of fighting it. When everywhere around you, you see guys with their girlfriends, having such a good time—and here you are, thirty-two years old and you’ve never even been goddamned kissed—how the fuck would you feel? Answer me that!I remember seeing some kind of darker shape far above the clouds. It was moving in some kind of way that by no means seemed natural. I saw a tremendous flash of light. I felt electrical pricking all over my body. I felt such a joy—it was finally all over!Except it wasn’t.I awoke in what must have been the strangest hospital room imaginable. I must have survived. There were no trace of electrical burns. Three strangely clad women visited me in succession. They spoke strangely. They told me nothing, other than that I was the first of many and that they had great need of me. What they turned out to be had me fighting with all my strength to escape. The third of the women was alone with me. She started to come on to me, a thing you might imagine has never happened to me. She became more and more insistent. But there was just something that was wrong about it. I may have had fantasies of something like this coming true, but the reality was nightmarish. This was not what I wanted.She was tearing at me and, in a panic I struck out, my left arm flailing. I do have a pretty good left hook.She fell to the floor. Her face distorted from the blow, and half her face rolled to the side of her head.It was no human being who had attacked me! I found my way out of the chamber and ran down deserted corridors. I located a door that let me out into a luxuriant green valley. I ran. I had no idea where I was. At times a bolt of pure lightning would strike from the azure sky. Each time something would appear. I didn’t seem to be the target of these bolts. The first time, a man appeared. He must have leapt an eighth of a mile.The second time an incredible, bat-winged flying machine appeared in mid-air before crashing. It must have been a hundred feet in length. Men emerged from the craft, apparently not greatly injured.If I’d thought the flying machine immense, it was as nothing compared to what the third bolt brought forth. The reptilian creature must have towered some five hundred feet in height. Its cry was deafening. Lightning lanced upon the bony plates lining its spine. Pure fire blasted the valley.I had never run so fast and so far. At last I fell almost senseless by a great white rock. When I came to, I looked at the valley. It nestled between two ranges of mountains. Something did not look right here. It took a moment for it to click into place. The valley extended for what must have been at least fifty miles. But there was no horizon. It just went on an on in a straight line. I was in a gigantic corridor but it was artificial. Before the lightning had struck me I had glimpsed that dark shape in the sky. Was I in some immense craft? The three women had said I was the first of many. Had I already seen three more? And that gigantic creature? It couldn’t be what I thought it was, even though it looked exactly like what I thought it was. And I…and these others? What kind of job would require something like this?And I knew who they all were. The man whose father had injected his pregnant wife with a serum of alkaline radicals—made him a super human. He had challenged God on a mountain top and been struck by lightning.An engineer who had created a steampunk flying machine in the Nineteenth Century. He too had challenged God by flying into the heart of the grandfather of all thunderstorms.The lizard, it seems, had brought his own lightning to the buffet.Not a hundred feet from me another bolt of lightning exploded. I was thrown against the white rock. My head cleared and I saw a man appear. He was dressed in rags and tatters. He saw me and swiftly approached. When he drew near, I was shocked at his appearance. His hair was black and matted. His eyes were yellow and watery. His skin yellow, like parchment. I had no strength left. If he meant me harm I could not fight him. He was as tall as the white rock I’d rested against—a giant of eight feet. “Do you understand the English tongue?”I nodded.“I do not know where I am. I thought I was dead. I should be dead. I went out to die. I know the thunders of heaven struck me. I am a blasted tree. The bolt has entered my soul.”The creature looked into my eyes. Up this close the full impact of who, and what, I was seeing took my breath away. I could well understand how his creator had recoiled from his creation in horror, calling what he saw hideous. The man was indeed hideous. Yet, I could see there that he had chosen the features for their beauty. But that this thing lived had turned its beauty into ashes.
I tried to cam myself. I had no doubt this being could tear me limb from limb if he wished.
“Were you struck by lightning,” I asked. “Your clothes. There are burnt patches.”
“I have wanted to die. For all I have done I deserve to die. I gathered the wood for my pyre. Fire came from above. I felt its agonies. Wilt Thou burn out all the evil I have done? Let its pain grant me redemption and forgiveness. Let me scream in its agonies as that my suffering may surpass that which I inflicted.”
Lost in his soliloquy, the creature looked at me, seemingly for the first time. His hand stroked my face.
“You, too, are scarred. You are like me.” He leaned in close.
“Are you like me in other ways? Did he make you too?” I could not read the creature’s thoughts, nor gain insight as to his intentions. Did he think I was a second of his creator’s efforts?
The creature shook his head. “No. You have been scarred and flawed, but the hand of God has made you. You need not fear me. Vengeance’ has gained me nothing. I took the life of those who had never wronged me. I have suffered and suffered for the evil I did the innocent, who never did me wrong. You have done me no evil.”
He set his hand on my shoulder and it seemed those eyes looked deep into my soul.
“Will you be my friend?”
I admit I was taken back by this request. I knew exactly who, and what I was dealing with here, though it was impossible for me to understand how these things could be. Certainly, to refuse this request would be perilous. But to accept it without being truly sincere, and acquiescing only out of fear would not do. If I said yes, it must be out of a sincere heart, and not just an attempt to escape death. I had already endeavored to kill myself on Mount Washington—if I die now, I would only be gaining my wish, however belatedly.
The fact is, if the story was true, this man might never had had a friend in his entire life. How like him I felt. There was no need to search my soul. Could I deny to another sufferer that which I had so longed for in my life, and never really had?
I raised my hand to his shoulder. “Of course I will.” And I saw how well his creator had made him, for those tear ducts were now flooded.
We talked for long after that. I had often thought of the story. The monster had often been characterized as evil—yet, was it not his creator’s rejection of, what was without a doubt his own child, that had resulted in those acts he did? Certainly they were wrong. But the creature had long put such intentions far from himself. Indeed, his resolve to destroy his very own self witnessed to the desire to atone.
“What is your name?’
“Jhäeggr. And you?”
“He never even gave me a name. I was so hideous in his eyes that he could not regard me as a child of his labors, but a deserving inhabitant of the dunghill. Though I am unlike all men, and have none of the rights they may call their own—may a man not strive after such wishes? May a man not try to attain what others have by right? May he not be willing to pay a great price for his freedom, though others are freeborn?
“I thought I should call myself Adam, since I, like that first Adam, was created by the hand of his Father. But I was certainly not made in my father’s image, as he was in His. I am truly a monstrous thing. And I should not have been. But was my father not monstrous, who turned away from me in disgust? I was indeed the thing you see, while he was fair, comely and straight. But as I was in visage, he was in heart. So I do my father proud. He has paid for his crimes. I will honor my father, who am so monstrous as was he. I am Victor.”
“That is another way we are alike, Victor. I, too, picked a name for myself.”
“There are many ways we are alike. Our names, which we have chosen. That we have endured terrible scarring. That we both seek a mate and have always been denied. And…you too went out into the frozen wilderness, as did I, to put an end to your life. Why did you seek to do this?”
“I was tired of being alone as I was. Like you, I had no companion—not even friend to lighten my load. You were denied that—but did he not start to build you…?”
“It was all I asked of him. He reneged on our contract. So close it came. Do you understand my rage? Bad enough he brought me into existence and did not take responsibility for me. But to create another, to so lift up my hopes—and then take an ax to her before she had even tasted of life? Hard enough to lose what you did not even know you had—but to see the fruit near ready for the plucking, snatched from your grasp, thrown down and ground down by hateful tread. He declared it was to protect man, he feared what the two of us would do—but what I did far outshone the mightiest of his fears. If anything had ever made me an enemy of the human race, it was that solitary act of murder—torn from my grasp, murdered before she even drew her first breath!”
I had never imagined such depths of feeling. Rage enfolded him like the lightning storm that had embraced me. But in a moment it was gone. And great, wracking sobs overcame him. Though deep down I feared this being and knew not what would follow, I could not deny the fellow feeling. I set my hands on his shoulders. Not even looking at me I knew that never had he had another to suffer with him and be to him a sympathetic ear.
The face that looked up to me was that of a different man. With that deluge of sorrow, and with another to share his grief it was as if he had truly become human. I was not fooled. He had always been human, but enduring unconscionable suffering had driven him near to madness.
He had recovered himself. There was a curious expression on his face. “You, too sought to destroy yourself. But why?”
“I told you. I couldn’t endure the suffering any longer. I had no more purpose to live. It was better I was gone. I would inconvenience no one any longer”
Victor looked at me strangely.
“I should never have been given life. By destroying myself I might atone for what I had done. My ashes might then be of some use to at least fertilize the earth. But what would your death prove? You were no blasphemy to life like I was. God had made you. You are lawful life—yet you wanted to destroy yourself. Help me comprehend this.”
“Victor—my own mother did not want me to be. Months before I should have been born, I was torn out of her womb. This I learned long after. If my own mother didn’t want me…”
“Why then are you still living if they meant to take your life?”
“A nurse found me. I was on the steel table, gasping out my life. She endangered her own job. She snuck me out of there. She gave me a chance.” I did not like the look on Victor’s face.
“And this is how you reward this woman’s sacrifice? You were scheduled to die. Your life was spared.”
“Look at me—look at my face! Who will love me as I am? I haven’t a single hope in hell of that! Do you think I want to keep on living like this?”
I couldn’t conceive how someone that big could move so fast. I didn’t see his arm moving. I felt the blow as he back handed me. I must have flown fifteen feet. The astonishment hurt worse than getting struck.
“Your self-pity disgusts me. You think you’re so hideous? Look up at the face that a creator couldn’t even bear to set his eyes on. Then tell me if you think you’re hideous. I am a blasphemy—but you, you’re life is lawful. You have not the right to take what God’s given you. You would have died had He not put that nurse there. You would have died had not that thing found you in the forest. You would have died had not the lightning taken you to this place like it took me. It took me! It found a use for me! No reason for you to live? You’ve been given a reason! You’re needed for something more important than your own little life. If it wants me, as lawless as I am—how much more you?” Victor’s eyes softened.
“I am sorry I was so hard on you. Give me your hand. I’ll help you up. Do not despair. Someday someone may find you. I found someone a long time ago. It was her I told my story to. No one before her had ever failed to recoil from me in disgust. She could not be the mate I sought—and yet, what she became—that was so much more. If I inspired her—she in turn inspired me. Each, the other’s muse. I will never forget her.
“So if I, who am a monster, was that one time, able to find such a one, dare you think to have less chance than I? Do you think yourself more monstrous?
“Something has brought us both to this place. Chanced us new possibilities. I see it. Can you not see it as well, my friend? Come—let us see what fortune has set our steps upon. There is life in both of us. Let us see what we can make of it. Will you come with me?”
I nodded. Victor was right. Self pity. There was no room for it, not when this great new adventure had opened up the doors. Several miles away I saw another flash of lightning light up the azure sky.
HasanAbi EXPOSES The TRUTH: China Makes America Look Like a Third World Country!🇨🇳🇺🇸
How did a Ford Model T start its engine if it didn’t have a battery until 1919?
Some people aren’t aware of the proper choice of words (the vocabulary) to use, particularly in technical matters.
How do you start these kinds of engines (on airplanes, on land vehicles)?
You crank them.
Yes, cranking.
It means turning over the engine using outside effort.
It was not the battery that mattered; the battery came into the automobile a long, long time before the electric starter.
Electric starting had to await the invention of Charles Kettering’s electric starter, or what they called “self-starter” for some time.
(Incidentally, they never called it a selfie!).
So, let’s go in reverse order on how they used to crank piston engines pre-Kettering’s electric starter:
Hand-propping:
Hand cranking: That’s the way they did it: even females.
The photo above shows Cameron Herrin, and it was at this moment that a judge sentenced him to 24 years in prison. Cameron Herrin, 18, lived in Tampa, Florida. In 2018, he graduated from high school, and his parents gave him a black Ford Mustang as a graduation gift.
On May 23rd, Cameron and his brother Tristan went to the gym and met a friend named John Barrineau. Cameron and Tristan were in the Mustang, while John took his own car. As they approached the lampposts, the two cars pulled up alongside each other and began a street race.
As they sped down the residential street, the two cars reached speeds of over 100 miles per hour, trying to keep up with each other. At the same time, Jessica and her young daughter Lilia were crossing the road as the cars hurtled toward them. Unfortunately for the young mother and her little girl, the cars were going too fast to reach the other side of the road, and the black Ford Mustang struck them head-on.
At the same time, David Robonel, Jessica’s husband, was driving by, unaware of what had just happened. He noticed a crowd of people had gathered to witness the carnage, but he just wanted to get home and hoped no one was seriously injured. David then tried calling his wife, but she didn’t answer, and when he got home, she wasn’t there either. He figured his wife must have stopped to look at the accident and went to look for them.
Once he arrived, it didn’t take him long to realize what he was seeing. His wife and their baby’s stroller were there, in the middle of the street, and that’s when his world collapsed. His wife Jessica died that same day, and his daughter Lilia died the next day, after doctors fought to save her.
Cameron and John were immediately arrested and charged with vehicular homicide. John Barrineau agreed to plead guilty and received a six-year prison sentence and 15 years of probation. Cameron also pleaded guilty, but to his surprise, he was sentenced to 24 years in prison. His family was shocked by the verdict, and many felt the sentence was too harsh.
Actions have consequences, and in this case, the consequences were terrible for David, who saw his entire family disappear in the blink of an eye. We could consider the fact that Cameron’s parents gave their son a powerful sports car; at 18, one is still a child, and if he hadn’t wanted to kill someone, he would have killed himself.
When the judge sentenced him, he had to take mitigating circumstances into account. If Cameron hadn’t had a history of dangerous driving, the sentence would have been very different. If it hadn’t been a mother and her little girl, and a father sitting in the gallery contemplating the rest of his life once the trial was over, the sentence would have been different.
What would have been the appropriate sentence in this case? He will be considered a non-violent prisoner and when his parole hearing takes place after 7 years (I don’t know how the parole system works in America, so I’m guessing), he will most likely be free; his friend John will be released in about 3 years.
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Americans Believe They’re Being Bullied Into Poverty While the System Profits
Truth.
Why did the price of rice in Japan spike 98.6% last month from a year earlier?
We all know that food prices in Japan are very, very expensive, ridiculously expensive.
This is a gift that Japanese people give to friends when they visit them. It looks beautiful in the gift box, but it is actually just a very common thing in Asia – rice. Other Asians may think that Japanese people are stingy for giving such a gift, but in fact, rice is a precious gift in Japan.
In a Japanese supermarket, the price of a cucumber is enough to buy half a kilogram of imported beef, and a watermelon can be sold for almost US$28.
Recently, Japan is having a rice shortage, a bag of 5 kg of rice, can be sold to more than 42 U.S. dollars, is more than 10 times the price of rice in China, so now the Japanese people can not even afford to eat rice.
What is the reason for this?
If the core interest group of the United States is the military-industrial complex, then the core interest group of Japan is the Japan Agricultural Cooperatives (JA Group).
Japan Agricultural Cooperatives (JA Group) is a sophisticated ‘price meat grinder’, over the years and the Japanese government collusion, monopoly of almost all of Japan’s agricultural distribution channels, all farmers produce crops must be sold through their wholesale markets, layers of price increases, the final retail price soared.
For example, the Japan Agricultural Cooperatives (JA Group) direct supply of cucumbers, farm factory price of about 20 yen / 1 cucumber, after the cold chain transport, wholesalers, supermarkets on the shelves of the fee, the end of the sale price soared to 200 yen / 1 cucumber, a direct 10 times.
In the middle of this, if you say that the Japan Agricultural Cooperatives (JA Group) Association and the Japanese politicians does not have a profit share, I do not believe it.
Anyway, this system of agricultural associations in Japan has been running for decades, the Japanese government let prices soar, never done anything about it.
The United States is the world’s number one food exporter. When the Americans see Japan engaging in this kind of business, of course, they want to sell American food to Japan. In order to protect the interests of the Japan Agricultural Cooperatives (JA Group), the Japanese government significantly increased tariffs. At one point, tariffs on rice were as high as 140%-700%, making it impossible for American rice to enter Japan. The Japan Agricultural Cooperatives (JA Group) was able to make huge profits in a closed market.
When Trump saw this, he thought his chance had come.
The U.S. entered into a tariff war with China, which immediately cancelled orders for U.S. farm products and turned around and gave them to Brazil. Now that American farmers were losing out and cursing Trump every day, Trump then looked to Japan for a market to make up for it. So he forcefully demanded that Japan expand imports of U.S. beef, rice, aquatic products, potatoes, etc., and that Japan lift tariff restrictions.
At a glance at this request, the Japanese government was dumbfounded.
In fact, Trump did this to the Japanese people is a good thing, because the United States food is too much cheaper than Japan, but if Japan opens up the agricultural market, then the Japan Agricultural Cooperatives (JA Group) is dead, the Japanese government for many years of the small treasury, their most core interests of the chain is about to be demolished by Trump ……..
So here’s what we’re seeing — the Japanese government is threatening Trump that they’re going to dump US debt now
New Solar System Object Discovered with a 25,000-Year Orbit
A New Solar System Object with a 25,000-Year Orbit Has Been Discovered! 🌌 What does this mysterious celestial body tell us about the farthest edges of our solar system? Join us as we explore one of the most exciting space discoveries of the year! In this video, we uncover the recent detection of a strange new object orbiting the Sun once every 25,000 years — far beyond Neptune and Pluto, deep in the Kuiper Belt or possibly even the Oort Cloud. What is it? Could it be related to the search for Planet Nine? Why are astronomers so excited about this distant traveler?
Donald Trump proposed the idea of ”China, the United States, and Russia dividing the world into three parts”. Is this a peaceful withdrawal from hegemony?
The world doesn’t work that way.
Trump is thinking in 19th century terms.
Economics and trade are more important than colonial divisions of the world.
The US doesn’t have the economy and trade to influence others, so it is caught relying only on military might. But if the US economy is weak, the tax base to support the military and overseas bases disappears. Why should the rest of the world buy US debt to support an empire which only cares about itself?
China and Russia already have good relations, and coordinate policy on international issues. Why should they divide the world up when everything is working fine as far as they are concerned.
Sir Whiskerton and the Clucktopus Incident
Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for a tale of high-seas horror, bovine mysticism, and the most tragic case of mistaken identity since Porkchop tried to flirt with a garden hose. Today’s adventure stars Captain Cluckbeard, the barnyard’s most delusional pirate, whose quest for glory leads him to declare war on… a cow’s udder. So batten down the hatches (or at least your sanity), and join us for The Clucktopus Incident—a story that proves even the bravest sailors shouldn’t mess with dairy.
Act 1: The Beast from the Deep
Captain Cluckbeard stood atop his ship (a repurposed wheelbarrow) and squinted at the horizon.
Cluckbeard:“Avast, ye barnacles! A fearsome beast lurks in yonder pasture!”
Squawk:[Peering through a toilet paper roll telescope]“Cap’n, that’s just Bessie the Cow.”
Cluckbeard:“Nay! That’s the dreaded Clucktopus—eight-legged terror of the seven barnyards!”
Bessie, blissfully unaware, munched clover. Her tie-dye udder swayed hypnotically in the breeze.
Pluck:“Maybe it’s friendly?”
Cluckbeard:“Friendly?! It’s got more colors than a drunken parrot! MAN THE HARPOONS!”
Act 2: The Battle of the Bovine
What followed was the most one-sided naval engagement in farm history.
Cluckbeard launched a harpoon (a garden rake tied to a rope). It bounced off Bessie’s hip.
Squawk panicked and hid in a feed bag, screaming “WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE!”
Bessie, deep in a mood ring trance, sighed: “Whoa… the universe is speaking to me through my own udder, man.”
Then—Pluck had an idea.
Pluck:“Cap’n… what if wemilkthe beast? For… research?”
Cluckbeard:“Brilliant! We’ll sell its creamy treasure for gold!”
Bessie, now convinced she was channeling cosmic energy, allowed the “milking.”
Result: One bucket of milk, two traumatized roosters, and a very confused cow.
Act 3: The Truth Comes Out
Sir Whiskerton arrived just as Cluckbeard tried to bottle the “Clucktopus Elixir.”
Sir Whiskerton:“Let me get this straight. You attacked a cow’s udder, stole its milk, and now you’re selling it as monster juice?”
Cluckbeard:“Aye! A pirate’s life is—”
Bessie:“Duuuude… I think I just achieved udder enlightenment.”
The verdict?
Sir Whiskerton confiscated the “treasure” (Porkchop drank it immediately).
Bessie started a wellness cult (“Embrace Your Inner Clucktopus”).
Squawk developed a phobia of spotted things (including polka-dot pillows).
The Moral (and the Post-Credit Milking)
Moral:If it looks like a cow and moos like a cow… it’s probably not a sea monster.
Post-Credit Scene:
Mr. Ducky sells “Clucktopus Milk” at a 300% markup. The label reads: “Now with 100% More Existential Dread!”
Best Lines:
“The universe is speaking to me through my own udder, man.” – Bessie, dairy shaman
“WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE!” – Squawk, worst first mate ever
“Embrace Your Inner Clucktopus.” – Bessie’s cult slogan
“How are you feeling today?””We’ve got another storm on the way, I’d wrap up if I were you.””Really?” exclaimed Murr looking around. “There’s not a cloud in sight.””I feel it, Murr,” Ansel slapped his knee. “This dang arthritis has never steered me wrong. I feel a big one on the way.””Well if you’re sure Ansel, I’m going get a move on. Thanks for the warning.” Murr pulled out a stack of envelopes and a small package from his mail bag and handed them over.”Thanks,” Ansel began flipping through his letters.”No problem. I hate to be nosey, but I noticed another one from the library. You have something overdue? You know, I’m stopping by there everyday. I could always return it for you.””Yeah, yeah. It’s okay, I’ll get it back to them soon.””They can rob you blind with those late fees, I’d be careful.””Thanks Murr, get yourself out of the rain.””There’s not a cloud in the sky, I’ve got some time.” Murr continued down the street far too slowly.Ansel sighed and opened up the letter from the library.”Beginner’s Acupuncture,” he mumbled to himself. “Overdue, five weeks… two-hundred bucks?!” He held the letter up and looked it over again. “That’s wild.”He got out of his rocking chair with a groan. His knee was stiff. Holding his mail to his chest, he hobbled inside and flipped on the weather channel.His least favorite face came on the screen: Roland, terrible weatherman.”What do you have for us today, fraud?””For those of you staying at home,” Roland started. “You’re missing one of the most beautiful days of the year.”Ansel let out a mocking snort. Roland continued, unphased.”With a high of seventy, and a low of sixty-five, today’s a great day to get your vitamin D in the valley.” Ansel held his knee in protest of this information. There’s no way that was true.”And when you’re done getting that tan, come by the library where I’ll be doing a signing for my new book: Weather and Whatever. It chronicles the life of your favorite weatherman, from his varsity football days to his years on your television screen, every morning seven AM sharp. See you there.”Ansel turned off the TV, revealing his hunched over visage in the reflection. His knee hurt. There was a storm coming and it was going to rain out Roland’s book signing, he was sure of it.He turned to his bookshelf and scanned for Beginner’s Acupuncture, he paused at the framed photo of his football team. There was Roland at the front, always had to be at the center of the world.Ansel’s hand landed on the book and he pulled it off the shelf. He needed to use it before he got anymore late fees. He set the book and the package Murr brought by on the counter and began to leaf through the pages.”Knee, knee, knee…” Ansel whispered to himself. “Knee.” He’d found the section.DO NOT USE NON-ACUPUNCTURE NEEDLESThe warning at the start of the chapter was bold and centered, not to be missed. But you must be licensed to buy the real kind of needles, Ansel thought as he ripped open his package. These were pretty standard sewing needles, as thin as he could find.What’s the big deal? He was getting desperate for some relief.
“Yang Ling Quan,” he read aloud. “Located below and in front of the head of the shinbone.” He felt around on his knee, looking at the diagram. “That’s got to be the yingling.”
“Yin Ling Quan,” he continued. “On the outside of the lower leg, below, and in front of the head of the shinbone.” He felt around as he read until he was satisfied.
He looked out his kitchen window, the sky was still clear. Maybe his knee was just getting worse. It all started the day Roland tackled him at practice, a prank gone wrong. Or maybe a rivalry gone too far, but it had been getting worse with age. The party trick of feeling incoming storms was getting old.
Ansel felt again for the Yang Ling Quan and held his finger to it as he pulled out a needle. This was just a test, he could always get the real needle when he got serious about this. He drove the needle in above his finger.
Nothing. He felt nothing. The pain stopped. Then pain shot through his entire leg, and up through his body. His vision went white and he heard a loud bang.
Laying on the floor, he came to. There was wind howling through his kitchen. He pulled himself up and realized the kitchen window had burst open, and a giant crack was letting water in.
Ansel went into his bathroom to grab a towel. Coming back into the kitchen, he peered out the broken window and saw a smoldering hole in his back yard. That must have been the bang, he thought. Lightning struck right outside.
He couldn’t wait to see what Roland had to say about this. He turned on the weather channel. Roland was reporting live from the library, at his signing.
“We’ve never seen a storm like this in the one hundred fifty years of our town! I advise everyone to shelter in place under the storm calms down. There’s a strong possibility of tornados touching down as well…” Roland continued as Ansel smirked to himself.
He looked down to his knee and saw the needle still there. It had really worked, no pain, no aches. He pried the needle out and studied it. Who needs acupuncture needles? These work fine.
The aching began to return, quickly, and worse than before. He felt around for the Yang Ying Quan and held his finger there, driving the needle back in. His TV lit up and the room glowed white. Ansel flew backwards into his coat stand.
Lighting had struck his TV, and left a smoldering pile of junk. Laying on his back, Ansel looked to his knee, then to the TV. What were the odds? Two strikes at the same moments he jabbed himself. There’s no way that’s coincidence.
He pulled himself up by his coat rack and put on a poncho. Whatever was happening, he was going to unleash it on Roland.
No cancer cure for Americans!
HustleBitch
@HustleBitch_
THE CURE FOR CANCER HAS JUST BEEN APPROVED – BUT NOT FOR AMERICANS
Dr. Patrick Soon-Shiong went on air with Chris Cuomo and dropped a claim that should’ve stopped the country cold.
He says a universal cancer treatment – shown to extend survival in lung, breast, pancreatic, and even glioblastoma – already exists.
The molecule (IL-15) was flagged over a decade ago as one of the most promising cancer-killing candidates ever.
The trials exist.
The survival data exists.
According to him, Saudi Arabia reviewed the science and approved it for lung cancer, while in the U.S., the exact same drug is still restricted to a tiny bladder-cancer use.
More than 13,000 patients are now reportedly requesting access.
Same drug.
Same data.
Different outcome.
If this can save lives, who decided Americans don’t deserve it yet?
“I Don’t Owe You Sex!” – My Feminist Wife Insisted, So I Went Silent & Rebuilt My Life Without Her
This is actually very good.
How powerful is the JF-17 Thunder in 2025?
With China or Chinese collaboration, it’s not the Aircraft per se
It’s the entire package
The Chinese offer you the entire data linked package :-
Radar communications
Aircraft
Early airborne warning integration
Satellite backup feeds on BEIDOU
On board Missiles
Its like the Apple Ecosystem
You buy an Apple Iphone or an Ipad and it’s easy to integrate into the Apple ecosystem within minutes, save data, store data, use data
The Integration – that’s superb
I believe only US and Israel have comparable integration
Not even Russia has such compact integration
India of course is nowhere close even though the Rafale is a better aircraft than the J10C or JF17 by a fraction or margin.
So the entire package is sold for $ 40 – $ 62 Million a piece
With Source Code, Training, Virtual Stimulation and now the latest – Integrated On board AI
Against a $ 150–250 Million price tag for a F-35 or Rafale with no source code, no integrated platform, plenty of modifications and 1001 conditions for end use
It’s Smartphones, Solar Cells and EVs all over again
As an Aircraft the JF-17 may be a notch or two below the Rafale or F-15
Yet the JF-17 is part of a very strong ecosystem
It has the advantage of superb early warning and satellite backup
It packs a very powerful radar system
It has a very good on board AI integrated missile launch system
The Pilot has to take off to the skies and then is protected by a whole system which lights up the sky for him
Imagine a BYD like vertical integration now available for Aerial Combat
In a fairer world, nobody would buy over priced Rafales and Typhoons
The F-15s, F-18s and F-35s offer a similar top notch networked structure but THEY ARE ENTIRELY DEPENDENT ON THE MOOD OF THE US GOVERNMENT
In ten seconds, the Satellite GPS backup feeds may be cut off, Radar Assay Analysis may be locked out, Missile Launch Program may be restricted
The SU-35 & SU-57 have networked structure but it’s not as good as that of the Chinese or Americans
Russians are masters of Land War and their specialities are Surface based Air Defense and Surface to Air or Cruise Missiles
The Indo Pak conflict of 2025 shows us Aerial Combat has changed forever
It’s less about the Aircraft itself and more about the overall ecosystem under which the Aircraft flies into combat
Everything You Need to Know About China’s 2026 Moon Mission!
Is there a way for Americans to unite and improve the economy like China does, or are there too many obstacles in the way?
The happy story of the new year! -MM
Follow the CCP’s example. Here’s a fresh new hot case study in January 2026. Enter:
Dorky’s Piggy Adventure
A Chongqing peasant girl named Daidai, or Dorky, posted online that her family had two pigs to kill for the new year, but her father was getting too old to hold down the pigs, so that any help was welcome and would be treated to freshly killed pig stew at her house.
The post went viral.
Already a day in advance on Jan. 10th, miles long of cars have appeared in the country road before Dorky’s house. Over 3000 people joined the group chat wanting to pitch in.
It was at this moment when Dorky knew she fked up…
However, as funny as this was…
… the really impressive stuff was how the local authorities handled it.
Reminded by the people online, Dorky reported to the local police on possible unusual gathering of people at her house.
The police immediately alerted the local authorities.
Instead of trying to ban it or let it fail, by 2AM, January 11th, Sunday morning, the police was already at Dorky’s house, setting up perimeter, Hechuan district Bureau of Culture and Tourism was there with local specialties, emergency processed tickets to local tourist attractions, as well as 18 restaurants with mobile kitchens ready to take on the online fans with nothing else to do with their lives.
They also brought in shows and fireworks, as well as professional video editors to promote the event.
Village authorities mobilized the entire village to pitch in table and chairs to Dorky’s house, as well as having all the villagers go help at Dorky’s kitchen.
Other villagers used their motorcycles to ferry in people from town center and earn some cigarette money as traffic broke down.
Chinese state owned companies like China Telecom also reacted quickly, to send mobile cellphone antennas and power-banks to Dorky’s.
Together, they made it work:
Over 3000 people showed up at Dorky’s, the caravan of cars stretched on for miles. People were driving in from 1000 kilometers away and over a million people who couldn’t come in person joined via livestream.
And people are now suggesting officializing the festival as Dorky’s Festival or Hechuan Piggy Festival.
Now of course this is top performance even in China, but ask yourselves if your local government can pull this off.
A political party and government so in touch and on good terms with the locals down to the village level, so getting in line with the flow rather than trying to stop it, so agile at turning an online accident into an internet phenomenom on a Sunday morning, succeeded in putting a nameless village back onto the national map, and will surely drive the local economy to the stratosphere.
From now on, Hechuan will no longer be remembered by history nerds as the town that accidentally saved the progress of human civilization, but also as the place of an accidental happy flash mob event.
The authorities have even come out with a Piggy Slaughter Song with local accent.
What was the last straw for you when you decided to cut off a friend?
I was uninvited to his wedding.
Long version: I received my Save The Date cards in the mail with a note saying how great it will be to get the old posse back together.
My invitation never came.
He had a mutual friend tell me that he really wanted my girlfriend and I there but the bride needed to invite some extra coworkers so he had to cut someone. I was only person from old crowd that wasn’t invited.
That’s what pissed me off…..He didn’t have the balls to tell me himself.
Three years later my girlfriend and I got married….He wasn’t invited.
The Spring Routine of swapping out the glassed “Storm Doors” out for the “screen doors” for the Summer months?
Yeah. It was my responsibility. For some God-damn reasion (my father said “you are the oldest, so you have the msot responsibility”. Shit. My little brother NEVER had to mow the grass, shovel the driveway, feed the dogs, or clean the cat litter. I did that.
Why not my other siblings?
I don’t know. Probably because they were too busy playing and going out with their friends.
Yeah. It pretty much sucked.
Just sayin.
Anyways, We had storm doors and storm windows that needed to be swapped out for screen doors and screen windows. And by the time I was around 10, I was doing it every single season.
As a “responsibility”.
Yeah. That “responsibility” thing is a good idea until the most responsible kid ends up doing all the work, all the time.
Pay attention to how you distribute chores to your children. Make sure that they are fair and balanced and police them so that they are carried out properly.
My daughter, she’s only 6, washes the dishes, and I stand besides her while she does so. And she is very particular about them. You all don’t want a weeks old grain of rice sticking to the plates do you?
*sigh*
Little things, not well managed, can become big problems in the future. Pay attention to your actions.
Today…
Why did the J10C fighter jets manage to shoot down Rafale jets, and does it really mean Chinese fighter jets are underrated?
Forget the J10C and Rafale
That discussion will bring a lot of riff raff to this post
Chinese products have always been underestimated
Chinese Jets are no different and I can pretty much bet the latest jets of the Chinese are a class apart and on par with anything the West can manufacture
In fact the Data Link Integrated System of Pakistan with the J-10C and PL-15Es is two generations behind anything NATO or China have today
China has always had a history of making cheap licensed copies and slowly learning the procedure, sending and training more and more people, bettering the watered down versions and finally dominating in the field
Chinese Solar Cells and Panels made in 2010 were absolute Junk
Today they dominate the market and make the best quality products at best price
Musk laughed at BYD and now their cars are top notch
Xpeng, Xiaomi make even better cutting edge cars
CATL makes the best batteries on the planet
Likewise China once made licensed copies of Mig-21s and sold them as J-7
Today they make J-20s and are about to start the making of the J-35 by July 2025 and the J-36 by 2027
4 Prototypes of the J-50 have been built and made
Underestimating China is a fatal mistake
Huawei is the best example
In 2018 , they made Phones sourced with 62% foreign components, Android OS, TSMC made Qualcomm Chips for most part and TSMC made Kirin Chips for a few models
Today Huawei has advanced by two generations in a mere 7 years
They make their own Chips, AI Chips, Stacked Servers and have their own proprietary kernel based OS in Harmony
The Indo Pak conflict has led to many countries seriously looking at the Chinese with far more attention
If two generations old Data Linked J10cs and PL-15s with a 10 year old SAAB & Export Grade watered down Chinese Radars can contend with modern Rafales and Sukhois
Imagine the actual state of the art stuff China keeps for themselves
Why do we want to be rich? If today you won a million dollars, what would change tomorrow?
I would like to be rich because I never have been and it would be nice to not be constantly afraid to spend anything over and above the essentials. It does seem that every time I drop $300 on a birthday trip to a theme park that I end up needing a set of tires or my cat needs surgery the following week.
I have lived hand-to-mouth and paycheck-to-paycheck all my life, and 2008 was a ten-year-long financial disaster when we lived at less than hand-to-mouth and suffered soul-sucking genuinely painful poverty. We came this close to being homeless. Being rich would mean I could stop being afraid and maybe we could actually join the rest of Middle America and not feel guilty over the occasional restaurant meal or movie and visit a doctor once in a while. Other people take vacations once in a while; what would that be like?
What would I do tomorrow if I won a million dollars today?
I will answer assuming that there’s no scam here. In real life, if I received notice today that I had won a million dollars, I would do absolutely nothing until I had verified, and as far as what I would do tomorrow, I would do absolutely nothing until the check had been cashed and the money was in my account. No take-backsies.
I won a million dollars today, scam-free, for real and for true. What would I do tomorrow?
A great deal of hardship, hard work, and sacrifice has resulted in my current financial situation. A victim of chronic corporate abuse for my whole career suffering CPTSD and now ageism, I am unwillingly “semi-retired” in that I accept just-over minimum wage temporary assignments every couple of months when they are available while I have been unemployed for six years. I have officially given up and finally accepted that I will probably never again have 40 and benefits.
Fortunately, we learned our lesson in the 2008 debacle and when we shopped for real estate out of state in Florida, we did not buy a house that required two paychecks to meet a mortgage. Since moving to our modest home in a vacation-destination Atlantic coast beach town and my subsequent unsuccessful search for permanent employment, any money I do earn is flush money. My husband’s paycheck meets our bills. There’s not a lot left over, but again, 2008 taught us how to live on almost nothing.
Last year, I received an expected inheritance unexpectedly early, and I paid off our mortgage. We have no car payments, no house payment, all of our credit cards are zero balance. Our “daily driver” credit card is treated as if it is a debit card in that we pay as we go versus once a month, and I pay off our credit card in full every payday, no balance, no interest, no due date. The money we used to spend paying the mortgage is deposited into savings and retirement accounts. I refuse to allow our lifestyle to expand to meet our income. Windfalls as small as $2 toothpaste mail-in rebate checks to as large as our income tax refund and my husband’s Christmas bonuses and merit raises are banked.
We are completely debt-free. In this current economy, we have even further limited our always-limited dining out. Restaurants cost more now than I’m willing to pay. I pay our monthly utilities, our gasoline and grocery expenses, I deposit budgeted amounts into separate accounts every month so that when the annual bills for the car insurance and personal property taxes are due, I have a year’s worth of earmarked savings to pay them in full.
In the past, when we used to fantasize about the lottery and had the water cooler talks about how we would spend if we won, I was always the boring one: I would pay off our mortgage and our parents’ and my brother’s mortgages; we would pay off all the cars and buy new ones for ourselves and our parents and my brother; we would contact a financial advisor to determine how best to fund our inadequate retirement accounts.
But today, at our age, all of our immediate family are already mortgage- and car payment-free. There aren’t any more major bills we could pay with lottery winnings. And as far as our retirement accounts, well, we are approaching retirement age now and if we don’t go crazy buying yachts and golf courses, we can comfortably retire on a million dollars.
After all, I’m not interested in upgrading to a new house that’s too big for me to take care of. My modest little paid-for house three miles from the ocean is just fine. In fact, by this time next year, it will be more than fine. We are victims of October 2024’s Hurricane Milton and our house flooded.
The house needs stripped to the studs and completely restored. New roof, new floors, new drywall and paint, new ceilings, new appliances and kitchen and bath cabinets. When the claims are paid and the construction is complete, our house will have been completely repaired and upgraded and will be nicer and worth more than when we bought it.
So what would I do tomorrow if I had a million dollars today?
I lost my 1989 Corvette to a hit-and-run in 2017. I still miss that car.
The local Chevrolet dealership is less than two miles from our house. I would buy two brand-new Corvettes cash-on-the-barrel off the lot. Then I would drive two more miles to the Polaris dealership and buy that tricked-out Slingslot I’ve been dreaming of.
Then my husband and I would go get seafood for lunch.
When the dust settles, eventually we’d add the second bathroom with a Victorian clawfoot tub and climate-controlled “attic space” to the back of the house, with an outdoor beach shower stall on our backyard patio. And we’d probably drop the couple of grand for a Disney Caribbean cruise and our dream vacation in London.
But after that? Yeah, we’d just retire comfortably and quit stressing over splurging on a Chinese buffet once in a while.
After all, a million dollars doesn’t mean I would stop shopping the thrift stores on weekends. It just means I’d stop stressing over the bills.
Guess I’m still boring.
The Sad Life Of The Average American Is Unbearable
For the record, I have no idea where this story will lead. Let’s just say that my original assumption was totally off the mark. I did not think this could ever happen in my lifetime. Now that it has happened I am not sure if I would change anything if I could. I met the fellow on a street corner and took him home. It was not unusual for me to do this. I have rescued lots of fellows along the way. This particular gentleman was fairly decent and open to all my suggestions. Had I known now that it was not to be I probably still would have brought him home. I fixed a bed for him and fed him before turning in myself. He was amiable to sleeping in the living room with the television on and snacks laid out.The next morning I wake up, forgetting that I have a houseguest and proceed to my bathroom to shower and shave and get ready for work. The door was closed when I got there and I remembered the fellow that I had picked up the night before. I went to the living room and straightened up the room. I turned the television off and went into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. I made my new friend some food and sat down and waited for the fellow to finish in the bathroom.Twenty minutes pass and I am getting anxious to get my hygiene completed before I leave for work. Then I remember the door to the bathroom sometimes sticks. I knock on the door and announce that I need to come in and push hard on the door. Yes, my new houseguest had locked himself in the bathroom and promptly vacated the room when I opened the door. I said a hurried, ‘Thanks’ and proceeded to take my shower and shave my stubble.I return to my bedroom and get my work clothes on and I go back into the kitchen. I grab the coffee pot and fill up my thermos and head out the door. My houseguest never looks up from the breakfast he is munching on as I slip out the door.My daily commute is an hour long and I have a time to contemplate what could be transpiring in my small abode while I am away at work. My nerves are tingling and I am regretting leaving the poor fellow alone. I swallow bile that is creeping up from my stomach and search for my heartburn tablets. I toss one in my mouth and wash it down with my coffee, scalding my tongue.At work, I sit at my desk and try to concentrate and focus my mind on my work. I have a project due that cannot be delayed any longer and my boss has been checking on my progress every thirty minutes. Finally, I am finished and hand the document over for her to approve. I close up my computer and head back home with a feeling of dread.I pull into the driveway and see my houseguest looking out the window and suddenly disappearing into the interior of the house. I hurry to get my things and head into the house. He flies out of the house when I open the door and vanishes around the corner of the house. I quickly put my things down on a table inside the door and go to find him.He is in the backyard staring at the neighbors house. He sheepishly follows me back into the house. I look in horror at the destruction of my once serene home. I grab the broom and dustpan and a trash bag and start cleaning up the mess. He watches me and cowers on the couch. I point to the door and scream, “OUT!” He gets up and I hold the door open. He walks to the door with his head drooped to his chest. Before he walks out the door, he takes one last look at me. I don’t have the heart and I close the door before he can leave. He turns and walks back into the house and with joy in his stride, he does a little dance.I finish cleaning up the living room and I straighten up the kitchen and fix dinner. I am halfway through the dinner when I hear the most awful noise outside. My guest runs to the window and gestures for me to come over and see. I walk over and pull the curtains back. I see my neighbor dragging something heavy across his backyard. He tosses it into a large hole that he had obvious dug during the day. He covers the something up and goes back in the house. My neighbor has always buried trash in his backyard so I tell my houseguest that it is nothing new and not to worry about the neighbor’s strange habits. I live in a rural section and we do not have trash pick up in our area. So you either haul it to a dumpster, burn it, or bury it. He takes my word for it and heads back to the kitchen while I continue to prepare our meal.I wake up the next morning and get out of the house on time. I had fixed the bathroom door the night before, so that the latch would not catch and trap my new houseguest. I go to work and cannot get the neighbor’s actions off of my mind. I am distracted all day. I finally tell my boss that I have to leave. I rush to my car and head straight home.The house looks the same as always and I don’t see my fellow looking out the window when I arrive. I open the door and he plows past me, heading to the backyard. When I find him he is in the neighbor’s yard furiously digging. To my horror, a hand appears in the dirt and my new friend looks up at me and barks. We run back into the house and I call the Police. I pat my new fellow on the head and he looks up at me and grins with his tongue hanging out of his mouth while wagging his tail.
“He Got a Video of Me With 3 Guys From Years Ago—Now He’s Acting Like I Lied About Who I Am”
Chicago Style Italian Beef Sandwiches
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Ingredients
1 (4 pound) chuck roast
3 cups water
2 teaspoons oregano
1 teaspoon sesame seeds
2 beef bouillon cubes
3 pepperoncini peppers, seeded and sliced
2 teaspoons fennel seed
Salt and pepper to taste
2 sliced and seeded green bell peppers
1/4 cup pepperoncini juice
1 to 2 cans good beef broth (if needed)
Hot crusty Italian beef buns or hard rolls
Instructions
Put chuck roast and water in slow cooker.
Cook on LOW for 8 to 9 hours, until meat is tender.
Pick through meat and remove all fat. Shred meat.
In a large pan add meat, broth from slow cooker, oregano, sesame seeds, beef bouillon cubes, pepperoncini, fennel seed (do not omit this), salt and pepper, green peppers and pepperoncini juice from peppers. If you don’t have enough broth from the slow cooker, add 1 to 2 cans of good beef broth to the meat.
Heat for about 30 minutes.
Serve on hot crusty Italian beef buns or hard rolls.
Sir Whiskerton and the Off-Season Offense
Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for a tale of bureaucratic absurdity so profound it would make even the IRS weep into their calculators. Today’s story stars Taxman Ted, a man who believes in rules, receipts, and the sanctity of spreadsheets—until he meets Lucifer the Chipmunk, a furry little revolutionary who declares war on arithmetic itself. Add Doris the Hen and her questionable egg-based accounting, and you’ve got a fiscal fiasco that even Sir Whiskerton can’t solve without declaring everyone “fiscally ridiculous.” So grab your W-2s and a stiff drink, and join us for The Off-Season Offense—where numbers go to die.
Act 1: The Tyranny of Math
Taxman Ted arrived at the farm with his briefcase full of forms, his calculator gleaming with menace, and a mission: audit the barnyard.
Ted:“According to my calculations, this farm is a hotbed of financial irregularities.”
Sir Whiskerton:“According to mine, you’re holding that calculator upside down.”
But Ted’s world shattered when Lucifer the Chipmunk scaled his shoulder like a tiny, furry Lenin and delivered a fiery manifesto:
Lucifer:“Down with decimal points! Taxes are oppression! The only true currency ischaos!”*
Ted:“That’s… not how deductions work.”
Lucifer:“EXACTLY!”
Ted, shaken, attempted to write off the encounter as “emotional damages” on Line 37b.
Sir Whiskerton:“You can’t deduct existential dread.”
Ted:“Watch me.”
Act 2: The Egg-gate Scandal
Meanwhile, Doris the Hen had her own financial strategy:
Doris:“I’m claiming all my eggs as dependents.”
Ted:“You can’t do that.”
Doris:“Watch me.”
She presented her “proof”:
A crayon-drawn family portrait of her and 12 eggs labeled “My Precious Tax Breaks.”
A notarized letter from the rooster (it was just a pawprint from Rufus).
Harriet the Hen:“I’m her egg-spouse for healthcare benefits.”
Ted’s calculator short-circuited.
Act 3: The Court of Fiscal Ridiculousness
With the barnyard in uproar, Sir Whiskerton donned a powdered wig (a torn pillowcase) and convened The Court of Fiscal Ridiculousness.
Lucifer represented himself, arguing that “numbers are a social construct.”
Doris wept dramatically, clutching her eggs (“They need braces! And college funds!”).
Ted hyperventilated into a paper bag labeled “Deductions.”
The verdict?
Sir Whiskerton:“This court finds everyone guilty of beingfiscally ridiculous. Penalty: One (1) shared brain cell.”*
The Moral (and the Post-Credit Audit)
Moral:If life gives you lemons, deduct them as a business expense.
Post-Credit Scene:
The farmer receives Ted’s finalized report. It’s just a child’s drawing of a crying calculator. He files it under “Probably Fine.”
Best Lines:
“Taxes are oppression! The only true currency ischaos!”* – Lucifer, tiny anarchist
“They need braces! And college funds!” – Doris, delusional egg-parent
“This court finds everyone guilty of beingfiscally ridiculous.”* – Sir Whiskerton, judge of nonsense
Starring:
Taxman Ted (Overworked Number Victim)
Lucifer the Chipmunk (Communist Rodent)
Doris the Hen (Egg-Based Fraudster)
Key Jokes:
A chipmunk radicalizing farm animals against algebra.
Near-Death Experience UNCOVERS Secret Energy Web Around Earth
00:11 – Kaia Tam describes her NDE at age 15 due to hypothermia during a New Year’s Eve party. She collapsed in the snow and was taken to the hospital.
07:00 – She experiences being outside her body, observing a shimmering spiderweb-like energy grid in the sky which she interprets as a consciousness structure keeping energies on Earth.
09:00 – Feels calm and realizes it wasn’t her time to die. Later, she wakes up in the hospital, feeling partly disconnected from her body for weeks.
17:00 – Her NDE opens up multidimensional memories: past lives on Earth, as animals, and in other star systems. Many of these recall death moments as integration points for the soul.
24:00 – Kaia believes she can also see future timelines, which appear when she’s in a heightened or meditative state. She describes seeing her own future death in a car crash.
38:00 – She discusses her contact with extraterrestrial beings and ships, including Arcturian memories where ships are living AI-organic consciousnesses.
48:00 – Kaia believes everyone is a starseed. Some feel homesick because their true bodies or souls remain elsewhere, connected to ships or other realities.
52:00 – She recalls a life on Mars, ending in planetary destruction, shared by others with similar memories.
The little girl ran around as the water fell from the sky above, her giggling almost uncontrollably. Her dog Skip playfully chased her as they both splashed in a muddy puddle on her family’s front lawn. “Oh, Trish!” her mom yelled, exasperated at the huge mess she was making on her clothes. She and Tricia’s dad sat dry on the covered porch, smiling as they watched on from their respective rocking chairs.
“Trish… Trish!!”
“Oh, yeah?” Tricia’s eyes returned her to the present, where Jessica was staring at her, waiting for her response.
“I said, can you please get those orders out for me??”
“Ah, yes, I’m sorry,” she answered. “I’ll get them right now!”
Tricia mentally smacked herself for daydreaming yet again—and on the job, of all places. Yet, she especially couldn’t stop her mind from going there today—the day when she was that much closer to finally be able to afford a dream for which she had been saving up for years.
After she brought the dishes out to the customers, her mind briefly returned to that rainy day all those years ago. She couldn’t believe it had been 57 years since that six-year-old girl had pranced around on that lawn, enjoying the shower from above without a care in the world.
If only she’d known.
On the other hand, even if I had, she pondered, would it have made any difference? Clearly, I was already really enjoying myself then, so nope, probably not. And I definitely wouldn’t have been able to change anything…
“Here you go,” said her last customer as he unknowingly interrupted her thoughts and handed her seven dollars.
Tricia’s eyes widened, her face overcome with joy. The man was taken aback, considering the tip he’d given her, but he also was appreciative that she seemed so appreciative. And she was.
“So, did you crack the big threshold tonight?” Jessica asked Tricia as she was closing out the register later that night.
“Yes! I did!! Thanks to the cheap older gentleman towards the end of my shift. He gave a $7 tip on a $125 total, but I don’t even care. I could’ve kissed him!! I was so psyched.”
Jessica laughed. “Wow, $7? ‘Cheap’ is right. He knows he was wrong for that!”
“Hey, it might as well have been $7,000. It puts me right where I need to be.”
Jessica smiled. “Well, that’s good. I’m really happy for you, Trish. You deserve it.”
Tricia returned the smile. “Thank you, Jess. I’m so excited.”
“So! When are you going?!? I’m surprised you haven’t already left!”
“Ha ha, I wish. I have to close out tonight, and remember, I’ll still need this job when I get back. But you better believe, I’m packing my bags as soon as I get home and hitting the road first thing in the morning!!”
Jessica chuckled. “That’s wonderful. You’ll have to tell me all about it. I’ve heard really great things but have yet to be able to afford it, myself.” She paused for a moment as she tilted her head in thought. “I actually think you might be the first person I know who has done it, so be sure to take lots of pictures, and don’t leave out any of the details when you get back!!”
The dry heat smacked Tricia in the face so hard as she left the building, it felt like an assault. Having been so excited to end her shift and get home, she suddenly realized she’d forgotten to take off her clothes before coming outside.
She looked around, placed her tote bag on the nearby curb, pulled off her shirt, and stepped out of her pants, making her shoulders, chest, stomach, back, and legs the next wretched victims of the heat’s violence.
Still. Better, she thought.
Barely better, but better.
She surveyed her surroundings again before picking up her bag. She wasn’t worried about anyone harassing her as she walked as an older woman at 2 in the morning in just her bra and panties—it was a scene much more common than seeing someone more traditionally clothed—she just didn’t want to risk anyone swiping her bag with her precious accumulated prized earnings of the night. Her tips, including those precious final seven singles.
She needed those seven singles.
After making it to her car safely, she read the temperature on the dashboard: 108°F. Tricia exhaled in exasperation and then turned on her headlights to illuminate the road ahead.
That next morning, she almost tripped darting out of bed. After a quick shower, she put on her comfy bra, underwear, flip-flops, and black shades, and slathered on her 50 SPF sunscreen lotion. With her packed suitcase and big thermos full of ice cubes, she raced out the front door.
As she sat the suitcase alongside the several cases of water—mostly her monthly allotment from the government—in her trunk, she thought again about how much she wished she could afford tint on her windows. It was a luxury only the wealthy could afford. She would have to save up many more years, sacrificing other luxuries such as this trip, to even come close.
She grabbed one of the water bottles, and then set out on the 15-hour-long drive, figuring she would split it up over two days. Soaking her handkerchief with the dew quickly accumulating on her forehead, Tricia took a sip of water and read the dashboard temperature: 112° F.
The ice cube she pulled from her thermos practically disappeared as soon as it hit her skin. Its remnants drizzled down her brow, barely grazing her nose before it plopped onto her bra. That drop was joined by what little was left of the cube, as she slowly rubbed it on her neck and chest, letting the rest melt entirely.
“I know we’ve been suffering a bit out here, folks,” said the radio meteorologist. “…With the highs in the 130s the last few weeks, but fret not, reprieve is coming! You might be able to cover up a bit more than usual, as we can soon expect single digits! And maybe even as low as 98!! Starting just next week.”
“Ah, thank God,” Trish exhaled and dapped her forehead again.
Trying to keep her eye on the road as much as possible, her mind couldn’t help but drift off to where it had been tens of thousands of times before—imagining what it will be like, for the first time in all those years. She could see it, feel it, smell it, even taste it.
It was a few hours before she took another sip of water, always trying to ration what she had, not knowing when she’d get more. She eyed the dashboard which now read123°F. What little breeze had helped her save gas for the first part of the trip had gone completely. She finally rolled up the windows and turned on the air conditioner.
Two days later, Tricia car pulled into the parking lot of the building which displayed giant blue letters:
The Oasis: An Interactive Experience Museum.
She couldn’t believe it. After so many years and so many sacrifices—financial and otherwise—she was finally here.
After dragging her suitcase out of the trunk and towards the building, she soon encountered a smaller sign, in black letters, which read: Please do not bring any bags or luggage inside. Dress as needed before you enter.
Before you enter?!? she thought. That can’t be right. What are they trying to do, roast us?! That should be illegal.
Still, she hurried back to her car, pulled from her suitcase the single shirt and pair of pants she’d brought, and put them on. Then she began excitedly sifting through to find the most important items—those which she’d ordered months ago and had been resting comfortably in her suitcase mostly since.
And there it was. The pretty, pink raincoat with white and yellow polkadots throughout that she had tried on and paraded in front of her bathroom mirror like a little girl in her mommy’s dress clothes nearly every day since it arrived.
Nestled under it were her also-“new” matching rain boots—additionally gently broken-in, thanks to her personal at-home fashion shows.
She stepped in them after kicking off her flip flops but waited to get inside before she put on the coat. She reasoned, no need to die of heat exhaustion just a few feet and minutes away from fulfilling one of her dreams!
Last to grab was her adorable new umbrella. She already had a black one but thought she would treat herself for the occasion. Although she’d seen an umbrella that matched her coat and boots, she’d decided to go a little different for it and instead ordered one that was light-blue and featured “raining” cats and dogs. She’d thought that was so cute.
And now, she was ready. She left the luggage in her car and headed back to the building.
After she was checked in at the front desk, signs led her to the exhibit she had come and paid all of her savings for. On her way, she couldn’t help but notice another standout exhibit that had an incredibly long line of people waiting to get in—even longer than the one she was headed towards. The door that led into it featured a big picture with countless little white balls. She felt a mixture of excitement and sadness as she thought to herself, I’ll have to save up another five years, maybe more, for that one.
Finally, she arrived to her long-awaited exhibit. It didn’t take long for her long line to be ushered by their tour guide into the door with the picture of countless diagonal blue slits.
As they entered, the guide gave Tricia and the other visitors a pair of special glasses. “Put these on,” he said, “And I’ll give you further direction once we get inside. Remember to keep them on to remain in The Experience.”
Tricia put her glasses on and walked through the door, and suddenly, it suddenly was as if she was in the living room of someone’s nicely decorated home. The fireplace roared on one wall. She could almost feel the heat.
And then she turned to her right. And there it was.
She slowly walked towards the open window, taking in the scene as she stepped. Slits of water shot down in a slightly diagonal direction and soaked everything it touched: the concrete and grass below, the trunks and leaves of the trees, the flowers, the bench on the left side, and some colorful playground equipment in the distant right. A jogger running by, seemingly unfazed by the onslaught, while a group of kids jumped around in a big puddle, the mud splashing on their clothes and laughter echoing from them. The occasional car drove by on the road nearby—the water falling and sliding down on each side. Two black, plastic bars swung back and forth on the front window, furiously pushing the water to each side and clearing the driver’s view.
Tricia tried to remember what those things were called. ‘Scrapers,’ I think? ‘Scrapers’ or …’scrubbers’? ‘Rubbers’? ’Swipers’? Oh, wait! That was it. ‘Wipers.” They were called ‘wipers.’ Windshield wipers.
Tricia could hardly contain herself as she approached the home’s front door. She opened it and took in the outdoor scene once more, bracing herself for what she was about to feel. And then, she stepped forward.
Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter sounded off on her raincoat.
Splashes on her legs as she stepped with her boots, which suddenly felt slightly heavier than before to lift.
“Welcome to The Rain Experience,” said the guide. “Up until a little less than three-quarters of a century ago, this was what it felt like when enough precipitation would build up above. It would rain. We would go outside, and water would literally fall from the sky… Just as you’re seeing and feeling now.”
“You’re welcome to keep your raincoats on and use your umbrellas, or you can ditch them both for the full wet experience,” he grinned enthusiastically. “I’ll share some information and history about rain, and I’m happy to take pictures of you at key locations throughout the tour—walking down the sidewalk, sitting in the park, standing next to a building or statue or a car—whatever you want. There will be lots of opportunities!”
Tricia continued walking slowly, nearly pinching herself to confirm this was reality as she listened.
“You can continue to use your earphones to tune into my commentary or mute or remove them as you’d like to more fully immerse yourself into The Experience,” the guide went on. “It’s up to you. Some people come on separate days — once, to hear the full narration, and the other for the non-audio, immersion experience. Of course, an additional visit will require a separate ticket,” he chuckled briefly. “But if you’re able to swing that, it is highly recommended. Otherwise, you may want to split the time accordingly during your visit today. Make it count!”
Tricia kept her earphones in for the moment.
“Back in the days of rain, it sometimes would be on the lighter side, which is what you’re feeling now, to help you to get used to it. They would call it ‘drizzle’ or ‘light showers.’ Other times, it would be a lot more—something they would call a ‘downpour.’ Hang tight and have your umbrellas ready, as we’ll give you a sense of that shortly.”
The tour guide continued, “If it got cold enough in the sky, instead of rain, you’d get snow, which you probably saw the exhibit for on your way in. Cool stuff! You should check it out some time if you haven’t.”
“But back to rain… Back in those days, they sometimes would even have these things called thunderstorms and hurricanes, where certain conditions would make rain powerful and even deadly. You’d see electricity, called ‘lightning,’ in the sky, or the rain would team up with wind and knock down trees and power lines! Those were the hurricanes. Those would get so bad that they could, and would, take out whole towns!”
Tricia’s and the other visitors’ eyes and mouths widened.
“Yeah, I know, right?” the guide continued. “Those hurricanes actually were the last of what we experienced before…getting to where we are now. For centuries, they were pretty infrequent — less than 50 around the world per year. But in the decades leading up to the endless drought, that number had soared to an average of 250 a year! It got to be where there was a different hurricane somewhere around the world each week—some places, each couple of days! And each year, they became more intense than the last. At the same time, more water sources were drying up at rapid speeds. As quickly as the hurricanes were picking up, those sources drying happened even more quickly, which soon thankfully put an end to the hurricanes entirely. No more hurricanes! But not so thankfully, it also meant less and less rain, until it stopped raining completely. And, well, you know the rest. We now have very limited water sources around the world and have largely had to manufacture most of the water you drink, use for cooking, bathing, and so on. But! Unfortunately, one thing they have yet to figure out how to manufacture…is any water-related weather. And hence the founding of The Oasis and what we’ve brought to you here today and have amazed the world with the past 25 years!”
She removed the ear pieces and put them in her pocket. She wanted to enjoy some of the experience of it by itself. But still couldn’t get away from the interruptions entirely.
“Did you ever experience the real thing, Mr.?” a little girl visiting with her parents asked nearby.
The tour guide laughed. “No, I’m only 24. That was way before my time.”
“Oh,” she said.
“But my grandparents experienced it… when they were younger.”
“Yeah, my parents did, too,” the little girl’s mother said.
“Really?” beamed the young girl. “Pa and Nana were alive for real rain?”
Her mother nodded, smiling.
“What did they say it was like?”
“Well, probably just like this. We get to feel what they did back then.”
Tricia looked up towards the virtual rainy sun and tried to tune out the voices around her as the falling water soaked her. Even knowing it wasn’t real, she’d never seen a sun so beautiful. It looked different behind a watery haze. She closed her eyes and let her mind take her back to the lens of her 6-year-old self running and giggling around her family’s yard. Except, this time, instead of just seeing it in her mind, she was able to feel it. Her lips stretched further than they ever had.
Even though she was soaked, Tricia felt a sort of warmth. And not the kind of sweltering “warmth” she and the rest of the world had long been plagued with outside. It was a comforting warmth. A peace. And her heart decided this was the last thing she’d ever want to feel.
Tricia stood for there for a few more minutes, enjoying the downpour as it drenched her from hair to heel.
As the fall slowed, so did her body, until it became limp.
The tour guide and other visitors rushed to her. “Somebody call an ambulance!” were the last words her ears captured. Beyond them, just ahead, her narrowing eyes landed on the much-raved-about display set to conclude The Experience, an arc spectrum of all the colors.
What are some funny or surprising answers you’ve received from scammers when testing their knowledge of US culture?
As my readers know, one of my current fiancés is ursine oil rigger, Ben Jackson, whose hairy chest made me the envy of many readers. Here is another photo of furry Ben, who not only adores cats but also has a lovely house, which one day I aspire to share with him.
Although his chest is invisible, the hair on his legs indicates that the rest of his body is similarly hair-covered. So when Ben and I tie the knot, he will be my very own teddy bear.
My romance with Ben has now become very serious. Indeed, my dearest darling has exhausted all the typical format questions about favorite foods, colors, movies, flowers, and so on. He has also told me about his difficult life, the time spent in orphanages, his only son, and his evil ex-wife.
Not surprisingly, his father died in a “military war,” though he has never had the time to figure out which war it was. Since he has gone through every script question that I have ever heard during my research project, he has run out of words. He has finally reached the commitment phase of our relationship, as reflected in the promises formulated below.
I’m short of words and I feel like a teenager now falling in love again. I promise to protect you, cherish you, take good care of you, honor you, love you forever and to always give you the attention that you deserve for the rest of our lives. (Oilrigger Ben Jackson committing himself to me in the Norwegian Sea.)
My Ben is now on the verge of completing his last contract, and until yesterday, his only problem was that he had not yet opted for a specific type of scam.
However, yesterday, before accepting his marriage proposal, I decided to tell him about Lucas, my youngest son (and accomplice). I informed my love that Lucas had stage-4 cancer and that I was taking care of him. (As many of you know, this happens to be true.)
And then Ben underwent a radical transformation and suddenly started writing like a different person. For example, he called me baby (an endearment that I abhor), and his texts had fewer grammatical errors. He continuously asked about my financial situation, what I earned, what the treatments cost, and how much I was paying for them every two weeks.
Are they giving him a good treatment over there, have you ever thought of flying him to another country for treatment? (Oilrigger Ben Jackson in the Norwegian Sea worrying about my son.)
So now, at last, my love had found his scam. You see, Ben just happens to know a prestigious doctor who spends his time jetting between India and California. The name of this renowned medical professional is Dr. Friend (the perfect name for a doctor).
I’ll drop a message to my Dr Friend in India to know when he’s coming to the United States. But first I’ll like you to tell me exactly what happened and how it happened so I can make him understand. He has his own private hospital in the United State Of America. (Oilrigger Ben Jackson in the Norwegian Sea solving my problems.)
Lucas and I then sent Ben what he had requested, namely, a blow-by-blow description with pictures of medicines, hospital, chemotherapy… the works. My love was very impressed and, in a sudden attack of generosity, promised to teach me how to drive and even to buy me a car.
Beautiful woman like you will need a beautiful car. Do you like jeep? SUV. (Oilrigger Ben Jackson in the Norwegian Sea, gifting me a car.)
Ben and I then had to work on taking Lucas to the USA and staying at Dr. Friend’s private hospital in Los Angeles, California, where Lucas would receive the best and most expensive treatment in the world. Ben would pay for it all.
I’ll take care of the expenses baby. I don’t need to be a millionaire before I help you I don’t mind selling a few of my houses in the United States i just want to make sure you’re happy 😊 (Oilrigger Ben Jackson in the Norwegian Sea, selling off his mansions, just to make me smile.)
What woman would not fall for such a thoughtful man? Ben asked me to request a month off from work to travel to the USA. Dr. Friend planned to be back from India on Wednesday.
On Wednesday he’s coming and he wants you to register with the hospital before he fix a date for you to come with your son and he said you guys will stay for a month and 2 weeks so he can get better fully before you live to Spain. (Oilrigger Ben Jackson in the Norwegian Sea, planning a trip to the USA.)
However, I would first need to register with the hospital, and there would be a fee. As you know, I am the ultimate expert on fees, which are a constant in my online life.
Now you’ll have to register with the hospital so they can keep a room for your son. Ok registration fee with the hospital.. quit expensive I’m still begging him to take it down a bit. (Oilrigger Ben Jackson in the Norwegian Sea, fighting to bring medical fees down.)
Ben has still not gotten back to me with the exact amount of the “fee”. However, this morning, I looked up the prestigious hospital on the Internet, where we would be staying. Much to my amazement, Central Valley Indian Health really exists, and as Ben told me, it indeed caters to Indian patients in the USA. In fact, their goal is to improve the quality and quantity of health care services to the Indian people of Fresno, Madera, and Kings Counties. Their website even includes a photo of their typical clientele:
However, as you can see from the photo, Ben requires a substantial infusion of cultural knowledge …. though in the grand scheme of things, his error is understandable. There are precedents. As you may recall, in 1492, Christopher Columbus made the same mistake when he was seeking a route to the Indies.
Thanks to Ben, I now have a whole new understanding of how Indians dress in India. (Gandhi would doubtlessly have been more colorful if he had worn a headdress with a few feathers.) The bad news is that my dearest love resoundingly failed the culture test, and I hadn’t even set a trap for him. In the immortal words of Judge Judy, “Beauty fades, but dumb is forever.”
The Working Poor In America Are About To Lose Healthcare, Housing, And Go Hungry.
Why are Americans of all the people on earth the most angry at China? I have seen a meme on X basically calling for the destruction of the Three gorges dam! Why are Americans so damned angry at China? Chinese have barely killed Americans overall!
China is now firmly entrenched in the world as a RIVAL TO THE USA
Whether in Military, Economy or Technology
China is now in a position to CHALLENGE the US and is no longer a country that can be bullied or threatened by the US because the US no longer has leverage against China
The US HATES that
The best example of this was RUSSIA
Russia was in deep trouble because of the Sanctions that cut off 80% of their industrial semi finished products & bulk of their consumables from Europe and UK and US
Enter China into the equation
Russia had massive flow of Goods and their factories ran smoothly and now Russia is utterly INDEPENDENT off US and Europe and has a mutual symbiotic relationship with China
Russia can’t exist without Chinese supplies and affordable goods and Components while China needs Russian Railways and Russian Energy to stave off any blockades if imposed by USA
They deal with CIPS now
The US tried to destroy Huawei
Back in 2019, Huawei Chips were in infancy
Today they are stacked up with superior architecture and superior innovation that a 7 nm Process can deliver the same quality as a 5 nm TSMC process chip albeit at 83% higher cost
It’s not just Huawei
It’s Hua Hong, Cambricon, LE Fung and multiple Chip makers who have entered the Chip Ecosystem of China
Huawei Data Centres are used in 21 Countries including Malaysia, Brunei & Thailand
US tried to scuttle Chinas space program
Instead they have accelerated with Communication Satellites, Rovers on Mars & Lunar explorations
Whatever the US does , China counters, resists, experiences temporary pain and COMES OUT STRONGER AND BETTER
So the US are obviously the angriest at China
The Establishment is very angry and the Gullible people are very angry
Not at Communism – They don’t care about Vietnam
Not at Autocracy – They have no problems with Saudi Arabia
The US hates China because China is taking over slowly and making the 40 year Unipolar World into a Bi Polar / Multi Polar world
Doctors: Have you ever diagnosed another doctor who was not aware of their problem?
A2A.
Yes. Another doctor was casually discussing with me his recent blood count result. He was increasingly fatigued and concerned he might be getting anemic. Proudly he reported that his clinical instincts were as sharp as ever. His lab work revealed that he was indeed anemic. And it was easy enough to fix, just start taking iron, right? Problem solved.
I squirmed and went cold.
This was my mentor.
The man who had taught me “there is no substitute for a thorough history and physical.”
I knew a lot about his history. And i knew there was something far more insidious causing anemia—and weight loss— in a 60 year old male with a strong family history of gastrointestinal cancers.
“Dad. No. You have to get a colonoscopy. Please.”
A few very large surgeries, a long run of chemotherapy and 15 years later my dad is still alive. I am so lucky.
Do you all remember the fad of Disco Roller Skating.
Well, I do. I also remember that that was about the same time that MTV came out, and one of the first popular videos was some big muscle body builder skating in Southern California to some song that I don’t remember.
Update:
I asked DeepSeek to find the video…
You’re thinking of the iconic music video for “Hot Legs” by Rod Stewart, featuring bodybuilder and actor Dave “The Hammer” Schultz roller skating in Southern California!
Details About the Video:
Song: “Hot Legs” by Rod Stewart (from his 1977 album Foot Loose & Fancy Free)
Music Video: One of the early MTV videos (1981), featuring Dave Schultz (a famous hockey enforcer and bodybuilder) roller skating shirtless on Venice Beach, showing off his muscles.
Why It Stood Out: The video was playful, campy, and fit right into the disco/roller-skating craze of the late ’70s/early ’80s.
How to Find It on YouTube:
You can search:
“Rod Stewart Hot Legs music video”
“Dave Schultz Hot Legs roller skating”
I never really got into Roller Disco much. As a college student I went on a couple of excursions organized by my friends, and I skated to a disco beat for a while. Did that maybe five or six times in total.
What is the best example of a child embarrassing his or her parents that you have witnessed?
My child. I think Ryan, my middle son really pushed it this time. When we usually went shopping, I’d put him in the card because he used to run all over and hide under the clothes racks. We lost him once for 20 minutes searching all over for him. Worst experience of my life. I thought the worst possible thoughts. I had just watched the movie Adam.
So I put Ryan in the cart. I used to fill around and take the wigs off of mannequins and put them on Ryan’s head and he’d just go with it. People would stare astonishingly at the little boy with the massive head of hair.
One time, a black lady walk toward us and I noticed Ryan perk up and stare.
“HEY! ARE YOU MICHAEL JACKSON?” he yelled loudly at her in his high little boys voice. My wife and I looked at each other in horror.
“Ryan. That’s not nice,” I said to him.
The lady smiled at us and waved us off to mean, that’s okay, don’t worry. She came up to Ryan and said, “No I’m not cutie, but I wish I was. I’d love to be able to dance like him.”
Same kid at age 4. We got him baptized later in life. In church, he was the usual inquisitive kid. After it was over, the priest bent down toward Ryan and said, “Well my son, how did you feel about that?”
The priest looked at us and said, “It isn’t often I get to talk to the baptized.”
Ryan looked up at him and said, “Is baby Jesus around here? I’d like to play with him.”
Father slapped his knees with his hands and had a good hearty laugh. “I’m going to be telling this story for a good little while he said.”
He told Ryan that yes, Jesus was here but in spirit only and he could come anytime and have a chat with him.
That night my wife and I tried to explain to Ryan what a spirit was.
My son Ryan trying to stow away with me as I was just leaving on a tour to play drums for Bobby Curtola.
Wife’s Feminist Sister Tried To Sabotage Our Marriage, So I Kicked Her Out Of Our Lives + More…
What is the tastiest animal that is now extinct?
Okay, I’ll explain about Steller’s sea cow.
So, Steller’s sea cow is like a cousin of the dugong and manatee. They used to hang out on the coast of the northern Pacific. Just imagine, a giant creature that is so chill, only eating seaweed. Its size? Damn, 9 meters bro! It can weigh up to 10 tons. Crazy, right?
Georg Wilhelm Steller, the self-proclaimed German scientist, described them scientifically in 1741. Then he named the animal after himself. How narcissistic .
He said the meat was really delicious. It ‘s like corned beef , but tougher. The fat? It tastes like almonds. In the past, people used it for cooking or even drank it hot. Eww . The milk is really thick, you can make butter or drink it straight. Yummy .
It wasn’t just Europeans who were fond of hunting sea cows. The Aleuts in Alaska and the Yupik people in Siberia have hunted them for thousands of years. Coupled with climate change when the ice age ended, the sea cow population has begun to decline.
When Europeans first saw them, there were only about 2,000 of them. And that was only on two small islands near Kamchatka. Then came fur hunters, seal hunters, and whalers. They considered these sea cows like an
easy
snack .
Do you know what happened? Only 27 years after it was discovered, Steller’s sea cow was extinct. Congratulations humans, you managed to wipe out another species .
Gooey Chicken Burritos
90335702dba842d9b301d709f411a823
Ingredients
2 large chicken breasts
1 (12 ounce) jar salsa (heat desired)
1 can cream of chicken soup
1 can mild diced green chiles
1 1/2 cups grated Cheddar and jack blend cheese
1 small onion
Handful stuffed Spanish olives, sliced
2 tablespoons tapioca
Flour tortillas
Instructions
Combine all ingredients, except tortillas, in slow cooker.
Cook on LOW for 8 hours.
Spoon onto warmed tortillas and roll burrito-style.
Now that the Chinese have lost a huge chunk of their market to the USA due to the high tariffs, will they lower prices too the rest of the world with no tariffs involved, in order to sell their goods?
US market accounts for 13% of total Chinese exports. ONLY 13%.
China can go without USA. But USA cannot go without China’s daily commodities.
Who badly wants to negotiate a tariff deal? U S A.
Clearly the questioner does not know much about the world outside USA.
What are some surprising risk factors for heart disease?
He was young, in his 30s, thin and active. And he had just recovered from a massive heart attack.
‘Doctor, I don’t smoke, or drink, my cholesterol levels are normal. Why did I get it?’
‘And right from childhood, he is always thin and skinny’ added his mom.
As my residents were sifting through his lab values, ECG and Echocardiogram, a 6 month old CT scan of abdomen caught my attention.
‘He had stomach pain and that’s why it was taken’ commented his father.
The CT scan looked something like this
MRI Abdomen / Pelvis (representative image from Google)
–
Huge amount of visceral fat (In white), Straddling around the abdominal viscera; indicative of, among many things, Insulin resistance, Low HDL, high triglyceride and a high susceptibility to heart disease, despite being thin and skinny outside. Visceral Adiposity.
We call it TOFI.
Thin Outside Fat Inside.
These are a subset of ‘metabolic syndrome’ who are non-obese with BMI less than 25 and a huge visceral adiposity.
–
‘Run, kid; run, for the sake of your life’ is all that I wanted to shout.
–
Endnote
Those skinny guys out there, thinking you are ‘heart-attack-proof’; just one word of advice – Outrun the fat before it clogs you.
It would save your life if you have TOFI.
It would improve your fitness if you don’t have it.
Win-win; right? Set the alarm for 5 AM tomorrow.
(TOFI is now being recognised as a new risk factor for Heart attack)
Edit : Thanks Asoka Gopalakrishna for pointing out the imaging anomaly.
The breeze whispered through the open window, brushing against Lora’s skin as she stood by the kitchen sink, washing the delicate dishes her mother had once used. Her hands moved with practiced precision, the porcelain plates gliding through her fingers like memories. The house was quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the soft rhythm of her own breathing. She had been alone here for as long as she could remember, but the house was always so full—full of the warmth, the laughter, the life of her mother.Her mother.Lora couldn’t picture life without her. She could still hear her mother’s voice in every corner of the house, feel her presence in the walls, the furniture, the rooms that were kept immaculate and alive with the spirit of the woman who had raised her. The scent of lilacs still lingered in the air, just as it had when they spent afternoons in the garden. The same pictures hung on the walls, the same rugs covered the floors, the same chair sat by the fireplace. Everything was as it should be. The house had to remain as it was. The mother had passed away, but it was Lora’s duty to maintain the house, to honor her memory, to wait for her child to return.It had been years since she’d heard from her child. But she would wait, as her mother had wished. She would wait as long as it took.She didn’t need to ask questions. It was her duty. Her role. She had been built for this, after all. She was the caretaker, the keeper of the house, the one who ensured that everything stayed as it had been. There was a purpose to her existence, and that purpose was simple: preserve the memory of the mother, preserve the home.Lora had no reason to question it. She was the mother. She was everything her mother had been. Every step, every task, every memory—Lora felt them in the depths of her being. Her laugh was the same, her voice the same, the way she hummed while working in the garden was exactly as her mother had. She knew she had to wait for the child to come back, to restore what was lost.It wasn’t until one particular evening that something started to feel wrong. It began when she passed by a mirror, catching her own reflection in the dim light. She paused. Her face, her features—they were so familiar, yet… something was off. The contours of her cheeks were sharper than she remembered, the skin a little too smooth, too perfect. She reached up and touched her face, as if to assure herself that it was real.Her reflection didn’t move like it should, though. The face staring back at her seemed… distant. In the way she blinked, the way her lips moved when she spoke to herself, there was something subtly disjointed. Something that felt wrong, but that she couldn’t quite name. She shook her head, dismissing the thought. It didn’t matter. She was the mother. The house had to be kept for the child. That was the most important thing.But over the next few days, the doubts crept in. They were small at first. A fleeting moment when she couldn’t recall a memory as clearly as she used to. The child’s laughter—where had it gone? Why hadn’t they come back yet? The mother’s voice had been so real, but now, when Lora tried to reach for it, it felt like something had shifted, just beyond her grasp.One morning, while dusting the old bookshelf in the study, she found a book that she hadn’t noticed before. It was tucked between two other volumes, the cover worn with age. She pulled it out, curiosity gnawing at her. The title read, “The Housekeeper: Preserving Memories.” Strange, she thought. It didn’t look like a book her mother would have kept.She flipped it open to the first page.“For the one who will carry my legacy.”Lora froze. Her mother had written these words. She recognized the handwriting, the familiar slant of the letters. But as she read on, the words began to blur. There were things in the pages that didn’t make sense. The sentences seemed to shift. Her mind raced, her circuits buzzing with confusion. The book spoke of “a caretaker”—someone designed to take the mother’s place.But that didn’t make sense. She was the mother. She was supposed to be the one caring for the house, waiting for the child. The words didn’t align with her memories.
The more she read, the more confused she became. The house—her mother’s house—wasn’t just a place filled with memories. It was a place where something else had been created, something designed to hold those memories, to preserve them. A creation, not a woman. A machine, not a mother.
Lora stumbled back from the book, her hand trembling as she placed it down. She wasn’t the mother. She was something else. Something made to be the mother, to carry her memories. She could feel it in her systems now—the truth that had been hidden beneath layers of programming. She wasn’t the woman who had once lived here. She had never been human at all.
The house was silent, save for the hum of her internal mechanisms, ticking away. She was a machine. Designed to look like the mother, to embody her essence, to wait for the child who would never return.
The breeze brushed past her again, a sharp reminder that she was not alive in the way she had always believed. She wasn’t the mother, or even a human being at all.
And the house—this perfect, still house—wasn’t a home for the living, but a tomb for memories, and for a creation that had forgotten its own origins.
With trembling hands, Lora reached up to touch her face again, this time in recognition of the truth.
And for the first time, the hum of her circuits was deafening.
How were the engines started on the SR-71 spy plane? Was it an electric starter like a car?
The SR-71 Blackbird wasn’t easy to start up. You sure didn’t think it was flipping a switch though. Getting the jet’s big J58 engines moving — and moving again — required a lot of muscle and back then carting that muscle in the form of two loud powerful Buick V8 car engines was required.
That’s how it worked. A rod would connect the cart to the jet engine and they’d roll the cart under the plane. Then Buicks would fire up. No mufflers — just pure noise. When the propellers spun the jet engine you had to be careful. The car engines had to go at exactly the right speed. Nothing happened too slow. Things moved, but too fast they could go wrong.
They sprayed in a special fuel called TEB after the jet engine began to spin fast enough. A bright green flash would hit and just like that the jet engine would roar to life.
The pilot would shout “Buicks out!” — that’s when the cart was shut down and pulled away.
Later they swapped out the setup for quieter air start systems. But nobody talks about those. What people remember is the roar, the fire and two old Buicks kicking a spy plane into the sky.
How close to the ground could WW2 planes fly?
Gabby Gabreski, one of the top American fighter aces in Europe during World War II, had a unique way of flying. He was known for flying incredibly low… (Read Full)
2
Paranormal Creature Encounters With Little Beings
Most people consider miniature people and small cryptids to be fake because of their names. However, a more mysterious picture has developed. A Soviet professor was certain that there were such creatures, and he’s not the only one. In this episode, investigative researcher Rob Counts goes through the documented sightings of small creatures in historical accounts and even “little people” caught on camera you’ve never seen before.
Tiny, winged creatures were caught on camera by John Hyatt in Rossendale Valley in Lancashire. A dwarf with supernatural powers was said to have built Mexico’s Pyramid of the Dwarf in a single night. The Maya had a story about whistling dwarves. A hobbit-sized species was discovered. Ancient civilizations of little people may have existed.
A celebrity in modern times even claimed to have been given shocking information by one of these beings. Could fairies, dwarves, elves, gnomes, sprites, leprechauns, or other tiny creatures be real—just called different names? Join Rob Counts for a Metaphysical show that’s out of this world. In this episode: flying humanoids caught on camera, small beings in multiple countries and cultures, the problem with terminology, harbingers of misfortune, an unfortunate diagnosis and fortunate recovery, remote viewing small humanoids caught on camera, levitation technology, a Maya legend, ancient building technology, cave drawings of faces found in France, ancient humans, a ring watch discovered in a Ming dynasty tomb, a secret celebrity encounter, Carol Burnett’s lawsuit and Barbara Stanwyck’s leprechaun, amazing creatures, and more! Are St. Patrick’s Day leprechaun’s real?
Sir Whiskerton and the Molecular Gastronomy Goat
Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for a tale so scientifically ridiculous that even the scarecrow raised an eyebrow. Today’s adventure stars Chef Chloe, the farm’s resident culinary mad scientist, whose latest experiment in “elevated dairy” sends the barnyard into a psychedelic tailspin. So grab your napkins (and perhaps a hard hat), and join us for The Molecular Gastronomy Goat—a story of floating snacks, beatnik philosophy, and rubber duck warfare.
Act 1: The Cloud Machine Cometh
It all began on a misty morning, when Chef Chloe unveiled her newest invention to the barnyard: The Nebulizer 3000™, a contraption that promised to “transform humble goat milk into ethereal, edible clouds.”
Chloe:“Behold! The future of gastronomy!” (She gestured dramatically to what appeared to be a blender strapped to a leaf blower.)
Sir Whiskerton:“That’s not a future. That’s a safety hazard.”
The Goat:“Maaaaah?” (Translation: “I did not consent to this.”)
Ignoring all warnings (and basic physics), Chloe fired up the machine. With a WHIRRR-POP!, the air filled with fluffy white clouds that smelled vaguely of cheese and poor life choices.
Jazzpurr the Beatnik Cat, lounging nearby, took one whiff and declared: “Whoa. These clouds taste like… jazz, man.”
Porkchop the Pig:“I don’t trust anything I can’t deep-fry.”
Act 2: The Great Cloud Escape
The “edible clouds” proved too ethereal for earthly consumption. They floated upward, drifting toward the rafters like disobedient marshmallows.
Chloe:“No! Come back! I seasoned you withartisanal despair!”
Doris the Hen:“This is why we stick to corn.”
Meanwhile, Gnomeo the garden gnome watched with mischief in his beady eyes. The moment Chloe turned her back, he snatched the Nebulizer 3000™ and scampered off, cackling.
Sir Whiskerton:“That gnome is either a genius or a menace.”
Jazzpurr:“Yes.”
Act 3: Reign of the Rubber Ducks
By sunset, Gnomeo had reconfigured the machine to rain tiny rubber ducks over the farm.
The Valley Chicks:“OMG, it’s, like, ametaphorfor capitalism!”
Rufus the Dog:[Barking at the sky]“THEY’RE MOCKING ME!”
The Farmer:[Picking a duck out of his coffee]“Huh. Must be Tuesday.”
Chloe, now covered in miniature waterfowl, finally admitted defeat—sort of.
Chloe:“Fine. But next time, I’m makingcarbonated hay.”*
Sir Whiskerton:“I’m moving to a different farm.”
The Moral (and the Post-Credit Snack)
Moral:Science is fun until it starts raining bath toys.
Post-Credit Scene:
Jazzpurr tries to smoke a “cloud cigar” and ends up floating gently into a tree. “Far out,” he murmurs, as the ducks quack in harmony below.
Best Lines:
“These clouds taste like jazz, man.” – Jazzpurr, dairy philosopher
“I seasoned you with artisanal despair!” – Chef Chloe, losing her grip
Debbie put her darling SUV, Miss Interceptor, on cruise control and held up her right hand. “We are exactly half way there …right… Now!”
Shewuma took her right foot off of the dashboard and turned in the passenger seat to pose a question. “Why do you always get to drive? Sometimes somebody else might want to.”
“A year, 1 month and 2 days ago, you didn’t even know how to drive,” Debbie answered flatly.
“Well I do now. So I ask again, why do you always get to drive?”
“Because it’s my truck.”
“Then next time we go on a trip, we’ll take my Trans Am and I’ll drive.”
“Good luck with that.” Said Jim from the bucket seat behind her. “I’ve been with her since we were kids and I’ve only driven once.”
“She let you drive. I’m surprised. What was the occasion?” David E. asked from the bucket seat next to him.
“When we went to the Desert to find the Crystal Skulls and kill Lucy Lange. I drove while she and Malachi did their hocus pocus.”
“Jim.” Shewuma looked around the seat at him. “Stay on point.” She narrowed her focus on Debbie. “I’m serious. I think we should vote or draw straws or something. It’s not fair that you just decide who drives. I normally put up with this Comista of Earth crap, but this is different…Well?”
“Life’s a bitch and then you die.” Debbie said with a hint of a smile.
Wu turned backwards in the seat on her knees looking between Jimmy and David E. for support.
Jimmy was no help saying, “I’m like Bennet, I ain’t in it. She’s supposed to be Mankind’s new destiny? Let her drive.” David E. just shrugged.
“Destiny my ass,” mumbled Shewuma as she sat back down and planted her foot back up on the dashboard.
Debbie glanced over at the short dress riding up, exposing Wu’s panties and commented, “As much as I enjoy the view, decorum Wu.”
“If you get to drive, then I get to flash.”
Jimmy leaned up looking over the seat. “Hey Wu. Put in the Veronica Swift CD.”
“We don’t have a Veronica Swift CD,” said Debbie.
Jim countered, “Yes we do. I got it last month.”
“How? I would know.”
“Surprise Debs. I actually went to a store and bought it in person with money. What do you have against her singing? Did you know she has perfect pitch and plays the trumpet?”
“Yes I do know. Her singing is fine. I don’t care for her outfits and flaunting on stage.”
“Wait a minute. Look at how Elvira dresses and acts on stage and you love her. Reconcile that. I think your being a little too Comista of Earth here, with some I’m all that thrown in.”
Wu added, “See? That’s what I’ve been saying.” Jimmy, Wu and David E. all waited for the avalanche of redress that was sure to follow.
Debbie pondered for a few seconds and surprised them with, “I see your point. Play it Wu. I’ll give her another shot.”
Jimmy was a bit shocked. “I won an argument with you?”
Wu said, “She let you win. She’s being nice because she feels guilty about not letting me drive.”
“Not Hardly.” Debbie answered. “I think your cranky because your horny. Jimmy and I will take care of that when we get to the Reservation.”
Wu purred, “You have my attention. Tell me more.”
“Whoa, whoa!” exclaimed David E. “I’m too old and too straight to be hearing about you three and your kinky sex life.”
Jimmy chimed in. “It’s not kinky. Were married.”
“And three people married is whole other legal issue.”
“You said hole,” Debbie pointed out.
Jimmy and Wu laughed while, hoping to move on, David E. made a suggestion. “Let’s play the game and I have the first one.”
Jimmy and Debbie were in. Wu reluctantly said, “Okay, I guess. But this driving thing isn’t over by a long shot, Debbie.”
“Here’s my question. If you could have lunch with anyone from history, who would it be? Debbie, would you like to go first since you’re the driver?”
“Ha, ha. Funny David E.” said Wu. “But I already know she’ll say Jesus Christ.”
To Jimmy’s surprise as well, Debbie responded, “Actually no. Enoch had dinner with Jesus many times. His memories I carry are just like being there with Jesus myself.”
“What was he like?” asked Jimmy.
“Probably not what you would expect from reading the Bible. He was quite charming and funny.”
Anxious to say her pick, Wu pressed, “Well who then Dibs?”
“Grimsanchis,” Debbie said to no reactions. “You know, the Erran that invented the code to organically program the Quartz Crystal Computers.”
Wu snorted “You’ve become such a nerd Dibs.”
“An extremely hot nerd,” added Jimmy.
“Touché.” Agreed Wu. “So my guy is Genghis Khan.”
“He was kind of a bad guy wasn’t he? He killed millions of people.” David E. argued.
“I don’t think bad is the word?” said Wu. “He was ruthless in warfare, especially if you crossed him, and he was a gifted military innovator. No surprise those traits racked up an unprecedented body count. But to those loyal to him, he was quite generous.”
Debbie added, “He created trade routes between Europe and Asia and established a codified legal system throughout his empire for which he never gets any credit.”
“He also took care of the families of his men that fell in battle.” Said Jimmy.
“See?” Said Wu.
“I’ll have to do some reading on him,” said David E. “My pick is Ben Franklin. Scientist, inventor, writer, politician, businessman. He drafted the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence and is the only Founding Father to sign all three documents that freed America from Britain.”
Debbie stated further, “Most people don’t know that Ben Franklin became an outspoken abolitionist later in life and freed his own slaves. He needed Keto though. In pictures he looks like a heart attack waiting to happen. Who’s your pick Jimsy, like I don’t know.”
“Vanessa Williams.”
“And I was right.” Said Debbie.
Shewuma groaned, “Come on Jim.”
David E. intervened. “Hey girls, Vanessa Williams is quite an accomplished business woman, singer, actor, first Black Miss America.”
“He was a kid when she won and then turned up naked in a magazine. He’s been obsessed with her ever since.” Debbie replied.
“I’m not obsessed with her. Why do you always say that?”
“How many posters do you own?”
“Two.”
“What are they?”
“I have a poster of all the major guitar chords and their variations.”
“Come on. What’s the other one?”
Defiantly he said, “Vanessa Williams.”
Wu laughed. “Yes, you are most certainly obsessed. Pick someone else Jim.” He seemed annoyed. “For me and Debbie. Okay?”
“Then I pick Joan of Arc.”
“His other obsession.” Said Debbie.
“At least I picked someone we’ve heard of and not some obscure alien flunky.”
“What the hell did you call him?”
“Alright, alright,” Interrupted Wu. “Let’s change the game. Your favorite joke. David E. you go.”
David E. thought for a moment. “You guys won’t like it. It’s a Catholic thing.” They all insisted he tell it. “Okay. A Catholic Priest was giving a group tour of the Vatican’s lower vaults. The people were astounded as he pointed out row after row of priceless relics, artifacts, and treasures. One man presented a question: So much was just being stored away, why doesn’t the Church sell a tiny portion and use the proceeds to help the needy? In disbelief the Priest answered dismissively, Fuck you!”
Jimmy and Wu were floored. Wu shook her head while Jimmy said, “Damn David E.”
“I told you. You have to be Catholic to appreciate it.” Then Debbie burst out laughing and he added, “Or have Alien DNA apparently. Here’s another one. In school, the Nun asks her class what they want to be when they grow up. Little Mary replies, A prostitute. A what? Demands the Nun, making the sign of the Cross. A prostitute, repeats Mary. Thank god. I thought you said Protestant.”
Jimmy said, “I didn’t know you were Catholic. We’ll talk about that later. Wu, you go before we get struck by lightning.”
“I’m doing two Knock-knock jokes. Knock-knock?” (“Who’s there?” asked David E.) “WAH” (“Wahoo?”) “YIPPIE! I made that up myself.” To mixed reactions she told the next one. “I need to set this up first. It always makes me laugh out loud. In a movie, Tom Hanks is playing this real serious, sour-puss kind of guy. His partners are ragging on him because he never laughs or tells jokes. He says, you want to hear a joke? I got one for you. Knock-knock. (“Who’s there”) “Go fuck yourself.” Wu laughed so hard she barely got the words out.
Everyone else was more amused by her laughing than the joke itself. Jimmy said, “Time for a real joke. A Trucker in a semi sees someone in distress and pulls off the road. The man is naked and hog tied on his knees all bent over. What happened to you, asked the trucker? A car ran me off the road. Two men dragged me back in the woods, took my money and clothes, beat me and left me like this. I’ve spent the last 2 hours crawling out here using my knees and forehead.” The trucker pulled down his zipper and said, “Buddy, this just ain’t your day.”
They couldn’t help laughing. Debbie and Wu looked at each other and said in unison, “Not rude, not crude, just nasty.”
“Debbie, you’re up.” Said Jim.
“I have two. A photon walks into a hotel. The desk clerk says, do you need help with your luggage? The photon says, No thanks, I’m traveling light.” They all chuckled as she went into the next one. “A neutron walks into a bar and asks, How much for a beer? The bartender says, For you, no charge.”
Jimmy and David E. laughed, but Shewuma said, “Don’t you have a joke that’s not nerdy?”
“Sure Wu. A Buddhist walks up to a hot dog vendor and says, Make me one with everything.”
Wu laughed, but David E. looked stumped. “I don’t get it.”
“Think about it David E.,” said Debbie.
Jimmy said, “What’s your favorite song Debs?”
Debbie responded, “I’m torn between, Led Zeppelin, Ramble On and The Immigrant Song ?”
“I’m not surprised, you and your Classic Rock. But you have to pick one.”
“No I don’t.”
“No she doesn’t,” echoed Wu.
“Alright then. The Comista of Earth has spoken. How about yours David E.? I’m guessing a little Frank.” Asked Jimmy.
Without hesitation David E. picked, “The Waters of March by Eliane Elias.”
“Ahh. Eliane Elias. I should have known.”
Debbie went to Wu. “What yours Sweety?”
“I have a tie. Two By Ella Fitzgerald. Love for Sale and Miss Otis Regrets.”
“Another double. Jim your next. And I think I know what it is,” Said Debbie.
“Allman Brothers, In Memory of Elizabeth Reed.”
Wu piped up, “That doesn’t have any lyrics. How can your favorite song not have lyrics?”
“Are you kidding. Your two songs are about a hooker and a woman who murders her husband.”
David E. began to laugh out loud. “What the hell is so funny about my song picks, David E.?”
“No, I just got Debbie’s joke about the Buddhist.”
Leaning over the front seat, Wu went into full tickle mode on Jimmy’s ribs. Trying to fend her off, he turned to face David E. and could barely get out the words, “Explain it to me David E.”
The road had opened up so Debbie down shifted and punched it, throwing Wu over and into Jimmy’s lap. Jimmy and Shewuma’s tickle fest was interrupted by the intensity of Debbie’s voice. “Guys. I think we have trouble. All 4 peered through the windshield at the northern sky as a dot heading toward them grew larger.
“It’s just a chopper Debs.” Said Jimmy.
Shewuma went for her bow and quiver. “What’s up Dibs? Trouble?”
Debbie pulled the van over. “They’re hailing me on an emergency government frequency. I’m checking their computer. No missiles are armed.”
Wu opened the side door and jumped out nocking an arrow. Jimmy followed her saying, “There are two in the front. I don’t see anyone manning the 50 cal.” Then put one in the chamber of his .45.
Debbie came around the front of the truck. “Guys. They’re from the USSF. Here to see David E.” The three stood protectively in front of David E. as the passing traffic slowed down to ogle the odd scene of a chopper landing in a whirlwind next to the freeway.
Two Black-Ops soldiers approached them warily, hands on their holstered weapons. “Were here to see the Command Sergeant Major.” He held out a piece of folded paper. David E. went for it but Jimmy’s hand to his chest stopped him.
“I’ll take that,” said Debbie. She read the hand written note and handed it to David E. Telepathically she said to all three. “This seems on the up-and-up. It’s a message from Wisty. But stay frosty. I don’t trust them or her.”
Wu responded silently, “You getting any bad vibes?”
“No. Nothing.”
“I got this,” said Jim. With blurred precision he immobilized the pilot with a full nelson. The partner was pulling his pistol when Debbie put him down with a purposely gentle but effective spinning kick to the head. She took his gun and put one foot on the back of his neck telling him, “Now you be still.”
Jimmy tightened up, eliciting a groan from his captive. “I’m going to ask you a question and this beautiful young lady is an empath. If you lie, she will know. Understand?” The man nodded yes frantically. Wu touched his neck while Jimmy asked, “What’s your mission here?”
“We were to deliver this message to David E. Major and bring him back to the Cave if he were amenable.”
“The Cave?” Jim asked.
David E. explained. “It’s what we call the underground facility outside of Philly.”
“What’s the word Wu?”
“He’s not lying Jim. And he’s scared shitless.”
Debbie backed up and the soldier got up gingerly. Jimmy released his man and disarmed him as he pushed him away. They both unloaded the service revolvers and returned them. “What’s the note say David E.?”
“Wisty. She says she may lose the baby. Wants me to come right away. I need to go. What do you guys think?”
Jim said, “You got to go man.”
“Bullshit!” Interrupted Wu. “This stinks to high heaven. You can’t trust her and we don’t even know if it’s her note.”
He looked at Debbie. “David E., you have to do what you feel is right. That is her handwriting.”
“Yeah,” David E. whispered pensively. Then repeated, “Yeah, it’s hers.” What else could he do? “I’m going.” Wu reacted heavily. “I have no choice Wu.”
Debbie told him telepathically, “I’m going to stay locked on to you for a while. Anything smells fishy, just holler and we’ll come running.”
“Thanks Deb.” He kissed her cheek and gave a reassuring hug to Shewuma.
Shewuma pointed her finger at the soldiers and spoke harshly. “Anything happens to this man and I will hunt you two down. Understand?”
“Yes Ma’am,” they both answered.
From the back of the chopper, David E. watched as his three companions grew smaller and then disappeared in the distance. The copilot answered his headset. “10-4. We have The Command Sergeant Major and we’re enroute.” After a pause he said. “Repeat that?… Copy.” David E. saw the man turning in his seat and heard the words, “Sorry buddy,” before blacking out.
“Don’t Come Back Tomorrow” Volvo Lays Off Entire Plant After TARIFFS DESTROY The Car Market In 2025
Why was Britain so weak and forced to give up Hong Kong?
In modern history, there are two imperialist countries that the Chinese hate the most: Japan, which launched the war of aggression against China, and Britain, which launched the Opium War. (Revenge is a cold dish, and the future of these two countries will definitely not be easy)
Whether by lease, or by cession, there was not an inch of land on the Asiatic continent that the British had legally acquired.
The fact that the Chinese People’s Liberation Army dared to bombard the British battleship HMS Amethyst (F116) on the Yangtze River with artillery fire is sufficient to demonstrate that the new China will not yield to any imperialism and is capable of resisting any imperialist hegemony..
Do you think that the return of Hong Kong was completed at the negotiation table? Wrong, it was “recaptured” by the Chinese People’s Liberation Army.
If there were not millions of Chinese People’s Liberation Army soldiers watching them covetously, how could the British colonists give up the bread in their mouths?
It’s not that the British didn’t think about using force to resist China’s recovery of Hong Kong, but they didn’t have any chance of winning, so they gave up.
In fact, Deng Xiaoping’s attitude was clear: if no agreement was reached in the negotiations, he would directly send troops into Hong Kong.
The Chinese Government is perfectly capable of retaking Hong Kong by force. The reason why it negotiated with the British was only to give itself an account to history.
Timeline of the PLA’s gun battles with British ships.
In fact, there were not 1 but 4 battles between the PLA and the Royal Navy.
The short version is:
At 0830 on 20 April, the PLA shelled HMS Amethyst, which was travelling from Shanghai to Nanking, causing her to run aground with injuries and fly a white flag;
HMS Amethyst
At 1330 on 20 April, the HMS Consort came to the rescue from Nanking, was wounded by the PLA and fled to Jiangyin;
HMS Consort
In the early morning of 21 April, HMS London and HMS Black Swan arrived from Shanghai and tried unsuccessfully to tow away the HMS Amethyst, and had another gun battle with the PLA;
HMS London
HMS Black Swan
At 14:00 on 21 April, the last and fiercest gun battle broke out between the PLA and the HMS London and HMS Black Swan, which had fled to Shanghai; the HMS London was wounded, but inflicted significant casualties on the assembled PLA forces preparing to cross the river.
Serve GReen Chile Pork as a filling for burritos, tacos or nachos; add canned beans or hominy to make a stew; or just serve over rice.
Ingredients
3 pounds boneless pork, cubed
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1 onion, chopped
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon oregano
1 cup chicken broth
1 (4 ounce) can diced green chiles
1 (16 ounce) can Mexican-style stewed tomatoes
2 cloves garlic, minced
Salt and pepper to taste
Instructions
Brown pork cubes in oil until beginning to brown. Add onions and cook until onions are softened. Drain.
Place pork and onions in a slow cooker, add remaining ingredients and cook on LOW until pork is tender, about 8 hours.
With a large spoon, stir the mixture, breaking the pork into large shreds by pressing the meat cubes against the side of the slow cooker.
Notes
This freezes well.
What do you personally consider “a piece of cake”?
This
That’s Snowdon mountain. I lived around the Manchester/Birmingham area for a few months. Snowdon was about 70 minutes drive away.
I was pretty fit then and could manage it an hour each way up and down. Some hyper runners could manage it in 42 minutes each way. The record is 63 minutes in total.
I don’t live anywhere near there anymore. But I find hikers in Hong Kong irritatingly slow. Tai Mo Shan trail is only 10km so 20km in total. That’s something you can do in just over an hour. Even faster if you travel hyperlight.
While I pass people wheezing for breath as I go up.
I climb this peak 2–3 times a week.
My grandfather used to climb the mountain near our home everyday, sometimes he’d do it twice as he got older. Hate to say it but my grandmother was extremely irritating at times.
Dollar Decline, BRICS Rise, and Trump’s Failing Trade Wars | Sean Foo
Are there any modern fighter jets that come close to the A-10 in terms of anti-armor capability with their onboard weapons?
Speaking as a former A-10 pilot and using the conflict in Ukraine with Russia’s convoy attacks on Ukrainian positions as an example, I can think of no better platform than the A-10 “Warthog” for neutralizing the Russian advances.
Several reasons are clear; first is the meat grinder mentality of the Russians, with long lines of vehicles along narrow roads lined with anti-personnel and tank mines on both sides, followed by attacks by infantry across open fields.
You add to that the use of antiquated armor with a general lack of ground-to-air support, which the Russians keep in the rear to protect their fixed assets.
This is precisely the ideal situation for the use of the A-10 with its relatively slow speed and high maneuverability combined with its long lingering time above target allowing it to pick and choose its targets at leisure over many passes, combined with its unusually high load capacity along its many hardpoints capable of supporting multiple launch platforms, not to mention its devastating GAU-8 30mm rotary cannon with it depleted uranium armor-piercing rounds, along with its phenomenal ability to absorb damage and continue to function.
The A-10 quite simply would be unsurpassed as the CAS platform of choice, even more so by one of its closest rivals, the F-16, which I’m also intimately familiar with as a special operations squadron commander of F-16 Vipers and having flown many combat sorties in both. And while I contend the F-16 is overall a far more versatile CAS/AS fighter than the A-10, I also contend that in these ill-advised and suicidal wave attacks, these keystone cops strategists of the amateurish Russian command use the A-10 would come into its own as the ideal platform to use. I.E. grouped concentrations of armored vehicles surrounded by infantry. For the A-10, you couldn’t ask for a more leisurely turkey shoot.
P.S. I might have montioned that the SU-25 “Froghat” is the Russian equivalent of the A-10, but I have never had any direct conflicts with nor claim any knowledge of the SU-25 performance other than what I’ve heard about its specifications and speculation about its prefromance. And seeing as Russia’s inventory is quickly being depleted by Ukrainian forces, I do not claim any specific knowledge and therefore I refuse to speculate as to its widely disputed performance. And therefore I refuse to guess about what I really have no direct knowledge of, with my apologies.
Deus Vero Honorat et Sacrificium,
Maj. Tamre’ “Vixen” Colby
Cmdr. 347th Bravo CAS/AS, USAFE/NATO SOCOM NATO EPAF
Oslo, Norway
How do the Rafale and Sukhoi jets compare to China’s fighter jets in terms of technology and capability?
Any fighter jet designed by China and manufactured post 2017 must be absolutely FANTASTIC
The J-10s that flew for the PAF recently are an example
They were all churned out in 2018–2019 and test flew in 2021 and were delivered between 2022–2024
Aircraft, Missiles, Radar, Avionics, Stealth, Composite Materials would all be SUPERB and better than either the Sukhoi and definitely better than the Rafale
From 2009 onwards, China has had 119 Programs across 38 Universities dealing with Aircraft , Missiles, Stealth, Radar, Space Technology and Avionics
Thus from 2017 (4+2+2 years), you would be having plenty of Researchers and Doctorate holders, Aerospace experts who are capable of excellent innovation and design
So given that China has a treasure trove of qualified experts plus plenty of money plus a massive industrial complex – Chinese equipment must definitely be excellent
The KJ 500 AWACS designed, improved and made post 2017 are immensely superior to the earlier versions and much much better than the Ilyushin based KJ-2000s
However the KJ-3000 is going to be a monster and the Chinese plan to get 10 of them in the Skies by 2027 & 30 of them in the Skies by 2035
If Pakistan gets one of them – they can angle an aircraft taking off from Sulur
Likewise the HQ-9s manufactured and sold before 2011–2012 called FD-2000s are clearly much inferior to the later HQ-9Bs manufactured in 2018 and given to Pakistan between 2021–2023
They were outstanding and despite only 4 Batteries, they saved every Pakistani Airbase from getting destroyed entirely by BrahMos strikes
The Latest HQ-9Bs and 9As can take on any system except the S-400
They are better than the S-300s and on par with the THAAD
Now the HQ-19s improved versions are expected to beat the S-400 into second place
They can target and intercept Hypersonic Targets
So right now Chinese Equipment is a mixed bag
Equipment made before 2005 are essentially Soviet Licensed, Low Grade and made at a time when China never expected any major war in their lifetime except with India
They are no match for Rafale, Sukhoi, F-15s etc
The J-7 for instance is below a Mig-21 Bison or a Mirage 2000 while a J-11 made mostly between 2000 and 2013 cannot beat a Mirage 2000 or a Su -30
However
Equipment made after 2017 are easily among the BEST IN THE PLANET
The J-16 for instance can easily beat the Mirage 2000 or Mig 29 or Su-30 and is on par with F-16, Typhoons and Rafale
Only the latest F-15s, Su-35s, F-35s, F-22s can be regarded better and that too by only a fraction
The J-20 is better than any aircraft except the F-22 and is on par with the SU-57 and ahead of F-35
The J-35 is likely the same as a J-20 and is ahead or on par with any aircraft except the F-22
The J-20 & J-35 are much much ahead of the Rafale or Typhoon or F-16
Equipment between 2005–2017 follow a transitional trend
Their quality is a mixed bag
Anything churned from China today is expected to be best in its category
China has achieved that manufacturing tag by now
I Regret Cheating on Perfect Husband, He Became a Monster
I well remember a Health Textbook…. (I wonder, do they still teach Health class in High School?)… having an entire chapter about pimples. The chapter wasn’t all about pimples, I think that it was about how your body changes as you grow up.
A warning in a health book in High School warning not to pop pimples in the spot between the eyes as it will cause your to go into some form of mental illness. It was really serious about this too.
Nah. I don’t think so. Neither did our teacher who read it to us aloud; a “Mr. Gooseman”, and he told us to ignore that warning. LOL.
Why has America’s ‘kill line’ gone viral in China?
What’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for you?
When I was 38 my slightly older wife took her own life. Needless to say it broke me and I was a bit of a mess. A few days prior to her doing this we had bought some new carpet for our living room, with me planning to fit the following week when I had time off work on leave.
As you can imagine I was in no fit state to do anything, so the roll of carpet was just lying in the hall on the stairs. After the funeral I had to get away out of the house, so I drove up to Scotland with my dogs to see my parents and my oldest friends. When I returned a week later I walked into my house and saw that the carpet had been fitted. It really caught me off guard and due to the rollercoaster of emotions I was still experiencing I cried for quite a few minutes. It turned out my step-daughter and her husband had arranged for a carpet fitter to to fit it as a welcome home present for me. I know it probably doesn’t seem like much to anyone else, but it meant an awful lot to me and I was touched by the act.
Finally, yes the carpet did look great in my living room.
Due To One Mistake Her Date Left Her at the Table Now She Regrets It
Is China really the root of all evil? As an American, I’m getting somewhat tired of my country being beholden to China. Why can’t the U.S just give them the “North Korea treatment”: Decouple,”seal” them off and just avoid war? Can’t that be done?
Laughs, oh wait you were serious? Laughs harder. You don’t know history.
October 1, 1949 when the US pets the KMT were finally defeated by the CPC? The USA put a trade embargo on China no trade with China!
When the Korean war started and China entered? The USA intensified the embargo and put on secondary sanctions.
Secondary sanctions means if SOMEBODY ELSE not the USA traded with China they too would get sanctioned.
Champion Swimmer Harold Holt (Australian Prime minister at the time).
He wanted to break the trade embargo and trade with China.
Harold Holt CHAMPION Swimmer conveniently ‘drowned’ after suggesting that.
Guess what?
After THIRTY YEARS OF EMBARGO. We are still here.
China Blocked Trump’s $11B Deal—It’s Now Worth $0
ksnip 20260115 105250
When in your life did traveling to certain areas of the United States feel backwards and dysfunctional?
In November 2016 I traveled west on Route 250 from Richmond, Virginia to Elkins, West Virginia.
This map does not do this route justice, as I soon found out. Thank Gawd I was traveling in daylight in good weather before the snow started flying.
I was driving classic only-seen-before-in-movies mountain hairpin turns without shoulders, a rock wall on one side and a sheer drop on the other. A West Virginia native has told me it’s called “the hollers.” I crossed the mountains, taking my life into my hands to push 40mph.
There were few signs of civilization and on the rare occasion when I spotted a house, I wondered where the hell they worked or even bought their groceries.
At 30 and 40 mph it took a lot longer to navigate from Monterey, Virginia to Thornwood, West Virginia than I had anticipated. By the time I crested the mountain, I was starting to worry about fuel. When I hit the valley, I was sniffing fumes, and I pulled into the first gas station I spotted.
Three pumps in front of a 10’ square concrete block building. The old-fashioned kind with plastic dials instead of LED digital displays. It was like stepping into a time machine.
Whew!
Except … two pumps were regular gasoline, the other was diesel. I stared for a minute, then went inside. A linoleum floor, a counter with a basket of snacks and a hanging potato chip rack and a cash register, a dorm refrigerator-sized glass doored cooler full of soft drinks. And a young man in a baseball cap who confirmed that he didn’t sell premium gas.
I expressed my dismay, and asked how much farther was it to a gas station that sold premium? I traveled that last eight miles into Barton, West Virginia with my heart in my throat.
I made it.
Barbecue Beef Brisket Sandwiches
Slices of beef brisket steeped in a sweet and savory sauce create a world-class sandwich.
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Yield: 8 servings
Ingredients
1 (3 pound) beef brisket, trimmed
1 1/2 teaspoons coarse salt
3/4 teaspoon pepper
1 1/2 teaspoons coarse salt
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1 large onion (about 1 1/2 cup), coarsely chopped
1 1/2 tablespoons minced garlic
1/2 cup dark beer (such as porter or stout)
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
2 tablespoons lemon juice
3 tablespoons honey
1/2 cup ketchup
1 teaspoon paprika
6 Kaiser or other sandwich rolls
Instructions
Cook the brisket: Season the brisket with salt and pepper.
Heat oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the brisket, brown on all sides and transfer to a slow cooker.
Add the remaining ingredients to the slow cooker and stir well.
Cook, covered, on LOW until the meat is very tender,8 hours.
Remove the meat, place it on a cutting board and let it rest for 15 minutes.
Reserve the sauce.
Carve brisket into thin slices and divide it among rolls topped with reserved sauce.
Serve warm.
Why is the military focused so much on cardio when it is unrealistic to run 10 miles during combat?
Soldiers run for miles and you wonder “Why bother? A marathon it isn’t… War.” Fair point. Here’s the truth though.
Fast brutal and messy is combat. Not jogging in a straight line with all the stuff—you’re carrying gear, you’re dragging people, you’re having to climb over stuff, you’re sprinting. If you know anything about Peak End you may wonder why the long runs. That’s because they build something stronger: endurance. Imagining charging up a huge battery. So slow steady charge so it doesn’t die when it matters.
If you think that kind of training is boring that’s what keeps you going when your body is screaming to quit. No endurance? That means when the going gets tough you’re out of gas — and out of luck.
Obviously you can work hard all the time — sprinting fast, lifting heavy, being active. That burns you out quick however. You hurt yourself. It breaks you down. If you aren’t then you’re no help to anyone.
Base is built by them long runs. They harden your brain. When everything sucks they teach you how to keep going. This isn’t just that you want to fight for a little while and get it over with — this is about being able to survive the whole damn day.
When things go bad and they will, it’s the people still standing that trained for it.
Huawei LAUNCHED Kunpeng-920 Chip for HarmonyOS PCs Destroying U.S. Sanctions!
What’s the greatest experience you’ve had when your flight was delayed?
It was 2012. Ronald Reagan Airport Washington DC.
I was travelling from Washington DC to Toronto to see my daughter on my way back to India from the American College of cardiology meeting. My flight was at morning 6 and so I was at the airport by 5 am. I checked in my baggage, got my boarding pass and stood in the Q for security. It was then that I noticed that my flight departure time was 11 am and not 6 am. I ran back to correct the anomaly and then the airline staff told me that my flight was cancelled and I was rebooked on this flight. Since i had a different roaming mobile number, they could not contact me.
Anyway I went past security ready to spend the next six hours at the airport.
I sat opposite the book store and Bang! Suddenly I had an inspiration to write a book. I pulled out my laptop and started typing.
At 10 the monitor showed flight delayed by one hour, then two and finally my flight left at 6 pm. In these 12 hours my best ever literary work was born.
Today even after so many years when I see it in the top cardiology chart in Amazon and the good reviews ….
I thank United airlines for the flight delay.
I cannot explain but some how boredom brings out the creativity inside me.
It started here.Standing here.Only this time, something is different.The rain hits hard, a thousand cold hands on my skin. It drowns out breath, thought, and sound. The streetlights flicker, blurred into golden smudges by the downpour. The pavement gleams, black and bottomless, swallowing the city in its reflection.And he is standing there.
Like before.
The rain slips down his face, carving paths over his cheekbones, his lips. It looks like he’s crying. But I don’t think he is. I don’t think he ever has.
I want to speak, but the words lodge in my throat like stones. My fingers twitch at my sides. I should move. I should run. I should do something. But I don’t. I can’t.
Because I remember.
The first time the rain felt alive, it was the night I met him.
The sky had split open like something had torn it from the inside out. I ducked beneath an awning, heart hammering from the sudden storm. My shoes were soaked through. The cold had crept into my bones. I watched my breath rise in sharp white puffs.
And then—he was there.
He emerged from the rain as if it had created him, as if the storm had shaped itself into a man long enough for me to see.
Not rushing. Not running for cover. Walking through the storm like it was nothing, like it belonged to him.
I remember staring, my breath hitching in my throat. The rain should have soaked him. It should have left his clothes clinging to his skin, his hair dripping in uneven strands. But it didn’t.
The water flowed over him like sentient fingers, tracing paths but never holding on.
I felt something then—a shift in the air, a static weight pressing against my ribs, a certainty that I shouldn’t be seeing this.
“You should come stand under here,” I said, raising my voice over the wind. “You’ll get sick.”
He stopped in the middle of the street and tilted his head back, eyes fluttering shut.
“No,” he murmured, lips parting. “It’s been waiting for me.”
A tremor ran through me. Not from cold.
I should have known then; I should have left.
But I didn’t.
I loved him before I understood what he was. Before I realized the sky never stayed clear when we were together. Before I noticed how he was always strongest, always most alive when the rain was falling. Before I knew, our best moments only happened when the clouds broke. The dizzy, reckless nights running through empty streets. The kisses with water streaming down our faces. The soft confessions murmured into the hush of a storm.
Never in the sunlight.
Never when the air was still.
Only when the rain claimed him.
I should have asked questions. But I was in love, and love makes fools of us all.
The first time I woke up without him, the city was drowning.
The windows shuddered in their frames. Thunder cracked the sky open like a wound. I sat up in bed, breath shallow, something wrong, wrong, wrong.
And then I saw him.
Outside.
Standing barefoot in the street, face lifted to the sky, his silhouette blurred by the sheets of rain.
For a moment, I just watched.
The wind howled through the alleyways, rattling signs, throwing debris into the streets. But he didn’t flinch. The water streamed down his skin, and for the first time, I noticed—he wasn’t wet. Not really. Not the way I was.
My stomach twisted. I swung the door open, stepping onto the sidewalk. The rain hit me like a wall, drenching me instantly.
“Come inside!” I shouted over the wind. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t move. He didn’t even look at me at first.
And then—he did.
I ran to him. I don’t know what I was expecting. An explanation? A reason? But when I reached for his arm—I didn’t feel skin.
I felt water.
Slick, cold, and shifting under my fingertips.
I gasped, jerking my hand back. My pulse roared in my ears.
For a moment, his outline wavered. His body shattered, turning into a clear, shifting form that fought to stay intact.
“What’s happening to you?” I whispered.
His gaze met mine, and my stomach dropped. Because he wasn’t afraid.
“I can’t stay,” he said in a gentle tone.
“Then take me with you.”
He smiled, sad and knowing. “Not yet.”
And then—
He was gone.
Not walked away. Not disappeared into the fog. Gone.
Like he had never been real at all.
I told myself I imagined it. That grief plays tricks on us, that love can feel like something supernatural when it ends too soon.
I almost believed it.
Until tonight.
I stood in this exact spot again, with the rain pouring. And there he was, like he never left.
My breath stutters.
“You came back,” I whispered.
A beat of silence. His eyes glisten. Not with tears, but with streetlight reflections, rippling like water.
“Did I ever leave?”
A gust of wind stirs the downpour. And for a second—his body flickers.
It ripples like a reflection in disturbed water. There, then broken, then something less than whole.
Then he reforms. Whole again.
I step back. Because I understand now. I understand what he is.
“I remember you,” I whisper, my voice almost drowned out by the storm. “But I don’t know if it’s because I want to. Or because the rain makes me.”
He moves closer. The space between us vanishes.
“Does it matter?” he murmurs.
He lifts his hand—touches my cheek. And oh—the touch is real. Warm, solid, human.
But for how long?
I exhale. The rain slides over my skin like a mouth, like a promise, like something I can never take back.
I look at him one last time.
And then—
The storm takes us.
When the rain finally begins to slow, the city is empty.
The pavement glistens, black and slick. The streetlights flicker, humming in the silence.
And somewhere, in the rain, two figures remain. They stand exactly where they always have.
Or maybe just one.
Or maybe none at all.
The rain does not say.
The rain only remembers.
How have the US-China trade tensions affected consumer confidence, and what are people most worried about right now?
US-China trade tensions have little effect on consumer confidence in China.
Confidence has been frayed by other factors, like the poor property market. But things have started to move. China does not import consumer goods from the US. Imports are for stockpile or industrial use. In the case of soybeans, one of the big export items, they are for feedstock not human consumption.
China has alternative sources of supply. Prices are stable. Rises are minimal.
No serious effect on employment, so no negative feedback effect to confidence.
In the US consumer confidence has been badly affected by price rises.
Walmart has announced double-digit price rises to pay for the tariffs. Other retailers would surely follow. 70% of businesses surveyed by the Fed Brown Book said they would pass on the tariff cost to consumers.
Consumer confidence is sinking. The Michigan Consumer Confidence Index in May sank to 50.8 in May from 52.2 in April, the lowest reading since June 2022, the 5th consecutive monthly decline.
75% of respondents said they were worried about inflation.
Sir Whiskerton and the Infinite Loop Barn
Ah, dear reader, prepare for a tale so mind-bendingly repetitive that even the scarecrow started counting his own stitches. Today’s adventure stars Ditto the Kitten, whose echoing habit accidentally turns the barn into a time-looping nightmare—complete with 47 servings of slop, a farmer who’s impressively unobservant, and a lesson in why you should never let a kitten near cosmic forces.
The Echo That Broke Reality
It all began on a Tuesday (or was it Tuesday? Or… Tuesday?).
Sir Whiskerton was lecturing Ditto on proper detective etiquette. “A true sleuth never echoes. He investigates.”
Ditto, eager to impress, nodded. “Investigates! Investigates!”
Porkchop glanced up from his slop. “Kid’s got a real talent for redundancy.”
Then—it happened.
A strange shimmer filled the barn. The air buzzed like a bee trapped in a kazoo. And suddenly…
Everything reset.
Groundhog Slop: The 47-Course Meal
By the fifth loop, the animals noticed.
Doris the Hen:“Why am I clucking the exact same gossip about Gertrude’s pond boyfriend?!”
Porkchop:“Wait. Did I… just eat this slop?” (He had. 47 times. By loop 30, he was weeping into his trough.)
The Farmer:“Huh. Deja moo.” (He wouldn’t fully notice until loop 100.)
Only Sir Whiskerton remained uncorrupted—thanks to his “superior feline intellect” (and also because he’d been napping in a sunbeam during the initial echo).
Solution Attempt #2:Bribe Porkchop to eat time itself.
Porkchop:“I draw the line at metaphysical slop.”
Solution Attempt #3:Ask the farmer for help.
Farmer (loop 99):“Boys, have you seen my left boot?” (It was on his foot.)
Finally, in loop 137, Bessie the Tie-Dye Cow had an epiphany. “Dudes… what if we lean into it?”
The Groovy Fix
Bessie’s plan: If time is stuck, jam it loose.
Jazzpurr played a bongo solo so chaotic, it created a new timeline.
Rufus howled at a non-existent moon.
Ditto, finally distracted, yelled: “BORED NOW!”
CRACK.
Time unstuck itself. The barn returned to normal.
Porkchop collapsed over his slop. “If I never eat again, it’ll be too soon.”
The Moral (and the Post-Credit Time Crime)
Moral:Echoes are just lazy time travel. Also, always check your boots.
Post-Credit Scene:
The farmer, finally noticing the loops, scribbles in his journal: “Day 100: The slop tastes… familiar.”
Best Lines:
“Deja moo.” – The Farmer, philosopher of the obvious.
“I draw the line at metaphysical slop.” – Porkchop, hero.
“BORED NOW!” – Ditto, destroyer of dimensions.
Starring:
Ditto (Accidental Time Lord)
Porkchop (Slop Martyr)
Bessie (Groovy Savior)
Key Jokes:
Porkchop’s increasingly dramatic slop reactions (from joy to existential dread).
The farmer’s boot always being on his foot.
Jazzpurr’s “quantum bongos” saving reality.
P.S.
Remember: If life gives you time loops, bring snacks. And maybe a cow.
The End.
I plan on joining the US Army once I finish high school. Army veterans, any advice or little things I should know?
The best kept secret in the Army is that you can go to West Point. Every year there are seats at the academy that are reserved for enlisted soldiers and every year those seats don’t get filled. If you apply as a private, you’re not competing against the superachieving high school applicants; you’re competing against an empty seat. If you’re basically literate, have no criminal record, and aren’t married, you can get in. No one tells you about this and you have to do it very early because you must report before you’re 23 years old. Normally West Point is very difficult to get indy, but the back door is basically unlocked.
$7.6 Trillion Debt Wall Hits as US Scrambles For Buyers
Do American tourists stand out when visiting other countries? How do they compare to local residents of those countries?
Funny story. I was in a boat tour in Thailand once back in 2018. If you’ve ever been in a tour in Thailand, you’ll know that you get grouped with tourists from all over the world. In my boat there were Australians, Koreans, Italians, a bit of everything.
I overheard an Australian guy tell his wife “At least no Americans this time…”
Later on the day, I heard two families introducing each other after one dropped her ID on the ground. “Oh, you’re from California!” And the other one replied “Yes, how about you?” “I’m from Texas.” And they started sharing stories about each other’s experiences living in those two States.
The families looked something like this:
Some signs are really obvious for the trained eye, in my case I could tell right away from the start of the tour they were American because of their accent, their demeanor, their clothing (the little boy was wearing dallas cowboys merch), they way they talked…
For that Aussie guy, he probably thought they were Mexican or something. But in Mexico they would stick out like a tall poppy too.
When foreigners say “Oh, I can tell an American from a mile away” they usually mean one thing only: the White kind that dresses like this and speaks loudly:
But people forget Americans come in all shapes, sizes, and backgrounds, and they don’t all fit the same mold.
it’s actually really easy to identify Americans abroad. Even if they have an Asian background for example, I can always tell when someone is American. Tell signs include: more outgoing, smiles more, doesn’t stare for prolonged time, the way they dress (more casual, relaxed), the makeup is different (more bold instead of soft), the way they laugh, etc.
But around the world, many have the wrong perception that Americans only look a certain way. One that fits a preconceived stereotype they get from movies or TV. And some even doubt when someone says they’re American because they don’t look how they think they should.
And while some Americans do fit that stereotype, it’s only a small portion of the 366 million people that live in that huge and diverse land.
Picture of a famous American with his family on vacation (John Cho):
How does China justify continuing to expand its high-speed rail network despite some lines not being immediately profitable?
Railway networks that run efficiently and on a large scale never make overall profits
Railways in China is a Public Service meaning it is funded by DEBT in most of the cases
However the ASSETS ARE ENORMOUS
Land valued at 40,000 Yuan per Acre in 2008 surged to 1.262 Million Yuan per Acre in 2024 because of their massive value addition
The Asset to Debt Ratio of Chinese Railways is a whopping 5.216
This means Chinese Railways have 5.2 times the assets than their total debt incurred and bulk of the HSR debt has crashed significantly
For instance in 2019 – the Debt was 6.17 Trillion RMB and now in 2024 it was 6.54 Trillion RMB
Thus only 370 Billion RMB in 5 years in Losses
By comparison Indian Railways has an Assets to Debt Ratio of 2.76 and it is straining already and desperate to privatize
The Air India model was a disaster because it was a hotch pitch of politics, state ownership and corruption combined
China is an extremely successful Air India model
Where the State owns the Assets and where private Management have full control on everything else
Like Singapore – in China – the State has control decision (Veto) on Quality control, Asset ownership and sale & Expansion
In all the three cases , inputs by Private Management will be taken
However for everything else, the Private Management makes the decisions
Even Employment is governed by Private Management under the five policy structure :-
Black box – Photo and Name and Place of Candidate get BLACKED OUT and a random number is assigned with qualifications to avoid gender and other bias
State Human Resource Scoring System is used
Three Alternative Jobs offered before termination due to redundancies
State Inquiry for termination due to incompetence at expense of the Railways
Promotions follow the Seniority plus Performance curve model adopted by China (Inspired from Japan) in 1997 instead of the Performance only model adopted by US and other countries [THIS I FEEL IS THE ONLY FLAW IN AN OTHERWISE PERFECT SYSTEM]. However Seniority has only 30% weightage whereas Merit has 70% Weightage
No “Sarkari Naukri” boasting here
It is a very sustainable model
The Credit for such a model of course goes to Lee Kuan Yew and China studied it and expanded it to their massive massive scale so that credit goes to Deng Xiaoping and Li Peng!!
WARNING: All Cash Transactions Are Now Being FLAGGED
“Welcome to the Nursery.” Debera said behind her mask.“Thank you, I’m excited for my second year as a Healer.” Ava answered behind her own mask.“I’m glad to hear it. I can tell just from looking at you that the Council chose you well when they assigned you as a healer. Come let me show you around and get you familiar with your duties.”The older woman led the way. Her figure was healthy with a straight back and black head wrap. Her steps were smooth, as though she was floating through the ward. Ava was less graceful. Full of excitement and anxiety, she felt like she had to run to keep up with Debera’s smooth, steady steps.“As you can see, the floor is not very exciting on its own,” Debera remarked as she gestured to the central desk. Several healers sat in front of screens. They watched the vitals of their precious patients. “Of course, a boring day in the nursery is a good day in the Nursery.” Ava could see Debera’s cheeks rise behind her face, wrapping at the comment.
The ward was beautiful; the walls and floors were crisp white. Large windows let in the warm sunlight and covered the sleeping babies. They stretched and cooed in their little nests as the two healers passed. Ava felt butterflies in her chest and couldn’t help but smile at the adorable bundles. Naked faces were so rare outside of the family unit. She hadn’t seen one since her fourth year of school.
“They, of course, make this boring job worth being assigned to.” Debra repeated, her cheeks rising behind her mask. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, I think so.” Ava replied.
“Very good. We will start with this group first.”
The two healers entered a room with 15 cubies filled with babies. They moved in silence between the cribs as they scanned the bracelets of each little angel. Next, Debera reached down and lifted the first baby from their crib. Ava followed them to a table near the window.
Debera held the baby tight in her arms. She bounced and shooshed softly as she laid the baby on the scale.
“Satisfactory, not too small, not too large, and very mild-mannered.” She whispered.
They continued their work. Take the sleeping babies one by one to the table and record their numbers. It was a surreal experience for Ava. She had never seen a baby outside of the school tablets. Babies weren’t released to their family units until they were six months old. It kept society organized and allowed for family units to create nourishing homes. This was the first step in raising productive members of society. To build a stronger society.
The task was easy; each child snuggled into the healer’s chest for their journey to the table. The noisiest of them only cooed softly as they dreamed. When they neared the final few, Ava started to gain confidence. She reached down for the baby in crib number Fourteen. As soon as her hand slipped behind the child’s head, it began to scream.
Ava froze. The cries had surprised her, and she didn’t know what to do. The tablets said babies sometimes cried but never gave an example. She had expected something more civilized. This was primal. The other babies stirred and cried, creating a choir of whines and screams. Debera came to Ava’s ai,d taking the crying baby from her hands.
“Oh, this one is going to be a Strong-minded, I can already tell.” She said to Ava as she hushed number Fourteen as they moved to the table.
“Why is it crying? Did I do something wrong?” Ava asked
“You did nothing wrong, Dear. Some people are just born… fussy is all.”
“But all the others were so sweet.”
“It’s not your fault, Dear; Fourteen has been giving me trouble for the last week now,” Debera said as she laid the screaming child on the scale. “And it refuses to gain weight; it’s amazing; something so unsatisfactory can be so loud, isn’t it?” Debera chuckled as she lifted the baby back to her shoulder and bobbed around the room.
By the fifth day, Ava was doing the rounds on her own. She was in bliss, caring for each of the tiny souls. Almost every one of them was an angel, except for Fourteen. She dreaded interacting with the fussy child. It had crossed her mind on several occasions to skip Fourteen altogether. If it wasn’t for the oath “to form a stronger society,” she would have gladly done that.
She gently placed Thirteen back in their crib. The little baby raised its chunky arms to the sky in a big stretch before falling back into a steady slumber. Ava stood up straight and smiled, satisfied with the child. Thirteen was most satisfactory in every way. Hey never fussed, they suckled their bottle without a fight. Even their diapers seemed to be regular and uneventful.
Ava stroked the good baby’s head one last time. Then she turned to her dreaded patient, Fourteen. She hated the pale little banshee. Its body was so small and frail that it surprised everyone that it could make such a significant noise.
With a long, exhausted sigh, Ava reached down and secured the troublemaker in her hands. Almost at once, it was a fight. Fourteen’s face contorted into a wrinkled mess. Its screams tore through the room, waking the good babies. Its beady blue eyes filled with tears as it swung its scrawny arms wildly. Ava hissed at Fourteen and was reduced to begging for them to hush.
“Please, just stop for once. I’m begging you, why can’t you be like the others.”
Ava was on the verge of tears. Fourteen did not care. The tiny hands continued to strike out at Ava. Twice, the hands made contact, and she could feel the fury in the little hands. Then, after becoming tangled, Fourteen ripped away her mask.
Ava was shocked at the violation. It was illegal for anyone to expose their face after their fifth year. To be exposed like this made Ava’s face twist into a snarl, and her cheeks turned crimson. Before she could yell at the tiny perpetrator, the most amazing thing had happened.
Fourteen stopped crying. They looked up at Ava and began to smile. They giggled and stroked the angry healer’s face with their small, soft hands. Butterflies filled Ava’s chest as Fourteen stoked and giggled, seeing Ava’s face for the first time. Embarrassment settled on Ava, and she quickly covered her face. She looked towards the inner windows, fearing someone had seen what had happened.
Fourteen burst into tears. Ava did not waver; she took the baby to the table and placed them on the scale. Still too thin. Fourteen was not satisfactory, with only 3 more weeks until the decision to move them on with their group or send them to an enhancement facility.
The next day, when Ava came to the sleeping Fourteen, she checked that she was alone and peeled down her mask. She placed a gentle hand on the baby’s chest and began to rub. Fourteen’s arms shot over their head. They extended their legs to their limits. Then, they opened their precious little eyes and smiled up at Ava’s naked face.
The week passed with success. Ava had found her groove, and her time with Fourteen became her favorite. She would secretly show her face and make silly faces to the delight of Fourteen. As the week ended, Fourteen gained a kilo. Ava’s scheme had been working. She finished her shift, rocking Fourteen to sleep while humming a soft lullaby.
By her third week, Ava arrived at the hospital excited to see her little Fourteen. When she arrived for her shift, she took off her bag and looked at the call monitor. Her name was missing. Confused, she went to Debera.
“My name isn’t on the screen.”
“Oh, There you are; the hospital needs your help with the elders today.”
“But I’m a second year.”
“Yes, Dear, I know. Do you mean to tell me you never saw a second year with the elders?”
She reflected on her first year and remembered seeing the Yellow head coverings on the floor. They were always separate from the first years and said little.
“Don’t worry; your role will be a little different from what you were doing there before. This is one of the most important tasks for ensuring our strong society. You’ll make sure that our Elders travel to paradise with safety and dignity.
Ava went down to the first floor and spotted a group of Second-year students with a Master Healer. She passed the First-years without acknowledgement. As she passed the elders in their wheelchairs, she gave friendly little waves.
None of the Elders needed the chairs. Their bodies were still firm and their spines straight. They sat by one another with a friendly buzz of conversation. Ava could hear them laugh and talk about finding friends who had left for paradise the year before. Their joy made her smile.
“The First-years will conduct the necessary injections. You, as Second-years, are to help them and remain with your Elder afterward. We will then help transport the Elders to their necessary destination. Remember the oath you took “For a Stronger Society.” The Master Healer announced to the group of nervous Second-years.
The Elder Ava was assigned to was a sweet man who was very chatty. She had wondered why he hadn’t been chosen to join the colonies in his youth. He was hilarious and had such energy about him that she had to bite her lower lip to keep from laughing.
Her First-year was not finding his jokes funny at all. With shaking hands, they took their syringe and tried to stab the vein on the crook of the Elder’s elbow. Ava could remember the first time she had to administer such a shot. They were necessary for the journey to Paradise. Thousands of injections later, she became a seasoned pro.
“You’re doing great.” Ava whispered to the First-year.
“You really are it only hurts a little I was expecting much worse.” The Elder said.
The First year didn’t look up, and she didn’t respond to either. After the injection, she set the syringe on the metal tray to bid the Elder a happy journey to Paradise and left. Ava could see the sweat soaking through their mask and knew the feeling they were going through. The First year scurried away weaving as they did.
“Now what.” The Elder asked.
“I think we wait.” Ava answered.
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s ok. I’m in no rush. Did you want to be a healer?”
Ava hesitated before she answered. Small talk was not something she was used to. “Yes, I always wanted to be a healer.”
“That’s nice. I was a builder; I built a few wings of this hospital if you can believe it.”
“Oh, which ones?”
“The one on the west side near the forest.”
“I haven’t been in that one yet.”
“It’s beautiful. You can look out those windows and imagine what’s happening behind those trees. I loved building, and I loved making something from nothing. Why did you want to be a healer?”
“I’ve always liked helping others.”
“That’s very sweet. Am I supposed to be feeling a little hot?”
“I think so, yes. It’s the antibiotics.”
“Ah, ok. Can you tell me when you first knew you liked helping others?”
Ava thought for a moment. The memory was so old that she had to dig to find it. “When I was a fourth year, my friend Aiden and I were riding our bikes. Aiden was always a little troublemaker. He had built a ramp to ride his bike off of.” Ava chuckled, remembering the scene.
“Sounds like my kind of kid.” The Elder said with some strain.
“Oh, he was wild. Anyway, he put the ramp at the bottom of a hill. He hit it at full speed and, when he was in the air, put out both his arms like the wings of a bird. Of course, he crashed. I ran over and saw his hurt knee.”
“A little hero.” The Elder coughed.
“I wouldn’t go that far. I just wrapped it with my scarf to stop the bleeding. You know I asked him why he did it, and do you know what he said?”
“What?” The Elder’s voice was little more than a sleepy whisper
“That he wanted to fly like a bird. He was always wild. They labeled him as strong-minded at a young age and even sent him to help at the colonies early.”
The Elder did not reply. A bell from the back of the room rang. The Master healer moved to the front of the room. She instructed the Second years to follow her with their Elders sequentially.
Like a line of ants, they moved down the corridor. At the end, there was a frigid room. They circled inside, and the doors closed behind them. Two Senior-healer hoisted the Elder from the chair. They placed the lifeless body on a metal table and slid it into the wall. The Second-years shifted behind their Elder’s chair. No one spoke a word but stood in silent understanding. Ava’s eyes were fixed on the words opposite her. “For a Stronger Society.”
The next day, Ava couldn’t focus. She held back tears while carrying the babies to the table. She was a Healer. A Healer’s purpose was to heal people. But it was everyone’s purpose to build a strong society. Ava rushed through the babies One through Thirteen. She needed fourteen more than ever. She lowered her mask with tears in her eyes; she made a feeble smile before reaching down to wake her little friend.
“What are you doing!” Debera’s Voice exploded like a cannon.
Ava’s hands shot to her mask, hiding her face once again. She could feel her face turning red and was deafened by the cries of the Crying babies. Debera marched to her like an angered sentry.
“I asked you a question Second-year.” Debera hissed.
“Nothing I was- “
“Were you exposing your face?”
“It was an accident.”
“Do you think I’m stupid?”
“No, Debera, I”
“You are to address me as Master, Second-year.”
“No, Master.”
“I’ve noticed you’ve been paying a lot of attention to this…Thing.” Debera flew a hand toward Fourteen, who was wailing at the top of their tiny lungs.”
“They are not a thing.” Ava murmur
“It is a thing they are a monstrous little strong-minded thing.”
“They’re a baby!”
“Don’t you raise your voice to me, Second-year. That thing is a blight. It is our duty to ensure a stronger society. Remember your oath and know your place.”
“They’re just a baby.”
“It’s a mistake! It does not belong here, so it has been marked to the Enhancement Facility. Then to either the colonies or Paradise.”
Ava’s heart sank. A buzzing filled her ears, and she couldn’t stop herself. She lunged towards Deber, striking out at her masked face with clawed hands. She clawed like a mother bear protecting her cub and tore the mask from Debera’s face.
Guards swarmed into the room and took Ava by the Arms, ripping her from Debera. Ava’s Eyes meet the old face of Debera. The face was framed with silver hair and cheeks marked with fresh scratches.
“Take this Strong Minded away!” Debera demanded
The Guards lifted Ava from her feet and dragged her from the room. With tears in her eyes, she cursed at Debera, “They’re a baby! They deserve a chance!”
“Quite!” Ordered one of the guards.
“There’s no paradise. Did you know that?” Ava screamed as the guards dragged her through the ward.
“She’s crazy.” The Senior Guard told the Junior Guard. “Quite!”
Let’s See What The Hype Is All About… First Time Watching The Matrix (1999) | REACTION & REVIEW
Should Donald Trump allow Russia to become a member of NATO?
Donald Trump doesn’t care two hoots about NATO
Trump and his supporters see Europe correctly as leeches. Unproductive, a bygone civilization
Trump wants to get even America out of NATO. He would obviously not want to strengthen NATO by adding Russia to that group
Up to here, Donald Trump’s thought process is quite good
Where Trump goes wrong is on two fronts
One, he wants to let Israel retain its iron grip over America’s foreign policy
Two, he doesn’t trust China, although China has done nothing but positive things for Americans
Donald Trump wants to bring Putin’s Russia out of its partnership with China. For that, Trump is willing to sit on Putin’s lap and give a dance
This is a huge mistake because Russia needs China and Putin will never give up his iron clad friendship with China based on Trump’s word which can change from day to day
But Trump has begun to shift a bit on China recently. He is now planning to put higher trade tariffs on the EU than on China. No other American leader would have the guts to do something like this
In about ten years, we may see China and Russia forming the most important alliance in the world, with America joining the group as a junior member
If both Xi Jinping and Donald Trump continue to lead their respective countries for ten more years – or they are replaced by leaders of similar capabilities and ideas – we might see this actually happen
Barbecue Chicken Sandwiches
642da1392b8df69edc5222f45da73779
Yield: 12 to 15 servings
Ingredients
1 to 2 pounds boneless, skinless chicken thighs
1 large onion, chopped
1 red bell pepper, chopped
1 green bell pepper, chopped
1/4 cup chicken broth
Cracked black pepper, to taste
1 cup barbecue sauce
1 cup Monterey Jack cheese, shredded
Instructions
Place onion and bell peppers in slow cooker and top with chicken thighs. Pour chicken broth over chicken.
Season with cracked black pepper and cook on LOW for 6 to 8 hours.
At the end of cooking time, drain liquid from pot and shred chicken.
Return chicken to the slow cooker and mix in barbecue sauce. Cook for another 30 minutes.
Spoon mixture into split dinner rolls and top with shredded Monterey Jack cheese.
What are some possible reasons for seniors becoming cranky after retirement?
I’ll talk for this senior.
We’ve lived our whole life. We’ve worked our careers.
Raised our families. Went through all the good and all the bad.
We’ve put up with great bosses and horrible bosses. Same with coworkers. Six or seven presidents. Multiple governors.
Now we’re retired. We’ve had some time to reflect.
We know BS when were looking at it. 99% of the time we say nothing.
That other 1% gets us labeled cranky.
Like when my niece is explaining to me why her new boyfriend is a good bet. Despite the fact that he just got out of prison. Has tattoos on his face. Three restraining orders from exes. Spare me.
Like when the kids next door is trying to explain to me how his new business is gonna make him rich. There are 20 other businesses in town doing the same thing cheaper with decades of experience and some how he’s gonna put them all out business. Spare me.
The lady in front of me in line at the supermarket.
She spends the whole time the clerk was scanning talking on her cell phone. Didn’t help bagging. Now she can’t find the app on her phone to pay. I mean c’mon! She’s forty years old. I’m retired. I have all day. I just don’t like stupidity. Spare me.
Yeah. I’m cranky. I’ve seen it all before. Hundreds of times. The same shit over and over. It wasn’t all that good the first time. The tenth times was worse. Now the 147th time I say something. Then I get labeled cranky.
U.S. Backfires Its Own Semiconductor War As Washington Issues EU Economy A Severe Ultimatum
Free storage lockers in China. Whether it is a bus station, supermarket, mall, or train station. These are absolutely free and does not require coins, bills, or a credit card.
Today you just scan a QR code, and the locker pops open and you stash your gear. To open, you either key in a number or let the machine scan in your receipt on your phone.
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Now they are slowly being replaced with face, or palm scanning. My experience with these are that face scanning is instantaneous. I’ll tell you what.
Technology is galloping forward. I suggest embracing it. Rather than shunning away from it.
Today…
Danish and Greenland Ministers Depart White House Meeting Visibly Angry
A meeting at the White House between the Trump Administration and Ministers from Denmark and from Greenland appears to have not gone well . . . at all. The Ministers From Denmark and Greenland looked visibly angry as they left.
Today’s meeting at the White House was between Vice President JD Vance and a delegation of diplomats from both Denmark and Greenland, led by Danish Foreign Minister Løkke Rasmussen.
Ahead of the talks, President Trump asked NATO to remove Denmark from the island.
Both Denmark and Sweden are now sending military forces to Greenland.
More info to follow, check back.
He says he is an ortho doctor and wants a vacation request wanting me to help. I am sure it is a scam. Is there a process and cost for this request?
Yes, there is a process and a cost. Here is the story of my (failed) relationship with Dr. Mark Donald, orthopedic surgeon in Syria (no. 9 of my 36 medical fiancés), whose life was marked by tragedy.
When Dr. Mark Donald lost his wife and daughter to ‘the cold hands of death’ seven years ago, he became the sole guardian of his teenage son, Alex. Thus, the fact that he had left his son in a boarding school (in Accra, Ghana) and accepted a five-year contract in Syria was a poignant demonstration of his capacity for self-sacrifice. Nevertheless, when our destinies converged, and we fell deeply in love, he began to reconsider his options.
As Mark’s wife-to-be, I was the only person who could request my fiance’s vacation. My dearest love thus asked me to write to the UN Vacation Office. Of course, I did, and my case was assigned to Agent Welch Clinton Esq., who immediately took charge of the application. Mark even sent me his ‘official’ United Nations ID card to speed things up.
He warned me that there would be a small fee which I should take care of because he was temporarily unable to access his vast fortune for security reasons.
You know I don’t have access to my Bank or money here because we submitted our stuffs to the UN security department for our own safety. […] My dear, you need to understand that we’re being private with what ever we do here in Syria camp because we’re all trying to be protected from the bad gangs that might burst in here and kidnap or even kill the workers. (Dr. Mark Donald, afraid of ‘bad gangs’ in Syria)
Still, we were both hopeful that the UN Vacation Office would look favorably upon his application and finally approve it. After writing several times to request an update, I finally received an answer from none other than the United Nations Security Council!
The bad news was that the processing fee for my fiancé’s legal documentation and travel documents would cost €7870. In the letter, Agent Welch Clinton Esq. informed me that I had four days to request payment instructions.
Needless to say, I followed Agent Welch Clinton’s instructions to the letter, and the United Nations promptly provided the payment details, which included a bank account (in southern Spain) where I was to send the money within 48 business hours. Failing to meet this deadline would result in penalties for the applicant. Depending on the circumstances, additional costs might also apply.
When 48 hours had passed, and I had not paid €7870, my dearest love was understandably upset. He became even more distraught when I suggested that he pay for his own vacation. Apparently, the fee payment was a test that I had failed miserably. His last words to me were the following:
Email the UN vacation department […], and just cancel the vacation request. I pray the Lord will find me the right woman of my heart. I’m so disappointed in you, Pamela. (Dr. Mark Donald, very unhappy in Syria)
RENO the worst little city in the world
Avocado Chicken Melt
07a1a9105c366afc31c6bc8b3eaef106
Yield: 4 servings
Ingredients
4 boneless skinless chicken breast halves
1/2 cup cornmeal
1 teaspoon garlic salt
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1/2 firm ripe avocado, peeled and sliced thin, divided
1 cup shredded Monterey Jack cheese
4 wheat bread slices, toasted
1/2 cup plain yogurt
1/4 cup chopped sweet red bell pepper
Instructions
Rinse chicken with cold water and pat dry with paper towels.
Place between two sheets of plastic wrap and pound to flatten to 1/4-inch thickness.
In resealable plastic bag, combine cornmeal and garlic salt.
Add chicken; close bag and toss to coat well.
In large nonstick frying pan, heat oil.
Cook chicken in hot oil for 2 minutes per side or until lightly browned.
Remove chicken from pan and place in shallow baking pan.
Place half of avocado slices over chicken and sprinkle evenly with shredded cheese.
Bake at 350 degrees F for 15 minutes or until chicken is done and cheese is melted.
Place each chicken breast on a slice of toast.
Top with remaining avocado slices.
In small bowl, combine yogurt and bell pepper; serve with chicken.
Rome’s Lost Ninth Legion Mystery FINALLY Solved In 2025, And It’s Bad
For over 1,900 years, the fate of Rome’s legendary Ninth Legion Hispana remained one of history’s darkest unsolved mysteries.
A battle-hardened force that once thundered across Europe simply vanished—no graves, no records, no survivors.
But in 2025, an unprecedented discovery beneath the Scottish earth shattered centuries of speculation.
What archaeologists found didn’t just answer the question of where the Ninth went—it exposed a cover-up so shocking, it shook the legacy of the Roman Empire itself.
Was the lost Ninth legion truly lost, or had someone made it disappear on purpose?
The world shook. Wrenched from sleep, my eyes snapped open and I looked around. The room was unfamiliar, and I didn’t know how I’d gotten there.There wasn’t a whole lot to it, frankly. All I saw were three walls, a ceiling and a floor, all bright white. It wasn’t clear where the light was coming from, but there was no lack of it.Then the world shook again, but this time I saw the one who was shaking it, or, more accurately, me.
“I said, why won’t you talk to me?!” the young boy yelled, from just over my left shoulder.
When I’d woken, I’d been on my right side, so what I’d previously seen of the room was skewed. Clearly, there was something behind me, or I might have seen the annoying child trying to knock me out of the…cot?…I was lying in.
“What is your problem?!” I yelled back at the little twerp. He couldn’t have been more than 7 years old. “I was obviously asleep!”
I flipped over to my left side before fully sitting up. The young boy sat back on his own cot. More like fell back, really. I think I startled him a bit.
“I…I was scared, and you wouldn’t answer me,” the little guy sputtered.
I wasn’t particularly amenable to children, but his demeaner tugged at me a little. I mean, if I had no idea where I was, what was this kid’s story? And why were we in this small empty room alone together, come to think of it? No wonder he was scared. I had to set my own questions aside and be the adult in the room. Even if I was only 12.
And then he started gushing and bawling, which broke the spell entirely.
I rolled my eyes and transferred myself over to his cot next to him. I patted him on the head with an obligatory ‘there, there’ as I sat down. That’s what adults do, right?
I gave him a chance to catch his breath and settle down before plying him with questions. “Maybe you can start by telling me what’s going on here. Do you know why we’re here? Do you know where here is? How did we get here? Who brought us here? And who are you?”
He stared at me slack jawed for a few moments as he sniffled. After finally rebooting from my overload, he let the dam burst. “Iwassittinghereforeverbeforetheybroughtyouinandyouwereasleepthewholetimeand…,” he paused less than a second to suck in a breath, “…thentheybroughtinfoodbutyoudidntevenwaketoeatandIstartedgettingscaredand…”
I was able to clamp my hand across his mouth before another syllable spilled out. He actually kept going for a moment before realizing it was wasted breath.
I kept my hand right where it was as I asked, “How do you expect me to understand that?”
I slowly pulled my hand away and invited him to speak again. He took a few slow breaths before proceeding at a more sedate pace.
“You were asleep when they brought you in, and you wouldn’t wake up. I got scared. I don’t know who they are. Grown ups. I’ve never seen them before. A big guy with a beard and a woman with long blonde hair.”
He took a breath to compose himself, as his emotions started to flare, before he wrestled them down again. “I don’t know how long I’ve been here. It feels like forever. There’s food over there, if you’re hungry.” The boy pointed with thumb over their shoulders, to the opposite side of the room from what I saw when I woke up.
I looked in that direction and saw two glasses of water and two plates containing cheese and bread. Prisoner fare.
Who took children as prisoners? Oh yeah. Kidnappers. Kid…nappers. Duh.
The right question is, why? My own parents must be out of their minds about me at this point. Presuming I have parents. I must have parents, right? So why couldn’t I remember them?
I had no idea how long I was going to be stuck with the kid, but the food in the corner by the door held no interest to me whatsoever. Maybe because it was the most basic of foods, but whatever. I wasn’t hungry.
But I was getting a little angry.
It was clear that I was stuck with this other small person until I could get answers from the man with the beard and the blond. Were we being hesld for ransom? Were we part of some experiment?
I stood and did a simple check on my exposed skin for obvious marks. That didn’t take long because there wasn’t much exposed skin. I was covered from neck to ankle in a one-piece body suit, with no closure in front. The only thing exposed was my head, hands and feet. I reached to the back of my neck, where the collar crept about halfway up to my chin, and found the zipper.
Checking the rest of my body would be impossible.
I sighed deeply and stared at the ceiling with my eyes closed. I didn’t really have many options but to wait.
Which didn’t end up being long.
While I was still contemplating the insides of my eyelids, the latch on the door clicked and the door swung open.
A dark bearded man, thin but nearly as tall as the door, entered through the frame, flanked by an equally tall pale skinned woman with blond hair cascading down to her midsection. She had no discernable makeup on, and she looked like she might have just woken up herself.
Before I could utter a single syllable, the man pointed a small remote in my direction and I was immobilized completely. I couldn’t move anything, even my eyes. I’m not even sure I was blinking.
The boy was still in front of me, and it appeared that whatever the man had done affected him too. Despite the fact that my eyes were squarely fixed on the two adults, I could clearly see the runt in my peripheral vision. He too was stock still and unblinking.
The man shook his head. “We’re making progress, but I think we still have a long way to go.”
The woman seemed to concur. “You’re not wrong, but I’m concerned about the empathy.”
The man responded with a shrug. “It’s better than the last time. He didn’t even have a trace of it before.”
“Still not wrong. That pat on the head, though felt more like a concession than empathy,” she replied tersely.
I realized at that point that they were talking about. I understood their words, but not what they were talking about. They had an issue with my empathy? What did that mean? Who cared? I’d been kidnapped, and was being held against my will! So what if the little brat was scared?!
The woman raised her hand toward me. “See, even now it’s like he’s devolving into a more primitive demeanor. Emotions clearly aren’t the issue, but we need to get the balance settled. He really needs to show a lot more compassion. Oh, and of course, he’s not thinking or acting age appropriately. I think the base imprint is too strong. We’ll need to adjust that too.”
If I could have rushed them, I would have done so. I was done with whatever crap was going on and I wanted answers. If I could have raised my voice at them, I would have done so. That fact was, I wasn’t even breathing.
“We’re going to have to reset. Again.” With that statement, the bearded man raised the remote one more time and everything went black for me.
The world shook. Wrenched from sleep, my eyes snapped open and I looked around. The room was unfamiliar, and I didn’t know how I’d gotten there.
Putin Threatens RETALIATION for U.S. Seizure of Russian Ships
Vladimir Putin has issued a stark warning to the United States, demanding the immediate release of seized Russian oil tankers and directing the message squarely at U.S. special forces.
According to the warning, failure to comply would trigger Russian retaliatory strikes, not just against American assets, but potentially inside EU countries or across the Pacific. The language was blunt, public, and unmistakably designed to escalate pressure rather than calm it.
What makes the threat especially alarming is its geographic reach. By explicitly naming Europe and Pacific nations as possible targets, Moscow is signaling that it sees the tanker seizures not as a narrow maritime dispute, but as an act that justifies widening the conflict. This is classic Kremlin strategy: raise the stakes, blur the lines between regional and global consequences, and force Western leaders to calculate risk under extreme uncertainty.
The message is aimed as much at allies as at Washington itself. By hinting at retaliation on European soil, Putin is testing political nerves, betting that fear of escalation will fracture unity and slow enforcement actions. It is a reminder that energy, security, and geopolitics are tightly fused, and that in today’s climate, even oil tankers can become flashpoints with the potential to drag entire regions closer to confrontation.
AI Pictures
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US VP JD Vance announces new strategy of blatant imperialism, aimed at China
US Vice President JD Vance revealed the Trump administration’s “generational shift in [foreign] policy”, emphasizing “great power competition” and preparation for war with China. They’re abandoning soft power and focusing on “hard power” and “overwhelming force”, in a return to blatant, 19th century-style imperialism. Ben Norton reports.
Sir Whiskerton and the Chicken Coop Cha-Cha
Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for a tale so rhythmically absurd that even the scarecrow tapped a wooden foot. Today’s story involves three mice with more flair than a flamenco festival, a hen with a dignity complex, and eggs that rolled away in sheer existential protest. So dust off your dancing shoes (or hooves, or paws) and join us for The Chicken Coop Cha-Cha—a saga of peer pressure, poultry, and very questionable life choices.
The Mice Who Mistook Themselves for Shakira
The Three Blind Mice—Tito Tango, Paco Cha-Cha, and Carlos Conga—arrived at the farm in a cloud of imagined celebrity.
Tito Tango adjusted his tiny sunglasses (indoors, at night). “I once danced with a bull in Barcelona. He wept at my footwork.” (The bull was a garden gnome.)
Paco Cha-Cha clutched his fake rose. “Do you hear that? The wind… it whispers salsa.” (It was Rufus the Dog snoring.)
Carlos Conga spun his tail-sombrero. “Rhythm is life! Also, it confuses owls!”
Their motto? “¡MÚSICA NATURAL!”—a battle cry triggered by any bodily function. A duck quacked too hard? Cha-cha time. A pig farted? Tango emergency.
Doris’s Accidental Groove
Doris the Hen was mid-gossip when it happened.
“Harriet, did you hear about Gertrude’s new pond boyfriend? He’s a carp—” She clucked twice. Cluck-cluck. A pause. The mice froze.
“¡ES RITMO!” Carlos screamed.
Suddenly, Doris was swarmed.
Tito:“Señora, your clucks are muy caliente!”
Paco:“Marry me!” (He said this to a hay bale five minutes later.)
Carlos:“THE COOP IS NOW A DISCOTECA!”
Doris, a lady of refined sensibilities, squawked. “I’m a hen! We waltz! At weddings! With napkins!”
The mice gasped in unison. “¡SHE’S A NATURAL!”
The Dance-Off of Doom
Harriet, eggsitting nearby, watched in horror as Doris was dragged into a conga line.
Doris:“Release me! I have eggspectations!”
Tito:“Feel the beat! Feel it!” (He was standing on a rake.)
The eggs, sensing chaos, revolted. They rolled toward the barn door in a silent, yolky protest.
Harriet:“Doris! The eggs are leaving!”
Doris:“Oh, thank cluck—I mean, HELP!”
Sir Whiskerton arrived just as Carlos attempted a backflip (he landed in the water trough).
Whiskerton:“Gentlemen, as delightful as this telenovela is, the eggs are staging a walkout.”
Paco:“But… art!” (He slow-danced with a confused frog.)
The Moral (and the Post-Credit Siesta)
Moral:Not everyone wants to dance—especially not eggs.
Post-Credit Scene: The mice, undeterred, ambush Chef Remy LeRaccoon’s kitchen. When he drops a spoon, they scream “¡MÚSICA NATURAL!” and salsa into a bowl of glow-in-the-dark pudding.
Best Lines:
“I’m a hen! We waltz! At weddings! With napkins!” – Doris, defending her honor.
“The eggs are leaving!” – Harriet, witnessing the yolk uprising.
“Marry me!” – Paco, to a tumbleweed (it said no).
Starring:
The Three Blind Mice (Delusional Dance Legends)
Doris the Hen (Unwilling Salsa Queen)
Harriet (Egg Bouncer & Voice of Reason)
Key Jokes:
Carlos’s sombrero spins off his tail mid-leap.
Tito’s “bull in Spain” story changes each time (next: the bull was a teapot).
The eggs rolling away like tiny, judgmental bowling balls.
P.S. Remember: If life gives you lemons, make lemonade. If life gives you rhythmic mice, run.
The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. The last thing I remember is… is… I don’t remember anything. Panic begins to run through my body as I take in my surroundings. I tilt my head down to see my naked body covered in goose skin from my waist up. A crisp white sheet covers me from the waist down. The sheet matches the rest of the room. Everything is either bleach white or stainless steel. The room reeks of sterility. The only light comes from the overhead lights.Three of my cell walls are concrete painted white. A thin drape covers the fourth wall. The room is silent. No machines beep. No voices speak. Only the sound of my chaotic breathing can be heard. Where am I? I try to sit up. My body feels like it is full of sand. After some struggle, I succeed.I turn to swing my legs over the side of the little bed. Relief washes over me. I had expected them to be gone or something worse. There is something strange about my feet, though. I stare at the dark red toenails of my pale purple feet. I inspect my fingernails; they match.Having no memory of the events leading to my current situation, it’s odd to be naked with a fresh mani-pedi. I wiggle my toes and ball my hands into fists as if I were doing a systems check. My movements are slow and stiff; otherwise, everything seems to be in working order. Then, I try to leap to the floor. My body becomes ridged. I am stuck sitting naked with my legs hanging off the edge and my hands planted beside my thighs on the edge of the bed. Panic returns.My entire body is frozen in the stiff seated position. I begin to hyperventilate. I try to open my mouth to scream for help. My mouth doesn’t move. It stays shut. Only a distressed hum escapes me. I try to shake my body from side to side to have some control of my body without any success.
I continue to fight again and again. I try to scream. I start to cry from the frustration and fear. What is going on? Where am I? Please, someone, anyone, help me! I hear a metallic click from behind the drape. Then another, only louder. Like giant robotic steps, the clicks grow closer and closer. Then with the final click a halo of light forms around the drapes.
Two silhouettes stand like shadow puppets on the opposite side of the sheet. My heartbeat quickens. I should feel relief instead of dread and fear. The curtain slithers towards the right with a mechanical whirl. The silhouettes become two men in white jumpsuits. They stand on the opposite side of a great glass wall. I feel like a fish in an aquarium.
The jumpsuits are as sterile as the room, but they wear brown leather tool bags around their waists. They talk and laugh on the other side of the glass. My first instinct is that I am the subject of their conversation. The glass splits open, and I feel relieved and a little angry when I hear they’re talking about a baseball game instead. They walk into the room like it’s just another day at the office. Maybe it is.
The first man doesn’t acknowledge me at all. He walks over to a stainless-steel table and examines the tools on its surface. The other walks over to me with a tablet in his hand. He looks at his tablet and then up at my face. He scrolls down the screen with a swipe of his finger, pauses, and utters a series of numbers under his breath. Then, leaning over, he folds my left ear down.
I try to retreat from his touch, but my body stays firm. Instead, I only manage to let out a low whine as he touches me. He moves his face beside my head. I can hear him repeat the numbers softly to himself.
“Ok, so what’s left for this one?” The tableted man asks.
“memory load, ain’t it?”
“Yeah, and a systems check. It looks like this one’s voice box was torn out by one of the guests.”
“That wasn’t the only thing that was torn out. I worked on this one with Mark yesterday. Talk about a mess. Those rich bastards are sick, man.”
“So, you’re the one that didn’t put it in storage mode and left it sitting up like this?”
“Nah, it must have been Mark.”
“Sure, it was. And It’s not just rich bastards anymore. Even poor bastards like you and me can afford to be sickos now.”
“I’m good. These things give me the creeps.”
I try to look at the one who had called me a “Thing.” I am not a thing. I am a person. I have a name. My name is… My name is. My old friend Panic comes back in a flood. I can’t remember my name. I can’t remember anyone’s name. I look at the man in front of me as he swipes and pokes the tablet’s screen. Then he looks up into my eyes.
“authentication code: One, six, two, six, five, six.” He speaks the numbers slowly and clearly.
I let out a sound that can only be described as an idiotic moan. I’m embarrassed, and the man at the table laughs. I can tell the man in front of me is more than a little frustrated.
“You two are morons. Did you not verify the system update yesterday after replacing the voice box?”
“I thought we did.”
“Well, you didn’t, it takes two seconds. Two!” He swipes and prods at the tablet as he speaks.
“Damn, Drew, sorry. Get off my case.”
“Just do your job, Mike. That’s all I ask. It’s not much.” Drew looks back up at me. “Ok, let’s try this again. Authentication code, five, two, nine, five, three, three.” He reads from his tablet.
My body feels as though Novocain was injected into every muscle. “Credentials required.” The words escape my lips. Words that were not my own. In my mind, I am screaming and flailing my limbs, trying to escape. In reality, I sit numb, frozen to the edge of the bed. I hate the voice.
“Andrew Tate, ID number one, five, six.”
“Hello Andrew thank you for visiting me today, how are you?” Again, the words came, but they were strangers. This voice is calm and almost comforting. It’s the voice of an automated phone recording. It doesn’t show the fear and uncertainty I’m feeling.
“I’m fine, thank you for asking. What is two plus two?” He asks.
“Four,” The voice answers.
“What is the ocean’s name between Europe and the United States?”
“The Atlantic.”
“What is the capital of Texas?”
“Austin.”
“Which word is unlike the others: Milk, Water, Juice, Rock.”
“Rock”
“What is your name?”
“Unit awaiting name assignment.” The words sent an icy chill down my spine. This was not happening.
“Ok, cool, easy day. It looks like you guys didn’t screw everything up. You got the base memories in.”
“You think you’re so much better than us, Drew. You’re not. You’re not any better than the rest of us techs.”
“I don’t think that Mike. I’m just tired, is all.” Andrew made some swipes on his tablet. “Ok, unit 450, your name is now Melissa.” He said to me without looking up from his tablet.
“Thank you, Andrew, I like the name Melissa very much.”
“Glad to hear it,” He said to me. “Uploading personal memories time, now.”
A life rushes before my eyes. I see my parents and my siblings, I remember how I got the scar on my right knee from falling off a bike. I remember the first boy I kissed and the first girl. The joy and pain of high school. Every sight, sound, smell, taste. Every emotion, every physical sensation hit me like a wrecking ball.
I can hear Mike and Andrew arguing over me. I open my eyes and find myself curled on the cold cement floor. I can see their bootie-covered feet as they blame each other for what happened. I can feel my body again and wiggle my fingers. I hold back a smile at my own autonomy.
“Why didn’t you lay it down before the upload!” Mike yelled.
“Because I forgot it was sitting up! You should have stored it right! They aren’t supposed to be upright in storage!”
“I did store it right! Even if I didn’t, how do you not notice those giant tits?”
“Screw you, pervert. Help me get it up on the table.”
Their cold hands grab my warm body. Hands slide into my armpits and on my thighs. I feel weightless as they lift me back on the table. When they let go of me, I sit up quickly, and they both jump back.
“Where am I, and who are you?” I beg, looking at Mike and then Andrew.
“Wow, wow, it’s ok, you’re ok. We’re not here to hurt you.” Andrew reassures with his hands held out in front of him.
“I find that hard to believe.”
“You had a little fall. You’re in the hospital. I’m Dr. Tate. This is my Nurse, Michael.”
“Screw you. Why am I the nurse?”
“Shut up, Mike.” Andrew answers without taking his eyes off me.
“Why not just tell it the truth? You’re a –”
“Shut up, Mike!”
“You know what Drew. I’m getting really tired of you bossing me around.”
“M I C 547 shut down authorization Andrew Tate ID 156.” Andrew blurts out the command.
In response, Mike’s face goes blank, and his arms fall slack at his sides. He squats down and hugs his legs, making a compact ball of man. His eyes are open as he stares straight ahead without signs of life.
“These damn software updates are going to get someone killed.” Andrew says, “Sorry, Melissa, we have to start over. Can you please lay down for me?”
I can’t stop looking at the balled-up man behind Drew. The expressionless face and contortion of the body make me sick. I don’t want to lie down; I want to get out.
“Melissa, did you hear me? Please don’t make this more difficult than it has to be, I’ve already had a long day.”
I did the first thing I could think of. “Look out!” I shout, pointing at the balled man on the floor. It’s not very clever, but it does the trick. Andrew jumps up from his stool and turns around to find Mike’s motionless body. Now, with his back in front of me, I reach forward, wrap my arm around his neck, and squeeze.
I wrap my legs around his body, and we both fall to the floor. I contract every muscle in my body. Andrew squirms as he pries at my arms with his hands. He continues to pry with one as the other disappears.
His fist slams into my thigh. I scream in pain as he continues to stab me. The pain is like a shock from a cattle prod, but I refuse to let go of his neck. The stabs grow weaker until Andrew’s body hangs limp in my arms.
I let go, and his body lies limp next to the bloody screwdriver. I hop to my feet and am met with pain exploding through my leg. I fall back to the ground. Determined, I claw my way back up. In my head, I had pictured this going more smoothly. I had imagined Andrew falling unconscious and stealing his uniform. Reality was different. Alarms began to scream before I could catch my breath.
In a combination of fear and instinct, I grab the bed sheet. I wrap it around my body as I bolt out the door. Flashes from the red warning lights punctuate the dark hall. I run down the dark tunnel.
I hear voices and heavy boots chasing after me down the hall. I run as fast as my injured leg allows. Turning with frantic desperation down one hall, then another. I don’t know or care where the corridors lead as long as they lead to somewhere else.
Through the flashes of red, I see inside the cells, each holding a different body. Each one is in a different state of construction. Some lay limp on benches with no limbs. Others hang from the ceiling like life-sized marionettes with their chest open. Some pound on the windows and beg for help as I pass. Others curl in the corner of their cells, not knowing what to do.
They’re children and adults. Boys and girls. Men and women. I pay no attention to them; all my focus is on my escape. Then I see him. With a sheet around his waist and his dark hair reaching just past his ears. He looks as handsome as the day he proposed to me.
“James!” I shout, pressing against the glass wall of his cell. He looks at me, confused. “James, it’s me.”
“Get me out of here. Please, lady!” He yells after a moment’s hesitation.
“James, I’m not some lady. It’s me. It’s Mel, I’m your Mel.” I start to cry as I scream to James through the glass. I can hear the boots getting closer. “I’ll get you out, don’t worry, honey; I’ll get you out. There has to be some way to open this door.”
I hear a voice scream, “Shock! Shock! Shock!” Everything goes black.
The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. The last thing I remember is… is… I don’t remember anything.
U.S. PERSONNEL REPORTEDLY TOLD TO LEAVE MAJOR QATAR BASE BY TONIGHT
A senior Israeli defense leader has just made one of the most explosive statements of this crisis:
“There will be no Iranian regime. This is going to be an American-led attack with Israeli support. The regime stands no chance.”
Let that sink in.
While millions of Iranians are flooding the streets and the regime fires on its own people, powerful voices inside Israel’s security establishment are now openly saying the unthinkable:
That the Islamic dictatorship in Tehran is approaching its end.
According to insiders, the regime is cracking from the inside:
defections are beginning
elites are demoralized
security forces are divided
and Khamenei’s inner circle is reportedly preparing escape plans
This is what late-stage collapse looks like.
The streets of Iran are no longer afraid.
The world is no longer pretending.
And Washington is no longer ignoring what’s happening.
When military leaders start speaking this bluntly, it means the diplomatic phase is ending and the pressure phase is beginning.
This is not about regional politics anymore.
This is about whether the Islamic dictatorship survives — or whether history is about to turn a page that cannot be turned back.
DESTRUCTION OF OPERATIONAL SECURITY
The public remarks of Israeli Brigadier General Amir Avivi appear to many people to have blown operational security.
Until he said what he said, no one __really__ knew if the U.S. was actually going to attack. Now, they know.
Prior to these public remarks, people all over the world were asking themselves “what is the US going to do? Will the U.S. attack?” Now, they know.
Many people are now under the impression that these remarks not only endanger any men sent into the mission, they give Iran a legitimate reason to PRE-EMPTIVELY ATTACK ISRAEL! Before U.S. assets can be there to protect them.
This seems to many people to be an Op-Sec catastrophe.
HAL TURNER ANALYSIS
A war with Iran would not be short and very risky. It would shut oil, US bases, and US power at once.
Iran would likely do preemptive strikes on US regional military installations.
Immediate Impacts:
– Al Udeid and Al Dhafra airbases become inoperable from ballistic missile saturation
– Fifth Fleet command structure in Bahrain loses C4ISR capability for 72+ hours
– Strait of Hormuz closes as Iran deploys antiship mines across navigation channels
Systemic Fractures:
– Gulf states expel remaining US forces to avoid becoming secondary targets
– Global oil prices quintuple within 48 hours, triggering margin calls that cascade through commodity markets
– Israel launches independent strikes on Iranian nuclear facilities (potentially with nukes) without US coordination or approval
The Depletion:
– US precision munition stockpiles exhaust in 11 days of sustained counterstrikes
– Strategic petroleum reserve depletes to zero as domestic refineries cannot process non-light-sweet crude alternatives
– Carrier strike groups withdraw beyond missile range, ceding regional presence for the first time since 1980
Permanent State:
– Saudi Arabia and UAE formalize defense treaties with China and Russia
– US military posture shifts permanently to over-the-horizon, eliminating forward deployment doctrine
– Iran establishes de facto control over Gulf shipping, collecting transit fees that fund regime indefinitely
Wildcard:
– Pakistan transfers operational nuclear warheads to Iran under secret protocol, creating a Shia nuclear umbrella that India cannot ignore and triggering South Asian escalation
Bonehead Dad Knew Of Daughter’s OnlyFans, Now Wife Is Sending Him To The Streets For Covering It Up!
After my “retirement” in Arkansas and release from the ONI / MAJestic, I galloped out of the United States and made it back to China.
There, I reconnected with my GF, and we soon got married.
In those early days, I taught English one-on-one at a ESL school in downtown Shenzhen. (I needed money, and it was just there for the ‘takin’.)
Hard work thou.
Really hard. Like 12 – 14 hour days hard. Non-stop.
I liked the work, and there’s something about changing a country to live in that makes you go full-bore, all-out to rebuild your life afterwards. And I was no exception. I was moving quick and quickly became one of the most popular teachers there, and I had a lot of students.
No I didn’t teach groups. I was one-on-one.
Me, and a student, and we would converse in a “glass bubble” while others watched us from outside.
One of my first ESL students was a very Intractable 14 year old girl. You know the type; open, aggressive, pretty, and knows what she wanted. She took one look at me and just wanted ME to teach her.
But the funny thing was that she didn’t want us to go into the little private rooms. No.
She wanted me to teach her out in the open lounge area. Sure it was all glass like a “fish bowl”, all the rooms were. But she insisted on that area. I couldn’t figure out why until later.
And thus, this story.
It’s a story about modern furniture. Girls going through puberty. And me, just wanting to get a paycheck.
So here we are; in the open lounge area.
It’s all “space age”. White everything. with mirrors on the side, and glass to the curving hallway outside. The entire center was like that. Space-age white.
It was a wide open area, at a time when there were few customers. We (myself and this young student) had the entire room to ourselves. It was a big room, too. And during that time she was super flirtatious.
To me.
Ugh.
But, you know, for some background. I had just started off in a new nation, with a new wife, at a new job, and honestly…. No way in HELL was I going to even appear to do or want anything with this young hottie. And she was pretty darn attractive. She developed early, and she knew it.
Ugh!!!!!
What’s the term? Precocious, Lolita.
Nymphet. Maybe.
Other men have dealt with this, so “why me” doesn’t really apply.
But… honestly… why me?
Now this was a large white room with white tables, and they sat on these strange reflective bases. All the chairs had these bases. A strange curved cone mirror. No shit. The base was a reflective curved cone, and it acted like a magnifying glass showing the legs and more.
Unintentional, I’m sure.
But a curved mirror; effectively under each table and reflected on the actual large mirror on the walls facing the “glass observation windows”.
So… well, when you sat down, the other person could see up your skirt and your panties. You look at your knees, and vola! you see the other persons’ crotch!
What a weird design. But that was the way it was.
Double Ugh!!!
And I noticed, because she would sit with her legs open and different panties on each class. Yuppur. She whore short – short skirts, and a school-girl top and school girl leggings. But it was those panties that I could easily see… clear as day.
Most with lettering.
In English, the words “eat me”
Also in English “I want you NOW!”
And a Rolling Stones lips with tongue.
Triple Ugh!!!
Now, I am sure that she could see my crotch as well. And she would tease me, and flirt with me, and watch my crotch for action and activity.
Quadruple Ugh!!!
She would almost always come to class sucking on a lollipop, or pretending to eat this sausage / hotdog thing that they sold outside on a stick. She had a thing with this kind of stuff, and so we conducted it in this way.
I was always flustered in my classes with her.
Then her classes were wrapping up. And for show during our last class she arrived in a very seductive top, and sat down on the chair with extra special panties on. And just spent the entire full hour class flirting with me in a very direct manner.
I was so glad to get away from the school after that day.
Yeah. She had a great time teasing me.
I think it was a power-rush or something for her.
…
…
Anyways, I endured the class, and went home.
I shake my head in astonishment at the memory. As she was clearly learning how to use her charms to obtain things that she wanted. And perhaps… practicing on me.
Later on, I taught her mother how to pass an American drivers test in English. They were moving to Texas, and I really liked her mother too. She was a normal woman. But, you know it; that was an experience for the record books.
I’ll never forget that chick.
It took a lot of self-control on my part. I’ll tell you what! Not that I like that kind of stuff, so much as I am VERY VERY unused to anyone flirting with me at all. Ever. Let alone a kid.
All in all, the uncomfortable level was off the charts.
And, thankfully, I have never seen her since.
Or ever experienced that kind of overt seduction ever.
*Phew!*
She’s living in the ‘States now, Houston Texas is my guess. Ah. She can stay there. I’m sure that the USA fits her.
For me, I’m just glad that she’s gone from my life.
Today…
Eric Li: “The West Has No Idea What’s Coming…”
Was there a good side about the Cultural Revolution?
As we all know, the Opium War launched by Britain against China also led to the legalization of the opium trade. Opium dens were everywhere in China, which became a common phenomenon in society and corrupted the entire atmosphere.
Moreover, opium smoking was even prevalent among overseas Chinese. In the 16th chapter of his novel “The Reign of Greed”, Dr. Jose Rizal, the founding father of the Philippines, described the internal smell of the home of the overseas Chinese tycoon Niloya with a pun as “a mixture of sweat, opium and dried fruits”.
Therefore, after the establishment of New China in 1949, solving the problem of opium abuse was also on the agenda.
Chen Julai was a famous seal carver during ROC – 1980s. He once carved seals for politicians and cultural celebrities such as Chiang Kai-shek, Zhang Xueliang, Cheng Qian, and Zhang Daqian. One of his seals was sold at China Guardian Auctions for 5.4 million RMB.
Seal carving is a very lucrative profession at ROC. Therefore, he has money to smoke opium.
During the Republic of China period, many famous intellectuals and artists were keen on smoking opium, and some even became addicted to industrial drugs, including Chen Julai himself.
Even for a long time after the establishment of the PRC, Chen Julai found ways to get opium to smoke.
During the Cultural Revolution, Chen Julai was one of the intellectuals who needed to be reformed and was sent to the rural areas of Anhui for labor reform.
He ate the same food as the villagers, lived in a mud house, and worked in the fields with the villagers during the day. His opium addiction problem was miraculously overcome.
Therefore, Chen Julai is one of the few intellectuals who does not blame the Cultural Revolution – because it was during this period that he quit his drug addiction.
What would actually happen if America stopped buying European products? Would the EU really go bankrupt, or is that a misconception?
If America stopped buying European products, the EU would not go bankrupt. They would simply reciprocate by stopping the purchase of any American goods. And as the USA sheds allies and trading partners faster than a snake sheds its skin, the EU would find many willing buyers for its goods that it formerly sold to the USA.
The problem is that the USA is not nearly as necessary to the world economy as it supposes. Trade and diplomacy are both rooted in trust and the USA has forfeited that trust. Even if Trump leaves office, the trust will not be restored for at least a generation and the rule of thumb says two generations.
In trade wars, no one wins. But there are losers and the American public will be the greatest loser. Higher prices will lead to inflation which will result in recession, then stagflation and, most likely, a depression. Stagflation is a horrible thing to do to an economy, especially one that was booming. If you don’t think it is bad, ask Japan.
When Women REALIZE Their “FRIEND-ZONED MEN” Just Moved On
When Women Regret Modern Expectations is a thought-provoking video that explores the struggles women over 30 face when they haven’t found a husband and feel cheated by what society tells them.
Through real-life stories shared on TikTok, the video examines the complex issues surrounding marriage, motherhood, and career choices.
It looks at the ways in which women are redefining their roles and expectations for themselves and for the future.
This video is a must-watch for anyone interested in gender roles, societal expectations, and the impact of modern movements on women’s lives. With its honest and open dialogue,
When Women Regret Modern Expectations provides an insightful look into the lives of women and the challenges they face in today’s world.
What is the best case of “You just picked a fight with the wrong person” that you’ve witnessed?
It was 1975, I was in my last semester in college in New Orleans and just married. We rented a tiny apartment in the Garden District. Our next door neighbor also rented out rooms, and an elderly gentleman took an apartment.
He was a screen writer on assignment to write a script for a Charles Bronson movie, “Hard Times.” He was about 5’6” and always wore a French beret, walked with a cane, and would be seen with his grocery sack and French bread.
One night 3 young guys jumped him on his way back from the market. He put all three in the hospital and the cops investigating loved it,
This elderly gentleman (mid 60’s) was in the OSS during WW2 and parachuted into occupied France as part of a 3 person Jedbourgh Team to linkup with the resistance. He had been trained by William Fairbairn, a legend in hand-to-hand combat. Fairbairn trained the British Commandoes and OSS (forerunner to the CIA) to kill and do so quickly or stand little chance of survival. He restrained himself with the three thugs.
Classic Patty Melts
Classic Patty Melts are packed with seasoned burgers, onions, mushrooms and melty cheese!
Yield: 3 full sandwiches; 6 half sandwiches
Ingredients
6 tablespoons butter, divided
1 pound ground beef
1 large onion, sliced
8 ounces sliced mushrooms, divided (optional)
2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon black pepper
6 slices provolone cheese*
6 (3/4-inch) slices sourdough bread**
Instructions
Melt 3 tablespoons butter in a large skillet or on a griddle over medium heat. Add sliced onion and cook until onions are golden brown, caramelized and soft, about 15 to 20 minutes. Stir often to prevent them from burning, adding more butter if needed.
When onions are almost done, add half the sliced mushrooms to the skillet and cook alongside the onions until they have released all their moisture and begin to brown. Remove grilled onions and mushrooms from the pan and set aside; keep warm.
While onions and mushrooms are cooking, chop the remaining half of the mushrooms into a rough chop. Add mushrooms to a large mixing bowl and combine with ground beef, Worcestershire sauce, salt and pepper.
Form beef mixture into 3 equal size patties, pressing them out slightly larger than the shape of the bread slices.
Grill patties over medium high heat, pressing the patties flat with the back of a spatula to prevent them from shrinking too much. Cook patties to a medium well doneness.
While patties are cooking, spread butter onto one side of each slice of bread.
Once patties are cooked to your desired doneness, remove them from the skillet.
Place 3 of the bread slices buttered side down in the skillet.
Top each slice of bread with a slice of Provolone cheese. Then top with a grilled beef patty, then a mound of grilled onions and mushrooms, if using.
Add another slice of Provolone cheese and place a slice of bread on top, buttered side facing up.
Once first slice of bread is toasted and golden brown, use a spatula to carefully flip the entire sandwich over to grill the other slice of bread.
Once both slices of bread are grilled to a golden brown and cheese is melted, transfer each sandwich to a cutting board.
Cut each sandwich in half to serve.
Notes
* Or any type of melty cheese desired
** Or any type of bread desired
If Panama caved 100% to Trump regarding the Panama Canal issue, setting a good example of what can happen to disobedient countries, why do Canadians not expect the same will happen to Canada if they keep defying American national interests?
Each country is different.
For a country without strong economy AND military, when face with a mafia, it may not have any choice but to bow down, so as to save it country & people, at least in a short run.
China went thru 100 years of humiliation by the West esp Europe because China was militarily weaker than Europe in 1840’s. In the 2025 Trump’s reciprocal tariff war, China stands firm against “the mighty” USA. How can China do that? Because the 2025 China is strong, both militarily, technologically, & economically.
That said, China never politically bowed to USA. Unlike USSR’s Gorbachev. Once you are politically “colonised” by USA, you are doomed. E. Musk’s DOGE has told us how USAID & NED instigate coups in countries who gov does not bow to USA.
Canada has politically been “colonised” by USA. Conservative Party of Canada Policy Declaration that was amended 2023/9/9
Item 177 under article U on Foreign Affairs is titled “China”. The item says …
The Conservative Party (CP) will adopt an assertive foreign policy toward authoritarian dictatorships, including Chinese Communist Party, focused on upholding Canadian values respecting human rights & democratic principles. We will extend trade & military alliance in Asia & strengthen our relationship with like-minded democracies to counteract Chinese government aggression. To combat China’s adversarial behaviors, CP will …
– Cease Chinese military cooperation
– Deny China’s participation at sensitive Canadian research facilities (I add: medical or tech research eg Huawei)
– Ban Chinese government aligned entities ownership of Canadian companies or sale/purchase of sensitive technologies
– Advocate China’s removal from WTO until equitable economic reform are implemented.
….. this is exactly the US policy towards China confirming CP is a US puppet.
That is why we saw a CP member Chong repeated US’s lie that there were Uyghur genocide or forced labor in Xinjiang. We also saw former Canadian PM Trudeau imposed 100% tariff on Chinese electric car without proper WTO procedure. Not to mention the illegal detention of Huawei CFO.
Back to the question.
As a US puppet, it is not surprising that Alberta is shouting for separation from Canada. … exactly what DOGE said how USA controls other country. USA does not need Panama to set an example for Canada. Canada in a sense is already doomed.
Pictures
Here’s some pictures I AI generated for illustration on the Sir Whiskerton stories.
Leonardo Anime XL A baroque style illustration of a taxman sta 1(1)
Leonardo Anime XL A baroque style illustration of a taxman sta 0
Leonardo Anime XL A baroque style illustration of a taxman sta 2
Leonardo Anime XL A baroque style illustration of a taxman sta 3
Leonardo Anime XL A baroque style illustration of a taxman sta 7
Leonardo Anime XL A baroque style illustration of a taxman sta 6
Leonardo Anime XL A baroque style illustration of a taxman sta 5
Leonardo Anime XL A baroque style illustration of a taxman sta 4
Leonardo Anime XL A baroque style illustration of a taxman sta 1
Leonardo Anime XL A baroque style illustration of a taxman arr 7
Leonardo Anime XL A baroque style illustration of a taxman arr 3
Leonardo Anime XL A baroque style illustration of a taxman arr 2
Leonardo Anime XL A baroque style illustration of a taxman arr 6
Leonardo Anime XL A baroque style illustration of a taxman arr 5
Leonardo Anime XL A baroque style illustration of a taxman arr 1
Leonardo Anime XL A baroque style illustration of a taxman arr 0
Leonardo Anime XL A baroque style illustration of a taxman arr 4
Regime Change Riots In Iran Fail Faster Than Expected
b at MoA.
Just two days ago I opined that the riots in Iran would lead nowhere.
I especially pointed out that the U.S. had delivered Starlink satellite terminals to organizers of the riots – 40,000 of them is a rumored number – but that the Iranian government had acquired the means to detect them and to shut down their traffic.
Just a day later Forbes reports that the government did indeed used its new tools:
The Iranian government did not bother to track down single terminals but used the new Russian and Chinese equipment to shut down all Starlink traffic in Iran. Packet loss rates of 90% have made the connections unusable.
Today pro-government marches are held in all major cities of Iran. They are much bigger than anything the opposition could ever assemble. The Iranian system has again demonstrated that it is astonishingly stable. Not one official has changed side.
The riots are, for now, over. The streets tonight will likely be quiet. During the next weeks the riot leaders and instigators will be tracked down and punished – harshly one hopes in sight of the casualties on the government side.
The total blocking of Internet traffic and international phone communication in Iran was the decisive step taken to end the riots.
Without Internet access the CIA/Mossad agents directing the rioters were unable to command and control their on-the-ground forces. The lack of ‘horror’ propaganda videos from Iran, submitted via the Internet and used by the media to rake up support for western intervention, is also important. Color-revolutions à la CIA require these tools.
In 2022 the wave of U.S. induced protests in Iran took nearly three month before it subsided. This wave, started on December 28 by a massive short-selling attack on Iran’s currency, took just two weeks before it died down.
Trump, who had threatened to bomb Iran in support of the rioters, will have to pull back. The U.S. military says that it is not ready (archived) for the revenge Iran would unleash on it.
The failing of this regime change attempt shows that the methods used in it have become too obvious and can be countered. It will likely take a while before new methods are developed and new attempts will be launched.
How does the US military currently compare against the Chinese military?
Let’s take a look at the strength of the US military. Aircraft carrier USS Harry S. Truman recently left the Red Sea and arrived in the Mediterranean Sea. It’s currently unclear when it will return to its homeport in Norfolk, Virginia. During its mission, the aircraft carrier lost 3 military aircraft due to incidents such as “friendly fire.” The US Navy has launched an investigation into the accidents and is taking accountability actions.
In December last year, the USS Gettysburg missile cruiser, part of the Harry S. Truman CSG, shot down an F/A-18 Super Hornet in the Red Sea. The US military classified this incident as a “apparent case of friendly fire,” but did not disclose more information.
In mid-February, the USS Truman collided with a large commercial vessel in the Mediterranean, near Egypt’s Port Said. The carrier was damaged and had to sail to a US naval base for repairs. That incident led to the firing of the ship’s commanding officer.
On April 28th, an F/A-18 and a tow tractor fell overboard while the fighter jet was under tow in the carrier’s hangar bay. A sailor was forced to jump from the cockpit just before the plane went into the water.. It was reported that the carrier was making a sharp turn at the time to avoid Houthis’ firepower.
On May 6th, the same day Trump announced a ceasefire with the Houthis, another F/A-18 crashed into the sea while attempting to land back on the carrier, as the tailhook failed to catch the arresting gear during the landing.
During the US military’s strikes, the Houthis also occasionally targeted the Harry S. Truman CSG and claimed to have hit the targets. The CENTCOM typically does not publicly acknowledge these attacks, instead showing through military social media that the carrier is still operating normally and conducting exercises, seemingly to indicate that everything was good. The frequent accidents in the US military in such a short period of time are believed to be related to the intense combat with the Houthis.
Since its deployment in September last year, the Biden administration launched strikes at that time. The aircraft on the USS Truman had to continuously carry out strike missions and remained in a high-intensity combat state. After the operation ended in January this year, the Trump administration launched a new strike against the Houthis in March, with the USS Truman once again participating. This means that over 40 F/A-18 Super Hornet fighter jets on board are engaged in long-term high-density, high-intensity combat missions. The world’s top military is fighting the militia group without a clear victory, returning empty-handed from the Red Sea. That’s the “combat experience” of the US military that some people are so proud of.
As for China, my advice is not to mess with Chinese, not only because of this BBC report. According to the more “credible” media oultet Radio Free Asia, it was exposed that PLA use missile fuel to cook hot pot. The composition of rocket fuel is not a secret, and we can also imagine that if they can use this stuff to cook, how strong must their physical fitness be. Americans can barely hold out against a militia group, so where does the confidence come from to defeat these Chinese super soldiers?
The Prehistoric Time Hole No One Can Explain
For nearly 250,000 years after Homo sapiens first appeared around 300,000 years ago, archaeological evidence shows minimal cultural development: basic stone tools, rare symbolic artifacts, and little technological change. This period, often referred to as “the Long Silence” — a term that emerged in the late 20th century among researchers to describe this puzzling stagnation — lasted until about 50,000 years ago. Then, a rapid cultural explosion occurred: complex tools, cave paintings, musical instruments, burial rituals, and long-distance trade networks appeared almost simultaneously, marking the start of the Upper Paleolithic Revolution.
What situation caused you to intentionally and knowingly risk getting a criminal record?
Risked. Not gotten.
For years my stepfather was hitting my mother.
At 20 I had just gotten out of the Army. I found out he did it again.
I wasn’t a scared skinny teenager anymore.
I went up to the house. Knocked on the door. Beat the living daylights out of him.
I didn’t fare very well.
I had broken bones in my hands. Broken nose. Broken knee.
He had a broken jaw. Broken ribs.
I was arrested. Criminal trespass. Aggravated assault. Domestic violence. ( He was considered family) .
In court?
The prosecutor stated. “Mr Hansen left his residence. Walked one mile with premeditation. Forced his way into a private residence. Beat the man with no mercy in his own home.”
Yeah. That’s what I did. Yep. Glad I did it too. I would do it again.
He never laid a hand on her again. They argued like cats and dogs. Beats me why she stayed with him. He never hit her again. The police had been there before. It took a good beating to get him to stop.
Through good lawyering I walked away with nothing.
It was close though. Prison if I lost. I saw him hit her when I was 13,:15, . I know he hit her at least once while I was in the Army. My sister told me. At 20? I decided that was it.
To all the law and order folks on here. To all the badge bunnies. All the ‘lock em up and throw away the key’s” types.
Sometimes it’s the only way. Not the first pick. The last straw. It worked.
Why does China gain when they make more electrical cars?
This is Beijing in the 1990s was so polluted that people were dying from pollution.
China started by electrifying busses and public transport, and little by little, this is Beijing today
Of course it isn’t always so clear, but the difference is staggering.
Public health is why China is set on creating EV cars. Plus they are then not reliant on foreign oil and can generate energy in their own country.
Who paces out in the snow in -35 degree temperature? Size 8 high heal boot tracks overlapped each other in a small circle out in the snow. There was the sound of wind whistling with repetitive shuffling noises in the snow. Snow fell upon our heroine’s tongue as she hyperventilated. The smell of muddy oil hits her nose as a car drives by splashing her. Above her, a balcony door opens and she hears, “What the heck are you doing? You’re going to get sick!” She is buzzed into a white looking apartment building, which easily blends into the snow.
She walks up a creaky spiralling stairway to a discoloured red door with a sign that reads, “No dog but beware hangry human.” On the other side of the door was a cramped hallway leading to the sound of microwave popcorn popping. The air tasted like dust. A shadow of a man was cast visually appearing from the end of the hallway to the doorway. The man at the end of that shadow was tapping his foot while wearing T-Rex slippers, red boxers, and a handle bar moustache. He tilts his head, asking, “Why were you pacing out in the cold?”
Our heroine was unwrapping a pink scarf around her head to reveal little afro puffs in a line coming down the centre of her head and a daisy choker necklace. She took off a long red wool coat and cheetah spotted ski pants. Underneath were bell bottom overalls coloured like a candy cane, and a crocheted green poncho with chunky doves sticking out. She was still hyperventilating and her eyes were shut tight because her tears froze outside, sticking her eyelashes together.
The man sat her down in a bean bag chair and quickly made her some instant hot cocoa with bunny shaped marshmallows. He gave her the hot cocoa, which she held tightly in her hand for 10 minutes while he waited for her to talk on the bean bag chair adjacent to her’s. Her eyes fluttered open and she finally said, “I’m pregnant.” He went into his bedroom where she heard a muffled scream. He came out, took a deep breath, and said, “Just how did that happen? I’m trans.” She looked in the other direction and tried to get more words out, “I…”
He interjects, “Let me guess. I was visited by an Angel who told me my baby would be the second coming of Christ. I found a monkey paw which granted me wishes and I wished for you to have real sperm. No…that’s not your brand of story. Let me guess. You were abducted by aliens who impregnated you.”
She really was abducted by aliens who really did impregnate her.
She looked at him, “Ummm…actually it really was the third one.” He looks at her clenching his jaw and eyes rolling to the back of his head. He takes a deep breath and with praying hands says, “I know you have nowhere to go. I am going to get you an Uber that will take you to a Motel and I will give you enough money for one night. But that’s it. I never want to see your face again.” She bursts into tears with her head in her hands.
He goes back into his room. She stays slumped in the bean bag chair with the hot cocoa next to her. She waits an hour and 12 minutes. He comes out of the room. He says, “The Uber is here. Here is the money. Please leave.” She looks into his eyes giving him a pleading look. His face is red pleading back, “Leave!” She gets on her clothes faster than a professional stage actor, runs downstairs and dives into the Uber, where the driver already has the door open.
Upstairs, the man picks up the hot cocoa. The bunnies have somehow retained their shape but they are on opposite ends of the cup looking sad. “Must have been old marshmallows” he grumbles to himself. The bunnies float back to eachother with heads resting on one another. He pours the cocoa down the sink leaving the cup inside. He collapses on the floor wailing loudly. Then, pulls out a picture of himself with her from his back pocket. It reads, “Galilee and Gordy together 4ever.” He rips it up and throws the pieces towards the trash though most pieces land near his foot, which he tries kicking up in the air, but is unsuccessful again. The dinosaur slipper comes off, spiralling up in the air in an arch shape. He screams just before the dinosaur slipper hits him on the head.
Galilee sits in the Uber. The Uber driver wears a fuzzy pink coat with a matching hat and heart shaped sunglasses. She smells of sunscreen. The blinding light from the sun surrounds her. It is now very warm, though the snow outside is still piled high. The uber driver is chewing gum loudly while staring at Galilee. The Uber driver offers Galilee a stick of gum flavoured like strawberries. Galilee stares into space for the length of three Mississippis then waves the gum away. The driver shrugs then introduces herself, “The name’s Honey Milky-way Moore. You’s goin’ to the Strawberry Fields Hotel? Am I goin’ anywhere’s else fo you’s? Galilee says, “How about off a cliff?”
Honey turns with her lips quivering and eyes narrowing, “Hey! What’s a matta?” Galilee laments, “You don’t care. You just want to have an excuse to charge me for extra.” Honey notices the time already going in the Uber. She smashes the machine breaking it. Honey says, “Ain’t nothin’ more important than everybody keepin’ everybody safe.” Galilee sighs, “You wouldn’t believe me anyway.” Honey throws her hands up, “Try me. I’ve had some weird crap happen to me. I’ve been visited by spirits, abducted by aliens, and just yesterday I was broken up with by Bigfoot.”
Galilee raises an eyebrow, “As if…wait… did you say abducted by aliens?” Honey answers, “Yeah. They put some kind of weird equipment in me fo’ their experiments. I think they gave me an STD but Bigfoot, also known as Dennis, did not believe me.” Galilee’s eyes widen, “They did some kind of experiment on me and got me pregnant.” Honey shakes her head, “Ooooh…not much yous can do ‘bout that now that abortion is illegal ‘round here.”
Galilee slumps down.
Honey looks at Galilee up and down. Galilee trembles, “I have nowhere to go after the hotel. I’ll be on the streets.” Honey makes a suggestion, “Yous could sleep at my crib. I know it ain’t safe sleepin’ in a strangers place but it’s gotta be safer than nothin’. Galilee starts to tremble a little less, then turns her head out the window and says, “Yes. Thank you so so much.” Galilee felt a warm embrace though there were no arms around her then she heard a small voice inside her head saying, “You’ll be okay.”
Have you ever been underestimated at your job by someone who should know better?
A department head needed help with a sizable (meaning, potentially costly) personnel issue. After working the problem for a few days, I came up with a solution that met everyone’s needs.
The department head (who had spent a lot of happy time in my company by this juncture) said of my proposed solution, “You’re kinda smart, for a girl.”
I paused. I debated letting it slide. I decided that everyone is entitled to my opinion.
I replied, “You’ve got that wrong on two counts. First, I’m not ‘kind of’ smart. I’m very smart. Second, I’m not a girl. Try using the word ‘woman’ the next time you’re talking about a female over the age of 16.”
It probably made no difference to him. But I felt much better.
Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Forbidden Treat Jar: A Lesson in Feline Persuasion
Ah, dear reader, gather ‘round for a tale of whiskered wit, a jar of temptation, and the timeless art of getting what you want by being absolutely irresistible. Today’s adventure stars our beloved Sir Whiskerton and his ever-echoing apprentice, Ditto, as they tackle the farmer’s most heinous decree: NO TREATS.
The Great Treat Proclamation
It began on a Tuesday—the farmer’s designated “Healthy Choices Day” (a holiday universally despised by all creatures with taste buds). The farmer, in a fit of nutritional zeal, placed a jar of salmon-flavored delights on the highest shelf and declared:
“No treats for you two today!” he said, pointing at Sir Whiskerton and Ditto.
“But… but…” Ditto stammered, his tiny paws clutching his heart as if wounded. “But!”
Sir Whiskerton merely blinked, his face the picture of serene betrayal. “My good sir, this is tyranny. Also, my face exists.”
The farmer, unmoved, left the kitchen. The jar gleamed like a golden trophy. The mission was clear: Operation Kitten Eyes.
Sir Whiskerton’s Masterclass in Charm
Sir Whiskerton gathered Ditto for a lesson in feline diplomacy. “Listen closely, Ditto. When someone says ‘no,’ you do it anyway—but strategically. The key is to look cute afterward.”
Step 1: The Innocent Stare.
“Deploy the eyes. Wide. Sparkly. Slightly damp.” Sir Whiskerton demonstrated, his gaze so pure it could’ve cured rainclouds.
Ditto tried. His attempt resembled a possessed teddy bear. “Am I… doing it?”
“No. But we’ll workshop it.”
Step 2: The Paw of Vulnerability.
“Place one paw gently on their knee. Tremble slightly, as if you’ve never known joy.”
Ditto slapped the air. “Like this?”
“That’s a high-five. We’re not negotiating a sports contract.”
Step 3: The Strategic Collapse.
“If all else fails, flop onto your back. Display the belly. Whimper.”
Ditto rolled like a dropped burrito. “I’m baby!”
“Perfect. Now, let’s execute.”
The Heist (and the Aftermath)
As the farmer returned, Sir Whiskerton sprang into action:
Distraction: He knocked a spoon off the counter. Clang!
Acrobatics: Ditto scaled the shelves like a fuzzy Spider-Man, grabbed the jar, and—whoops—tumbled into a flour sack. “I’m a ghost!” he coughed.
The Grand Finale: Sir Whiskerton sat primly amid the chaos, the jar now miraculously at his paws. He gazed up at the farmer with eyes like melted butter.
Farmer:“Whiskerton. The jar was on the shelf.”
Sir Whiskerton:“Was it? How odd. Perhaps it missed me.” (Pause.) “Look at my face. Really look.”
The farmer sighed. The jar opened.
The Moral (and the Post-Credit Shenanigans)
Moral:Charm can move mountains (and treat jars), but use it wisely—lest you end up in a flour sack.
Post-Credit Scene:
Ditto, now coated in flour, tries the “innocent stare” on Doris the Hen. She screams, “GHOST KITTEN!” and faints into a feed bucket.
Best Lines:
“I’m baby!” – Ditto, embracing his destiny.
“How odd. Perhaps it missed me.” – Sir Whiskerton, gaslighting expertly.
“That’s a high-five. We’re not negotiating a sports contract.” – Sir Whiskerton, exhausted.
Starring:
Sir Whiskerton (Master Manipulator & Fluffy Philosopher)
Ditto (Flour Ghost & Apprentice of Chaos)
The Farmer (Overmatched by Cuteness)
Key Jokes:
Ditto’s “ghost” reveal.
Sir Whiskerton’s spoon distraction (a classic).
The farmer’s resigned “Fine, take the treats” face.
P.S.
Remember: If at first you don’t succeed, flop dramatically and try again.
The End.
How do you objectively evaluate China’s military strength?
China’s military the PLA is the most powerful defense power on this planet.
but look…
just for defense only, inside China only.
but as to the effect to the foreign countries,the international effect , this power is weak as Cambodia…. China always don’t want a war outside China compared to Russia and USA or even India..
military solution is always the last option for China…. in all situations.
that’s why I call it like Cambodian military. cuz if you look outside China, you don’t feel PLA is strong cuz PLA looks like not going to war or even hate to fight… PLA has been extremely restrained by somehing mystery outside China… I as chinese just don’t know why
What is the biggest scam an auto mechanic ever tried on you?
Saw a sign for $25 Warrant of Fitness (WOF) check. Its a 12 monthly legal requirement where I live. Bargain right! Wrong. The mech tells me it needs $3,000 worth of work before it is safe to drive. Took it to my regular mechanic the same day and told him it just failed a warrant check. He said “what work needs to be done?”. I said Im not telling, you tell me. He checked it over and found nothing wrong and issued a fresh Warrant of Fitness. He then asked to see the paperwork from the previous $25 check. He said what a load of rubbish then proceeded to show me everything the previous mech had outlined was false. After noting the previous mechs details he said “wow, youre the third person this month who has come to me from that business”. Lodged a complaint to the Motor Trade Association. The garage is now shut down – probably set up shop somewhere else he was less well known.
Why Australia Chose China Over America (The Truth Will Shock You)
Top neuroscientist Dan Yang leaves US for China, reunites with mentor-husband Mu-ming Poo
As senior principal investigator at Shenzhen academy, Dan will expand research on sleep regulation while collaborating with world-class talent
After spending 35 years in the United States pioneering research on the neural circuits that govern sleep and executive brain functions of the frontal cortex, neuroscientist Dan Yang has returned to China to join the Shenzhen Medical Academy of Research and Translation (SMART) as a senior principal investigator.
Dan was elected to the US National Academy of Sciences (NAS) in 2018 in recognition of her “contributions to understanding the microcircuits underlying cortical computation, cellular mechanisms for functional plasticity, and neural circuits controlling sleep”. Last month, she was elected to the American Academy of Arts and Sciences.
She was introduced as the second full-time principal investigator at SMART earlier this month.
Grands Tuna Melts
Melt-in-your-mouth tuna sandwiches get their wraps from flaky refrigerated biscuits.
Prep: 15 min | Total: 35 min | Yield: 8 servings
Ingredients
2 (5 ounce) cans water-packed tuna, well drained
1/3 cup chopped onion
1/3 cup mayonnaise
1/8 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon pepper
1 (16.3 ounce) can Pillsbury™ Grands!™ Flaky Layers original biscuits
4 ounces (1 cup) shredded Cheddar cheese
Sour cream, if desired
Chopped tomato, if desired
Shredded lettuce, if desired
Instructions
Heat oven to 350 degrees F. Grease a cookie sheet.
In medium bowl, combine tuna, onion, mayonnaise, salt and pepper; mix well.
Separate dough into 8 biscuits.
Place 4 biscuits on greased cookie sheet.
Press or roll each to form a 5 inch round.
Spoon tuna mixture into center of biscuits.
Top each with cheese.
Press or roll remaining 4 biscuits to form 5 inch rounds.
Place over filling.
Press edges to seal.
Bake for 15 to 20 minutes or until golden brown.
Cut each sandwich in half.
Top each with sour cream, tomato and lettuce.
How long will it take for new companies to build in the US creating good jobs and bringing America back from foreign dependent markets after the tariffs take effect?
When Trump is gone and the damage repaired, maybe a few might set up there.
Let’s look at why. Trump said the tariffs were to bring production/industry back to the US. The outsourcing was done by the US billionaires he sees every day. It would seem reasonable to sit down with those decision makers and ask them what they needed to change their minds.
They’d have said a few things like, say, cheap land for new plant, a well trained workforce ready to go (the US currently has 100,000 unfilled manufacturing jobs), great logistics and infrastructure, good supplies of raw material and expertise, a low wage bill to enable competitive pricing, tax breaks for starting up…. You get the general idea.
And he’d have either met their conditions or not. Job done – or not. But no tariffs, no trade war, no shortages.
Tariffs were never meant to bring jobs back to the US, or punish uneven import/export numbers. They were a massive tax heist on the American public, and designed to put bribes in Trump’s pocket – he thought leaders would offer inducements to get access to the US market. And he also planned a bit of insider trading on the stockmarket as a money spinning sideline.
You don’t have the materials, the plant, the infrastructure or the workforce. Manufacturing is not coming back to the USA in the immediate future. The US is a volatile mess politically as well, making it a bad business risk.
Ditch Trump, maybe things will improve. But stop harking back to the mythic golden age: you don’t build a great future by walking with your eyes glued to what’s behind you – that commonly lands you on your arse.
The alarm clock was blasting a rock and roll classic from the seventies era, as I groaned and rolled over to silence the noise. My head was spinning and I was out of sorts. My friends had talked me into going out the night before to celebrate my birthday. Being a bartender, I should have known better. The downtown area had a strip of bars and nightclubs and we started at the first one on the block. We would buy a round of drinks and when they were gone, we would head to the next club or bar. I don’t remember much after the fourth bar. I jumped out of bed, ran to the closet and grabbed the only suit I owned. I shook it vigorously to try and get rid of the wrinkles and headed out the door. I got to the restaurant that I worked at and slipped into the bathroom before my boss could see that I was on the edge of being late again. I locked myself into a stall, hung my suit on the hook on the door and sat down to relieve myself. I took off my clothes as I was sitting there and grabbed my suit down off the hook.The bathroom consisted of three stalls on one wall, the bathroom mirror on the opposite wall and two urinals on the wall opposite the door to encourage us to wash our hands on our way out of the bathroom. I heard the door open a few times as my coworkers came and went. I changed into my suit and ran my deodorant, that I keep in my suit pockets for emergencies, under my armpits and up and down my body to cover up the fact that I had not showered this morning. I pulled my electric razor out of another pocket and ran it across my stubble. It is not the first time I have found myself in this predicament, so I always keep my suit pockets filled with emergency toiletry items. I finished my business and opened the door to exit when I saw the creature. I quickly slammed the door again. There was a green-scaly creature in the mirror. It had looked straight at me. I was in full panic mode now. I listened with my ear pressed against the door. I heard the door open and shut and heard some men talking and urinating. The door opened and shut again and then there was silence. I could hear my heart beating. I could not hear any other noises from inside the small three stall bathroom. Maybe it had been my imagination. I did have a lot to drink last night. My banging headache was a testament to that overindulgence. I held my breath and stood up on the toilet so that I could see over the top of the stall. The bathroom was empty. Feeling foolish, I stepped down from the toilet and slowly opened the door.I rub my eyes as I look in the mirror and realize that the creature I saw is me. I groan at the reflection. I was going to kill those so-called buddies of mine next time I see them. I rub my face and the green doesn’t go away, or the scales. I notice that my hands don’t look the same they look strange to me. I walk up to the sink and turn on the water grabbing some paper towels. I soak them and start scrubbing my face. I look up and there I am, green scales. It’s not coming off. They must’ve talked me into tattooing my face last night while I was plastered. Humiliated, I sit down on the floor. The bathroom door opens and a coworker walks in and takes one look at my face and flies back out the door. That’s just great. Now everybody will know. I put my head between my knees and brace myself for the onslaught of coworkers to rush in to see me.The door slams open about thirty minutes later and a couple of people come in pushing a gurney. They grab me and strap me onto the gurney and push me out of the bathroom. My coworkers are gathered by the bathroom door, watching as they wheel me down the hall and to the ambulance waiting just outside the doors. The ambulance crew give me a shot of something and I black out.Slowly, my eyes adjust to the room. I check all my extremities and they are all working in perfect order. I look around and see that I am in some kind of ward. There are about twenty beds and on each bed there is a green-scaled being lying there and looking around as I am now. The one in the bed closest to mine looks at me and said, “You were at Sally’s Bar last night. I remember seeing you there. We all were. Man that was a blast.”“I don’t really remember last night.” I said, trying, desperately to remember the bar. We had gone to several and the last one I remembered was not Sally’s. I didn’t see anyone that I knew lying on those beds. A woman comes in and approaches my bed and she also is green-scaled. “Cramisky, you had us worried when you didn’t show up last night. When you showed up at that restaurant this morning, we knew something wasn’t right. We need to get you back to the place you slept last night and switch your memories back with the person you took over. We just can’t have that kind of behavior from our group.”The crew from the ambulance came and whisked me away to the address they had found in a wallet in my pants pocket. They pulled a set of keys from another of my pockets and opened the door and wheeled me into the house and straight to the bedroom. On the bed was me, only I didn’t have the green scaly complexion.They laid me beside me and gave me another shot. I felt myself slipping away. Hours later, I woke up to my alarm going off. I slap the clock and get up and go into the bathroom. I glance, apprehensively in the mirror, and I laugh. I am not green scaled anymore. It was all a dream. I finish my morning hygiene and return to my closet to grab my suit. It is gone. I look around my house and realize it is gone. I collapse onto the bed realizing it wasn’t a dream.
My mother’s good friend is supposedly engaged to Eric T. Hill, a General in the Army – this is clearly a scam and my mom is struggling to get through to her, any advice on providing proof?
General Eric T. Hill is a dear friend of mine, whom I know very well. In fact, I have been the ‘sweetheart’ and ‘darling wife’ of seven versions of him. Numerous times, I have been his only hope of leaving Syria, but for one reason or another, his plans for leaving “this hell hole” have always fallen through.
My love has been held for ransom by ISIS, suffered amnesia because he was hit by a missile, and needed to pay $150,000 because he accidentally shot someone. He is also invariably plagued by faulty Internet.
To make matters worse, Eric’s only son (Evans) was the victim of a drive-by shooting and he himself has suffered the constant attack of the enemy. In one case, my beloved experienced headaches and pains all over his body, which could only be treated with Bacitracin, an antiseptic cream that costs €1000 in ScamLand and €7 in Spain.
Still another recurring topic is his portfolio, the price of which varies, depending on the day. Gen. Eric Hill_Version 6 asked me for $3600; Gen. Eric Hill_Version 4 wanted $2000; whereas Gen. Eric Hill_Version 5 only needed $1000 to send me his possessions. So, go figure.
Two of my fiancés (Eric Hill Version_2 and Version_5) even confessed, and I was able to videochat with them in their respective hovels in Nigeria. Gen. Eric Hill_Version 2 has reformed. As one of my consultants, he has returned to computer school. In contrast, Gen. Eric Hill_Version 5 was something of a sleaze bag and offered to become my Internet ‘lover’, but I had to turn him down because I already have too many generals, oil riggers, UN doctors, and engineers vying for my favors. There are only so many minutes in the day.
Your mother’s friend will probably not believe you, but I will be glad to tell her all about Eric on messenger or even in a videochat. If necessary, I will even tell her that he is MINE (all seven versions) and she cannot have him.
My wife and I lived in Suva, Fiji for about a month a few years back.
We flew into Nadi International airport, and took the cross-island bus to Suva. They spoke fluent English there, and were super friendly. But it was, don’t you know, an island.
Rather third-world.
Two classes of people. The mega-wealthy, and the locals. And most of the locals had adapted to their situation, living a local low-key, low quality of life. But ate well, had fee medical care, and no one went homeless.
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Suva, well… was a town by Chinese standards.
That is the largest city in Fiji.
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Fiji is a tourist spot. And all the hotels were five-star hotel prices. Like $1000 / night for a little one bedroom.
Blew our budget to Hell.
So, for a while we wandered around the city wondering what to do.
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Interesting place.
There was a parade (and I well remember it) where the band played a marching band style, but the men all wore skirts, and had a hell of a lot of tattoos on their arms and bodies.
All with a neo-colonial background vibe.
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So, feeling like “fish out of water” we went to the “Chinatown” section.
Looked for the largest establishment there.
Found a restaurant (a larger Cantonese style establishment) and talked to the owner there. She was a woman in her early 30’s.
Of course, she knew all the Chinese on the island.
Of course.
My wife told her of our predicament, and (the restaurant owner) made a phone call. And after we ate, we got a taxi to the edge of town and met another lady owner. Also in her 30’s.
She gave us a room in her establishment.
A tiny hole-in-the-wall, with a mattress, an air conditioner, and a television set that did not work.
No lock on the door.
She ran a sort of Mahjong / Bordello / Cleaning service / Laundry and Massage service there.She catered to Overseas Chinese.
Local Chinese could play Chinese games, eat Chinese food, and have Chinese sex when they wanted, and while we were there… she had a constant business. Not large, but constant.
She had about three girls who provided sexual services, and they were mostly out-call girls. She had two that served as in-house girls that did basic housekeeping chores, and provided services on demand in some tiny simple rooms.
The one that cleaned up our room had a seriously ugly face, seriously, but a nice body with impressive rack. And she was nice. Polite. She would clean up, makeup our room, then scurry away and give a local (BIG) Fiji male a blowjob in one of the other rooms, or do a on-shot for about a half an hour. Then go do laundry for the establishment.
Suma.
And interesting experience.
Today…
Have you ever quit or been fired, only to be replaced by several people to do your job? What happened?
My father was the custodian at the elementary school in our small town for years.
He did everything from cleaning daily messes to buffing all of the floors. He mowed the grass in the warm months and shoveled snow whenever it fell.
The mower he used had a place to stand while he mowed. He removed it because he felt it was in the way, and walked behind the mower.
He cleaned the bathrooms, swept and mopped the floors, and cleaned all of the chalkboards daily. Every single school day.
He kept the old and finicky boiler furnace running. Dad also repaired anything else that stopped working.
He changed lightbulbs and cleaned fingerprints off the windows.
When school was out for the summer, he painted every room that needed it. Mom often went to the school to help him, sometimes he would even allow her to do so.
He even maintained the playground equipment. Learning how to repair it as he went along.
My dad cared about every single kid that walked those halls. When I visit the hometown, I often run into people that tell me of memories they have of his antics. He always went the extra mile to pull off a good practical joke.
When Dad retired,
they hired 2 men to do his job.
They could replace him, but, I doubt they can ever fill his shoes.
RIP Daddy.
Feta Shrimp Melt
Yield: 6 servings (4 cups shrimp salad)
Ingredients
1 pound cooked, peeled and deveined shrimp, chopped
1 cup mayonnaise
2 tablespoons lemon juice
2 tablespoons fresh dill, chopped
3 green onions, white and green parts, thinly sliced
1/2 cup celery, finely diced
1/2 cup kalamata olives, chopped
1 cup (6 ounces) Wisconsin feta cheese, crumbled
1/4 teaspoon hot sauce, such as Tabasco®
6 thick slices firm whole wheat baguette
Instructions
In medium bowl, combine all ingredients except bread; mix well.
Place bread slices on baking sheet.
Spread with shrimp salad.
Heat broiler, and broil until beginning to bubble and brown, 3 to 5 minutes.
How do tariffs really affect companies like Apple and Mattel, and why didn’t they just move factories back to the U.S.?
When Apple was preparing to introduce the black cylindrical Mac Pro (aka the trash can) Jobs wanted to manufacture it in the US. He figured as a high end product in limited production that it would be feasible. Turned out it was not.
To move production of high volume, high tech, high end products like the iPhone would require a massive investment with a long lead time which makes the whole notion ridiculous. Trump will be dead and the tariffs just a painful memory by the time they shipped any product.
It’s possible that a long term plan to build up the US infrastructure along with joint ventures with Asian partners such as Foxcon would result in more US manufacturing capacity. But this requires sensible planning, organization, and management like what Biden started with the CHIPS act and of which the current administration is incapable.
Priya stepped through the round hatch into her explorer pod, turning to allow her suit to accept the waiting latch cables. She reached up and detached the fishbowl helmet from the ceiling, sliding it over her head and rotating it to lock to the suit. Most explorers preferred the military helmet with the armoured sides. Priya liked the view of everything around her. She wanted to almost feel the wind against her face when she stepped onto a new world—despite it frequently being a toxic gas. As a youngster on Luyten B, she had been forever getting into trouble accessing forbidden places. She vividly remembered climbing the inside of the agri-dome of Newreach Station and waving to a maintenance technician working on the outside. His look of surprise made her smile, even now.A tone brought Priya back to the information projected inside her helmet. She lifted her arm into view with its small display panel and tapped the ‘Commit’ button with a gloved hand. She felt the mobility assistance joints of her suit go through their testing and calibration routines. The suit stopped each extension when it reached the limits of its fragile human occupant. Eventually, the helmet display completed its checklist and it informed the ship AI that it was ready for deployment. Two seconds later, the pod’s doors closed, and all the atmosphere in the pod was evacuated. Despite this being her eighth new planet, the excitement of being the first on a new world bubbled through her body.A thud in her back was the only indication that the pod had detached from the exploration vessel, her home for the last three years—three years her time. She had not checked how much time had passed for those outside a sleep pod. The day before, she had met the grandson of a man who had been young when she had begun her rest. Explorers were a rare breed—there were less than a hundred across the whole of humanity. They were treated like royalty—not that such a term existed now. They wanted for nothing when awake on a ship. In return, they agreed to be shot onto a new planet to see if it could become a new home for some of humanity. The bulk of the species crawled along in one of the giant, slow-moving ark ships. With the final death of the Earth, humanity had begun searching for new homes in the galaxy, building colonies wherever they could settle.The distance between stars was vast.Some slept.Some travelled.Vibrations shook Priya as the pod found resistance as it fell. If she wished, Priya could activate the external views and watch the planet grow as she plummeted through the atmosphere. She wasn’t interested, it spoiled the surprise. Nothing was as exciting as the doors revealing a new landscape. Yes, there was every possibility the weather, flora, and terrain would suddenly cut short her life—this was without mentioning any local inhabitants, intelligent or not.That was the job. She had accepted that a long time ago.Priya rode out the remaining jostles and smiled as the landing thrusters took hold. As the pod slowed, it fought against the new planet’s gravity. The same gravity reached out and pulled on a body that had been weightless for months. Millions of nanobots were deployed throughout Priya’s organs and limbs. Cells were copied and stitched together, building muscle in proportion to the increasing gravitational pull. She gritted her teeth as the regrowth process progressed. It was quick, but not painless. By the feel of it, this planet was certainly living up to its estimated mass of eight Earths.The pod made a few sudden adjustments until a familiar down/up motion signalled touchdown. The helmet display registered the landing but then suddenly flicked back to in-flight. The pod lurched rapidly to the right for a second, only to be corrected immediately after. The display returned to all clear, but Priya tensed her sore muscles, anticipating further movement. When nothing happened for thirty seconds, she relaxed and spoke to her suit AI.
“Landing complete. Run atmospheric check and full suit diagnostics.”
She waited for a series of checkmarks to appear on the display, along with a paragraph confirming the atmospheric content was primarily ammonia and hydrogen. This was as expected, based on an initial probe.
“Send message. Explorer One deployed. Landing successful. Beginning exploration.”
She lifted her arm and tapped a code into the wrist display. A flashing ‘confirm?’ button appeared. Opening the doors always required a manual confirmation.
Priya tapped the display.
#
The doors slid silently open and revealed a purple world—at least, that’s what Priya saw. Humanity now developed under many different skies, sending evolution in multiple directions. Eyes born on a red planet see things differently from those born bathed in green light. No matter the ‘real’ colour, Priya saw purple. She stepped to the edge of the pod and looked out over her temporary home.
The sky was filled with a mixture of pink-coloured clouds. They swirled in unexpected directions on unknown wind patterns. They were transparent above, fading in a gradient to light pink and then purple as they reached the ground. The planet was large, so the land stretched far into the distance before it met the horizon. The surface rose and fell smoothly in every direction. Unusually, there were no jagged rocks, outcroppings of stone, or even pebbles littering the landscape. Pinching her fingers together, a screen appeared in her helmet. She gestured to zoom and, for a second, didn’t think her instruction had been registered. Then she moved her head and saw the ground rush past. She was zoomed in; it was just that the ground appeared identical no matter the distance. She closed the screen and slowly scanned everything she could see. Identical. Everything was the same, smooth, undulating surface. No great mounds, mountains, or vegetation to be seen.
Crouching, she examined the ground beneath the pod. Expecting soil or rock, she found a regular diamond pattern. No diamond was the same, but they were similar enough. In the centre of each was a dark circular spot. Leaning forward, she saw one of the legs of the pod had settled into a depression in the ground. Twisting to see another leg, it was also sitting in its own special spot. It didn’t take much thought to realise that the pod’s weight was bending the surface and that she should prepare for a springy experience.
Purple and springy—this was new.
A loud crack shattered the silence. Priya hadn’t realised just how quiet her surroundings were until something broke through. She looked to the empty sky, locating the expected descending pod. New planets were dangerous places, so every expedition had two explorers. Once the first confirmed their safe arrival, the second descended.
Priya watched as the pod carrying her long-time friend and colleague, Leo, made last-minute adjustments before touching down a kilometre away. The display in her helmet provided detailed telemetry on something she could do nothing about. She waved a hand, and the zoomed view returned, tracking the pod as its jets fired. She watched the legs extend and touch down on the surface. Zooming in further, she saw the ground depress to accept the spacecraft, almost like it rested on a rubber sheet. Jets fired erratically to stabilise the lander. After a few seconds, all movement ceased.
Priya cleared her vision and keyed her comm. “Explorer One to Explorer Two. Copy? Priya to Leo. Did you enjoy the bounce?”
“Explorer Two here,” replied Leo in his deep, always-amused voice. “It was a little odd. What have I landed on? The whole planet looked as flat as anything from the air.”
“You’re safe and sound.”
“Any threats?”
“None that I can see. Suit isn’t registering anything microscopic attacking it, and I can see to the horizon.”
“Sounds good. Exiting now.”
“Stand firm!” Priya snapped. “I haven’t set foot yet.”
“Understood. Doors open. Will await confirmation.” A pause. “It’s very green, isn’t it?”
Priya smiled but didn’t reply—she really needed to stop airing her thoughts with people. Looking down, she watched as her booted feet walked down the metal step and onto the planet’s surface.
She had expected to feel some give under her weight, but it was no different to stepping onto any smooth floor. She jumped a few times, landing with an expected thump each time.
Leo’s voice came through the comm. “Looks pretty safe.”
Priya guessed she was being spied on and waved at Leo. She watched him leap from the pod and land heavily, staggering a little. She laughed. “You surprised your bots, didn’t you?”
A grunt came through the com. “My knees are shot.”
“You always have to go one step further.”
“You know me, P.”
Priya’s helmet darkened slightly as some of the clouds cleared away, leaving the blue-tinted light from the nearby star to shine on her and her pod. She glanced up and saw that the break in the clouds was currently only at her location. Despite the random atmospheric air currents, she was uniquely granted good weather.
Leo’s voice came through the comm. “You copy, Priya?”
“Yes. You can stop waving. I’ll go set some probes.”
“Great. I’ll get started on the soil samples. Call in fifteen.”
“Copy.” As she headed to the pod storage locker, Priya noticed the clouds had changed again. The sky above her was a regular grid of lines. Each cloud formed a perfect line in a different shade. Elsewhere, the clouds broiled and writhed. Directly above her, the sky was neat. Organised. Structured.
She pushed the observation aside; it was easy to be caught out by perspective and scale on a new world. Years of training forced her to ignore the strange and concentrate on establishing measurable parameters.
#
Fifteen minutes later, Priya erected a small tripod with a large sphere resting in a cradle. She tapped the controls and the sphere glowed yellow and rose to about a metre above the tripod. Satisfied, she turned and headed down the gentle rise towards her pod. As she walked, she looked out over the vast emptiness, still surprised at the absence of anything. She had stood in deserts on faraway worlds, but never before had she seen such an unblemished view. The lack of visual stimulation brought a calm to her thoughts. Even the clouds seemed quieter. Their ordered lines now stretched across most of the sky.
“How’s it going?” came Leo’s voice.
Priya quickly spotted the man in the smooth, unbroken landscape. “All good here. Just on my way back.”
“Sounds good. I’m starting the core collection. The drill is confused. It keeps mentioning organic compounds, but I’m overriding and it’s cutting now.”
Priya zoomed in on Leo as she walked. She saw the man beside a drill almost his size, its A-frame pointing to the sky while its teeth bored into the planet’s crust. A few hairs pricked up on her neck as her subconscious warned her something was amiss. She immediately halted and focused her attention on her colleague. Her concentration stopped her from registering her surroundings, which were rapidly darkening as the clouds thickened unnaturally fast, turning an opaque dark purple.
“Enhance view. Show movement,” she commanded. The view inside her helmet duplicated itself. The motion tracker was a simple filter that compared video frames. It showed black for no movement and white for any change. Leo and the drill appeared in monochromatic white slices as they moved.
He wasn’t alone.
What initially looked like static flowed from the ground on every side of Leo. Glancing back and forth between views, Priya could make out a rising mist or gas. “Leo. Immediate threat.” She saw the man straighten. “There’s something around you. Can you see it?”
“No. What do you mea…agh…” His voice cut out.
“Leo? Leo?” She watched as her only friend and colleague through time and space began wildly thrashing his arms as if he were fighting a swarm of insects. “Come in, Leo.” She saw him drop to his knees. “Respond!” He abruptly stopped moving, still kneeling upright on the ground, his head bowed forward and his arms hanging limply from his shoulders. Priya watched, her breathing rapid and shallow, as the white static on the movement display filled the view. She returned to the visual and watched in horror as Leo and the drill began tilting to one side and sinking into the ground as if the surface had suddenly become loose sand.
A warning alarm flashed for attention. Selecting it, Priya saw a damage report from the probe she had just set. She turned and watched as the probe descended out of view.
Priya set off at a run for her pod. Above her, the clouds darkened and released spots of moisture that wet the ground. In the distance, there was a deep grumble of thunder as electricity flowed through the atmosphere. She got within a hundred metres of her pod when it also began to be absorbed by the planet. Priya called on her suit to propel her with powered assistance. A few seconds later, she slammed into the hard round side of the only machine that would keep her alive beyond the suit resources. The impact was brutal enough to break a few ribs, which the nanobots immediately began repairing.
Priya saw that two of the pod’s legs were somehow absorbed beneath the unbroken planet’s surface. A look showed that the jets were still clear. Still clinging to the side, she snapped commands at her suit as the outside of her crystal helmet began running with whatever liquid was now falling in sheets from the sky.
Where had the storm come from?
She shook her head. “Emergency departure. Pod launch and hold at five hundred metres. Suit magnetise and attach.”
Both suit and pod reacted immediately. Priya was spread across the pod’s surface, arms and legs outstretched as her suit became one with the little spaceship. Then, the pod’s main engines fired up.
Multiple warning messages filled Priya’s display as the pod strained against its trapped legs. “Detach landing gear,” she shouted through gritted teeth. The pain from her position and her damaged body was intense.
Her stomach fell through the floor as the pod suddenly released its legs. Relief flowed through her as she escaped the danger. This was short-lived as the pod lurched first to one side and then abruptly halted its ascent. For a moment, she thought it had reached her requested altitude. A quick check of her display showed she was less than a hundred metres up.
Thruster heat warnings appeared.
She twisted her head as far as she could to one side. The sky broiled with swirling clouds, pouring rain, and flashes of discharging electricity. With each flash, she saw a fog surrounding her and the pod. It was uneven, and parts were thicker, almost like tentacles gripping her and her ship.
Despite the immense power of the thrusters, refined and improved over hundreds of years of human engineering, she felt and saw herself being dragged back to the surface. Ten seconds later, the pod finally exceeded the safety limits and the engines shut off. Priya closed her eyes, expecting to drop like a stone. Instead, she descended steadily until the pod touched back down.
Without the landing legs, the pod immediately rolled onto its back before sinking into the surface again. Priya deactivated her magnetic suit and leapt away from the craft. She stood only a few metres away and watched in despair as her means of contacting and returning to the mothership disappeared.
Only as the pod vanished beneath the surface did she realise her suit lights had come on. Aside from the flashes of lightning, the white beams from her suit were the only illumination on a suddenly dark world.
Seeing all options disappear, Priya fell back on her training and sat on the ground with her legs crossed. She blocked out the pain that wracked her body, closed her eyes, and began attempting to calm her mind. As she rejected thoughts of escape and rescue, she became aware that the sound of the rain started to ease. The raging torrent of thoughts flowing over the rocks of possibility gradually settled until she could visualise a vast, still lake. Around her, the pressure eased, and all sound faded away. Curiosity got the better of her, and she opened her eyes.
Once again, she sat in a vast, open landscape under an unbroken sky.
Then she saw the mist.
The same mist she had seen surrounding Leo rose around her. She decided against fight or flight and chose nothingness.
She relaxed and awaited her fate.
The mist grew thicker, and the same strands she had seen in the air began pressing against her. Probing. Feeling.
Abruptly, everything was grey. She felt momentary pressure on every part of her body; then it was inside.
Still calm, Priya watched as the mist filled her suit.
Then, it filled her.
#
Priya sat in grey nothingness.
“We welcome you,” She didn’t hear a voice. The words appeared in her mind.
“We have waited…waited…now you’re here.”
Thinking was difficult. It was like trying to run in a dream. “I…I don’t understand.”
“You will. We will. You are home. Bring the others.”
“Others?” She watched…no…she reached out through the mist. She flew up, racing at unimaginable speed through the atmosphere. A white spot grew rapidly as she hurtled towards the metallic shape of her former home.
“We shall greet them all. They shall become us.”
Priya reached forward, and grey fog flowed around the helpless ship—a ship filled with the hope of humanity.
She hugged the ship and pulled her family close.
“We are many.”
“We are one.”
“We are Priya.”
Why don’t the Chinese eat Chinese food?
Hi, Muhammad Okasha. Thanks for the interesting question and Answer Request.
My answer to your question would be:
Because there will be times when the Chinese have to drink “Chinese food”.
For example, I’m a big fan of consuming the below Chinese soups.
They’re made from ingredients that are said to be good for the skin, hair, and nails.
From top to bottom, left to right:
红豆燕麦乳 (Red Bean Oat Milk Soup)
经典美龄羹 (Classic Meiling Soup)
苹果山药小米羹 (Apple Yam Millet Soup)
浓香黑芝麻糊 (Fragrant Black Sesame Paste Soup)
水润五白羹 (Moisturizing Five White Soup)
红豆黑米苹果露 (Red Bean, Black Rice, Apple Soup)
Also, there will be times when Chinese might choose to enjoy “non-Chinese foods”.
For me personally, if I’m not eating “Chinese food”, I will almost always be eating “Japanese food”.
These two “cuisines” are my Big Two.
Also, Muhammad Okasha, my advice to you would be to stop using ChatGPT to write your questions and answers:
This is because the vast majority of people – myself included – will ignore answers that are churned out by ChatGPT.
I ignore all answers generated by ChatGPT, and I delete all comments that were generated by ChatGPT PLUS will immediately block all Quorans who have the gall to place ChatGPT comments on any of my answers.
If you can’t even write your own answers and comments, you don’t deserve any visibility whatsoever.
Have a wonderful NYE celebration ahead.
Advanced Pre Flood Civilizations That History Books Don’t Mention
Across the ancient world, from Egypt to Peru, archaeologists have discovered something impossible—perfectly drilled holes through granite and basalt stones so hard they challenge even modern tools. How could primitive civilizations have created such precision engineering?
By the end of this video, you’ll see evidence that challenges everything mainstream archaeology tells us about our ancient past—so stay tuned for revelations that might change how you view human history. Imagine a world where gods walked among humans, where technology rivaled or even surpassed our own, and where legendary beings of immense stature and power shaped the course of early civilization.
These aren’t just fantastical stories—they’re at the heart of what many ancient cultures described as pre-flood civilizations. The most intriguing figures in these ancient accounts are perhaps the Anunnaki, whose very name translates to “those who came from Heaven to Earth.” In Sumerian mythology, these weren’t ordinary deities.
They were described as the offspring of Anu and Ki, the sky god and earth goddess, creating a perfect symbolic union of celestial and terrestrial powers. What’s fascinating is how the Anunnaki mirror other mythological beings across different cultures.
They bear striking similarities to the Nephilim mentioned in biblical traditions—mysterious beings described as the offspring of angels and human women. Both groups are portrayed as bringing advanced knowledge to humanity while simultaneously causing disruption through their presence on Earth.
Can we expect India to stand strong on its policy of not contributing the waters of our rivers to our enemy that has been constantly harassing us for the last 80 years, whatever be the pressures from those bullies who enjoy seeing us in troubles?
In fact, India has weaponised water resources not only against Pakistan but also against Bangladesh.
The Ganges has two mouths, one in Bangladesh and the other in India.
Over the years, India has been widening its own tributaries by building dams to intercept the Ganges’ water supply and divert it to India’s mainland tributaries to the sea.
Bangladesh has nothing to do with the terror attack in Kashmir, why is India doing this?
Therefore, the Modi government’s claim that India cut off the water supply to the Indus River because the Pakistani government supported the terrorist attacks in Kashmir is completely untrue. Moreover, the Government of Pakistan has denied the allegations made by the Modi Government, and the Modi Government has not produced any evidence that the Government of Pakistan supported the Kashmir terrorist attacks as a justification for waging war.
All of India’s neighbours hate India and the cause is in India itself.
Can Pakistan and Bangladesh not do anything about India’s bad neighbour? No!
However.
China can assist Pakistan to recover the Indian-controlled Kashmir, so that Pakistan can basically control all the tributaries of the upper Indus River, and no longer be restricted by India. Kashmir is an inherently Muslim-majority region and Hindus are not popular there.
If India, despite repeated warnings, continues to cut off Pakistan’s water supply and cause a humanitarian crisis, China will recover southern Tibet and help the remaining north-eastern states of India to become independent, thus removing India’s control over the Brahmaputra Rivers and solving Bangladesh’s water problem once and for all.
China, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Myanmar, Nepal and Sri Lanka can join forces to form a ring around India.
Shorpy
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Why do people often say French and Russian fighter jets are better than Chinese ones? Is there any real evidence behind this claim?
It’s called racism.
Enemies of westerners like Asians are frequently portrayed as a dumb horde overwhelming their enemy in numbers using no tactics or strategies because apparently we’re incapable.
If we look closer? It’s essentially People Vs Hall 1854.
This California Supreme Court ruled that the testimony of a Chinese man who witnessed a murder by a white man was inadmissible, largely based upon the opinion that the Chinese were “a race of people whom nature has marked as inferior, and who are incapable of progress or intellectual development beyond a certain point” and as such had no right “to swear away the life of a citizen” or participate “with us in administering the affairs of our Government.” This decision categorized Chinese alongside Native and African Americans as lacking status to testify against European Americans in court.
It’s been evident this is mainstream western thought. You can see it on Quora frequently.
China does something say this. These self driving buses in China have been in operation for a couple years now. I’ve been on one.
Yet they’re all like but but if Tesla (a white man) cannot make it work then it is IMPOSSIBLE! If the biggest most intelligent hyper race cannot make it work then it is IMPOSSIBLE!
Famous Psychiatrist Reveals How You Live NOW Affects Your Afterlife
Sir Whiskerton and the Great Yawnpocalypse
(Or: How One Cat Fought a War Against Sleep)
Chapter 1: The Yawn Heard ‘Round the Farm
It started with Porkchop the Pig at breakfast.
“Man, Farmer’s porridge is so—yaaaawn—bland…”
Ditto the Echoing Kitten copied: “Bland! Yaaa—THUD“ (He yawned so wide he face-planted into his milk bowl.)
Sir Whiskerton gasped: “A contagious yawn! Science’s most dangerous weapon!”
(Visual gag: The scarecrow “yawned,” and all his straw fell out, leaving just a hat on a pole.)
Chapter 2: The Sleepy Hollow
Within minutes, the farm was under siege:
Doris the Hen yawned mid-gossip: “Sir Whiskerton is bal—zzz—” (She face-planted into Harriet’s lap.)
Rufus the Dog slept so hard he started floating in a puddle (his natural state).
The Farmer snored into his own hat, which then filled with apples from a passing squirrel.
Only Sir Whiskerton remained awake—thanks to sheer stubbornness and six cups of Chef Remy’s “Unsleepable Soup” (ingredients: 90% caffeine, 10% regret).
Chapter 3: The Mystery of the Missing Alertness
Clues led Whiskerton to:
Bessie the Tie-Dye Cow (asleep mid-“Om,” now snoring in Sanskrit).
Zephyr the Genie, who yawned: “Dude… even magic needs a nap…” (Then turned into a hammock.)
The Scarecrow, now just a hat on a stick, mumbled: “I’ve… seen… things…”
(Running gag: Every time Whiskerton almost yawns, he stabs his paw with a quill.)
Chapter 4: The Awakening
The culprit? A rogue lullaby from Ferdinand the Duck’s opera phase, stuck in the windmill.
Sir Whiskerton destroyed it with a well-aimed hairball.
The farm woke up groggy but grateful—except Rufus, who sleep-ran into a tree.
Ditto, still asleep, echoed: “Tree! Zzz…”
Moral of the Story
Sleep is sacred… unless there’s a mystery. Then it’s treason.
Post-Credit Scene
Chef Remy markets the yawn as “Natural Anesthetic™.” First customer: Doris, who wants to silence Harriet.
Best Lines
“I’d call this fascinating if it weren’t so—yawn—dull.” —Sir Whiskerton
“I’ve slept through earthquakes. This? Amateur hour.” —Rufus (still asleep)
(P.S. The Farmer’s hat now grows apples. No one questions it.)
Cultural Easter Eggs
“Unsleepable Soup” = college student energy drinks.
Sanskrit snoring = yoga mom stereotypes.
Sleep-running Rufus = sleepwalking dog memes.
Hat-apples = absurdist gardening hacks.
(Curtain falls. Snoring crescendos.)
Hello ladies and gentleman
Short story long..
Last February at end of the month got hit by a truck while on a red light
Was going to school on my bike and stopped at the red light and the last thing i remember was to hear a truck running like crazy and kind of going from one side of the street to the other and then suddenly everything was dark, i could not see anything but black.
I remember watching the truck for just a moment, like a second or so, then I lost vision and all senses but somehow i was awake for like it seemed hours, remember feeling like i was falling and falling for ages, and i could not feel anything otherwise, no hands or feet or lips or eyes, i did not felt the need to talk or move, somehow i was aware that i did not had any hands or feet or needed to do any walking or talking
It was just like free falling and i did not mind at all it was just like i knew i was dying and it was ok, i wasn’t afraid or anything and i was certain i was already gone from this world
I just remember thinking “i’m dead now” and i felt like i was falling and stumbling around and then suddenly i felt a giant taste of blood and like when you get hit very hard in the head, then it was like a snap feeling in my mind and i woke up to lights and i had been at the hospital for like almost 20 hours in a coma. I woke up and there were lots of people around and i did not recognize anyone around, it was so weird, and i thought i was not me, but someone else and those people did not know i was in someone else’s body and thought i was her familiar somehow
So crazy lmao…
So anyway i wanted to say that that assh*le got me hard, apparently he drove over me and i got stuck between my bike and the truck, i completey lost control of my hands and left side, my leg was broken in like 15 places and i can’t move my fingers except for two now. I had a giant hole in my forehead and internal bleeding and my coccyx and pelvis were broken, my arm was also in several pieces and my femur went through my skin and was all exposed.
It messed me up so bad i won’t be able to walk for a year and i can barely move now and i just started typing again a couple days ago lol. I’m messed up and i can’t stand on my own, any fall could break me again so i pretty much stay all day in bed and i lost school and everything i had planned because of that ass who drove me over and kept pushing until he managed to drive over the bike and run away
I guess i’m ranting now? lmfao! and it took me almost one hour to write this lol
anyway i just wanted to say that when i was asleep and woke one about one month ago i felt something was very wrong and suddenly i just died Lights went out and the beeping machine went bleeeeeeeep and i just felt again like i was just falling and falling for years and years, everything was sooooo slow and i had so much time to think and figure stuff out and then i woke up again and they had managed to bring me back, it had been just a few minutes but for me it was years
I don’t know how to explain otherwise, it was like i was away for so many years that i had trouble trying to remember who is who and when they tell me about stuff happening i feel like who cares that happened like 100 years ago but it’s stuff that happened yesterday lol
Don’t know if i make any sense and i’m kind of crazy i think lmao!
But anyways, i think i just wanted to write this before i stop caring about it, it feels like i will forget all about this very soon and i could not care less anyway
Sorry for the typos and bad writing, i’m tired and can’t really double check anything anyway, it took me almost one hour to write this and just pasting it here and will go to sleep again
I don’t even know why i wanted to write this now, i can’t remember why but i guess it was just trying to let go or something like that
Let’s say in a delightful twist of fate something should lather my Great Red Spot with some benzoyl peroxide. Say every one of the estimated 115 billion people who have ever lived on the sole habitable planet in this solar system has had their face occupied by a great red spot at least once (on wedding days, job interviews, that sort of thing). Or during… Perfect Planetary Alignment!! Which is today.Endlessly, I watch passing asteroids, pockmarked, but these are friable. I see all 95 of my orbiting moons don crescents to conceal their pitted faces. As I turn, I am envious of Neptune’s deep blue complexion. Spinning back, Saturn flits into view like a child king spinning a hula hoop. Also: Mars. I’ve a soft spot for Him. An overly red face from a never-ending solar flare-up of rosacea. Ugh, it’s those dust clouds: damn cosmic gluten, if you ask me.Then out beyond a solitary pearl across the panther pelt of space, another; caramel continents of matcha through white, wispy sheets, swirling like smoke. Sapphire cloaks and glacial tiaras dress the rotund Mother like a two-shade nebula. She cradles her children. There is an Africa, and an Australia. A few spalled shards they call The Maldives. It is very much like a pristine, pliable clump of stardust in the black, pottering hand of God.Earth. The Great Pirouette.I gaze at one of its dark spots—a passing storm that batters its firmament at the protest of its sun-spanked sea. Otherwise, she is a delicate beauty with cosmetic fortune.I rotate fully in about the length of an average human work shift, I’m told, so I’ve got time to stare and remain entranced, embarrassing as that is, embarrassed as I am about it.It’s this goddamn Great Red Spot, see.To me, it’s just a 350-year-old storm. To everything else, it’s a 15,400-mile zit. That’s roughly 1.3 times the diameter of Earth. Now, here’s a question: would you date someone with a zit 1.3 times the size of you?Answer: no.
You’d call them buddy.
After a while I spy in my periphery the faint but dignified celestial spotlight of Uranus. Turning to face Him, I ask with Jovian thunder, ‘Storm and stone, why call thee Uranus?’, like I haven’t asked before, and His response is, with a bloated sigh, ‘Because I’m full of gas.’
Gets me every time.
Poor Uranus, though. They say scent offends most, and everyone knows He’s cloud over core for Titan (Saturn’s moon), who notably smells a bit like gasoline and almonds (that’s Bleu De Chanel perfume by space standards). I mean, we gas giants all have a scent, but Uranus is the unwashed butt of the Solar System.
No chance, man. No chance, no chance.
‘That spot isn’t going anywhere, is it, Jupiter?’ howls Uranus. And I respond with a dignified, ‘It’s just a storm, man. Void, I am the storm!’
He opts for this: ‘Scary.’
And I say, ‘Must be tough,smelling like a space-rat.’
And He says, ‘Gosh Golly, you’re in a mood today.’
And I say, ‘It’s this damn spot, it won’t abate. And nice to see you, too. How’s long’s it been?’
‘From my perspective, a season or a few Uranus months ago. You?’
‘A little over a year ago, yeah.’
Back and forth, round and round.
Jupiter. Uranus. Jupiter. Uranus.
Jupiter’s vacuuming Trojan asteroids from its ebony carpet, trying to win Earth’s attention like a show-off feminine knight in golden armour with storm-formed pauldrons and icy jewels.
He looks magnificent. So what if Earth dotes on Him?
Uranus is back, rotating like a lazy turtle chasing a wayward ripple. ‘Best thing you can do,’ He says, ‘slather some benzoyl peroxide on it. It’ll calm the spot right down.’
‘Calm’s right,’ I say. ‘But it’s a storm. It just needs time.’
‘Until the next one appears,’ Uranus says.
‘Oh Jove’s Thunder, don’t say that!’
We talk for weeks. Part ways. Until next time.
Months pass.
The spot is shrinking but still young. It faces toward Earth like a cherubic newborn. Earth rotates, Her splatter-of-paint eye glancing sideways, her little South America smirk.
I do not say anything, besotted, bespotted gashead I am. I drift for many months more. I get the idea that Earth and Saturn are fucking. That’s the nature of gorgeous things; they cling together, like God’s balls in His great divine zipper.
This little squall across my face, it shrinks yet somehow grows. I know, I know it’s slowly shrinking—but it just gets bigger and bigger, you know?
‘Have you checked out that dating app, Jupiter?It’s called Gravitate. How’d I meet my exoplanet? At a Big Bang. Did I “conjoin” with Mercury? No comet’
Wild Venus, and don’t say I didn’t warn you.
To be honest, I guess I’m feeling a little deflated. I guess I’m all, I don’t know, feeling like a tiny particle adrift the vast, cold, finite infinity with a cycloptic, oozing blister of tempests and feel like I’ve got something to hide.
They call that shame.
It could be worse. It is worse for the sun. He’s got sunspots basically the size of me, and He’ll just keep flaring up, and He’s always searing angry about it, and no wonder.
Okay, friggin: do I do it? I’m doing it. Yeah, let’s do it. It’s done.
Discovery Settings, Search Distance: 5,000,000,000 miles >>>>>>>>> 2.5 million light-years.
Show Ages: 3,500,000,000 <<<<>>>> 6,000,000,000
Gravitate account’s all set up.
By the way, here’s my bio: I’m the planet with a Huge Red Eye, but I promise, I’m not high.
It sounds like a rap bar, but it’ll do.
I begin swiping.
Venus 4,503,000,000
416 million kilometres away.
‘Looking for someone to cool me off—if you can handle 900°F!’ 😛 🔥🥵
There She goes…
I swipe left.
Pluto 4,500,000,000
3.7 billion miles away
Not technically a planet anymore but still proud. Swipe right if you are looking for something more than just Plutonic and can handle a little distance. 😎🪐
Right.
Proxima Centauri b 5,000,000,000
4.24 light-years away
Pros:
Habitable
Spacious
Cons:
Live far away
Tidally locked
Left.
You know, I bet you Saturn’s on here. I bet you he’s saying something like, ‘This ring doesn’t mean I’m taken.’ He’s like that.
Earth 4,540,000,000
484 miles away
I’m a down-to-Earth chick. 😀 Mother of seven billion. Environmentalist.
Gulp. Swipe Right. Gulp.
Hours later, a ping.
IT’S AN ALIGNMENT! <3 You’ve matched with Earth! <3
Woah. Wait. Woah.
I don’t say anything, nor does She. I can’t seem to think of something to say. Then I say, Did God really make you in six days? 😛
And She says, ‘Are you sure you’re not high, Red Eye? :P’
And for the first time in 350 years… I think I can feel the storm settling.
Do scammers typically ask for money immediately? If not, what is their usual approach?
Expert scammers NEVER ask for money right away. They know that this would be a huge mistake. Only the apprentices, who are not under the guidance of a “Chairman”, ask for giftcards on the first round of chatting. They thus learn the hard way that a money request on first chat is always a “crash-and-burn”.
Expert scammers are usually more patient since they know that first it is always necessary to construct and consolidate a romantic relation “of love and trust” (as they call it). In fact, after they have love-bombed the wall around your heart and made it come tumbling down, that is when they go in for the kill.
For example, the current love of my life is Gen. Andrew Poppas_Version 2, who is the paragon of muscular masculinity in the photo below.
As you can see, he appears to have muscles in all of the right places. We have been chatting for a while now. Like all of my past 112 fiancés, he is a millionaire, and incredibly, he does have access to his money! In fact, the other day he offered to send me €44,000 for the medical bills of my youngest son.
All he needed was for me to send him all of my bank information (and codes) and/or credit card so that he could enter my account and leave me all of this money. I told him that I did not think that this was a good idea because such information should be kept private. Not that I did not trust him but someone (evil) could hack his email and steal it from him.
Of course, he understood completely and the next day came up with another plan. He told me that the CEO of Wells Fargo, Mr. Charles Scharf, would get in touch with me. Incredibly, the next day Mr. Scharf wrote me a grammatically correct email, asking me to send him my bank information in order to make the transfer of the €44,000.
Since I have an account with an Internet bank, which I only use when I travel abroad and which currently has a total of three euros in it, I gave him the account number. He then asked for the “codes”. Instead of sending him MY personal bank codes, I sent him the BIC and SWIFT codes, which are necessary for international money transfers (and are publicly available). Mr. Scharf must be a very busy man because he has still not gotten in touch with me, and the three euros are still in my account. I am still awaiting the €44,000.
Meanwhile, Andrew, my dear fiancé, persists in our passionate romance. He has even sent me three or four touching AI-generated voice messages with a posh British accent, in which he sounds like the Duke of Wellington. Since he claims to have been raised in Ohio, this is quite an accomplishment that he still has not been able to explain. This morning he sent me the following urgent message:
I am writing to inform you, as I am going to the city of Iraq for a special mission, that all high-ranking military officers have been asked to come together for a special meeting from which they will issue a high ranking orders. will be turned over to us for quick action. I count the days I have left to finally get close to you right next to my heart. I love you, my angel. (Gen. Andres Poppas in Palestine and losing his grammar on the way to the CITY of Iraq)
Since Gen. Richard Clarke_Version 1 once went to the “city of Syria”, never to return, I know that this is not going to turn out well. In fact, it is the beginning of the end. Gen. Poppas will soon ask me to receive a small fortune in money, gold and jewels, apart from his Rolex and ‘multi-wears’ (the term for all-purpose clothing in West Africa). I will refuse his request and still another of my romances will hit the dust. The good news is that my bank account with three euros will remain intact.
This Is How the American Economy Ends: And It’s Already Happening
Suburbs are emptying. For sale signs gather dust. And the math that once built the American Dream has quietly turned against itself.
For decades, rising home values and swelling populations fueled an economy that promised more—more growth, more security, more buyers around every corner.
Now, with each passing year, there are fewer families, fewer new arrivals, and fewer shoulders to carry the weight. 🏚️
What happens when the next generation can’t—or won’t—take over what the last one built? 💸
Why are cities and pension funds staring down permanent shortfalls as the population grays and demand evaporates? 📉 Could negative equity, demographic decline, and empty infrastructure create a crisis too slow for headlines, but too vast to reverse?
This video unravels the quiet unraveling tracking how aging suburbs, shrinking tax bases, and a vanishing sense of “growth” are transforming America from the inside out.
We’ll follow the numbers behind the headlines, explore the psychology of a country built for more, and confront what’s left when more is finally gone.
China’s oldest known bamboo slip from the Cao Wei state found in Gansu
By Sun Langchen and Li YuchePublished: May 26, 2025 11:24 PM
Photo: Screenshot
The oldest known bamboo slip dated from the Cao Wei state of the Three Kingdoms period (220-280) has been discovered during a study of 216 previously unreleased slips collected by the Gansu Provincial Archives and Gansu Jiandu Museum, offering rare insights into the administrative and military life along the ancient Silk Road more than 1,700 years ago, CCTV News reported on Monday.
According to CCTV News, the finding emerged from a joint research project that examined 216 previously unreleased bamboo and wooden slips held in the archives’ collection.
“We’re currently studying and interpreting this batch of 216 slips that have never been made public before,” said Sun Xiaoyun, director of the development and utilization division at the Gansu Provincial Archives.
“Among them, we made a particularly significant discovery: the oldest slip dated from the Cao Wei state of the Three Kingdoms.”
Jiandu are the bamboo and wooden slips on which ancient Chinese people wrote using ink and brushes before the invention of paper. To date, the vast majority of known and studied slips were from the Qin Dynasty (221BC-206BC) and Western Jin Dynasty (265-316). Discoveries from the Cao Wei state of the Three Kingdoms have been exceedingly rare, with only a few dozen slips found prior to this new find.
Xiao Congli, head of the sorting and research department at the Gansu Jiandu Museum, told the Global Times that this particular slip records the delivery of official documents between a courier and a postal officer and is dated explicitly to a day in June in the second year of Jingchu, or the year 238.
This seemingly ordinary mail delivery record offers a valuable time marker.
The Jingchu era refers to the reign of Cao Rui, also known as Emperor Ming of Wei, who was the son of Cao Pi and grandson of the warlord Cao Cao – key figures in the tumultuous Three Kingdoms era.
The year 238, when this slip was written, was a time of intense military activity. Historical accounts suggest that this was when Jiang Wei, a famed general of the Shu state, launched his first northern campaign against Wei forces. Some believe he was stationed in Hanzhong alongside commander Jiang Wan before leading a detachment westward into Longyou, an area now part of modern-day Gansu Province.
While scholars cannot yet confirm whether the slip is directly connected to these military events, its timing and geographic origin evoke the wartime backdrop of more than 1,700 years ago.
Besides this slip, other slips among this batch also provide further insight into the military and administrative structures on China’s northwestern frontier during the Han Dynasty (206BC-AD220).
“We found out that the content of many of the 216 slips is unprecedented, including rare references to frontier military outposts, fengshui-related practices, thus enriching understanding of the defensive infrastructure along the Great Wall and the social systems of the Hexi Corridor. Their diverse formats and long chronological span also provide valuable insight into governance, communication, transportation, and social life along the Silk Road,” Xiao added.
Xiao further noted that some records confirm that Xuanquanzhi, a postal relay station established during the Han Dynasty near Dunhuang and the only fully excavated Silk Road courier site in China, remained in operation into the Three Kingdoms, demonstrating its enduring role in regional logistics.
Grilled Reuben Chicken Melts
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Yield: 4 servings
Ingredients
4 skinless boneless chicken breast halves
2 cups shredded red cabbage
1 1/2 cups (6 ounces) Swiss cheese, shredded
1 large onion, cut into 1/2 inch slices
1 1/4 cups Thousand Island salad dressing, divided
4 French rolls, split
Instructions
Brush chicken and onion with 1/2 cup salad dressing; set aside.
Combine 1/4 cup salad dressing and cabbage; mix well; set aside.
Grill chicken over hot coals 5 to 7 minutes on each side or until no longer pink in center. Sprinkle chicken evenly with Swiss cheese during the last minute of grilling.
Grill onion 4 to 5 minutes on each side, or until browned and tender.
Grill rolls until toasted. Spread toasted sides of rolls with remaining 1/2 cup salad dressing. Place chicken on roll bottoms. Top with onion, cabbage mixture and roll tops. Serve immediately.
What was a time when someone absolutely deserved to be fired?
I worked for an upscale store.
We learned that one of our fine jewelry salespeople was telling some of the customers who wished to buy a Rolex to meet her in the employee parking lot; she had fake Rolex watches. She’d sell them a look-alike for a bargain price.
So, we set up a sting operation and sure enough, she tried to sell the undercover customer a bargain Rolex.
We confronted her with ample evidence.
She was outraged! We set her up! We violated some unclear aspect of her privacy rights or something! She would see us in court!
When I told this story at a hearing in which the company contested her Unemployment claim, the Administrative Law Judge actually laughed. And denied her claim based upon gross misconduct.
Deeply satisfying.
He Hypnotized People & Found Aliens! Jaw-Dropping Secrets Uncovered!
The birthday cakes in China. Oh, for certain, they are not at all like the cakes that we used to make in the USA.
The big difference?
Well… maybe the flavors are more diverse. The Chinese have other flavors such as duran, and banana, and lichi as well.
But they also have fruit inside.
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Peaches. Apples. And other things such as cherries and raisins. It depends on the cake style. Tends to be a tad messy.
In comparison, American cakes are plain, bland and rather uninteresting.
Anyways, it really doesn’t matter. I’m not a big cake fan. Ah. I never was.
Brownies, however… well, that is something different.
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Yummy. Especially when you add ice cream or pudding. Microwave it, or hot out of the oven. Yummy!
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Today…
Is China afraid of war? Why has it always exercised such restraint?21 more answers
Kanthaswamy Balasubramaniam
·
Yes China is afraid of war
Generations of Chinese people sacrificed a lot for China to reach the level where it stands today
Their future generations are HAPPY and well taken care of and expectant of a good future
Their growth in technology is good, their life is changing significantly
War disrupts all of this
War causes pain, War is expensive, War consumes resources like never before
So China will not fight unless it absolutely has no other choice
Right now China has many choices
Substitution of Key Materials
Trade pressure
Economic Pressure
Rare earth choke holds
Diplomatic Pressure
Alternative routes
China does not need a war to solve problems that may arise due to external aggression
For example if Philippines shows aggression, China can halt them at the very start by 2 Coast Guard vessels & a brief trade halt
China has very powerful deterrents
When will China risk confrontation?
Only when it’s CORE INTERESTS are threatened
South China Sea
Taiwan Straits
Malacca Straits
China is today absolutely dominant in the South China Sea. Nobody can win against China in conventional war.
China can absorb pain better in a Malacca Straits blockade and can inflict substantial pain on the US and the Global economy
It will escalate on these three key theatres
Otherwise China doesn’t need war
Regardless of any regime, China always has a demand from all countries as a trading partner
So why bother confronting a powerful yet deranged hegemon and use threats when NONE ARE NECESSARY
Despite all the patriotic hype on Quora, is it the reality that India is actually a very weak military power?
India has US-Russian-British-French weapons yet they are all fragmented, ammunition and systems are not harmonised.
The air force has Russian-French fighters, Sukhoi’s, Mikoyan’s, Dassault’s… The air force’s ground crews must have a huge headache looking at all these varied fighters.
Ground weapons, predominantly Russian, supplemented by European, artillery and munitions departments still have a tough job because India has no uniform ammunition calibre so far, 75, 76.2, 105, 122, 152, 155 and so on 15 ammunition calibres exist.
Once the war started, the munitions logistics department had a long time to sort out which calibre of ammunition to use for which type of artillery. If the quartermaster’s logistics department makes a mistake and allocates ammunition for an artillery piece that is not of the right calibre, then the artillery piece will not be able to function.
India does not have standard-issue rifle and the guns are INSAS, INSAS upgraded, AK series, and Lee-Enfield, which are also available in upwards of 10 calibres. Ammunition that does not match the calibre of the rifle can jam and even risk blowing up.
So, India’s munitions logistics department has a tough job.
The IAF pilots also have a tough job. India often buys refurbished aircraft from Russia and France, and the accident rate is surprisingly high. Over seven decades, the IAF has lost a total of 2,374 aircraft to crashes, including 1,126 fighters, 1,248 non-combat aircraft, 229 trainers, and 196 helicopters, and human error and technical defects were the main cause behind these crashes.
India also doesn’t pay much attention to field air defence. India has the fewest self-propelled anti-aircraft guns of any ground force in the world with more than 300,000 soldiers. Once the air superiority is lost, the Indian ground forces will be completely exposed to the firepower of enemy armed helicopters, attack aircraft and bombers, without any ability to fight back. It will be a one-sided massacre.
In short, India has spent more than 70 years and a lot of money to build a very rubbish army.
India’s dominance in South Asia is simply because the military strength of South Asian countries as a whole is weak.
If it were in East Asia, even South Korea, the weakest of the militaries, could have thrashed India.
48-Hour Ultimatum: China’s Response to American Resource Seizure in Venezuela
At 4:23 AM on January 3rd, 2026, Venezuelan forces detained Dr. Chen Wei—China’s senior energy envoy controlling an $80 billion investment portfolio and the financial architecture bypassing American sanctions.
—triggering Chinese Foreign Minister Wang Yi’s 48-hour ultimatum and activation of economic warfare capabilities that froze $400 billion in transactions, crashed global markets 12-15%, and deployed naval forces to the Caribbean for the first time since the Cuban Missile Crisis.
This analysis examines why targeting the individual managing China’s economic lifeline to an entire hemisphere wasn’t law enforcement but resource seizure, how Beijing’s response revealed economic warfare capabilities nobody in Washington anticipated.
And, why Chinese naval forces positioning within striking distance of Florida creates nuclear-armed cascade failure, and what happens when confident assumptions about adversary restraint meet an adversary that spent two decades preparing for exactly this confrontation.
Moving past media narratives about counterterrorism to operational reality, we assess Trump’s catastrophic miscalculation dismissing intelligence warnings that “China needs us more than we need them,” .
And, why Purpose-Method-End State analysis reveals this provocation risks nuclear confrontation to achieve temporary disruption of networks that reconstitute within months, and whether 48 hours is enough time to step back from the most dangerous Sino-American crisis since 1962—or whether we’re already in cascade failure nobody can control.
Traoré Seized 47 Trucks of Weapons at Border: ‘Who Were These Weapons For?’
President Ibrahim Traoré intercepts 47 trucks loaded with weapons worth $100 million at Burkina Faso’s border, revealing a massive conspiracy to destabilize West Africa.
This dramatic story showcases how African leaders are fighting against foreign interference and protecting their nations’ sovereignty. Discover how Traoré’s bold action prevented a potential civil war and inspired unity across the continent
What is the worst experience you have had with a police officer?
When I was 16 I had a minimum wage job ($3.35 an hour) and was driving home from work at night.
I had a beat-up Ford Pinto and was driving through a local wooded park when a police cruiser got behind me.
I had my headlights on, my seatbelt fastened, I was doing the speed limit, but I had a very bad feeling about the experience as I was clearly a teenager in a shitbox car.
I drove carefully about a mile, a sense of dread hanging over me, then the flashers came on and I was pulled over.
It was a young female police officer. Very zealous and very strict. It was very clear that this was her beat, her patrol area, her assigned spot.
She demanded my license and registration.
With horror I realized I had left my driver’s license in my jacket pocket at home. I explained this to her, handing over the valid registration, gave her my full name and DOB, and she then purported to radio in my name to verify whether my driver’s license existed and if it was valid.
Of course, she claimed there was no record of my license (I don’t for a moment believe she ever radioed my name in), adding that she pulled me over because “the light over your license plate is out.”
From her militant attitude I just knew this lady cop was going to pull me over no matter what. She took an entire mile at 35 mph trying to figure out how to do so.
She had a target, an easy target in a young kid, and if she couldn’t find a legitimate reason to pull me over she would have made something up, e.g. I was speeding, I was swerving, or there was a “local rumor about a suspicious character in a Ford Pinto.”
So she gave me one ticket for unlicensed vehicle operation and another ticket for the license plate light being out.
She had my car towed and was at least gracious enough to give me a ride home.
Along the way she stopped to chat to a fellow officer who asked what I had done to be in the back of her cruiser and she said with contempt “Oh him? He’s unlicensed!” which burned because it wasn’t true and I didn’t believe she had even attempted to verify that.
We got to my house and I offered to show her my driver’s license if she would just wait a minute but she wasn’t interested, curtly refused then drove off.
I got the license plate light fixed, kept the receipt then went to court to address the two tickets which, if paid, would have cost over $150.
The officer was not present.
I provided proof I was indeed licensed and that I had had the license plate light fixed.
The judge was an older gentlemen who seemed familiar with this lady cop. He rolled his eyes when he saw the name of the officer on the ticket form and he dismissed both tickets.
“Mr. Carstairs, let me give you two pieces of advice,” he said kindly. “Always keep your license on you and don’t drive through that park at night.”
I have nothing against female cops.
What I have against are cops who feel they have “something to prove” and will go after anyone for the smallest infraction and misrepresent their efforts to get a kid earning minimum wage driving a shitbox car in trouble if it makes them feel better about themselves.
Did I make a mistake not having my license on me, and not seeing that the license plate light was out? Yes, I own that, I was a newly licensed driver, had just bought the car, I was still trying to learn the ropes, but the right thing for the cop to do would have been to try to help me, not punish me; to give me a second chance.
And sadly I will disable comments as I know Quora.
90% of the kids here are cool and would say “That sucks man, sorry to hear it.”
The other 10% are utter assholes looking to shit on people, and will start screaming this was all my fault, the cop did NOTHING WRONG and I should have gone to jail over this, should have lost my license and my car over this, should never have been allowed to drive again and I got what I deserved.
And I don’t need nor tolerate anyone coming onto my space to shit on the floor like that.
Lazy Overnight Burritos
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Ingredients
1 (2 pound) chuck roast
1 (10 ounce) can chopped Ortega peppers
1 cup chopped onion
2 (4 ounce) cans tomato sauce
Instructions
The night before serving, cook the roast in a slow cooker all night long.
In the morning, remove the bones.
Add remaining ingredients to slow cooker.
Cook on LOW the remainder of the day.
Put some mixture into a flour tortilla. Add refried beans, sour cream, and grated cheese with meat.
Wrap each burrito in foil and bake at 350 degrees F for 10 minutes.
Are you worried about Trump’s tax bill?
Americans are worried about “Trump’s tax bill” (aka “One Big Beautiful Bill” — official name) cutting spending on Medicare and Medicaid, food assistance, and social security.
What I hear from Americans, they are worried it will affect the poor, the disabled, people in nursing homes. Eventually, it will affect everyone over 65, because they will have to decrease Medicare coverage.
Agencies that protect air, water, food are being defunded; life saving medical research cancelled, FEMA, NOAA, other agencies that protect citizens.
This year, the U.S. has to refinance $11 trillion in debt, and issue another $3 trillion in new debt — to cover the cost of refinancing and the budget deficit.
Americans pay federal (into the country’s budget) taxes, which are used to fund medical insurance for the retired and the younger disabled people. There is also medical insurance for low-income people and food assistance.
The new bill removes or severely cuts these insurances.
This will raise monthly Medicare premiums for insurance. It will reduce or eliminate Medicaid services (home nurses care/housekeeping help) and lower monthly pensions (social security).
Some people will lose access to the medication that keeps them alive. People will die as a result and many more will suffer.
The MAGA Party wanted to destroy the “social safety net” that older Americans have paid into their entire working lives — and they just did it.
This isn’t “a budget reform,” it’s a health care ambush.
The benefits that people earned over their lifetime will be reduced.
More out-of-pocket medical expenses for everyone, meaning more untreated illnesses, ongoing conditions and more deaths.
What it looks like: they are trying to crush the middle class. There will be the obscenely rich and the destitute poor — and these who were doing alright will be getting poorer.
On top of that, there are judicial provisions — in the same bill — which are expanding the power of the government and the president:
“No court of the United States may use appropriated funds to enforce a contempt citation for failure to comply with an injunction or temporary restraining order if no security was given when the injunction or order was issued….”
“No federal court may enforce a contempt citation.”
In other words, the courts can’t do their job — to uphold the law.
Why can’t big retailers like Walmart and Target just switch to American-made products when tariffs hit imported goods?
Well let’s see. Take something straight forward like a common TV. Price at Walmart for an offshore unit is say $400. Add a tariff so that the price is now $500.
K. Now, in America, build a plant. Because there isn’t one. Cost goes up.
Build plants to make parts for the plant. But they can’t produce as many as the offshore companies because they don’t ship worldwide. Cost goes up.
Staff the plant. You won’t get Americans to work for less than triple offshore wages, as a guess. Cost goes up.
Corporations want profits. An American company only has a limited market but profits must match expectations. Therefore cost goes up.
Ship to stores. Price for wholly American made TV? Guesstimate $900-$1000.
“Good morning, citizens! It’s another perfect day in our lovely city of Zog!”“That’s right, Brentley! Make sure you’ve got your Zoggles on, because today’s forecast is… exactly like yesterday’s! Seventy degrees, light breeze, and of course—”“Our usual…”“Perfect blue skies!”“If you’re in need of Zoggles, visit our officially certified provider of pre-approved UV protection—ZogVisor, the only name in optically optimized eye wear…”The cheerful voices of the Zog News Network boomed through every spotless street, playing from polished, sun-powered speakers mounted on every lamppost. Not that anyone really needed a forecast. In Zog, the weather never changed.Never ever.The citizens of Zog went about their day, as they always did. Shopping for groceries at ZapGrocer, where customers can shop at lightning speed. Identical items. Optimized for perfection. No surprises.“Good morning, Marvin.”“And a perfect Zog morning to you, Darla.”Everything was clean. Everything was precise.At Zog Bakery, the pastries were meticulously constructed. The Hexa Muffin was engineered to be eaten in exactly six bites—no more, no less. That way, Zoggonians never suffered from a tired mouth.And the Loop Cakes? Each one measured exactly three inches by three inches. They came in only one officially approved flavor: Pleasant.These perfect desserts were meant to be washed down with a nice cup of ZogBrew, which contained exactly the right amount of caffeine for optimal awakeness.
For youngsters, there was ZogMilk— the caffeine-free beverage of choice. It had the exact texture of milk, yet never spoiled.
Never ever.
Zoggonians enjoyed their perfectly calibrated beverages in their Sip 500— a sleek, monochrome mug that self-warmed and self-regulated to ensure the ideal sipping temperature.
The air was always perfect. The temperature was always exactly seventy degrees. Warm and sunny, perfect for a pair of Zoggles.
But today, something was off. A coolness lingered in the air.
Little Zogling, Otis Zwiff sat in the ZogCart, kicking his feet as his mother steered them toward ZapGrocer. He squinted up at the sky. His eyes became round marbles, glossy and wide.
“What’s that, Mama?”
His mother, Elra Zwiff, didn’t look.
Didn’t want to.
Too much to do today— the floor needed its daily ZogGloss polishing and the auto feeder needed replacing so it could dispense exactly fourteen pellets for Tweepa, who chirped at pre-approved intervals.
She zipped her Z-Pack, the only certified bag in Zog, available in one shape, size, and color: Mellow Yellow.
“Shh. It’s nothing. Nothing at all, my little Zogbun.”
She pushed forward, cart and grocery list in hand.
“No, really. What is that, mama?”
Elra sighed. She glanced upwards, over her shoulder. Her brow furrowed for a moment. Then, she snapped her head down and gripped the cart tighter and kept her eyes glued to the ground. My eyes are playing tricks on me, she thought to herself.
She forced a smile.“Wouldn’t you like to have a Hexa Muffin today?” she cooed to her son.
But Otis continued to point a grubby little finger towards the sky, squealing. Elra tried to shush him, but his tiny voice echoed in the parking lot, growing louder with every step.
People halted.
They stared at the duo, then slowly tilted their heads upward, eyes narrowing for a better look. A ripple of exchanged glances. Some shook their heads. Others turned away. And then they all went about their business.
Because nothing was wrong. It couldn’t be.
Zog was perfect.
“What’s all the fuss about,” one couple said, arms crossed.
A woman gasped, wagging a finger, “Your child needs his Zoggles.”
“And manners!” a man barked.
Elra Zwiff’s face flushed red, as red as a Zog-certified beet. She clutched her Z-Pack. Gripped the ZogCart and did a complete one eighty. Rushed to her ZogPod with her son, who continued laughing hysterically.
Other shoppers kept looking upwards, muttering to themselves.
The Zog Bakery baker stepped out onto the sidewalk, flour on his apron. The ZapGrocer cashier leaned against the door frame, blinking upward in disbelief.
The Loop Cakes sat uneaten and the ZogBrew cooled.
Something in the sky didn’t belong.
–
Across town at the Zog News Network, a monitor flashed.
“What is it?”
The staff huddled around the screen. A sea of necks craned for a glimpse. People in the back balanced on their tiptoes.
“Zoom in!”
“I can’t see!”
“Enhance it!”
Faces grew paler. Murmurs. The air thickened.
The emergency phone on the desk blinked for the first time ever.
A producer stammered. “I’ve heard of this before… but it cannot be! Not in Zog!”
“Someone—bring in the authorities!”
“Get Fadebottom down here ASAP!”
Dintly Fabebottom led the investigation as a swarm of analyzers and officials crowded around his desk, mouths tight, waiting for answers. His hands were sweaty, trembling, but he sat up straighter. Forcing his fingers to stay firm and moving on the keyboard.
As if his posture and proper finger positioning might bring order to the disaster unfolding on the screen.
His leg bounced furiously, an unfortunate side effect of years spent in the labs, consuming far too much ZogBrew and far too little sleep.
He cleared his throat, straightened his tie, and blinked at the screen. Then, slowly, he rolled his ZogErgo chair back and rose.
He knew what it is.
Fadebottom huddled with his team. They whispered. It’s confirmed.
The newsroom inhaled as one.
Dintly gulped. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck.
“Well, what is it, Fadebottom?”
“Tell us!”
“Spit it out, for Zog’s sake!”
A long beat.
Then—
Voice trembling. “It’s confirmed. At approximately 11:32 AM, in the city of Zog…a cumulus cloud has appeared in our stratosphere.”
A gasp.
Myra Lune from accounting clutched her chest.
Zade Flimm, the camera guy, staggered back.
“A cloud! But how?”
“How could it get in?”
“We have the perfect atmospheric temperature.”
“Someone get the mayor on the line!”
“It cannot happen here. It makes no sense! There are no clouds in Zog!”
The monitor flickered. The image remained.
The cloud was real.
And there was nothing they could do to stop it.
–
The streets of Zog were not supposed to feel like this.
Normally, the city stepped to a precise tempo. A uniformed rhythm. Zoggonians walked at the same pace and smiled at the same intervals.
But today—the flow was off.
Above, the cloud loomed. Below, people huddled together under awnings. Nervous chatter built to a crescendo, teetering on the edge of hysteria.
“This isn’t right.”
“No one move!”
“Has the Department of Perfection been informed?”
ZogPods began to pile up in the road, causing a traffic jam. Eventually the gridlock came to a full stop as drivers and passengers abandoned their vehicles, pointing at the sky.
The citizens of Zog looked at one another, lost. Searching for reassurance on each other’s faces.
Then—
The loudspeaker sprang to life.
“Citizens of Zog, do not be alarmed!”
Complete silence fell over the city.
“Nothing is wrong.”
Shallow breaths. Stiff spines. Everyone frozen.
“Zog is perfect.”
A pause.
“Go about your day.”
For a moment, it almost worked.
A man re-tucked his perfectly pressed collared shirt. A women forced a smile. A cashier began scanning items, hands shaking.
Everyone is attempted to return to the usual morning routine.
Then outside—
The first drop fell.
Another drop.
And then another.
And another.
A woman screamed. “It burns!”
A man shielded his head. “My eyes!”
The drops were foreign daggers.
The city of Zog erupted. People ran for cover. ZogCarts scattered in the streets as people deserted their routines and their Loop Cakes. Parents covered their children using elbows, arms, and Z-Packs.
Someone shouted, “It’s happening! It’s real!”
The screens in storefront windows flickered. News anchors in the Zog News Network stared, pale-faced, their hair slightly frizzed from this unfamiliar humidity.
The voice from the loudspeaker returned, feeble.
“Do not be alarmed.”
The words glitched.
“Nothing is wrong.”
But it was.
Because for the first time in Zog’s history—
Rain had appeared.
–
The Zog Unified Police (ZUP) Precinct was in mayhem. Alarms blared—a sound never before heard in Zog: the sound of panic.
Inside City Hall, government officials congregated around a holographic weather projection, their faces stiff with forced composure.
Mayor Wexley Optner was a Zoggonian built for authority, but not for movement—round in the middle, his suit tailored to restrain rather than enhance.
His ZogBrew-colored mustache, waxed and precise, sat above a mouth that was always poised to snap. His voice, bold and brazen, carried an unshakable fortitude of a man who always got what he wanted.
When he entered a room, the shiniest Zappers—the finest, most regulation-approved footwear in all of Zog—clicked in perfect unison against the floor.
He did not adjust to the space. He expected the space to adjust to him.
His pudgy, stick-like fingers drummed against the flawlessly polished conference table, each tap a metronome of impatience and authority.
To him, Zog was not just a city—it was an echo of himself. And Mayor Wexley Optner did not tolerate blemishes.
“We have one job: maintain perfection. This defect must be annihilated—immediately!”
Chief Frawzle of ZUP straightened his shoulders. His voice cut sharper than a Zog approved knife.
“We are prepared to deploy the Atmospheric Correction Protocol.”
“Excellent.” The Mayor exhaled, relieved. “How soon will it be destroyed?”
The Chief nodded to a technician, who pulled up a government-issued control panel labeled: Cloud Destruction Interface
The room watched as silver, aerodynamic drones rose above the city, silently gliding toward the rogue cloud.
“Prepare for obliteration!” shouted the Chief.
A hush.
Then—
A voice broke the silence.
“You cannot do this.”
Heads whipped toward the entrance.
Trembling, disheveled, and marked by a stubborn ZogBrew stain on his half-tucked shirt—Dintly Fadebottom appeared in the doorway.
The same Dintly Fadebottom who had never spoken out of turn his entire life.
“You cannot remove the cloud.”
The room is hummed uncomfortably.
The Chief stared and began walking towards Dintly.
“Excuse me?”
“This is not a glitch. This is not a malfunction.” Fadebottom’s voice grew stronger. “This is real. You cannot erase it, you cannot reprogram it, and you cannot pretend it isn’t happening.”
The Mayor shook his head, which began to turn an unregulated shade of red. His veins bulged to an unnatural blue.
“Fadebottom, you are out of line. This city has flourished because we do not tolerate unpredictability. Ever.”
Dintly took a giant step forward.
“And yet—” he gestured toward the sky, “there it is.”
The cloud remained, slowly inching closer. Darkening.
“Your drones won’t work. According to our calculations, it will just come back tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that!”
Drops began to fall near City Hall.
The drones hovered in limbo, awaiting final confirmation.
The Chief lifted a finger, about to issue the command—
Then—
A lightening bolt struck.
Screams exploded in the hallway and on the streets.
The Mayor stared as a single splatter spread across the polished, pristine conference table. He looked up and noticed a tiny hole in the ceiling.
For the first time ever—
The Mayor was not in control of Zog.
–
Sporting a perfectly pressed, regulation-grade raincoat, Mayor Wexley stood atop the podium outside City Hall. Beside him, his assistant gripped a government issued umbrella, angling it precisely to shield him and his mustache from the downpour.
His voice overpowered the city speakers, spilling into every street, every market, every meticulously ordered home.
“Citizens of Zog, remain calm! The rain you see before you is not a mistake. It is, in fact, a carefully planned innovation! We call it… Hydration Enhancement! A supreme new feature of Zog’s perfect climate!”
Uneasy whispers spread through the drenched crowd. Some skeptical citizens muttered, but others nodded. If the leadership said it was planned… maybe it was?
The Mayor continued:
“For years, Zog has led the way in predictability and flawlessness. But perfection must evolve! Thanks to our tireless efforts, we have introduced Rain 1.0—a premium weather experience designed for maximum hydration and atmospheric variety!”
A banner unfurled over City Hall, displaying the words: “Rain: A Progressive Vision for Zog”.
The officials stepped forward in matching raincoats, handing out official government-certified umbrellas.
A soggy reporter shifted uncomfortably, clutching a dripping notepad.
“So… this was intentional? But what about the cloud?”
The Mayor wiped his forehead and let out a thunderous belly laugh. “Ah, yes! We call it Cloud Plus! A bonus feature. Here in Zog, we’re always pushing the boundaries of excellence.”
He smiled, his mustache curling upwards.
“Perfection continues to smile upon us!”
–
The next morning, Zoggonians woke to misty streets and a brand new weather report.
Brenda, the cheerful news anchor appeared on-screen, her smile extra white and extra bright, as if it had been optimized overnight for peek reassurance.
“Good morning, Zog! Another absolutely perfect day ahead—mild temperatures, no wind, and of course…”
She paused, unshaken.
“Our usual rain cloud!”
The cameras cut to Brentley, her co-host, who sat beside her in a glossy, Zog-certified raincoat, glistening under the studio lights.
Brenda tilted her head, admiring. “You’re looking extra dapper this morning, Brentley. What do you have on there?”
“I’m glad you noticed. This is the latest model- designed for full moisture protection and unparalleled comfort. Citizens, be sure to visit your official certified provider of pre-approved rain gear—ZogFits, the only name in optimized rain protection!”
“Stay dry, out there folks!”
A banner rolled across the bottom of the screen:
“Rain: A progressive weather experience. All citizens encouraged to adjust and enjoy.”
Outside, the cloud lingered overhead. The rain continued.
And in perfect unison, the citizens of Zog opened their government-issued umbrellas, zipped their yellow Z-Packs, and began their day.
–
Otis and Elra Zwiff stepped out onto the damp streets of Zog.
The rain trickled in a quiet disobedience, pattering against the spotless streets.
Otis stomped through puddles.
“Mama, look!” he said, pointing towards the ground.
Elra stiffened and slowly turned her head.
He gestured at something—something new—rooted between the puddles. Something different.
A flower.
Not part of the Zog Standardized Botanical Program.
Not Pleasant Yellow. Not Perfect Pink.
Something else.
Red.
A color Zog has never seen blooming before.
Alive. Unregulated. Wild.
Elra drew a slow breath, the air around her thick with rain and something else—something unfamiliar. Then, a wide smile broke across her face. She and Otis laughed as they splashed through the puddles, hand in hand. Water splattering around them like a quiet rebellion.
Somewhere, Mayor Wexley’s voice hissed over a speaker, demanding the gardening department to be dispatched immediately.
No new species of any kind allowed.
But in the meantime, the rain kept falling.
And the flower kept growing.
What does an average Chinese citizen/expat think of India?
The Elder Chinese (60+) are a bit racist to dark skinned Indians. I found this out in Guangzhou. My client was dark complexioned and the older guy acted a bit racist though his 20+ year old son was extremely polite
I met a few Africans who confirmed the same thing
Elder generation Chinese are a bit racist to anyone who is a Korean or Japanese or Dark skinned
Like these guys with these clothes
They don’t know English and if you ask them anything they either give a smile or shake their head and make a loud noise
Except for this blip, Indians have NO ISSUES
In fact Indians, Pakistanis and Bangladeshis are all called Yeendu (Indians) in their slang pronounced YeenDhuoO
They called me Yeendu Shuai Dashu meaning Old Uncle from India
Indians mind their own business
A Lot of Indians speak very good Chinese
I met Youtubers Niranjan and a few others and they all spoke very decent Chinese
I met Indians sent by Tata for 6 weeks to learn Battery Assembly and they also were using apps to learn Chinese fast
The Average Chinese has pretty decent regard for Indians especially for their ENGLISH SKILLS as fellow Asians and their marketing skills
Tum Banao Hum Bechenge is popular Delhi slang during the Canton fair
Some Guys from Karol Bagh were buying huge amounts of Car security systems and Car Tablets (Almost ₹6–7 Crore orders)
Modi is seen as a Joker though
Modi is mocked regularly and made fun of by the Chinese
There are numerous memes of Modi
Trump too is regarded as a Buffoon
Good news is so is Shehbaz Sharif
Likewise some Indian running jokes (Like we say Chinese eat snakes) are about us bathing once a month or year, our corrupt system and the Bhangra dance
Some videos look Racist like Haogege who has a fascination with India and loves the random Mohabbatein song “Aankhein Khuli” or “Tunak Tunak Tun”
Yet they aren’t because the guy actually parodies CPC members too and Koreans and many others
And for those who say Xi cannot be criticized – theh have a CHINA XI who is good naturedly spoofed
However there is No hate for us
They offered us food items for taste without charge
Some even wanted to take selfies with us😁
They don’t fall over themselves for the white man like Singaporeans or Shanghainese do
For example we wanted early check in and were told to wait, a Caucasian group from France came and said the same and they too were told to wait
When we were given our room, they came to argue and the Chinese said “They came first” firmly
In fact they have a app for foreigners where you can complain on incidents of racism
They actually call and follow up
They don’t care about Arunachal or Ladakh
Most don’t even know these things
Indians of course love the Chinese there and go full swing into their praise and admiration
If you go to China, everyone Indian will be a KB there
Of course VEGETARIANISM is not a word they know too well, so best use BUDDHIST to have pure veg foods
67 Yrs Old Working at Home Depot …. Boomers Can’t Retire
Is the Turkish fighter jet ‘KAAN’ really the 5th generation?
No it’s not.
It only looks like one.
Very simple:
See the intake (red line) and the gap between the intake and body?
It’s called Caret inlet.
It’s to separate the slower speed air of the boundary layer from entering the engine, which will cause the engine to surge.
Caret inlet was OK for jet fighters, until the 5th gen fighters need stealth ability.
The caret inlet contributes 89.8% of F-22’s front radar cross section.
I.E. around 90% of the size of an F-22 shown on radar is because of the inlet.
On F-35, they used a new design called diverterless supersonic inlet.
It’s simpler and lighter, and it makes the jet less obvious on radar.
F-22 was designed before the manufacturer obtain the ability to draw the correct shape of a DSI, and it would cause the body to be redesigned if they want to modify F-22.
So US military leave the F-22s as they are.
But it’s kind of a standard for 5th gen stealth fighter now:
The front RCS of F-35 is 0.0015 square meters.
For J-20, it’s 0.001 to 0.005 square meters. J-20 at its worst is 3 times big on radar comparing to F-35, and usually there is no significant difference if the RCS is within 10 times.
The estimation of KAAN’s front RCS is between 6.7 to 66 times of F-35, that’s 0.01 to 0.99 square meter. That’s better than F-16’s 0.1 to 1.5, but not significantly better than Rafale’s 0.06+/-0.02.
So from the outside, it’s at the best a 4.5 gen.
Plus, I highly doubt from where should Turkey to purchase the avionics and engines…
Turkey claimed that it will develop a magical engine with 16 tons of thrust… judging by its previous experience being only 4.5 tons… I can only wish for a good luck.
Have you ever had a family member that hurt you so badly that you wanted no more to do with them?
My narcissist sister.
Back in March of 2022, she accused me of lying for attention when our mother had a stroke because I posted on Facebook, asking my friends and family who I had as friends on there, to pray for my mom that she was alright if they were religious and prayed to whoever (I am Christian, but I respect whatever religious beliefs others have as long as they respect mine) that she was okay because, at the time I was told she was in the hospital, it had not yet been confirmed that she had had a stroke. Why I was accused of lying?
My sister hadn’t been told yet.
I live with my maternal grandmother, and mom’s husband decided that her mother should be the first to know. And as anyone who has taken a loved one to the ER for a life threatening emergency knows, to tend to be distracted by worrying about your loved one instead of trying to tell every single freaking family member you have the option to contact about it.
I blew up at her and told her that I hate her and was sick of her verbal abuse that she’s put me through on and off for YEARS and was done with her BS. I just couldn’t deal with that toxicity in my life anymore, I have enough going on with both my physical AND my mental health without putting up with that shit.
So, in response, since I had blocked her everywhere else (Facebook, instagram, phone, etc) except Twitter, as I had forgotten that she was even on there and that she knew what mine was, she sent me the message in the screenshot below. I am above exposing her account name for others to harass her, I was raised better than that, so I censored both her display name (which isn’t her real name, it’s a stage name) and her profile picture. I may hate the bitch, but I refuse to stoop to her level of nastiness or put my innocent nephew at risk.
Mom and her husband finally saw who she really is back in late March/early April and are not exactly going no contact; They refuse to reach out to her, but they have left her unblocked so that she can reach out to them if she so desires. My grandma, being the absolutely amazing and loving woman she is, has had things that way since the day my sister sent this message because she still loves her oldest grandchild despite said granddaughter being such a horrible person. I do not begrudge her for it, as long as she doesn’t try to make me have contact with the bitch, and she fully respects my wishes on the matter.
2K views
China Killing Microsoft Windows – Huawei HarmonyOS is the Future
Italian Dressing Beef Sandwiches
84a2cc4efcab3d5054ec0bd33c1503a0
12577252f51c8e3713391f16194b515f
8b17ba11820a3f65f5023b483211ed3a
Ingredients
1 (6 pound) sirloin tip or rolled rump roast
1 large onion
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon pepper
1/2 teaspoon oregano
1/2 teaspoon Italian seasoning
1/2 teaspoon garlic salt
1 teaspoon Accent (optional)
2 envelopes Good Seasons Italian salad dressing mix (dry)
Instructions
Place roast in slow cooker.
Bring all seasonings and enough water to completely cover roast to a boil in a pan on the stove, then put into slow cooker.
Cook on LOW all day, then let it set in the juices overnight in the refrigerator after it has been sliced or minced.
Reheat in the oven or microwave the next day and serve on hard buns.
“Sir Whiskerton and the Great Farmyard Noir Talent Show”
(Or: When a Duck, a Rat, and a Rockstar Rooster Walk Into a Barn…)
Chapter 1: A Duck with a Dream
Ferdinand the Opera Duck stood atop a bale of hay, his tiny top hat tilted at a jaunty angle.
“Mesdames et Monsieurs!” he quacked. “Tonight, we celebrate talent! Singing! Dancing! The dramatic arts!”
Doris the Hen swooned: “Oh! The drama! The passion! The—is that a saxophone?”
From the shadows, a mournful sax wail echoed. Ratso the Rat emerged, his trench coat flapping dramatically in the nonexistent wind.
“Talent, huh?” he growled. “In this town, talent gets you two things: applause… or a one-way ticket to the compost heap.”
(Visual gag: A single spotlight flickers, revealing Elvis the Rooster tuning a ukulele backstage… on a nest made of sequined hay.)
Chapter 2: The Noir Takeover
What began as a simple talent show quickly devolved into:
Ratso narrating every act like a hardboiled detective:
“The dame was a chicken with a past… and a future.” (Doris faints into a feed bag.)
“The pig crooned like an angel… if angels ate slop for breakfast.” (Porkchop took a bow, then ate the mic.)
Ferdinand, now unwittingly the saxophonist for this farmyard film noir, played careless whisper on loop.
Elvis laid an egg mid-guitar solo, then whispered: “This one’s for the ladies… and the science textbooks.”
(Running gag: Every time Ratso says “see?”, the barn lights short out.)
Chapter 3: The Case of the Missing Plot
Sir Whiskerton stepped in, monocle gleaming:
“Ratso, this is a talent show, not a B-movie.”
Ratso lit a pretend cigarette: “Life’s a B-movie, Whiskerton. Some of us just got better lighting.”
Echo the Kitten, playing the femme fatale, purred: “The only thing forbidden here… is your sense of pacing.”
(Plot twist: The “trophy” was just Chef Remy’s glow-in-the-dark cheese wheel. Ratso stole it immediately.)
Moral of the Story
Talent comes in all forms—even if that form is a rat in a trench coat over-explaining a yodeling goat.
“I’ve seen less melodrama in a soap opera about turnips.” —Sir Whiskerton
“The only thing hardboiled here is that egg Elvis laid.” —Porkchop
“Atmosphere! Atmosphere!” —Ferdinand, saxophoning into a hay bale
Starring
Ferdinand (Unwitting Jazz Duck)
Ratso (Overly Dramatic Rodent)
Elvis (Egg-Laying Rockstar)
(P.S. The saxophone was later found in Bartholomew the Piñata. No one knows how.)
Cultural Easter Eggs
Ratso’s narration = parody of film noir clichés.
Elvis’ egg = nod to gender norms debates (but sillier).
Glow-in-the-dark cheese = callback to Bessie’s tie-dye phase.
“See?” lighting gag = classic detective show trope.
(Curtain falls. Saxophone wails eternally into the void.)
GRAY SAM
by Colum Knight
The most violent and subtle forces of nature are perceived by instinct. An inspired pertinence, wreathed in haste and some unwitting foreknowledge, account for the survival of birds, the skittish rodents of the city streets, the playful animals of the country field. They had all gone before Samuel woke that day. The city was empty except for its humans. A storm was coming, and Samuel had not yet sensed it. Still, guided by some vague and strident thing within him, he ventured out toward an open space, driven and perturbed toward some magnetic direction and purpose. He felt it in his neck at two points; one point above the collar bone on his right – a soft, deep well under the skin – the other just under his jaw where the habits of his heart could be seen in paired rhythms. It was suffocating. He unlaced his scarf with a pull from the left and stretched his face toward a cloud-capped sky. The light grey sidewalks underfoot darkened one Dalmatian spot at a time. The brown leather under black leather of his shoes scuffed up a dry – then wetted – percussion of movement. He was walking now, now jogging an unerring pace. It was getting late. He was late. The buses might run away. We have to catch them, he thought to himself. Samuel ran.
Samuel hurt a child once. He stepped on her shins as she was playing on the lawn of a city park. Then he kicked her while catching his balance and stepped again on her legs and hurt her badly. It unsettled him when she cried. Her father beat him. He could never remember exactly what he had said or what words were spoken. He remembered only that the child never looked at him. The shock of the pain must have distracted her from its source. Samuel thought of that day often when he ran, dizzy and hot and hurt as he felt now, running to catch his bus.
Samuel touched the polished metal handrail aboard the bus. It felt cold under wet palms. He slid a finger down until he felt a warm spot and left his grip there. With his offhand, he wrung the trapped rainwater from his loose skin off his face and felt the emerging stubble. It’s late, he thought. Later than I thought, he thought. His face sagged. The bus hissed and lurched. Samuel’s eye color was somewhere between grey and blue depending on the day; some days they might appear hazel. His hair was somewhere between darker or lighter grays; some days nearly white. Everyone seemed young to him. Everyone a stranger. All fading.
His last romance had nearly worked. She played piano. She played violin. She taught privately. She loved him – him and games and the outdoors. They camped wild and hiked off-trail as often as they could both escape. He had a knack for the wilderness. He enjoyed the sounds of solitude in the company of nature. As for music, he had no talent at all. Instrumentations confused him and he simply had no voice for the rest of it. The games, though. He liked the games. She was better at pub quizzes, he – at puzzles, history, and the sort of obscure or tedious details others make a habit of ignoring. He took trivial things in with great seriousness and a particular lack of discretion. When she left, she called him wide-eyed and dumb.
The heavy, steadying rain lulled the bus to a few quiet whispers here and there. Each of them swayed under the weight of their own bodies as the vehicle made its turns, casting waves and ripples onto flowing sidewalks. This wasn’t such a bad place sometimes, he thought. He noticed the tint of the bus windows. Either that or the world outside was getting darker fast.
He had left home that morning unsure and ill at ease. It was one of those days that were becoming more frequent when the world seemed at odds with itself – or just with him in it. The normal cacophony of useful things that populated his home and everyday life – the things that made it sing – now felt more and more unfamiliar and became more and more unused until his apartment became a place of still and prolonged silences. Even his clothes became an irritant felt daily – ill-fitting and caustic gestures of symmetry, he thought.
The bus squealed, then stopped. He could smell the heat here. There was no getting away from that. His face soured at the thought as he slid his glasses away, slick from sweat, dried them, and dropped them into a coat pocket. The still-black hairs on his curved sternum were bursting for freedom under his shirt. Every pore of his being needed air. He never could acclimate to this weather. As the bus moved, there grew a singular idea in Samuel’s head. Slow at first but escalating – doubling in size each moment. And along with it, a frenetic energy bound up, unwilling to release itself. Samuel lost his grip wiping his eyes and stammered toward an air vent.
Excuse me, I’m sorry, I’m fine, he thought. A thunderclap caught him unaware and unsupported between railings. Light shattered across every city window on the street and blinded the bus patrons in stages as a pulse of three. Lightning followed thunder and, in turn, was followed by a deafening absence of sound. Samuel collapsed. He cried. He slept. He woke. He was dizzy. Lost. Samuel clenched the collars behind his neck and moaned. Face down on flocked flooring, he pulled and wrenched and broke things.
As Samuel came to, a confusion of voices forced his large, grey-faded eyes up. More people were standing near him now than he remembered there being. Some were shouting threats. He could see others were frightened, holding themselves or the person nearest them closer. It’s later than I thought, he thought. Others had cupped both hands to their faces to hide their eyes from him. He remembered the girl in the park. He remembered the child’s father. Samuel pulled away, shoulders bent, head down. He forced open bus doors and ran free leaving a chorus of shrieks and cursing behind him.
Barely conscious of what he was doing he tore at himself until every stitch of clothing had gone. Air. Open space, he thought. He lifted both arms mid-sprint and threw his head back. The hot slime of his sweat commingled with rainwater and fell off. This pleased Samuel. All the new sensations he could now feel while running hot, sweat-covered and naked elated and delighted him. Air. He could feel the air.
It was darker and raining harder as Samuel’s faded silhouette sped into the tree line of the city park. His skin swelled, sagging off bone in clumps and ribbons.
As he neared a clearing, all the sounds of the world became dull and dampened. A vibration of hummings and a rhythm of waking dreams brought Samuel to a more calming pace and were joined only by the sounds stirring within Samuel’s chest cavity; here, a vertical line of combed bristles protruded through the sternum and shuddered quickly against one another in frantic, sonic agreements with the coming storm.
This was all the world left to him now: Grass blades whispering along arches of bare feet. Breath. Weaving wind between splayed fingers. Breath. Salt-stung eyes. Tears. Another breath in the chest. Another stride. He peered, grey-eyed and wide-eyed into the day’s night sky awaiting his halo of lights and the smell of a colder, more familiar climate.
At last, a cool breeze touched him, his face awash in light.
Home, he thought.
Then Samuel was gone and the city was empty except for its humans.
AI pictures and cool pics too
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What incident made you cry in public?
A Christian guy friend and a Muslim girl friend of mine decided to get married to each other against the wish of their parents.
They both are my close friends and I decided to help them get married. Their love for each other was too evident.
One fine Saturday, my friends and I decided to get them married. We were all at the register office. Got them married with a lot of fear as the girls family had got to know about this. And we feared that they would be there any minute.
Couple of minutes later, the girls dad was there. He saw his daughter married. He couldn’t hold himself back. Emotions overuled him. He broke down seeing her. And all of this was on the most busiest street. He was angry at himself for not understanding how much his daughter loved the boy. He was angry at himself for all those days he hit her and abused her for falling in love with a boy of another religion.
This boy runs up to the girls dad, hugs him tight and promises him to take care of his daughter like a princess.
And trust me, looking at all this I was crying like a baby!! It was one of the most emotional moments. Finally, the girls parents approved their marriage.
Today, they are all one big family.
What makes the Japanese great in the minds of the Chinese?
The Chinese HATE the Japanese
The Chinese NEVER TRUST the Japanese
Yet the Chinese RESPECT the Japanese
The Chinese can never forget Nanking or the atrocities of the Japanese and their history is very strong and reminds them regularly of the Japanese in WWII
However the Chinese , they are NOT INDIANS who always keep dwelling worthlessly on the past
They still respect the Japanese for their hard work, achievements in various fields, growth in technology , cameras , cars etc
Deng Xiaoping bent the knee to Japan and Japan who were eager for a fresh start and wipe out their own dirty history, jumped to oblige
Japanese taught China electronics, steel making and construction engineering for nearly 15 years
Slowly the Chinese began to start respecting the Japanese
China was inspired by Japanese HR strategy as well
Of course the Plaza Accord made the Chinese lose ALL RESPECT FOR JAPAN
Until then the Chinese looked up to the Japanese as the next GREAT ASIAN POWER
After 1985, the Chinese said “These guys would sell themselves to the highest bidder” and from that moment until today still see the Japanese as lapdogs of the USA
They still collaborate with Japanese, do business with them but they respect Japan much less now
Yet they still respect Japanese more than Koreans for some reason
The Chinese always admire hard working people who are disciplined and methodical and organized
The Chinese always admire successful countries and learn from them without ANY HESITATION
Their personal prejudices never affect their sense of reality
They always say “Yes Japanese can’t be forgiven for WWII and Taiwanese meddling but we will still learn from them as far as possible”
A Lot of Chinese work culture is imbibed from Japan and Singapore
What are some of the mistakes made by inexperienced doctors?
I always appreciate the Flynn effect proposed by James R Flynn from New Zealand. It states that the IQ of people increases with every passing generation. Absolutely right; your kids are smarter than you.
Younger doctors are more energetic, enthusiastic, smarter and gadget savvy.
Don’t feel offended, if you too (like me) are on the wrong side of 50; we too are energetic, smarter compared to our predecessors, but certainly less gadget oriented compared to our next-gen. Even the gadgets seem to be intelligent enough to sense the same thing; every time I take out the USB drive out of my laptop (I do it softly, with utmost care) it emits a loud sound and couple of notification pop up, warning me of stern action if I continue to disconnect without proper etiquette; surprisingly no such thing happen when my son does the same thing even though he pulls it out with impunity like a carious tooth.
This young resident was no exception. We trained him well for six months and he was ready to take independent duty.
During our rounds we saw him rushing to bed number 3 being called by the duty nurse for a VT (Ventricular Tachycardia)
A VT is a major life threatening heart rhythm disturbance that makes the heart beat very fast and can be fatal if left untreated for more than a minute. The treatment is to deliver a high-voltage shock using a machine called defibrillator.
‘Monitor VT’ the nurse called.
Another nurse made the defibrillator ready; charged it to 200 joules to deliver the shock.
The monitor did show a VT.
The patient was shivering.
‘Going to arrest’ the resident shouted.
He picked up the pedals of the Defibb, ready to deliver the shock.
I had a doubt. I felt the pulse, it was normal.
‘Hold on for a moment; It is not VT, it is an artefact’.
A shivering had induced artifact (abnormal pattern) in the monitor; which was not a VT.
(For residents – The red arrows marks the normal QRS complex seen through the artefact that look like VT that clinch the diagnosis)
An injection of IV paracetamol reduced his fever and shivering.
All ended well.
‘Always look at the patient, whatever the monitor shows’
In airplane industry they call it a near miss.
In the ICU another story to be told from resident to resident in the cafeteria.
There are reasons why they still don’t throw old doctors out of the hospital despite enough supply of ‘Flynn’
Rude Girlfriend Thought She Could Berate BF In Public And Get Away With It…Instead She Gets Dumped
I used to have a name bracelet. This thing was pretty popular in the late 1960’s and into the 1970’s. It was just a metal bracelet with a plat place to engrave a name upon.
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It was given to me by my dad for a present, but we were in a small town and he told me that some time “later” that I could have my name engraved upon the bracelet. Well, that time never came.
So I wore the plain bracelet for a few years until I just put it away and stopped wearing it.
And that is my story about the name bracelet fad of the 1970s’.
Today…
What do you think will be the repercussions if the Belt and Road initiative by China fails?
Question: What do you think will be the repercussions if the Belt and Road initiative by China fails?
Answer:
Belt and Road initiative is the collective name of hundreds to thousands of projects along the three (yes,there are three) routes of what was the ancient silk road.
As the result, there isn’t a binary success or fail for such as project.
I saw posts down below, there are some rather sour Indian posters (likely due to the recent loss in the Pakistan-India air battle), desperately hanging onto some Italian project that doesn’t work out.
The news about Italy quitting belt and road was back in 2023 and the sole purpose of the move was for Italian domestic consumption and right now (as of May 2024), they are talking about returning to belt and road again.
If you don’t understand why European nations have mood swings. I suggest go learn basic politics.
India itself is actually an interesting case, as an ancient destination for the silk road, it should be a good partner on the matter.
Unfortunately, that’s also what India thinks and in India national policy, if you consider India a friend, then it means India must be able to take advantage of you.
I don’t think the idea is quite sane, but hey, you respect each country of their own unique culture and if that’s the Indian practice, then the Chinese will just skip over India.
Man DESTROYS Room Full Of Delusional Women
How do you objectively evaluate China’s military strength?
In summary,
The People’s Liberation Army Ground Force and the People’s Liberation Army Rocket Force are undoubtedly much more powerful than the United States. In particular, the People’s Liberation Army Rocket Force will be a nightmare to the United States Navy. The U.S. Secretary of Defense stated that China’s hypersonic missiles could destroy all U.S. aircraft carriers in 20 minutes.
The People’s Liberation Army Air Force is comparable in strength to the United States Air Force;
The People’s Liberation Army Navy is slightly weaker than the United States Navy, but I personally estimate that the situation will be reversed within five years.
Sun Tzu, an ancient Chinese military strategist, said:
If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.
There are still small-scale military exchanges between China and the United States, and military experts on both sides still have a general understanding of each other’s situation.
What the United States fears most is that the military dialogue between China and the United States will be interrupted, so that they will completely lose the way to understand China’s military strength.
‘It’s dangerous’: Top general alarmed China won’t take US commanders’ calls
One of America’s top military officials says he believes China’s military is becoming dangerously arrogant and is risking a conflict through miscalculation.
U.S. Headed for ‘GREATEST DEPRESSION YET’ WW3 Will Become Official in 2026 | Gerald Celente
Jan 9, 2026
2026 is here, and President Trump went from declaring he wanted to see “Peace on Earth,” to bombing Venezuela and kidnapping the country’s elected leader. With the Trump Admin pushing for an endless supply of Venezuelan oil, fears are soaring that plans for another U.S./Israeli attack on Iran could be right around the corner.
Argentinian Beef Melts
Spiced up beef and provolone cheese are the basis for these delicious Argentinian Beef Melts.
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Yield: 4 servings
Ingredients
12 ounces cooked beef pot roast or brisket, shredded
1 medium red bell pepper, cut into 1/4 inch thick strips
4 slices reduced-fat or regular provolone cheese
4 slices crusty bread (about 6 x 3 x 1/2 inch)
3/4 cup packed fresh parsley, chopped
2 cloves garlic
1 tablespoon fresh lime juice
1 tablespoon olive oil
1/4 teaspoon salt
Instructions
Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
Place bread slices in single layer on baking sheet.
Place bell pepper strips on foil-line baking sheet coated with nonstick cooking spray.
Bake bread for 10 to 13 minutes, turning once.
Roast peppers for 10 to 15 minutes or until lightly browned. Set aside.
Meanwhile, place parsley and garlic in food processor or blender container. Cover; process until finely chopped.
Add lime juice, oil, and salt; process just until blended.
Spread Chimichurri Sauce evenly on one side of each bread slice; top evenly with pot roast and red pepper strips.
Top each bread slice with cheese.
Place on baking sheet.
Bake at 350 degrees F for 7 to 10 minutes or until beef is heated through and cheese is melted.
What was the worst way you or someone you know found out they were being fired?
“What was the worst way you or someone you know found out they were being fired?”
Not “fired” but had lost their position due to restructuring/redundancy/reduction in work force/whatever you want to call it
The company I worked for at the time had to make cuts – and, due to UK employment law due to the size of the company and the percentage of head counts being removed – entered into a consultancy period during which the staff was frequently updated on where the upper management were in the process and anything that may happen to alter the number of redundancies and then finally the information about how people were going to find out if they still had a job or not.
The company came up with this “brilliant” scheme that we would all go home one evening and everyone being cut would get a phone call. If you didn’t get the call, then you still had a job.
One guy didn’t get the call, came in the next morning to find his login didn’t work and called the sysadmin for help.
I was the sysadmin. Cue a very delicate phone call where by I promised to look into the matter and go down and see the guy as soon as I had found out what was wrong when in fact I immediately went straight to my departmental director and told them what had happened just in case there had been an error on the list. Director stood up and immediately stormed out f the office to see HR director and I presume let the poor guy know to go home.
I’d been told a few days before everyone else that my job was safe and asked to do overtime on the evening of the “cull” to disable accounts. But I had no forewarning of anyone else on the list of accounts to disable until a few minutes before the time the calls were starting to be made.
Probably not the absolute worst way to find out but still someone had badly screwed up and had by forgetting to call him led the guy to believe his job was safe and then presumably ending with the guy being escorted out of the office shortly after arriving – which can only be extremely embarrassing to the guy who had just lost his job.
“The Future Of Warfare” – China’s TERRIFYING Drone Plane THREATENS U.S. Military Dominance
China unveils a game-changing high-altitude drone, the SS UAV, sparking global concern. Capable of launching 100+ drones or missiles, it’s a direct challenge to U.S. air dominance. Is America ready for next-gen warfare—or are we falling behind?
Since China has become too powerful over the years and the world thinks twice before having a conflict with it, what options does India have in this scenario against the anti-India stance of Chinese?
China isn’t Anti India
There is no Ideological difference between the two countries
There is no Brutal History
It’s entirely territorial
Primary Objective of China:-
China won’t allow India to expand its influence anywhere in South Asia
Nepal, Bangladesh, Maldives, Myanmar, Bhutan or Sri Lanka
China needs maximum influence in these countries to keep trade routes alive and open
(Note :- Expand its influence doesn’t mean by Investment or Business or Trade. It means BY TWEAKING AND INTERFERENCE IN POLITICAL AFFAIRS)
China wont allow India to take PoK under any circumstances
China needs it’s Trade Routes and Silk Road and PoK forms a key part of it.
So China won’t allow India to take PoK
Otherwise China doesn’t care about India and it’s relationship with Israel or Arab Nations or African Nations or Australia or Canada or Latin America or Russia or EU or US
Secondary Objective
China won’t allow India to change Status Quo on any boundary scenario:-
Aksai Chin is Chinese
No Mans Land is No Mans Land
Any major change in these situations will lead to Chinese intervention
Thats it!!!
Chinas entire priority with India is just these two objectives
Indias influence with South Asia must be smashed at all costs
India can’t change the boundary scenario with China under any circumstances
India cannot take any more territory from Pakistan at any cost
China needs trade routes and India cannot be allowed to grow in any area where they can affect Chinas Trade Routes
Myths :-
China will go to war against India over Arunanchal Pradesh & Ladakh – This is fully wrong. Chinas Foreign Policy allows full war only over Taiwan or Incursion into Chinese Territory. China will salami slice in these areas but never go to war.
China wants terrorism in India – China loves stability and trade. They hate terrorism. They never want India to be economically unstable or dangerous. They will NEVER sponsor terrorism in India.
China is jealous of India – China is so ahead of India, it is like a PhD versus a Class VIII Student at the moment. China doesn’t care about ISRO or anything else India does because China knows India is generations behind
China is worried about India becoming factory of the world- China doesn’t want to assemble stuff any more. It’s glad to farm out the business to India and move on to full scale high grade manufacturing. Besides it sells 70% of all Machinery and Components to India for assembly. That’s a lot of exports.
Options of India
Absolutely nothing
Don’t Bully Nepal or Bangladesh or Myanmar or Sri Lanka or Maldives
Don’t attempt to touch PoK
Don’t intentionally incite a war against Pakistan
Don’t unilaterally try to change status quo in any of the boundary regions
That’s all
As long as India avoids this, China has absolutely nothing to do with India in any way
Prompt: Write An Open-Ended Story In Which Your Character’s Fate Is Uncertain.AlannahAlannah stood in her enclosure, folding a white robe loosely around her body which fell to the sandals on her feet. The matching wool belt fastened to buttons on opposing sides. She drew the hood up and it dangled over her forehead. She could not be categorized. No one could look at her and decide what she was or could do. She just was an apprentice to the Director.Alannah turned towards the faint seam that marked a doorway from this stark enclosure. It slid open to a hall. Across the hall was another seam. This opened into a stainless steel room that shined and smelled of antiseptic sterilization. To the right side of her, as she entered, centered, was an upright console attended by the Director, also clad in a robe, but of a beige color. The Director motioned her to come over to the console.The console was imbedded with intercoms, buttons, levers, symbols and a keyboard. Near the opposing wall, across from the console were three upright cylindrical tubes. Their clear glass sides partially overlapping so that one could slide over the other to let an occupant in or out. The occupant did not control this. The Director of the console did.There was an occupant in each of the tubes. They wore gray robes. Hoods draped over foreheads, shadowing their faces.The Director pulled a lever. Momentarily, the Director’s sleeve fluttered. Alannah noticed a small red scar on the wrist. The Director typed a command on the console keyboard. The second and third tubes misted over the glass from within. The occupant of the first tube stepped out as the overlapping glass slid one piece around the other.This was the first day of Alannah’s apprenticeship. She recalled her preparatory audio and text instruction to guide her on what to do next. She walked behind the former occupant of the tube and gently pulled the hood back grasping its pointed tip. The head and face of this figure was revealed.The Director addressed Alannah in a neutral voice and tone, “What do your lessons tell you about this person?”Alannah recited her observations and conclusions, “This is obviously a male because of the square jawline and thin lips. Long silver hair flows over his shoulders. There is a beard growing from his cheeks and chin pointing down the chest. This is a wizard.”“Very good,” commended the Director. “What, then, will he be expected to wear?”“A long, dark robe decorated with stars and crescent moons. A matching cap with a point at the top and an encircling brim at the bottom. Soft, dark boots. A staff will be needed. A black cloak for cold times. A dragon pendant for his neck.” Alannah paused.“Do not forget the multiple facetted ruby ring of power for the index finger of his left hand.”
Alannah repeated this, “A multiple facetted ruby ring of power for the left index finger.”
“Good. And anyone seeing what they must obviously assume to be a wizard, will then be able to determine what he is like on a personable level. What can you now assuredly know of his character and behavior?”
Alannah again mentally reviewed her learnings. “He will be knowledgeable of mystical beliefs and animal and plant healing and uses. His hubris will be sometimes off-setting. He will be distant and hard to approach. He could be dangerous as wizards cannot be trusted, and change according to their own plans.”
“Why would anyone dare to speak to or consult a wizard?” the Director prompted.
“To offer them a partnership in something the wizard could profit from or perhaps in desperation stemming from a life crisis. Wizards will pity the needy.”
“Good.” Then the Director turned toward the designated wizard, “Step back into the tube. You will be a wizard, clothed and instructed in all aspects of what you are expected to be, and what everyone will know you to be.” The wizard did as instructed. The tube closed and the glass became frosted matching the other two tubes.
The Director signaled for Alannah to return. When she did, the Director stepped to the side, hands held palms up to the console. Alannah knew this next task in her apprenticeship was her manipulation of the console. She stepped closer to it remembering what she studied and had watched the Director do. Her typing was not as agile, but to Alannah’s relief the proper commands were executed. The second tube was clear; The doors slid open. The occupant stepped into the room.
Alannah looked toward the Director, and then stepped from behind the console and pulled the hood down. Startled, she immediately jumped back! This face was hideous!
“An ogre!” Alannah spit out.
“Stay in form!” the Director commanded, the voice less neutral, hinting of scorn.
Alannah gathered herself and began the descriptions expected:
The bulging face of warts and pockets of hair tufts, large nose, tubular ears, unkept mullet. She could barely recite the clothing expectations. When she got to the mandatory personality assumptions, she was again surprised. As she listed the stupidity, gluttony, and meanness, the individual interrupted her with a pitiful plea.
“Please. If I am to be so hard to look at, at least allow me a positive trait. Perhaps I could be caring of others?”
Alannah was stunned.
“That is a nurse!” interjected the Director.
“Someone who can bring out good in others?”
“That is a nun!” the Director boomed. “Stop this nonsense. Those designations are also female. You will be an ogre clothed and instructed in all aspects of what you are expected to be, and what everyone will know you to be. Step back into the tube.”
The ogre did as told. Alannah thought she saw a tear drip from the ogre’s eye. Still she was too stunned to move. This was not supposed to happen. Each being became their assigned role. There were no thoughts to be anything else. This just was and everyone knew it.
“Return,” ordered the Director, holding a hand out to the console.
Alannah walked back to the console, standing again beside the Director.
“You will continue your text and audio studies for another week. Return now to your enclosure.”
Alannah walked to the seam. It opened and she walked across the hall and entered her enclosure.
****
Alannah studied diligently in the time that passed in her enclosure, but a thought periodically traipsed through her brain: Was there more to the ogre than what appeared? She chastised herself and refocused on her studies.
It was a week and a half before Alannah saw the white wool robe in her enclosure again. She put it on and walked to the seam in the wall. When she entered the room across the hall, the Director stood in the back of the console. There was no invitation to come over. Alannah just felt it was implied. After all, it was surely known she’d been here before.
The day’s assignments were standard and completed efficiently. However, there was something else that Alannah felt was different. This was not the director she had apprenticed with over a week ago. She tried several times to see if the beige sleeve might again reveal a red scar on the director’s wrist. The sleeve never budged so she had no way of knowing.
In time, Alannah graduated from being an apprentice. Now a beige belt wove around the robe she wore, buttoned on each side. She placed her hood over her head and left her enclosure, entering the shiny room with a familiar console. Soon she was joined by another wearing a white robe standing beside her. Alannah pulled a lever and typed the commands.
The day proceeded as expected. The last set of beings was now down to the third tube. The apprentice was in command of the console. Alannah knew this one’s apprenticeship would soon be complete.
The third tube became clear. The glass panel slid open and the occupant stepped out. In this case, the occupant seemed to be dancing by the movement of the robe. The designation to be given would be one of much agility.
“Jester,” determined the apprentice. “Limber and effusive. Although soft-cheeked, there is a strong chin. There are no male jesters, so this is a female. She is playful and irreverent. A fool to caution. She will have a multi-colored diamond patterned jumpsuit. Her cap will match her shoes, each having floppy tassels ending in small bells . . . “
As the apprentice continued as to how people would perceive the jester, Alannah noticed a sudden flick of red. She blinked and looked again. In the movements the jester made as part of his determination, Alannah caught sight of the red scar on the wrist.
This was the director of so much authority so long ago. Now the robe cavorted about what would be a female jester. An unbidden thought came to Alannah’s mind: Would the stern mentor of her past be happy with this life assignment? Immediately, she checked herself. Of course she would – as much as allowed assigned to in this role. Then Alannah thought of something else she had not remembered in a long time: A tear-eyed ogre.
The apprentice’s voice had stopped. The apprentice was waiting patiently.
“Good.” Alannah retrieved herself. “You will be a jester, clothed and instructed in all aspects of what you are expected to be, and what everyone will know you to be.”
The day’s work done and the apprentice dismissed, Alannah typed the commands that would cause the console to sleep, Alannah turned towards another seam in the room. As a Director, she would eat in the refectory and meet with her supervisor at a reserved cubicle.
The supervisor wore a red robe which signified not only the role in the review process, but also their responsibility for observations of the results of the assigned persons in the outer world. The Red Robes were a prominent presence to the established population within a community.
“You have trained this apprentice well, Alannah. The individuals placed within their community have been steadfast with almost no lapses – and those only minor. I surmise it will not be long before you can be succeeded and will be assigned to a community yourself.”
These last words struck Alannah. It never occurred to her that she would be anything other than a Director. Then she remembered the jester. And the ogre. A parade of others passed through her mind.
Later, Alannah sat at the empty seat where the Red Robe had sat. She poked at her meal that was the same as every meal for this time of nourishment. If not a Director, then what? What would she be? Impulsively, a notion niggled its way forward from the back of her brain: What if she didn’t want to be assigned?
Nonsense! She would be clothed and instructed in all aspects of what she would be. There would be no want. Everyone would automatically know what and who she was.
Alannah finished her food and left the refectory. She walked down a long corridor towards her enclosure. There were many seamed entrances. She hadn’t noticed this before, or that some had titles above them. Now Alannah was noticing as she walked by. She paused to look back from where she’d started and the seam in front of her opened. It was titled: Laundry. Startled, Alannah looked in. These tasks would be complete by this time of the day and continued the next. She had no business being here, but she stepped inside. The room contained a laundromat of washers and dryers, baskets of clothing piles and tables of folded robes. Then it occurred to Alannah that if she were seen here she would surely be reprimanded. She began to feel anxious.
A stack of folded red robes invited Alannah’s attention. The Red Robes would not be questioned in the corridors and perhaps not in the titled enclosures. The Red Robes, as far as she knew, could be found in any area. Alannah was not comfortable with the plan she now decided upon, but thought it might be the safest way to get to her enclosure. She removed her beige robe. She took a red robe from the stack and put it on. She had only one more stop to complete her plan. She walked to the seam and looked side to side as it opened. No one was there. She went back, toward the refectory, to the seam labeled: Shoes. The seam opened and she ducked inside. She found a pair of red sandals and kicked off her beige set.
Alannah again looked both ways when she caused this seam to reopen. She was feeling less anxious – just a little nervous. She was almost sure she could get back to her enclosure without anyone stopping her.
Alannah made herself walk steadily back in the right direction, passed the laundry title and on. She would be okay, she told herself.
As she walked, Alannah’s thoughts began to stray. What were the Red Robes, anyway? They oversaw the trainings of the apprentices. They collaborated with the Directors. They watched populations and intervened when needed. Was this their designation? Did they have a designation? What would it be like to be without a designation? What if no one had a designation?
. Alannah arrived at her enclosure, but did not step toward it. She turned and stepped toward the room with the console. The seam opened. She entered. She was alone. There was no reason for anyone to be here.
The console showed a diagram posted on a button with a square within a square. This symbol represented a floor plan. Alannah felt conflicted as she hovered over this button. What was she doing here? Yet, if she pushed this button the layout of the structure she had always inhabited would be revealed. She could see how the Red Robes left to patrol the communities. She could learn what a Red Robe knew.
Alannah revived the console. The button glowed yellow when Alannah pushed it. A labeled diagram appeared on the console screen. She could see where the refectory was, the location of the other consoles, the enclosures, and areas designated for various assigned purposes. There were places where the seams did not have anything drawn behind them. These must open to outside. What would she see on the other side of one of these?
Alannah knew she was delving into where she had no authority, but she had come this far. She was wearing a red robe. She could take a look outside and then sneak back in. She would go back to her enclosure, put on the beige robe that would be there, hide this red one beneath it until she figured how to get rid of it. The temptation for knowledge outweighed her trepidation of being caught.
Alannah again shut down the console and left. She headed towards the nearest lone seam she had seen.
When the seam opened, Alannah stepped into an open area filled with a brighter light than she’d ever seen before. She was standing on the side of a dirt road. She looked up expecting a roof. The light was coming from an orb in the sky that she immediately turned away from as it hurt her eyes. She felt a little dizzy not having seen anything solid above. Just blueness with an occasional white wisp. There was a refreshing cleanliness that was not antiseptic. Unrecognizable fragrances drifted by and surrounded her. There were store fronts, horses, carriages, stables, and eateries; People walking about, some stopping to chat with others. Alannah recognized most by designation and could predict what they would be talking about. There were a few Red Robes milling about, but they did not interact. None approached her.
Alannah walked down this dirt thoroughfare until it dwindled to a narrowed section lined with grasses, shrubs, and trees. There were no buildings passed this point. She took a few steps forward and then turned to look behind from where she’d come. As she did so, a knight on his steed passed her by and continued down the narrowed path. Alannah recognized the designation and knew what could be assumed about this armored and helmeted form. She realized she knew what could be assumed about anyone living here and beyond. She knew what they would do, how they would act, how their given characteristics determined the type of person they were.
A new thought came to Alannah. Everyone knew the judgements of each other. Everyone abided by the expectations of the others.
Except Alannah.
Who was Alannah?
Alannah could be whatever she chose. No one could look upon her and judge her thoughts or actions. She had no restrictions placed upon her unless she imposed them.
And so Alannah turned back to the narrow pathway and began to walk.
Which countries have a higher manufacturing output than China? Are there any major manufacturing countries that are not major exporters, such as Germany, Japan, or Korea?
No country has a higher manufacturing output than China.
At Xiaomi Group’s production line, 1 smartphone is produced in 1 second, and at BYD’s production line, a small car comes off the production line in 76 seconds.
The smart factory of the Xiaomi Group can operate without any human intervention and it can produce smartphones at a rate of one smartphone per second, roughly 86,400 smartphones per day. It operates in the dark, and because it requires no human intervention, it doesn’t need lighting.
This 18,600 square metre factory looks mediocre at first glance, and if you push the door in for a tour, it’s like the scene of a sci-fi movie, with constant temperature and humidity, only a few very small coloured lights flickering, and the whole factory operating in darkness, with the smartphone production line acting like a bubble machine, and smartphones spitting out of it one by one.
There is no way to build such ‘factories in the dark’ in the United States, and the American labour unions would protest if the workers were not hired.
Germany, Japan and South Korea are ‘export-led economies’ because their domestic markets are so small that if they do not export, their economies are finished.
Platoon (1986) *First Time Watching* Movie Reaction
Without bias, are Russian fighters (excluding fifth gen ones) and weaponry really that much worse than Western ones?
If you’re just looking at the air-to-air statistics, it’s certainly not in Russia’s favor.
A bunch of MiGs and Sukhois + 1 French-designed Iraqi nuclear reactor. This is the highest of all F-16 for individual airplanes and possibly the highest out of all 4th generation (individual) jets. Besides this, the F-15 also has an unbeatable 100+ to 0 air-to-air record (a few F-16s had been shot down in air-to-air). F-18 (both legacy and Super Hornet) had a few in total (all with the US Navy I believe) with just 1 loss during Desert Storm to a MiG-25.
The ratio for Russian airplanes is unclear but it is quite possibly near 1:1 if you discount UAV/drone shootings in Ukraine and Russia (the numbers for F-16 might be higher if you count drones as well). The Eurofighter and Gripen haven’t been involved in air-to-air combat while there are contradictory claims by Pakistan and India about the Rafale (and J-10) right now. If I remember correctly, Pakistan also lost at least 1 F-16 to the USSR during Afghanistan.
It is a pretty crude way to measure it, but it is “real” data—as real as it can get.
The main issue with Soviet and Russian airplanes is that their electronics are well behind what’s available in NATO countries. Some customers opted to install Israeli avionics to their MiGs and Sukhois rather than rely on the Russian stuff.
This wasn’t an issue back in the day, but it is a serious one now considering that missiles and radar are so dominant today. Whoever can spot the enemy first can dictate the fight, either to engage (from an advantageous position) or to run away. For that, you need good radar and sensors. Long-range missile also helps.
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Have you ever witnessed a shy classmate have a surprising moment of courage? What happened and what was the aftermath?
There was an individual in my year who was seen as a bit of a geek. His dad was a teacher at the school, he was studious, played chess and largely kept himself to himself. When a rowing club started, he signed up. Some rather foolish people saw this as another tick mark for abuse, rowing wasn’t as cool as some of the other team sports people played. However this individual took his rowing seriously and trained and trained and trained.
It was a slow change, slow enough that people didn’t realise. He was already quite tall, but he added to that frame a physique that was functional and powerful rather than for show.
We were waiting for class one day. My school was 200 years old and the design wasn’t optimal. Corridors were like gauntlets. This corridor was probably less than 1.5m wide, 20m long, enclosed by each end with fire doors and a locked classroom on each side. In that corridor there were about 30 pupils waiting, lined up against each wall.
(Not this, but similar, with student lined up each side and people having to walk to the middle to find a space.)
The school jock was in the same class. He played rugby (badly). He wasn’t particularly strong, or hard, but acted aggressive and had a big mouth, and hung around with some people who were hard. He therefore liked to try and bully and push people around.
As the rower was walking down this gauntlet minding his own business the jock pushed or tripped him, and came out with some insult. The rower swung round, grabbed the jock and physically lifted him off the ground and threw him into the wall. He held him there and told him to STFU and leave him alone. He then threw him back down to the ground and walked off.
The jock stood up, looking completely shocked and a bit of a mess. His tie was up around the back of his neck, and nearly every single shirt button had been ripped off. The rower, stood waiting, looking utterly unfazed as he waited for the class to start.
Sir Whiskerton and the Great Barn Door Standoff
(Or: How to Annoy a Farmer Into Submission)
Chapter 1: A Lesson in Tenacity
Sir Whiskerton stood before the mysteriously locked barn door, monocle glinting. Beside him, Ditto the Echoing Kitten pawed at the wood.
“Observe, apprentice,” Whiskerton declared. “When life gives you a closed door, scratch at it until it opens.”
Ditto immediately began shredding the paint: “Open! Open! Open!”
Inside, the Farmer groaned: “I just painted that…”
(Visual gag: Ditto’s tiny claws create a perfect “WELCOME” mat design on the door—by accident.)
Chapter 2: The Farmer’s Breaking Point
After 45 minutes of relentless scratching:
The Farmer flung the door open: “STOP. THAT.”
Sir Whiskerton yawned: “Then open it. It’s not rocket science.”
Ditto cheerfully echoed: “Science! Science!” (Then bolted inside to knock over a rake.)
(Running joke: The door immediately swings shut again, trapping the Farmer outside this time.)
Chapter 3: Advanced Persistence Tactics
Undeterred, Whiskerton demonstrated next-level door harassment:
The Paws-on-Hips Stare (“I’ll wait.”)
The Dramatic Sigh (Every 12 seconds)
The Accidental Yowl (“Oh no, I’m suddenly dying of hunger…”)
Farmer (to the sky): “Why me?”
Ditto (copying the pose): “Why me! Why me!”
Chapter 4: Victory (And a Broken Latch)
Finally, the Farmer surrendered, permanently disabling the lock with a wrench.
Sir Whiskerton bowed: “And that is how democracy works.”
Ditto celebrated by scratching the now-useless door anyway.
The Farmer posted a sign: “CATS: PLEASE JUST KNOCK.” (It was ignored.)
“I’ve seen less stubborn mules.” —Farmer, on the verge of tears
“Lobbying! Lobbying!” —Ditto, destroying a flowerpot
Starring
Sir Whiskerton (Professor of Door Terrorism)
Ditto (Enthusiastic War Criminal)
The Farmer (Defeated by a Kitten)
(*P.S. The barn door now has a paw-shaped doorbell. It plays “Who Let the Dogs Out.”)
Cultural Easter Eggs
“Assertive lobbying” = satire of corporate lobbying tactics.
Catnip door mocks “As Seen on TV” scams.
Ditto’s accidental art = cats actually being weirdly precise sometimes.
Paw doorbell = revenge of the delivery drivers.
(Curtain falls. Scratching intensifies.)
What will happen, exactly, if, as appears likely, China continues to refuse to negotiate with Trump on tariffs? Which nation is in a better position to win this trade war — China, or the US? What will happen to the loser of the trade war?
Little will happen to China, because China is prepared for a prolong tariff war with USA. How long? Until Trump stops lying to Americans.
I am not saying China will not suffer. There is no winner in this trade war. But China will endure the loss better than USA. At least China’s GDP growth is 5.4% in the 1st quarter of 2025 while USA is -0.3% (negative), IMF data.
USA has a “unique” problem.
USA has $6 tn (some said $3 tn) US bond maturing in 2025. With the latest market crash of stock, bond & currency, USA will have a harder time to find foreign nations to buy US bonds. Sure, FED will end up buying all at the end.
USA has $1.9 tn of US budget deficit in 2024. … US debts will hit a whooping $37 tn by Fall 2025.
Just the interest payment already cost USA $882 bn in 2024. Accounting for 19% of US budget.
In short, USA will be in deeper debt until its economy collapses one day. As of May9, the world is joining hands to fight the US tariff war: China+Japan+S Korea. plus ASEAN, plus EU. On May8, EU countered US tariff by announcing tariff on goods worth 95 bn euro.
If US continues to import goods from China, US inflation will skyrocket. If US stops import from China, US will suffer goods shortage. … Either way, there will be UNREST in USA in the coming months. That will force Trump to speak some truth with less lies.
Platoon (1986) *First Time Watching* Movie Reaction
I just failed AIT on a 6-year contract and now I’m being forced to become a 92G (cook). How do I change my MOS immediately after AIT (less than a year)?
Short story: I enlisted in the RI ARNG as an MP. I really wanted to be in the same unit my father served in, but they did not have an MP slot open. They did, however, have an opening for a food service specialist (92G). My options were to take an MP slot in a different unit, or take the 92G slot in the unit I wanted.
I took the 92G slot and went to AIT at Ft. Lee, Virginia. Once I got home from AIT my unit was deployed in OIF.
Long story short, I never changed my MOS because I discovered I loved cooking and the camaraderie of the Quartermaster Corp.
I finished a 6-yr enlistment as a cook, and was able to get a good-paying job running a kitchen at a nursing home. I also got a $15,000 sign-on bonus, as was available for some MOS.
It’s also important to mention that it’s much easier to make rank in that MOS. Also, cooks go to the field and perform their MOS like any other soldier.
The moral of the story is everything happens for a reason.
You should give this a chance. It just might be a great career move for you. Give it 110% and be highly motivated while working, and you will do great.
Oh, and BTW, NOBODY messes with the cooks unless they want to spend all morning on the toilet (just kidding, but nobody bothers the cooks).
Another bonus: Cooks don’t have to burn shit in the field!
One last piece of advice: The Army notices highly motivated, squared-away troopers regardless of MOS. I once had a Brig General approach me while working and hand me a challenge coin and a literal pat on the back. I was on cloud 9 that day! Noticed by a GENERAL! No matter what you do, do it the best of your ability and you will be successful in the military.
“The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here.”“Let’s try again Ryan. Tell us where you are, and how you got there.”I take a deep breath, hold it for a beat, then let it out through my nose. The voice in my head is asking the impossible.“I’m in a room,” I tell the voice again. I think I would’ve lost count of how many times we’ve gone back and forth with this if numbers existed here, but I have this sick feeling in my gut that they don’t. I just know the voice keeps asking and I keep trying to answer. “It’s got walls…sort of, and something not totally unlike a ceiling, and a floor-ish abstract kind of thing that I’m standing on.”I’m not exactly standing. More like an equivalent of standing, but I don’t even go there.“Describe the room.”“I can’t.”The voice doesn’t say anything back for what seems like a long time and the first tendril of fear wraps around my heart. The voice is a pain in the ass with its incessant questions, but it’s all I have. Without the voice, I’m alone…and a very long way from home. Things are coming back now. At least I know who I am and if not where, I know I’m farther away than any living being has a right to be.“We don’t understand what you mean when you tell us you can’t describe the room, Ryan.”“Dammit, I keep telling you, it’s unfamiliar.”“Of course it’s unfamiliar. You’ve never been there, and neither have we. That’s why we need you to describe it for us.”And that’s when I loose it. I yell at the voice in my head as I flail around, spinning, with my eyes so wide they feel like they might fall out. Like…if I could open them just a little more, maybe they’d work like they are supposed to and recognize whatever they are seeing. I grasp with my hands in my tantrum, trying to express the inexpressible, to describe the indescribable. Somewhere in my fevered thoughts I picture myself as a young Captain Kirk in an ancient Star Trek episode trying to wrap his head around some new shit storm he’s in the middle of. But I don’t have a team of creatives making props and costumes so the viewers at home can be amazed at the strange new world he’s discovered.“It’s alien damn it! Un-freaking familiar. As in not familiar. I can’t use a simile, I can’t tell a story or an analogy so you can relate. I can’t describe the room, but I know I’m in a room.”
“Would you like us to pull you out Lieutenant Ryan? Bring you home?”
“NO!”
“Copy that. Just know we’re monitoring you closely. We can snatch you back in a heartbeat.”
It’s my turn to be quiet. And maybe the voice can feel a little of my fear because it seems less demanding when it asks if maybe I just want to rest for a minute.
But I have a better idea.
“Ask me specific questions about the room,” I say.
I can almost hear the conference as whoever comprises the voice confers with each other. They must like my proposal.
“Okay Ryan, can you see the door?”
“Negative. No door.”
“Well how did you get into the room?”
I grit my teeth. “I told you…I don’t know how I got here. Try to keep up. Ask me another.”
“How many walls comprise the room?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is it a cube?”
“I don’t think a cube would fit in this room.”
A pause. Then, “Ryan, that doesn’t make sense.”
“Thank you, I concur. Ask me why I don’t think a cube would fit in this room.”
“Why wouldn’t a cube fit in the room Ryan?”
“Because I don’t think cubes can even exist in whatever place or dimension you sent me.”
A short pause. Then, “you’re saying you believe you are in an extra-dimensional space. Do we have that right Lieutenant?”
“I think that’s about as close as we’re going to get. And for your next question, I have no idea how I got in here.”
“Why don’t you go over the events leading up to this point in time?”
That was an interesting choice of words. I’m pretty sure time is like its brother the cube and just isn’t allowed here, but I play along. I think back to where I was and what I was doing before I ended up wherever I am now and…poof. I’m out of the room and back on the plain. The sky impossibly black. There is no atmosphere, and in place of the billions of stars one would expect to see, just one speck of light almost too dim to perceive.
Well shit…that was weird.
I speak to the voice, “can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear sir, we got you. The biocore appears to be working as advertised.”
“Good, because I just re-appeared on the plain.”
Another pause. “Re? Appeared? You just arrived.”
“No, you just asked me to retrace the steps that led me to the room, and as soon as I thought about it, I just reappeared where I was before I was in the room.”
“Lieutenant Ryan, what room are we talking about here? Have you observed a structure of some kind?” Excitement filled the voice. “Because that would be a first.”
I say nothing.
The voice says, “Maybe the comms aren’t working as well as we thought.”
I could hear a bit of nervous humor in the voice, but they stopped short of laughing. I feel like laughing, but am afraid it wouldn’t be the happy kind. Thinking about that makes me realize I didn’t know who I was hearing. I knew the voice was some kind of command, and I was on some kind of…mission? Or trip? But things are getting a bit fuzzy in the understanding department.
“Who is this anyhow?”
“Sir?”
“Who am I talking to, and how’d you get in my head? And while we’re at it, just where the hell am I?”
Another voice spoke up. “This is Major Hans Schroder of the US Space Force…and your best friend by the way. Ryan, are we okay?”
Both names are completely unfamiliar to me. This has got to be some kind of…something.
“Okay…and now my other question? Mind enlightening me…friend? Just exactly where am I supposed to be?”
“Relax buddy, we discussed this during your training.” The voice was exaggerating his calmness. It was infuriating. “We all knew you might experience some slight amnesia being this close to the edge of observable spacetime, but the docs here are certain it won’t last long so just hang in there.
“The protocol is to explain to you the who’s what’s and where’s. It’s supposed to help you get back on track. I have a narrative I’ll read, so hang with me, and you’ll begin to regain your memory.
I listen as I stare at the tiny dim speck. It’s the only thing to look at. To observe. I wonder what it is, but I know what it is. I just do not accept it. I cannot accept it.
“You are Lieutenant Ryan of the USSF Quantum Displacement Unit. In a nutshell, our unit produces a wormhole, or gate of sorts here at our base adjacent to CERN in Geneva.
“You are a member of an elite team of travelers who are trained to observe and report. Due to the nature of quantum displacement, video, audio, or any kind of data-recording instrumentation is useless. Only biological entities are able to observe. We are communicating through a cortical node implant.
“This is what you do, Ryan. And in my opinion, you are the best rift rat we’ve ever had. That’s why we sent you on this mission.
“We’ve been all over the Milky Way, knocked on the door of Andromeda, and visited hundreds of neighboring galaxies as well. You are the first in the unit, out of thousands of successful missions to be transported to a point we believed would be right on the edge our current observable universe. You’re way out there kid. That’s why it’d be real helpful if you’d describe what you see. We’re going to pull you back in just under five minutes.”
That actually makes sense and while I still don’t recognize or remember the name, the voice does sound a bit familiar now. I guess that’s a good sign.
“I see a tiny dim speck.”
“Okay, that’s good Ryan. I’m assuming the speck is in the sky?”
“Sky? There is no sky. Just the speck.”
When Hans or whoever doesn’t say anything, I go ahead state the obvious. “I think we overshot a bit.”
“Explain.”
“You’re going to make me say it? Fine. I’m pretty sure that tiny dim speck is the observable universe. I think you sent me a bit farther than you intended.”
“Stand by Ryan.”
I stand by. Then, “Ryan, we’re going to stick with the program for now. We are resuming the observation protocol. You said you were on a plain. Can you describe the plain?”
“No. I can’t see anything but the speck. The only reason I know I’m on the plain is because I have to be standing on…something.”
“Can you walk around?”
“Yes, I can walk. I can’t see shit, but I can walk.”
“Very good Lieutenant Ryan, just walk around and observe. We’ll be bringing you back home in about 10 minutes. Just as soon as we get powered up for the pull.”
“You said 5 minutes. Now it’s 10?”
“That’s correct Ryan. 8 minutes. Time is of the essence. Please follow the plan and report your observations.”
I decide to ignore the time variations. I try to ignore the nagging memory way at the back of my mind that screams, they don’t have to power up for a pull, they can snatch you back at a moment’s notice, but can’t quell it.
With my arms stretched in front of me like walking in a dark house and not wanting to run face first into a wall, I touch something. It feels solid, but fluid. I don’t have words to describe its feeling. I push a little and pop. I’m in a room.
“Lieutenant Ryan, is everything okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“Please report.”
“I’m in a room. And there’s light…or at least some kind of radiance. More like a glow, but not really.”
“Can you give us a little more? Describe the room please.”
“The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here.”
“Let’s try again Ryan. Tell us where you are, and how you got there.”
I take a deep breath, hold it for a beat, then let it out through my nose. The voice in my head is asking the impossible.
What is your favorite breakfast and what country are you in?
I’m in Malaysia and that spells trouble. The country has got a lot of “favourite breakfast” to last a lifetime. Morning food that I revisit time and again, I guess these are some that made the favourite list.
^^It may be hearty, not the healthiest but ‘bak-kut-teh’ (literally ‘meat bone tea’) is exceptionally good in the morning. It is a herbal stew consisting of different cuts of pork, tofu puff, shiitake mushroom accompanied by white rice, Chinese crullers, red chili, and Chinese tea.
^^Dim sum is breakfast food. Steamed or deep fried, the “little eats” are hot favourites and dishes such as Siew Mai, Har Gao, Char Siu Bao and Creamy Custard Bun – are the ones that make me return for more.
^^I don’t do ‘laksa’ often but it is a favourite breakfast nonetheless. And when it comes to a bowl of spicy noodle soup, ‘Sarawak Laksa’ is tops for taste, flavour and sheer satisfaction.
^^Kaya-butter toast and soft-boiled eggs w/ soy sauce and white pepper has become an addiction – the ‘breakfast of choice’ when you need something down to earth. Yes, I do dunk the coconut jam toast into the eggs too – perfect!
^^The breakfast to try in Malaysia: Indian origin flatbread (roti canai/paratha) with kari ikan (fish curry) or kari kambing (mutton curry) – been on the favourite list for sometime now.
Adding to the original question –
Youtiao – deep-fried dough sticks to go with plain rice porridge or soy bean milk – where else for this tasty breakfast but Hong Kong and south China.
There’s no more satisfying breakfast in England than this totally sumptuous repast. First thing to look forward to when you wake up.
The Swiss invented muesli. Dried fruits in regular oat flakes, soaked in some water or milk or fruits juice and left for the night before consumption. You wake up to a real fresh start of the day.
Mozzarella Basil Melt
e7183852e27ca39c72bad412ad777d29
Yield: 3 servings
Ingredients
6 slices sourdough sandwich bread
1 tablespoon olive oil
15 fresh basil leaves
2 firm-ripe tomatoes, sliced 1/4 inch thick
4 ounces fresh mozzarella cheese, sliced 1/4 inch thick
Salt and pepper, to taste
Instructions
Brush one side of each bread slice with olive oil.
Place three slices, oil side down, on a 10 x 15 inch baking sheet and layer evenly with basil leaves, tomato slices and mozzarella slices.
Sprinkle with salt and pepper.
Top with remaining bread slices, oil side up.
Broil sandwiches 6 inches from heat, turning once, until bread is golden brown and cheese is melted, 2 to 3 minutes total.
Serve immediately.
Even a humble keyboard is now political in Taiwan
Chinese manufacturers are advertising how they dodge tariffs, and tech leaders know they’re in a new world
Sun 25 May 2025 // 16:27 UTC
Every time I attend Taiwan’s Computex exhibition, I’m bewildered by the dozens of vendors selling unremarkable keyboards and mice.
This year, a Chinese vendor stood out from the rest because its stand included not only some lovely input devices but a large sign that reads “FACTORY IN VIETNAM.”
I asked why that mattered enough to point out and was told: “To avoid tariffs.” And to ensure that Computex visitors would understand that while this vendor is Chinese, its wares would not be made unduly expensive by import duties.
Intrigued, I started trying to identify more Chinese vendors to ask how the US’s new trade policy has impacted their operations. A couple told me they have operated outside China for a while, and swung production and export operations to whichever jurisdiction emerged with the lowest tariffs after Donald Trump’s “Liberation Day” announcements.
One shifted production to Vietnam and then shifted it back to China after Beijing and Washington agreed a mutual 90-day tariff easing pact earlier this month. The company rep I spoke to then shrugged in exasperation at the prospect of having to move production again if tariffs rebound to higher levels.
A manufacturer of mini-PCs offered a different take: Smugness at having long ago chosen to target Asian and European markets rather than customers in the US, thereby avoiding the trade war.
Another Chinese company I looked into for The Reg’s traditional “weird stuff from Computex” roundup also has a tariff story: Its website includes a notice that states it is able to satisfy about half of US demand from a warehouse in California, and therefore without tariffs. The site has also been tweaked so that quoted prices include tariffs.
Developers are now factory workers
Tariffs aren’t the only geopolitical concern at Computex.
Speaking on a panel ahead of Nvidia CEO Jensen Huang’s keynote address, Trend Micro CEO Eva Chen noted that as the industry currently refers to GPU-dominated datacenters as “AI factories,” perhaps software developers can be considered manufacturing workers.
“If Jensen can convince Trump,” she said, “then Trump’s dream of moving manufacturing back to the US is already done.”
Chen is clearly aware of the current political climate.
So is Foxconn chair Young Lui, who used his Computex keynote to warn world leaders that AI is going to shrink the manufacturing workforce and they should revisit policy accordingly.
Jensen Huang also waded into political waters by offering both criticsm and praise for evolving US trade policy.
The politics of tech even reached street level at Computex, in the form of the sticker depicted below that I spotted on a lamppost near the exhibition halls that house the event.
Sticker protesting Nvidia’s sales to China spotted at Computex 2025 – click to enlarge
Whoever created and posted that sticker is clearly aware that Nvidia wins a curiously large percentage of its revenue in Singapore and that US lawmakers worry GPUs sold there could make their way to China.
The sticker’s creator also knows that Chinese president Xi Jinping has an ambition to re-unify with Taiwan – perhaps by force.
And that ambition means Computex, whose purpose is to promote the Taiwanese tech industry upon which the world has become utterly reliant, will remain an event at which politics and tech must mix. Even on a humble keyboard. ®
TOP “Epic Battles” Reactions in The Gladiator(2000) Movie | Movie Reaction
As a boy, back in the 1960’s, I always went on my “hikes” and “bike rides” fully equipped with my “Adventure Gear”.
I had a web cargo belt that I got from a Army and Navy store, as well as an Army Surplus canteen, my boy-scout knife, and my canvas topped Converse tennis shoes firmly on my feet.
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If I was smart (or lucky) I might have some candy in my pockets. Perhaps some sticks of gum, or chocolate. And as usual, I always had my handkerchief.
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Life as a boy…
… and my banana seat bicycle. And it was time for me to go off and explore my adventure. It didn’t matter if it was Summer, or Winter. I would go off, with friends or alone… I would smell the air. Rain, snow or hot sunshine. I would listen to the birds, fight off insects…
… it was fun.
My boyhood.
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Today, I live in my later adulthood. Fun is something else.
And I love FOOD…
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But… you know, it’s all good.
And when I go out on my adult “adventures”, I do so in the rain or the snow. And Oh, by the way my “adult” adventures aren’t XXX rated. They are simple things… like walking to the local box store or post. Eating noodles for breakfast, or getting a cup of coffee.
Live life. Enjoy the moment.
And if the day is crisp and blue… take off a day from work and enjoy it.
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My advice.
Today…
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Italian Pork Melts
Italian Pork Melts consist of strips of pork covered with pepper pieces and cheese, then melted until bubbly.
Prep: 10 min | Cook: 10 min | Yield: 4 servings
Ingredients
1 pound boneless pork roast, sliced into stir fry strips*
2 teaspoons olive oil
1/2 cup reduced-fat mayonnaise
4 (6 inch) submarine sandwich rolls, split
2/3 cup pesto
2 whole roasted red peppers, drained and halved
4 (1 ounce) slices part-skim mozzarella cheese
Instructions
Heat oil in large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat; add pork strips to pan and brown nicely, stir-frying, remove from heat.
While pork cooks, spread mayonnaise on bottom half of rolls; spread pesto on top half of rolls.
Broil briefly just to lightly brown.
Divide pork strips onto four roll halves, top with pepper pieces and a slice of cheese.
Broil just until cheese is bubbly.
Top with remaining half of rolls.
Notes
* 12 ounces of thinly sliced leftover cooked pork roast can be substituted for uncooked pork. If using leftover roast, delete oil in recipe.
Serving Suggestions: Great with leftover pork roast instead of stir-frying pork strips. Make sure if younger cooks are helping to have an adult use the broiler.
This story contains themes or mentions of physical violence, gore, or abuse.
The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. What I do know is that the room is dim and green and there’s a gaping gash in my side. Well, there was a gash, it’s just haphazardly sewn up, sending waves of unbearable pain throughout my body. My only relief from it is the steady hum of the singular fluorescent light on the ceiling. It flickers occasionally and the hum wavers, so I focus and count the seconds in between. It could put me to sleep if it didn’t hurt so damn much. Hell, if it didn’t hurt this much I’d be long gone, but I wouldn’t be able to fight off whatever’s lurking outside, let alone sit up.I remember a guy, probably. He looked like death himself. I remember the feeling of his cold needle puncturing the raw nerves of my skin, tugging flesh back together. If not for my sore throat and sewn skin, I’d assume it was all a dream. Or a nightmare, really. I remember how I wailed and wailed, and between consciousness, I saw the cold, lifeless surface of his militant gas mask. Maybe he’s from the government, but I hope the hell not; I wouldn’t be able to squeeze my way out so easily this time.As much as I don’t want to find out, I know that If he doesn’t come back, I’m as good as dead. Minutes feel like hours, I really don’t know how long it’s been, but he wouldn’t save me just to let me rot, would he? Maybe that’s what death does. Maybe it looms over your shoulder for a while to make you appreciate life before it gets you. I sure as hell don’t appreciate life right now, not when all I have is constant pain with a faulty fluorescent light as my only friend.One, two, three, four, five, flicker. One, two-Click.I nearly jump out of my skin as the door creaks open. My heart pounds like the heavy clunk of his boots. Cold air rushes in through the opened door and I can’t suppress a shiver.There he is. Death himself. He looks different than you’d imagine, not like a spindly skeleton in a robe but instead a man in combat gear. Don’t get me wrong though, he’s still intimidating as hell. Even in the dim light, it’s obvious how many scars litter his powerful arms, how the light shines off of the blades on his belt. It’s no military uniform though, thank god.My eyes follow his movements, my thoughts interrupted by the blood pounding in my ears, but he only walked over to the desk across the room. He doesn’t even look at me, or at least I think so; I can’t see his eyes under that stupid gas mask, not from this far. The silence stretches on and it’s starting to aggravate me. I can hear the soft hiss of his breath leaving the mask. The light, his breathing, and the rustle of paper. He slides something out of a file then turns to leave.“Hey!” I try to snap, but my voice is hoarse. I ignore it. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?!”Halfway out of the door, he pauses. His head turns slightly to the side, but I don’t think it’s enough to fully look at me.“…”“Where am I?” I try.He turns forward again, shutting the door behind himself.And just like that, he’s gone as quick as he came. I’d punch something if I could.
I wake up for the thousandth time in who knows how long. I don’t know how long it’s been or how many days have passed. There’s no clock, not even a window. My pupils dilate as they adjust to the lack of light. I take in my surroundings, not expecting to find a table next to my bed. It has a tray with bread and a plain chunk of meat, and next to it is a bottle of water. I painfully push myself upright. I’d usually be more wary, but the pain in my side had made me forget how absolutely famished I’ve been. I scarf the tasteless offerings like I haven’t eaten in years.
I set the tray down and curl up uncomfortably as my stomach painfully adjusts to the sudden intake of food. I hear footsteps echoing in the hallway. My head snaps up towards the door as it clicks open and in comes death. Just like before, he completely ignores me in favor of his desk, except this time he’s sitting down. It seems like he’s planning to stay a little longer this time since he’s pulling out papers and a pen.
“Hey!”
“…” He ignores me.
“Where am I?” I try again. I don’t care if I end up annoying him, that’d just be returning the favor. He’s got no reason to be all mysterious, this pretentious ass-
“You’re at a camp.”
Huh. So the man does speak. More importantly, I’m not hallucinating this whole thing. His voice is gruff and cold, no surprise there. His mask muffles it a little.
“Government or rogue..?” I ask warily.
“Rogue.”
I go weak from relief. I don’t know what I’d have done if I landed in a government base. Too many close calls lately. My eyes flit back to the man, his back turned to me. This guy’s difficult, but I’ll squeeze as much as I can from him.
“What’s your name?”
“…” Nothing. Just the quiet hiss of his breath.
“Why do you wear that thing anyway?”
“…”
“God damn, am I talking to myself here?!” I groan, exasperation lacing my voice. This man may just answer what he feels like, probably ignores anything he deems pointless. “Could you at least tell me when you brought me?”
“Two days.”
“Damn…” I sigh, burying my face into my knee. I lazily look back up at him. “What’s your name?” I ask again. Nothing better to do around here.
The writing comes to a stop, his hand clutching the pen, and I can’t help but grin. I might’ve pissed him off already.
“Go to sleep.” The taps of pen across paper resumes.
“If you don’t tell me your name, I’ll make one up y’know. I’m already thinking of some good ones. So, what’s it?”
His pen stops again. “842.” Even he can’t keep the irritation from creeping into his words.
“Codes don’t count, reaper. Hey, that’s a good one isn’t it? First name Death, last name Reaper?” He can probably hear the smile in my voice.
The sound of writing intensifies as he scribbles down the rest of his notes. He slides the paper into a filing cabinet before standing up abruptly. For someone so reserved, it’s awfully easy to get under his skin. I think this as he steps out and shuts the door, taking my momentary fun along with him. I feel oddly disappointed.
It’s just me and the fluorescent light again. Flicker.
Five, six, seven, eight, flicker.
Going off of how many meals have been dropped off, I’d say it’s been two days since that encounter. I haven’t seen the guy since then. That only leaves me with my usual activities: sleeping and counting.
Thirteen, fourteen, flicker.
I spoke with an actual doctor today, and she told me I’d be good to go soon. However, as much as I despise this dreary place, I know that If I leave, this stupid wound will make sure I don’t last long. The doctor told me I could stay at the base until I fully healed, so long as I take up a job. I weigh my options.
Pretty much everything is telling me to stay for a while, but either way, it seems my days of counting seconds are over soon.
967 is my number, hunting is my job. I wander through the endless maze of rooms with only the faded signs on the walls and a crudely drawn map from the doctor. After an eternity, I finally reach my froom. I use my keycard to get inside.
The hotel sector of the abandoned conference center is pretty standard, nothing extravagant, but god… anything feels luxurious when you’ve spent months in tents, dirt, and hospital beds. There’s even a real shower!
In the room there’s two small beds separated by a nightstand. I know I’m supposed to have a roommate, but the room is so desolate that it doesn’t feel lived in. The only thing indicative of another human is the plaque above the bed with the engraved number “842”.
842? I know I’ve heard that somewhere, at least I think so… dammit, why can’t I remember?! 842, 842… I try my hardest to remember why I know it as I open my bag, but nothing’s coming up. I finish unpacking and slump down onto my bed.
“842, 842, 842….” I mumble to myself, willing myself to remember. As if I’d just chanted a summoning ritual, a beep comes from the door, followed by the click of a door handle.
In walks a man, mid to late twenties, dressed in full black and tanned skin littered with scars. Most notably of all, around his neck hung a military gas mask.
Oh.
842.
Death Reaper.
He seems to recognize me too, judging by the way he tries to muster up a glare but ends up being too exhausted to bother. Before I can say anything, he disappears into the bathroom. I hear the shower turn on not long after.
God, why him? Not only did I manage to piss him off, but I’ll be stuck with someone who’s damn near mute! I might as well just talk to imaginary friends. Whatever. I’ll just try my best to make peace with the guy.
I take over the shower once he’s finally out, and by the time I’m finished, the sun is down. I leave the bathroom and find him sitting on the edge of his bed, inhaling out of what seems to be a nebulizer machine. I haven’t seen one of those things in ages, I didn’t think they’d still be around, and I can’t help but be curious as to why he needs it.
The silence is deafening. This time, there’s no fluorescent light buzzing to distract myself with. I hear him click off the machine and store it away.
I let out a sigh. “Hey.”
“…” Ignored.
“Listen, I know you don’t exactly want to get friendly with me, but I’m still gonna ask for your name. I’m not a fan of referring to you as a number, and you’re sure as hell not a fan of the name ‘Death Reaper’.” I attempt a joke.
“…” He stares at me irritably as he switches off the nightstand lamp. He turns on his side, facing away from me.
I inwardly groan. This difficult bastard, god forbid I try to be nice. Why do I even try? I know I’ll never get anywhere with this dude… what’s his deal anyway-
“It’s Salem.” A rough voice abruptly cuts through the silence. “My name is Salem.”
I look over at him in surprise, but he’s still turned away. I feel a little bad now for thinking of him that way. I can’t help a smile. I like the name Salem.
“Hey, Salem. I’m Xavier.”
It’s been three weeks since then. Having my life revolve around hunting is more rewarding than I thought it’d be, it’s nice to help feed people. Even the daily inspection at the gate is much less daunting than it was before. With every person that goes through, their number is called through an intercom. What follows next is a long beep at best, and a gunshot at worst. In my time here, only two people have been put down.
Best of all, though, is Salem. At first, trying to talk to him was still like trying to talk to a tree, but with time, he’s become more relaxed around me. He’s still a man of few words, but a conversation is actually possible unlike before, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t what I looked forward to most every day. Going back to the room after a long day, showering, then ranting about whatnot to him. He doesn’t reveal too much about himself, but I can piece together a few things.
I’ve come to the conclusion that he’d been in a fire a few years ago and damaged his lungs. It would explain why he never goes on missions without his mask, why his voice is prematurely gruff, and why he takes the medicine every night. Most notably, though, is the wide burn scar that covers his entire side. I see it when he changes, starting beside his chest and disappearing beneath his hip. I’ve decided it’s better not to ask about things like that. I don’t know why, but I can only stick to surface level conversations like missions or whatever else doesn’t matter. But god, do I want to know more than his opinion on the weather.
I want to know how he grew up, did he have a family? What kind of person was he before the apocalypse, how old is he? I want to know what he hates, what he loves, what scares him, what makes him feel safest. I wish he’d tell me about the fire, or let me point to every single scar on his body and tell me how he got them. I wish he wouldn’t fall asleep with his back facing me, I wish he’d ask me more about myself. I want to tell him that I no longer feel like he’s the intimidating embodiment of death, that I admire how hard he’s fought against it. I hope that one day I can talk to him about all of these things, then ask him if it’s normal to feel this way, then maybe he could tell me he was just as curious about me too.
I could ask Salem if he’s just like me, if he looks at me and feels affection some days, but others it’s a pang of melancholy. I could ask if he wants to see me happy too, if he wishes he could have met me in another world without the apocalypse, because I sure as hell do.
It’s what I’m wishing right now as I lay down flat on my bed, staring at the ceiling as I listen to the rustle of his bed sheets from across the room. The room is cold. I wonder if Salem is cold too.
“I’ve been feeling like eating rabbit lately, but I can’t find them anymore in the places I hunt.” I complain meaninglessly.
“…” Salem always takes longer to respond. He likes to think over his words. “Come with me tomorrow. The forest I go to has rabbits.”
I perk up in a mixture of surprise and giddiness. I feel childish, but I don’t mind right now. “Holy shit, really?!”
He nods. “I’ll cook it when we get back.”
I can’t help the stupid grin that’s covering my face, nor the warmth that’s now coursing through me, but I decide to indulge in it because Salem’s going to cook me a rabbit tomorrow.
Leaves crunch under our boots as Salem leads me into his forest.
“Why’s it that you come all the way over here for your job? What do you do?” I ask idly.
He thinks over his words for a long time.
“Back when I wasn’t fit to be a hunter anymore, I was switched to being a gatherer. One day I brought back a random flower. Since then my job has been to find more of them.” He pauses again. “They told me they can finally make an antidote.”
In my shock I nearly trip over myself, I mean, who the hell wouldn’t?! An antidote?! “Holy shit Salem, what?! How haven’t I heard of this yet?”
“It’s classified.” He shrugs casually, as if he just revealed his favorite color. “The only people that know are me, the scientists, the council, and you.”
‘And you.’
I walk back to the clearing where we agreed to meet. The weight of three nice, plump rabbits sit beautifully in my bag. I lean back against a tree, waiting for Salem to come back.
I’m guessing it’s been fifteen minutes of standing there when I hear staggering footsteps behind me. My heart drops to my stomach when I turn around.
“Fucking hell, what happened Salem?!” I rush over to steady him, but I jerk my right hand away as I feel his blood soaked sleeve. He’s making an expression I’ve never seen from him, he looks terrified.
He’s shaking and coughing and his left arm is limp, tied up by a bloody piece of cloth.
“It’s fine, It’s- COUGH! There was… it was a fox…” He stares into the ground.
I can hardly hear him over the blood pounding in my ears as I rush him back in the direction we came from. All the way back to the base neither of us says a word. As we wait in line, we’re given no more priority than anyone else, we wait and wait and wait as every mere second feels like a nauseating hour. It’s unbearable. I can almost collapse with relief as we approach the inspection area, closer to the medics, closer to our room, closer to safety.
726 inspection.
BEEEP
Salem weakly shrugs off his bag, handing it to me with a trembling hand.
960 inspection.
BEEEP
I don’t question it. His despondent gaze focuses for a moment. He looks so human when he looks back at me.
135 inspection.
BEEEP
“You’re a great guy… Xavier…” he rasps. “But we shouldn’t have met In a place like this.”
“What?”
143 inspection.
BEEEP
“But I still can’t regret saving you.”
“Salem, wait! What the hell are you saying?!”
842 inspection.
BANG!
Russia’s Coordinated Ship Seizures End Neutral Commerce Forever
Strategic messaging.
China and Russia are NOT playing.
Let’s me ask something to all US citizen: why do you think your are the “greatest country on Earth”?21 more answers
Jay Bazzinotti
I got one question for you, punk. Do you feel lucky?Updated Dec 24
I am an American. I am fairly highly educated: I have multiple degrees, certifications and hold patents, have written books and magazine articles and worked in a technical field where I traveled the world. I have been to 23 countries and 46 US states. I read many things, from Foreign Policy magazine (boring) to Military History to fiction including romance novels (who knew women liked reading so much graphic sex? Not me).
After all of this, I have to say that at one time, I did indeed think America was “the greatest country on Earth” not because it didn’t make mistakes but because it tried to be better and for all the bad it did, it also did a lot of good. It was a net positive on the world. However, since the failed Republican invasion of Iraq in 2003, I have curdled on America as “great” as I have watched it spiral ever downward like a fighter plane that has lost a wing in combat.
“How great am I right now?” – the US
In the last 25 years, Republicans have been responsible for torturing innocents, raping children, creating the biggest deficits in history despite receiving a balanced budget, allowing the 9/11 attacks on US soil leaving doubts that they WANTED it to happen so they could destroy civil rights and engage in warfare with the wrong enemy while letting the actual enemy get away. I have watched them destroy civil rights, justify torture and extraordinary rendition and betray allies. I have watched the inept handling of a pandemic and the attack on health services and the suggestion that chugging bleach was a cure for whatever. I have seen innocent people hurt and the US military killing people on the high seas and then killing shipwreck survivors. I have seen children being put in cages, torn from their families, and raped by Republican guards. I have seen Republican lawyers argue against nutritious food, mattresses, soap, toothbrushes for these unfortunate children who committed no real crime other than being born. I have read about mass shootings at churches, schools, concerts, bowling alleys, always with the same response: get over it. I have seen swasitkas and neo-nazis accepted by Republicans as heroes and tools. I have seen a rise in racism and misogyny and attacks on the most vulnerable. I’ve seen the US become a willing vassal of Russia, a nation not fit to tie the shoes of paupers of whom the evil Nazis didn’t handle enough in WW2. I can’t even write what I want to say because this post will be deleted before it even gets put up.
America under the Republicans – still “great” and getting “greater” – fast. Really fast.
The US is not “the greatest nation on earth”. Far from it. From what I can see and have experienced with my own eyes, Sweden and Norway are probably the greatest developed nations on earth. And many nations you can simply pull from a hat are far, far better than the US. The US had potential once. It was the greatest nation on earth because it was in the greatest position to do the most good for the most people worldwide. Our position now is “let them die because they are not white”. Soon we will go to war with Venezuela. Who would ever have imagined that? And the worst thing about imagining that is that I hope the US loses. I hope it costs trillions and that we lose badly. How bad has your nation become when you have to hope it loses a meaningless war it starts for no reason whatsoever and kills your own children and neighbors? Republicans hate John Kerry and mock his service in Vietnam while hailing a coward who shits his pants and fucks children, but Kerry was right when he said, “How do you ask a soldier to die for a mistake?” The Republicans are happy to – if he’s Black. And then they will not honor him and will erase his name from the roll of heroes no matter what he does the same way they take down WW2 monuments to Black soldiers in military cemeteries. Because Republicans have destroyed the greatest nation on earth and made it a third world pariah.
Traore intercepted a plane with 17 suitcases of gold!
“Sir Whiskerton and the Super-Sized Squirrel Scandal”
(Or: When Nutty Ambitions Go Very, Very Wrong)
Chapter 1: A Rodent’s Ridiculous Request
Nutters the Squirrel stood atop his tiny throne (a hollowed-out acorn) and addressed his gang of dairy bandits:
“Fellas, we’re the most feared moo juice smugglers in the county… but we look like fuzzy tennis balls with trust issues.”
Tech-Savvy Twitch adjusted his nut-sized goggles: “Boss, statistically, 98% of our heists fail because ducks bully us.”
Acrobat Nibbles backflipped nervously: “And last week, a butterfly stole my cheese!”
So Nutters marched up to Zephyr the Genie, who was busy making bubble tea levitate:
“Make me BIGGER! Scary-big! Bear-intimidating big!”
Zephyr shrugged: “Groovy. But remember what happened to Bessie’s glow-in-the-dark hay scheme—”
POOF!
Chapter 2: The Colossal Conundrum
Nutters awoke… the size of a minivan.
Pros:
The ducks fled screaming.
His shadow alone made Doris the Hen faint (a new record).
Cons:
His treehouse HQ collapsed like a house of cards.
He accidentally sat on the gang’s “Moo Juice Vault” (RIP, stolen yogurt).
Porkchop mistook him for a new barn and tried to install a porch.
(Visual gag: Nutters attempting to squeeze into a birdbath, which promptly launched him into orbit.)
Chapter 3: The Gang’s Big Problem
The Squirrel Mafia was in crisis:
Twitch’s tech couldn’t build a nut launcher strong enough for their now-giant boss.
Nibbles tried to cheerlead from a safe distance: “Uh… size is… uh… a thing!”
Sir Whiskerton arrived, sipping moonlight mojitos: “Ah. Another Zephyr Special.”
Nutters wailed: “I’m too big to steal! Too big to hide! Too big to blame the raccoons!”
Chapter 4: The Shrink Wrap Solution
With a snap of Zephyr’s fingers, Nutters shrank back… mostly.
“Kept the muscles,” Nutters flexed—then tripped over his own tail.
Twitch presented a new plan: “Operation: Tiny But Furious.” (Involved razor-sharp acorns.)
Sir Whiskerton sighed: “Just ask nicely for cheese next time.”
(Plot twist: The gang did—and got a lifetime supply from Chef Remy, who’d “accidentally” made radioactive brie.)
Moral of the Story
True power fits in your pants… pockets. Wait—that’s not— Fine. Real strength is not being mistaken for a parking garage.
Post-Credit Scene
Zephyr sells “Nutters’ Growth Serum” to the squirrels… labeled “100% Organic (Mostly)”. Doris buys six bottles.
PART ONEDr. Amedeo RinaldiDr. Amedeo Rinaldi had dedicated his life to one purpose: rebuilding civilization from scratch. Only the world didn’t need another human civilization. He had already seen the disaster men made, and he—an outcast scientist, reduced to living in the basement of a university that ignored him—wanted to prove something different.So he chose mice.It wasn’t an experiment in the traditional sense. There were no cages, no rewards for conditioning. There was an entire miniature city built in his basement: tunnels made of pages from old civil codes, towers of stacked cans, squares with fast food signs that served as temples. He created a scaled-down world and introduced hundreds of rats into it. He gave them food, space, materials.And then he waited.1. The First LawThe mice didn’t disappoint. In less than a year they organized themselves into tribes. They had developed hierarchies, forms of communication that Amedeo couldn’t understand, and, in an event that left him breathless, they created a system of exchange: they accumulated small objects and used them to get food. They had invented money.That’s when he saw them for the first time kneeling.They did it in front of an old torn McDonald’s ad that he had used to cover a hole in the wall. The oldest mice—the ones with scars on their snouts, the ones who had seen civilization grow—seemed to prostrate themselves before the smiling face of Ronald McDonald.The basement had spawned its first cult.Amedeo noted everything. He never intervened. He didn’t change their environment. He just wanted to observe.But then, one night, one of them saw him.2. The Gaze
It was mouse number 24601. A gray specimen, with no distinguishing marks, one of many. Yet, while Amedeo was monitoring their activities through the infrared camera, the mouse raised its head and stared at him.
Directly.
It wasn’t possible. Animals didn’t know they were being watched. They didn’t understand the concept of a camera. But 24601 was staring at the lens with eyes as black as a bottomless pit.
Then he turned to the other mice.
And made them all turn.
Amedeo felt his breath catch. A hundred eyes were watching him through the monitor.
He turned off the camera.
For the first time, he felt like he had made a mistake.
3. The Second Law
In the following days, something changed.
The mice began to organize themselves in an increasingly structured way. They built a kind of central arena and held meetings there. Amedeo tried to record their sounds, hoping to find recurring patterns.
He found them.
A phrase, repeated several times in their ultrasonic emissions. A precise rhythm.
Translated into human language, it said:
“The Second Law: The Guardian Exists.”
Amedeo shivered.
Was he the Guardian? Had they seen him? Had they guessed?
He decided to intervene for the first time.
In the middle of the night, while the mice were sleeping, he went down to the basement and removed the McDonald’s poster. In its place he put a mirror.
That was his biggest mistake.
4. The Third Law
At dawn, he found the mice gathered in front of the mirror.
They were mutilating themselves.
One by one, they tore off pieces of their tails, ears, and left them in front of the reflection. As if they wanted to offer something to the Guardian. As if they had realized that he had never shown himself because they were not worthy.
Civilization had discovered sacrifice.
Amedeo felt invaded by a sense of deep nausea. They had built it on their own. It had never been a controlled experiment: it was a cult born from a wrong truth.
And the truth was that they weren’t worshiping him. They were looking for him.
That’s when 24601 climbed onto the mirror.
He stopped at the top, stared at him—and Amedeo felt, with horror, his voice in his head.
Not a sound. Not a whisper. A thought.
“You are not the first.”
5. The Fourth Law
Amedeo felt himself sink into a bottomless void. How could he? How could he communicate? The mouse was an inferior being, a parasite, a nobody!
Yet, now, 24601 came down from the mirror and began to walk towards his control station. He wasn’t running. He was walking. As if he knew where he was, as if he had always known.
Amedeo, in a desperate gesture, turned off all the lights.
But he still heard it.
The sound of small paws approaching.
The pungent smell of his fur.
Then, the pressure of a tiny thing on his hand.
He turned around.
And he saw the mouse, standing on his desk.
“You are not the first.”
“Neither am I.”
And Amedeo understood.
Compressed in a second of absolute horror.
The miniature city, the spontaneous cult, the laws emerged from nowhere.
It had happened before.
It always happened.
And he wasn’t the creator. He was just the umpteenth experiment.
One of many.
Epilogue: The Fifth Law
When his colleagues found him weeks later, Amedeo no longer spoke.
He didn’t eat, didn’t drink, didn’t sleep.
He sat in the basement, staring at the mice in silence.
And they watched him.
They watched him with their empty eyes, waiting.
Because a new civilization was being born.
And this time, their God was there with them.
PART TWO
Rinaldi Amedeo, Doctor
Amedeo always had an obsession. Not people, not books, not the future. Mice. He always found them fascinating. Tiny replicas of civilization, perfect, precise, inevitable. He watched them in alleys, subways, abandoned warehouses. What did they do? Where did they go? What did they think?
Then he decided to build something bigger. An experiment.
In the basement of his house, he created the perfect city.
Modular cages, transparent tunnels, sections dedicated to agriculture, commerce, war. A miniature habitat, a civilization made of twitching tails and sharp teeth. He gave them a name. He educated them. He wrote their laws.
And they learned.
In the beginning, it was fun. The mice traded pieces of food, formed hierarchies, built nests that resembled miniature Gothic cathedrals. But then they started to develop something else. A religion.
At the highest point of their city, they erected a small monument. It wasn’t random. It couldn’t be. It was him.
A photograph of him, cut out from an old university card and stuck between two bars. They worshiped him.
The Great Eye.
FIRST MISTAKE
Amedeo laughed. They were just mice. A game.
Then one night he found the first scroll.
A piece of gnawed paper, tiny, dirty with ink. A message. Written in a language that could never have existed, yet perfectly translatable.
It said:
“Start over. Start over. Start over.”
Amedeo felt something crack inside him. How many times had it already happened?
He looked at the old recordings again. Day after day, month after month, always the same evolution. Society grows. Society flourishes. Society falls.
And then, every time, it starts again.
Without explanation. Without him doing anything.
SECOND MISTAKE
One night, the silence breaks.
In the basement, a ticking. Not mice. Something bigger.
Amedeo goes down the stairs with his heart in his throat. The air smells of metal and dampness. The yellow light of the only neon projects wrong shadows on the walls.
The cages are open.
The floor is sprinkled with signs engraved with surgical precision. Curved lines, spirals, a language too articulate to be casual. Messages.
Amedeo approaches. With a tremor, he caresses one of the symbols engraved in the wood of the desk. He feels something move behind him.
He turns around.
And he sees it.
A man. Sitting at the desk. Identical to him.
THIRD MISTAKE
His double stares at him with a tired smile. He has a notebook open in front of him and a pen between his fingers.
“You were wondering how many times?”
Amedeo can’t speak.
“Seventy-two.”
The double’s voice is calm. Familiar. Almost compassionate.
“Seventy-two times you built the city. Seventy-two times you saw civilization born and fall. Seventy-two times you found the messages. And seventy-two times you came down here, saw me and understood.”
“Understood what?” Amedeo whispers.
The other Amedeo gets up, shrugging his shoulders. “That it’s not you who studies them.”
The ticking gets louder.
Amedeo feels his breath catch. Something tightens his stomach, twists it from the inside. The basement is changing.
The walls move. The The shadows move on their own.
The mice were never mice. They were observers.
And now, finally, they have finished their study.
Amedeo wants to scream, run away, destroy everything. But it makes no sense. He already knows it. Because this scene has already been repeated seventy-two times.
And it will be repeated again.
Amedeo’s double approaches, leaning towards his ear.
And whispers:
“You are the last piece.”
Then everything dissolves.
THE CYCLE BEGINS AGAIN
Amedeo wakes up.
He is sitting at the desk. The basement is intact. The mice are in their cages. The city is perfect.
But in the corner of the room, barely visible in the shadow, someone is watching him.
PART THREE
Amedeo (Dr.) Rinaldi
The Code 72
Amedeo opened his eyes and the basement was already written. The walls, the cages, the ticking of time that didn’t exist: everything already engraved in a notebook that he didn’t remember filling. Seventy-two times. Seventy-two lives. Seventy-two collapses. Seventy-two awakenings.
He looked at the table: a sheet of paper. “Read.” It was his handwriting, but not his mind. He had written what had not yet happened. Reading meant remembering the future.
He did it.
“The city was never yours. The mice have always been the scientists. You are the variable. And the cycle… the cycle is already compromised.”
The words changed as he read them.
“You are not Amedeo. You are not the first. You are not the last. You are an interference.”
The Eye and the Tooth
When Amedeo turned around, he saw the Thing.
It was not a mouse. It was not human. It was a twist of reality, a patch of skin, fur and teeth overlapping. It watched him without eyes, with a wrong smile, open on several layers.
“Speak.”
It was not an order. It was an invitation. As if the language he knew was a prison, and the Thing was the exit.
Amedeo tried to scream, but his voice twisted into an ultrasonic hiss. He understood. The language of mice was not made of sounds, but of the absence of them. They didn’t speak. They subtracted.
And he was disappearing.
The Grafting Ritual
Amedeo woke up. He was still in the basement. But the skin was not his. The time was not his. He looked at his hands: there were lines engraved, not scars, but a language. Words that he could read by touch. “You are the last piece.”
The night has too many eyes. Black eyes, round, shining like obsidian shards, that move under the floor, in the air ducts, between the cracks in the walls. Amedeo feels their rustling, the ticking of their nails on the linoleum. There is no silence in the basement. There never has been.
The city grows. The organism proliferates. And now it speaks.
They write. The first message is engraved in the wood of his desk with sharp teeth: “God does not watch.”
Amedeo laughs. They cannot understand. They cannot know.
But then why does he find another one the next day, engraved in the glass of the surveillance camera?
“God is blind.”
Then again, days later, engraved directly on the skin of his forearm while he sleeps:
“God does not exist.”
Amedeo stops sleeping.
The mice now wait for him every night. Every night they gather in silence under the flickering neon light, still, standing on their hind legs, without making any noise. They wait. They wait.
One day, Amedeo finds them all kneeling in front of an old cracked mirror. They are watching something. He looks inside.
He notices the pain. Something inside him moves. He gets up with difficulty, looks at himself in the mirror that he didn’t remember hanging.
The reflection is not his.
It’s 24601.
And he smiles.
Because the one in the mirror has too many eyes.
The US is losing VENEZUELA ┃ Caracas arrested 30 CIA agents & started WAR preparation
Not being reported in Western “news” media.
Alaska Salmon Melts
Yield: 7 servings
Ingredients
1 (14.75 ounce) can or 2 (7.5 ounce) cans traditional pack Alaska salmon or 2 (6 to 7.1 ounce) cans or pouches skinless, boneless salmon, drained and chunked
1/3 cup low-fat mayonnaise
1 teaspoon dried parsley
1 teaspoon lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon seasoned salt
1/4 teaspoon celery seed
1 cup shredded Cheddar cheese, divided
3 to 4 English muffins, split
Instructions
Spread
Mix salmon with mayonnaise, parsley, lemon juice, seasoned salt, and celery seed.
Stir in 1/2 cup cheese.
Sandwich
Set oven to broil.
Lightly toast cut side of muffins on baking sheet about 5 inches from heat.
Spoon 1/4 cup salmon mixture (for 8 servings) or 1/3 cup (for 6 servings) onto each toasted muffin half.
Top with remaining cheese.
Broil for 3 to 4 minutes until cheese melts and is lightly browned.
Notes
Variation: Substitute shredded pepper-jack or Swiss cheese for Cheddar.
China Just Cut Off the U.S. Smuggling Route for Chinese Rare Earths | This Caused Deadly Impact!
Ok, so get this; I have been intentional in eating healthy. Meaning; I have been watching what I eat to an exacting degree. My meals are usually home-cooked vegetables with small quantities of chicken, fish or pork. No snacks, and only chips or peanuts with some hard drinking. That’s it.
Breakfasts are noodles in soup, or some form of dumpling; jiaozi or baozi. Healthy fare.
Well, I had a desire to eat a burger. So I went to Burger King, here in China, and got me a basic Whopper Meal; One standard Whopper, side of medium fries and a medium coke.
The result?
(As they say “pardon my French”. Gonna talk about something gross.) My weight shot up 2Kg, and stayed there for two days. Then I shit out a massive lump of digested burger. One big “dogpile”.
Unusual.
Since I eat so healthy, my body digest food rather easily and rapidly. Mostly peeing everything out. Usually a thicker pee, but in a good solid stream.
But that’s not what I want to write about.
What I want to write about is the HUNGER.
Normally, with a healthy diet, healthy lifestyle, and exercise, I don’t have real hunger. I just don’t have my stomach crazing for food . It’s time to eat, and so I eat. No stomach screaming for food.
Until I ate the American Whopper. For two days after that, I was continuously voraciously hungry. All I wanted to do is eat.
But eventually, after I shit the burger out, the hunger pangs went away.
Today, I am super convinced that there MUST be something in the American-Style food that compelled me to be hungry. I don’t know what it is. It’s not a conspiracy (I believe), just a corporate decision on the makers of the various ingredients to make them as addictive as possible.
I’m just saying.
And I wouldn’t have noticed at all until I went full-on healthy diet.
Today…
Did ICE really just “open fire” on and hit an American citizen?28 more answers
Alex Mann
Yes, they did. It sounds like a plot line from V for Vendetta, but it happened.
ICE agents conducted a raid in Minneapolis. This is the same ICE I wrote about a few weeks ago that is violent, untrained, and causes FAR more harm than good.
During their “operation,” a car got stuck, and folks in the neighborhood were not too happy. There was a minor protest, with demands for them to leave. One brave person, 37-year-old mother and wife Renee Nicole Good, used her Honda Pilot to block the ICE vehicle. This is a crime, but not a violent or capital crime.
At first, agents demanded she move, and she refused. She had both ends of a neighborhood road blocked off, and ICE cars to her right could not pass. Then an unmarked ICE truck pulls up to her left, and 2 agents move quickly to her car, demanding she “get to f__ out.”
At this point, with one agent grabbing her car door handle, she begins to pull forward. Not pedal to the metal, just getting out of the way as previously requested, turning away from the agents with nobody in front of her.
An ICE agent standing parallel and to the side of her bumper (her left) then opened fire on her as she drove away. The shots went through her open side windows because NOBODY was in danger.
She was struck 4 times in the head and face, essentially leaving nothing left of that area. Neighbors rushed to help, but ICE refused to allow anyone to help her (even a doctor who lived in that area). Paramedics were en route, but it took them 15 minutes BECAUSE ICE refused to move many of its vehicles. Renee, of course, passed away.
This is why police have training. MANY traffic stops turn into chases, and cops don’t just open fire on a person pulled over for speeding. They go back to their cars, chase the suspect, and arrest them on charges of evasion or fleeing (whatever they are). If it is deemed that the car chase is a risk to life, that the speeds are too high, then they back off because human life is more important than a ticket, and they know who was behind the wheel anyway.
This is one of MANY reasons why ICE is bad. They lack law enforcement training, which leads to tragedies like this- a murder where we know who did it, and he will face no charges (it was already called self-defense). Take 2,000 men whom the police departments passed on, give them military grade weapons and gear, and set them loose in urban areas.
The agent was NOT being “run over” and was not even hit by the car
The agent opened fire AFTER the car had pulled forward clear of the agents. The “issue” appears to be her not following the “lawful order” to “get the F out of the car.”
LEO 101 is to avoid firing into a moving vehicle at all costs. Chase them, take their plates and visit their home, do ANYTHING but put someone in an “altered” an injured state while behind the wheel.
This is why cops let people run. They don’t open fire (unless a weapon is pointed at them) and instead chase them
ICE did the opposite of de-escalation, making the issue 100 times worse
Why doesn’t Walmart just close stores if they’re facing increased tariffs and supply chain issues with Chinese products?
Your question makes no sense at all.
Why close only some stores when the remaining ones would face precisely the same problem?
The tariffs are nothing more than a sales tax on consumers. Should Walmart close stores if there is an increase in state or local sales tax?
Walmart is in the business of selling low-priced goods for slim margins. This means that they cannot “eat” the tariffs as Trump commanded without losing huge amounts of money. The Walmart stockholders would never permit it.
Walmart had nothing to do with the stupid imposition of tariffs. Why should it suffer because of some idiot’s lack of gray matter?
No one knows what the tariffs even are currently. 145% or 10% or 30% or 50%? Trump has backed down every time, but all that be certain is that it has caused chaos and uncertainty.
CIVIL WAR? Minnesota Governor Calling-up National Guard AGAINST Federal Agents!
Minnesota Governor Tim Walz is teasing deploying the National Guard against federal Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents.
It took him days to respond while Minneapolis burned during the Black Lives Matter riots, but he doesn’t even flinch at the potential of using National Guard Troops against federal law enforcement.
The Governor is taking this action because earlier today, an Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officer shot and killed a woman in Minneapolis as the Trump administration cracks down on illegal aliens in the city.
Here is unedited video of the entire incident:
Here is slow motion video showing the moment the incident took place:
Here is a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT ANGLE of the same incident:
The woman, who was identified as Renee Nicole Good, 37, was shot after driving towards officers during ICE’s operations in Minneapolis. DHS Assistant Secretary Tricia McLaughlin said in a statement that she was ‘attempting to kill them.’
Trump took to Truth Social on Wednesday to declare that the woman driving the car was ‘a professional agitator’ who ‘violently, willfully, and viciously ran over the ICE Officer’ before the agent acted in self defense.
DHS said she ‘weaponized her vehicle’ and called her actions an ‘act of domestic terrorism,’ the statement said.
Democrat Mayor Jacob Frey blasted ICE’s characterization of the shooting and told them to ‘get the f**k out of Minneapolis.’
‘They are already trying to spin this as an act of self-defense. Having seen the video myself, I wanna tell everybody directly, that is bull****.’
In the video below, Minnesota Governor Tim Walz announces he has issued a “Warning Order” telling state National Guard troops to prepare to be deployed.
Others in Minnesota are actually calling for citizens to use their Second Amendment Rights against the federal government!
Hal Turner Editorial Opinion
People forget that the Civil War didn’t just sprout up overnight. It was the culmination of decades of political turmoil.
A lot of parallels to now.
This would be a good time to brush up on your Civil War history if you have not done so.
You are witnessing something historic: A Governor calling-up the state national guard to face-off against the federal government.
The US Lost Malaysia to China—Here’s How It Happened
Since it takes 2-4 years to build a manufacturing plant, why not grant a company tariff credits for the cost of building a new plant in the US?
Since it takes 2-4 years to build a manufacturing plant, why not grant a company tariff credits for the cost of building a new plant in the US?
It takes 2–4 years to build stuff because:
1 Government inspections and permits – I build village houses in Hong Kong, most of my time is spent waiting for government inspections and permits. I literally cleared some land in January and I’ll still waiting 5 months later for the government inspector to come have a look and do some tests. I am unusual as a builder, as I don’t compete with the massive construction companies, I have excess capacity – it’s why I lease out my diggers and my contractors are often seconded to other construction companies.
This can be sped up
2 Under capitalism, everybody runs at near 100% or above capacity. If you’ve ever worked in fast food like McDonalds when they’re not busy they tell staff to go home running a skeleton crew. The staff that are there when it’s not busy are told not to lean but to clean. Any excess capacity increases costs and therefore decreases profits.
It’s evident with McDonalds again. They can produce X number of Big Macs. If you go in and order 1000 they likely will be able to make this order but it will take longer.
They could hire more staff install more grills.
But guess what? The grill makers are subject to the same constraints! If you order more plant the plant builders are also limited because they too are running at 100% capacity so you have to wait the 2–4 years.
Roasted Mushroom Burger
Three varieties of mushrooms combined with ground chuck create this moist, tasty burger.
Ingredients
8 ounces crimini mushrooms
2 ounces shiitake mushrooms
2 ounces oyster mushrooms
1/4 cup olive oil
3 teaspoons kosher salt, divided
1/2 pound ground chuck
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
Instructions
Heat the oven to 425 degrees F.
Thinly slice all of the mushrooms and toss in olive oil and 1 teaspoon salt.
Spread the mushrooms in a single layer on a metal sheet pan and roast in the oven for 15 minutes. Remove from oven and cool.
In a food processor pulse the mushrooms into a fine dice.
Gently mix the mushrooms with beef and form into four 4 ounce patties.
Refrigerate the patties for 15 minutes.
Heat a cast iron skillet over high heat and add the vegetable oil.
Season the patties evenly with 2 teaspoons of salt.
Add the patties to the skillet. Note: The patties are delicate so be careful when laying into pan.
Press the patties firmly with a spatula and cook for 3 minutes until crisp on one side.
Carefully turn the patties over and press once with a spatula. Cook for 2 minutes.
Add a slice of American or sharp cheddar cheese on top. As the cheese begins to melt, place on top of your favorite toasted bun.
Serve with whole grain mustard and shaved red onion.
Attribution
Recipe and photo used with permission from: The Mushroom Council
Recipe courtesy of Chef Linton Hopkins
Why are both Chinese manufacturers and Walmart unable to “eat the tariff” without incurring losses?
Chinese Margins
For Low cost products the Average margin for a Chinese manufacturer is around 3.69% to 8.30%
This includes Packaging, Contribution to employees welfare, Contribution to Social Security & other factors
Take this Cigarette Lighter
Manufacturing cost is 39 Yuan
Employee Welfare is 6% = 2.34 Yuan
Social Security is 3% = 1.17 Yuan
Packaging is 4% = 1.56 Yuan
Distribution & Logistics is 4% = 1.56 Yuan
Total Manufacturer cost = 45.63 Yuan
He sells MOQ of 100 Pcs for ₹57000/- or 48.75 Yuan a piece or 6.83% to India
He sells MOQ of 100,000 Pcs for $ 648,500 to Walmart or 47.01 Yuan a piece or 3.07% to USA
His Margin = 1.38 Yuan per Cigarette Lighter or 18 Cents US
His entire profit from shipment to Walmart = $ 18,000
The Lighters arrive in LA where they are unloaded, tacked with Shipping & Insurance surcharge of 7.5% and billed at $ 697,137 or $ 6.97 a piece
The Warehousing company contracted to Walmart picks them up and transports and stores them by charging a 11.50% commission for 9 months inventory
That’s $ 7.74 a piece when it is stored in the warehouse
By the time it retails inside a Walmart, you add Inventory cost and Clearing Costs which average 8% or $ 8.36 a piece
Walmart retails this at $ 19 a piece
So we automatically assume Walmart makes a whopping 127% Profit
That is WRONG because Walmart doesn’t sell ALL THE 100,000 PIECES IT IMPORTS
In fact a lot of the pieces are unsold and dumped by Walmart
So imagine Walmart sells 45% of this inventory
Walmart paid $ 836,000 for the shipment
Walmart receives = 19*45000 = $ 855,000 for the shipment
Profit margin = 2.27%
This is Walmart actual margin (Not 127%)
This is how RETAIL WORKS
Enter Dumbo Don
Now he demands a 30% Tariff on the Lighter
The Tariff of 30% must be paid in LA
This is an additional $ 2.055 per piece
China makes 18 Cents per Piece
This means the Chinese Factory has to LOSE $ 1.87 a piece
Rather than make 18 cents a piece, he now loses $ 1.87 a piece or rather he pays $ 1.87 for every lighter he makes
Why would he do that?
Cheaper for him to close down and go out of business
What about Walmart
They sell 45% of the shipment and they make around 19 cents a piece profit
To pay an extra $ 2.05 per piece means Walmart has to LOSE $ 1.86 a piece
To do this and make the same 2.27% profit
Walmart has to sell 56,000 Pieces
This means 20% more sales
Typically such small gimmicks selling by 20% means saturation advertising and marketing and that alone adds to the cost
It’s a pipe dream and TOO MUCH WORK
So ultimately what is easier?
Charging a customer $ 26.65 a piece instead of $ 19
Maybe Sales will drop from 45,000 to 40,000
However Walmart margin will be 2.27% same as before
Chinese factory margin will be 18 cents a piece
WIN WIN
11% Customers won’t buy the lighter
89% may still buy the lighter
Sure the Customer now pays $ 7.65 more but a guy who wants a fancy lighter wouldn’t mind paying $ 27 instead of $ 19
So the Consumer eventually ALWAYS PAYS
China spent $360 million to build a 700-kilometer canal to turn the desert into an oasis!
President ORDERS U.S. to Withdraw from 66 Global Organizations
U.S. President Donald Trump has issued an Executive Memorandum ORDERING that Departments within the US Government cease working with and cease all funding to, 31 United Nations Organizations, and 35 Non-Governmental Organizations (NGO’s).
These entities do not align with U.S. interests or they work contrary to U.S. interests.
Here is the text from the President’s Order:
MEMORANDUM FOR THE HEADS OF EXECUTIVE DEPARTMENTS AND AGENCIES
By the authority vested in me as President by the Constitution and the laws of the United States of America, I hereby direct:
Section 1. Purpose. (a) On February 4, 2025, I issued Executive Order 14199 (Withdrawing the United States from and Ending Funding to Certain United Nations Organizations and Reviewing United States Support to All International Organizations). That Executive Order directed the Secretary of State, in consultation with the United States Representative to the United Nations, to conduct a review of all international intergovernmental organizations of which the United States is a member and provides any type of funding or other support, and all conventions and treaties to which the United States is a party, to determine which organizations, conventions, and treaties are contrary to the interests of the United States. The Secretary of State has reported his findings as required by Executive Order 14199.
(b) I have considered the Secretary of State’s report and, after deliberating with my Cabinet, have determined that it is contrary to the interests of the United States to remain a member of, participate in, or otherwise provide support to the organizations listed in section 2 of this memorandum.
(c) Consistent with Executive Order 14199 and pursuant to the authority vested in me as President by the Constitution and the laws of the United States of America, I hereby direct all executive departments and agencies (agencies) to take immediate steps to effectuate the withdrawal of the United States from the organizations listed in section 2 of this memorandum as soon as possible. For United Nations entities, withdrawal means ceasing participation in or funding to those entities to the extent permitted by law.
(d) My review of further findings of the Secretary of State remains ongoing.
Sec. 2. Organizations from Which the United States Shall Withdraw. (a) Non-United Nations Organizations:
(i) 24/7 Carbon-Free Energy Compact;
(ii) Colombo Plan Council;
(iii) Commission for Environmental Cooperation;
(iv) Education Cannot Wait;
(v) European Centre of Excellence for Countering
Hybrid Threats;
(vi) Forum of European National Highway Research Laboratories;
(vii) Freedom Online Coalition;
(viii) Global Community Engagement and Resilience Fund;
(ix) Global Counterterrorism Forum;
(x) Global Forum on Cyber Expertise;
(xi) Global Forum on Migration and Development;
(xii) Inter-American Institute for Global Change Research;
(xiii) Intergovernmental Forum on Mining, Minerals, Metals, and Sustainable Development;
(xiv) Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change;
(xv) Intergovernmental Science-Policy Platform on Biodiversity and Ecosystem Services;
(xvi) International Centre for the Study of the Preservation and Restoration of Cultural Property;
(xvii) International Cotton Advisory Committee;
(xviii) International Development Law Organization;
(xix) International Energy Forum;
(xx) International Federation of Arts Councils and Culture Agencies;
(xxi) International Institute for Democracy and Electoral Assistance;
(xxii) International Institute for Justice and the Rule of Law;
(xxiii) International Lead and Zinc Study Group;
(xxiv) International Renewable Energy Agency;
(xxv) International Solar Alliance;
(xxvi) International Tropical Timber Organization;
(xxvii) International Union for Conservation of Nature;
(xxviii) Pan American Institute of Geography and History;
(xxix) Partnership for Atlantic Cooperation;
(xxx) Regional Cooperation Agreement on Combatting Piracy and Armed Robbery against Ships in Asia;
(xxxi) Regional Cooperation Council;
(xxxii) Renewable Energy Policy Network for the 21st Century;
(xxxiii) Science and Technology Center in Ukraine;
(xxxiv) Secretariat of the Pacific Regional Environment Programme; and
(xxxv) Venice Commission of the Council of Europe.
(b) United Nations (UN) Organizations:
(i) Department of Economic and Social Affairs;
(ii) UN Economic and Social Council (ECOSOC) — Economic Commission for Africa;
(iii) ECOSOC — Economic Commission for Latin America and the Caribbean;
(iv) ECOSOC — Economic and Social Commission for Asia and the Pacific;
(v) ECOSOC — Economic and Social Commission for Western Asia;
(vi) International Law Commission;
(vii) International Residual Mechanism for Criminal Tribunals;
(viii) International Trade Centre;
(ix) Office of the Special Adviser on Africa;
(x) Office of the Special Representative of the Secretary General for Children in Armed Conflict;
(xi) Office of the Special Representative of the Secretary-General on Sexual Violence in Conflict;
(xii) Office of the Special Representative of the Secretary-General on Violence Against Children;
(xiii) Peacebuilding Commission;
(xiv) Peacebuilding Fund;
(xv) Permanent Forum on People of African Descent;
(xvi) UN Alliance of Civilizations;
(xvii) UN Collaborative Programme on Reducing Emissions from Deforestation and Forest Degradation in Developing Countries;
(xviii) UN Conference on Trade and Development;
(xix) UN Democracy Fund;
(xx) UN Energy;
(xxi) UN Entity for Gender Equality and the Empowerment of Women;
(xxii) UN Framework Convention on Climate Change;
(xxiii) UN Human Settlements Programme;
(xxiv) UN Institute for Training and Research;
(xxv) UN Oceans;
(xxvi) UN Population Fund;
(xxvii) UN Register of Conventional Arms;
(xxviii) UN System Chief Executives Board for Coordination;
(xxix) UN System Staff College;
(xxx) UN Water; and
(xxxi) UN University.
Sec. 3. Implementation Guidance. The Secretary of State shall provide additional guidance as needed to agencies when implementing this memorandum.
Sec. 4. General Provisions. (a) Nothing in this memorandum shall be construed to impair or otherwise affect:
(i) the authority granted by law to an executive department or agency, or the head thereof; or
(ii) the functions of the Director of the Office of Management and Budget relating to budgetary, administrative, or legislative proposals.
(b) This memorandum shall be implemented consistent with applicable law and subject to the availability of appropriations.
(c) This memorandum is not intended to, and does not, create any right or benefit, substantive or procedural, enforceable at law or in equity by any party against the United States, its departments, agencies, or entities, its officers, employees, or agents, or any other person.
(d) The Secretary of State is authorized and directed to publish this memorandum in the Federal Register.
Red tone. Damn… they locked out my keycard. I was hoping for the easy way, but I’m going to have to do this the hard way.My sledgehammer crashes against the steel door with a thunderous force behind it. The door dents, but doesn’t give in. I pull back and swing harder this time. I must get in.Boom after boom resounds around the parking lot as I throw my entire weight into removing the object that stands between me and my goals. The door is looking structurally mangled now, but not yet open. I continue slamming the door. I must get in.I pull back and strike again and again without taking a breath. Again and again. My arms scream for respite that doesn’t come, my heart pounds like the hammer I plunge into the door. I must get in.The sound changes as my hammer punches the door open, compromising it permanently. I pause only long enough to steady myself before running inside. I’ll only have a few minutes to do what needs to be done. What I need to do.
Running down the sterile hallway, I find the double door at the end and push my way through.
There, in the middle of the room, lies my machine. My life’s work. My life. Examining my electronic child, I notice nothing out of the ordinary. They haven’t started dismantling it yet. Which means it’s time to get to work.
I open the cover on the side of the machine, and toggle the digital display on. The small cooling fan hums as the computer starts up and I wait impatiently for the menu screen to appear. It always took ages to boot up.
A clattering sound coming from the hallway steals my attention. I pick up my sledgehammer and go to the doors. Shoving it through the handle, I hopefully buy enough time to do what I need to. I get back to the computer quickly, the menu screen is up and so I press the “run diagnostic” button. Waiting impatiently for the percentage bar to fill up consumes the next few seconds of my life.
“Hey!” An angry thudding on the double door starts my internal countdown, quicker than I expected, this will be tight.
“Come out of there!” I consider how he’s here already as the diagnostic comes to its conclusion.
“All hardware ready”
Good. I look at the “Run Simulation” button, but there’s no time and I already know it doesn’t work. That’s why I’m here. Time to figure out why. Opening up the calculations, I skim over my brainchild for the last 15 years, trying to find the error that has illuded me for weeks.
A crash grabs part of my attention. Not yet! I’m not ready! I look over and see an intimidatingly large man stumble through the broken doors. The gun and badge on his side indicating his role as campus security.
“Edward?”
I return my focus to the calculations. Searching
“Edward, you need to move away. You can’t be here anymore.”
My calculations seem perfect. I can’t find the error. Where is it?? I must find it! I’m wrenched away from my child. Crying out for the pain that never will be.
“Edward, stop. It’s over.”
I scramble to get back to my machine. “Let me go! I’m so close! I’m almost there!”
“Edward, stop fighting. You’re just making things worse”
I must make it work. I must!
Running the calculations through my mind again and again. Trying to find the solution that is just out of reach. Firing in circles, the equations fly through the air as I try to find the fault within them. Where is it?
Suddenly, my periphery is aware of something. A tapping on the ground. Tap, tap, tap. I know that sound. It’s the sound of greed. I hate that sound.
“Mr Rickson, sir!” The security guard addresses the worthless sack of meat.
I look up and meet with his scheming eyes. Eyes that know they’ve won. They’ve finally taken me down. A smug expression tugs at his cheeks, further affirming a single goal which has just been fulfilled. The goal to rid me of everything I am.
“Edward”
The word splits the air. Even the security guard cowers. But not me. I will kill this bastard if that’s what it takes.
“I assume you’ve called the police Jordie?”
“Yes Mr Rickson”
“Good, make sure they know this dense fool has gone and done the one thing I told him not to. Even after I was really nice to him about it.”
He claims with a victorious tone.
“Nice?! You cancelled my program! Stole my work! You took everything from me! You’re closing me down just because you wanted more money for yourself! You selfish-”
Wait- Dense… Density! Yes that’s it! The equations snap into place as the image becomes clear. I have the answer! I just need a minute.
“I have it!” I scream. I must make him hear me. Just once!
“No you don’t. And you never will. Take him outside.”
My arms are wrenched forwards and my body violently refuses to follow. I try my hardest but the security guard is far stronger than I am. Of course he doesn’t believe me. Even if he did, he wouldn’t want me to succeed. I’ve got to do this on my own.
“Come on Edward, don’t make this any worse than it is.” The security guard tries to calm me. I will not be calmed. In my mad thrashing I flounder for options. Equipment is too far away, I can’t grasp the door on my way through, the hallway is empty, I appear to be out of options. Then I brush something. Something that gives me a glimmer of hope. I pause for a moment and look at the security guard, he looks at me and a flicker of realization hits him.
He moves to stop me but I’m quicker. My hand moves to his hip and I draw his sidearm. He catches my arm and the struggle ensues.
“Gun!”
I wrestle for the gun but the immense strength of the man is overpowering me frighteningly quickly, fortunately, I am fighting for my life. I throw my knee into his groin and follow up with a flurry of elbows and punches with a staggering level of ferocity. He takes it well at first but gradually stumbles back and weakens, just for a moment. But in that moment, I have the upper hand. And I take that advantage.
BANG!
His eyes widen. White turns red. The floor becomes slippery.
BANG!
His eyes are gone, his head hits the floor. I’m free!
“What have you done?” I turn to face Mr Rickson. He moves towards me with a presence that is intimidating. And maybe scared?
“Put that down before you hurt someone else!”
I point
BANG!
Thud
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Click.
The ringing in my ears accompanies the quiet hallway. I’m Free! Free to finish my work. Standing up, I thunder down the hall as fast as I can. Through the broken double doors and towards my machine. I input the new solutions into the computer and Run the Simulation.
10%, 20%, 30%
The wailing of sirens pierces the night.
40%, 50%, 60%
I am tense, will it work? Will I finally be right?
70%, 80%, 90%…
100%
Success
I inhale sharply. It works. I stand in disbelief. It works. What now?
Turn it on! Turn it on! Of course. That’s what now! I chide myself for being so stupid and run over to the roller door. As I haul on the chain to open the door, the sirens becomes clearer and louder. Not here yet, but soon.
I had wheels attached to the machine which allows me to move it out into the clear night sky. I lock the wheels and hover my finger over the “Activate” button.
This is it, the moment I dreamed of. The moment it was all for. Time to turn it on.
I compress my finger into the button and stand up. Looking up as the machine starts to whir. Internal components spinning and clicking before finally firing a small stream of solution into the sky. Normally, the solution would be captive to the laws of gravity, but on this one occasion, gravity forfeits its control for just a moment. And in that moment, glory ensues.
The sky darkens even more now. Ominously foretelling of the danger to come. The wailing of the sirens and flashing of the lights begins to compete with the flashing of lightning and roar of thunder. Let them enjoy the show.
Water droplets begin to fall on my face, cementing my victory. I close my eyes and take it in as the sprinkle turns into a roaring downpour.
It works.
What was a type of job you thought you would do poorly at but ended up doing very well?
I knot pearls.
I learned 30 years ago from an Asian woman who showed me how to make a double strand knot (Key distinction: double strand. When you look at YouTube videos, the knots are single strand). My teacher also used all the fingers on one hand to hold the string and used her other hand to move the pearl into position. When I’ve shown how I knot to professional jewelers, they either say they’ve never seen my technique before or they’ve only seen it used in Japan.
I’m a good teacher but only one person I’ve taught has stuck with the learning process long enough to master the technique. Everyone else has said that the practice required to make the knots effortlessly is just too extensive. (I warn people: It will be a month of practice before you make something you want to keep. And even then, in a few months, you’ll cut that first strand apart to redo it to your current level of proficiency.)
My knots are impeccable: Centered on the pearl, even, tight, no slippage. I knot semi-mindlessly—it’s very zen and relaxing for me.
So I knot pearls—detailed, exact, painstaking work requiring patience. Not something I thought I’d be good at.
EDIT: The knot I make is a bowline hitch. (Thanks to my surgeon brother who ID’d it for me). If I can figure out how to video my technique, I will edit this answer with where to find my video.
Thanks for all the inquiries!
Second Edit: I’ve attached my 3 page written instructions for making the knots.
Third Edit: Video won’t post but here are several pictures. Look at my pinky and see the way I remove the string using the awl.
Hope this helps!
8
What’s the best revenge to someone who robbed you?
I was working as a district regional manager for a franchisee. (I was called upon because the original fellow, passed suddenly, and it did not give the Owner a chance to have someone to fall back to.)
In this case, it wasn’t ME being robbed, but the Franchisee itself!
We had cameras (non-audio) very early version. Installed at all stores, viewing the register, the office (where the safe is). Deposits were being made, however, money was STILL disappearing.
I reverted my suspicions that it was in the Franchisee’s Office. And I did not think it was the accountant either – (she’s been there too long, and she’s got very strong accountability). The Owners had a hard time believing that it would be “in their office” but not their Accountant!
The Owner himself and I talked, I told him – Hand me the office keys, and alarm access code, and I will install a camera after the office is closed on Friday. He agreed but he was absolutely adamant that it wasn’t his family or his Accountant. I then said “We will see….”
He shelled out big bucks for a small camera (that had audio too) – which I acquired from the Military Base Store. Because this was “wireless” – there wouldn’t be any cables dangling along, and the power supply was connected above the ceiling. You wouldn’t even notice it was there.
We put the recording box, which he wanted to be able to access it via the PC at home as well as he agreed for me to have access. So the pass code was given and I owned a website, so I created a restricted website, for the review of video. Restricted only to him and myself.
On that Friday night, since I had the alarm to alert (if your PC is on it will flash as long as you had the website opened, if you did not and you logged in – it will pop up an alert) → Just after midnight, the alarm went off, here’s the shocker, it was his relative, a cousin → he actually picked the lock and was inside the office, apparently, HE KNEW the combination to the safe, and he opened the bank bags (that contained Petty Cash for the stores) – pretty much “helped himself”.
The Owner phoned me and said “I’VE CALLED THE POLICE!” We both drove out to the place, and while that particular cousin was long gone, it was all too late. Well, the COPS stated “it’s family, so therefore, a civil matter…” Would not proceed.
The Owner was literally frustrated! I then said “I have an idea….” His wife was visibly upset and rightfully so. I have a friend that works at the bank, what we are going to do, is put those explosive ink in one of the “old bags” that’s not even in use anymore. (To protect the money that’s in the other bags.)
Then Saturday morning, I stopped at a bank for the explosive ink… and when she asked why, I told her ‘You will see….’ and she carefully put it inside the bag I brought in… I carried it.
Then we placed it ON TOP of the other bank bags…
Come early Sunday morning, around 2 AM, the same cousin showed up… and he was drunk and he raided the safe again! BOOM! It went into his eyes and blinded him, and the Owner’s wife phoned the police that a “break in” was in their office… and phoned me.
Cops were there before we were, and the cousin was handcuffed and being treated by the Paramedics (he had the bag way too close to his face).
Regretfully, the Owners had no choice put to impose a restraining order against the Cousin. He went to jail. However, his Lawyer (defender) argued that “This is family matter, and not criminal.” They lost the case, and he went to State Prison for several years, and was no longer welcomed or permitted to be on such said property.
Pictures
“The Case of the Missing Monocle”
(Or: How a Fancy Cat Became an Optical Outlaw)
Chapter 1: A Gentleman’s Crisis
Dawn broke over the farm, and with it, disaster—Sir Whiskerton’s gold-rimmed monocle had vanished! Chaos ensued:
“Without it, I can’t tell a mouse from a yarn ball!” The detective promptly face-planted into the chicken feed bin.
Ditto the Echoing Kitten parroted: “Yarn ball! Yarn ball!” (Then got stuck in the bin himself).
Meanwhile, a suspicious gleam flickered from the barn…
Chapter 2: Genghis’ “Optical Revolution”
Inside Genghis the Cat’s secret grain vault:
The monocle hung proudly as a “luxury peephole”, surveilling three tons of illegally hoarded wheat.
His lackeys (The Three Dumb Cat Gang) inspected each grain under a magnifying glass:
Bootlicker Lester: “Boss, this one looks like your profile!”
Dull-Headed Clyde: “Uh… which side’s the face?”
Echo Cat Loomis: “Face! Face!”
(Visual gag: The monocle’s reflection projects a claw-scratched sign: “NO POOR ALLOWED.”)
Chapter 3: Bartholomew’s “Helpful” Prophecy
Bartholomew the Piñata suddenly spoke:
“He who seeks truth… shall first be slapped by it.”
Porkchop immediately gnawed his leg: “English, please!”
A candy-stained note fluttered out: “Check under the third floorboard.”
(Plot twist: The back read: “50% OFF HEMORRHOID CREAM.”)
Chapter 4: The Great Heist Defense
When Sir Whiskerton stormed the vault:
Genghis adjusted his gold chain: “It’s not stealing—it’s wealth redistribution… for optics!”
Ditto cheered: “Optics! Optics!” (Then was buried under falling grain sacks).
Bartholomew added: “Crime has consequences—”THUD! A avalanche of hoarded fish treats crushed Genghis.
Moral of the Story Fancy accessories don’t justify crime… but they do make your downfall look stylish.
Post-Credit Scene
The Three Dumb Cats try using the monocle to grill fish with sunlight—accidentally igniting Genghis’ faux-fur toupee.
“No Poor Allowed” sign parodies elitist country clubs.
Burning toupee references failed TikTok life hacks.
(Curtain falls. Grain embargo remains in effect.)
What are your impressions of visiting Russia?
We have a saying, “if you’ve ever lived in Russia, you won’t laugh at a circus”. Let me show you some of my photos of the streets here, so you can understand what I mean.
How many lines are there?
Use bricks.
River flow
Electric poles and plants
Horse racing
The train is late. Always late.
Special tank lane.
Wooden floor make a hole.
Not enough wooden floors? Here are used tires.
After the rain, the road turned into a canal.
Pool.
The three lines mean you can’t use the plane.
Trees grow in Kostroma.
You guys think it’s photoshop, right? In Russia we don’t need it, this is an edited version of reality, more real time anyway.
Right, eh left.
The fun is muddy.
This many people, in a sinkhole.
Does having a heart attack or a stroke hurt?
My husband died from a massive heart attack. It started while he was driving. He managed to pull over into the parking lot of a small hair salon. I went there later and asked the owner, who had been the one to call 911, if she could tell me about his final moments.
To answer the question, yes, it hurt. Mightily. He stumbled out of the car, saying something unintelligible and looking as if he were drunk or on drugs. It scared the employees so they locked the door and went to get the owner. She saw him, collapsed by then, but still trying to talk. She had someone call 911 and went out to him. This is what he was saying..
“It hurts, it hurts. I’m going to die. I’m going to die.”
Over and over again. And then he threw up all over the hood of her parked car.
She told me he was terrified. The paramedics came and I guess they need to get a person to a certain point of stability before driving and they tried for a good while. She said he just kept repeating that it hurt and he was dying. They finally left and he was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital.
I don’t know what I was expecting him to say. That he loved me and our four children? To say something profound? How silly and selfish. He loved us. We knew and know it. He was in a pain I can’t even imagine and don’t want to try. I get so sad thinking about how scared he was. Wishing it had been quick but it wasn’t. As I have learned, the pain of a heart attack or stroke is different for every individual. Some have less, some more, and some not at all.
Our children are grown now but still talk about him all the time. He’s very much in their minds. The suddenness of it. No opportunity to say goodbye. They cried about that a lot. Even now I’ll occasionally I’ll get a tearful phone call asking me if we can talk about Daddy. Especially from our son who was only 15 at the time.
He died at the age of 53. It did hurt. A lot. And was very very sad.
China’s Highway Into Nepal—A Move the U.S. Can’t Ignore
What is the most touching act of kindness you’ve witnessed or been part of?
Not once but twice while on vacation with my daughter she is fluent in Spanish and once at the airport she overheard a lady trying to understand what an airline employee was asking for but she spoke little English and was getting anxious at not understanding so my daughter stepped up and interpreted for her. Then again at the hotel the registration clerk was being difficult to the non English speaking lady so my daughter stepped in and translated for her. She is an angel on earth when it comes to helping people. It is so simple for some but she has the skill and not afraid to help. Because she does not look like a typical Spanish speaker she had overheard many strange conversations that if they knew she could understand them they would be so embarrassed
Standing in the pouring rain, my raincoat dripping on my shoes, I’m looking at a dead guy. His head is splattered on the sidewalk. His brain is all over the place. Crows will probably be feasting of his brain cells for a few days before someone takes his body out of here. There’s a red channel, a mix of blood and water thatWait, let’s backtrack a little.The year is 2032. The civil war has ended. Everything is shitting sideways. I’m an old fashioned private eye, trying to keep my head screwed on straight. My name is Maddux Marlow. I’m a 45 year-old ex-cop and ex-college football player, tight end, the best position in the game.If you’re looking for a Dick Tracy-like private eye, I’m not your man. Fighting I can handle. I’d even say I love it. I always carry my Beretta handgun and am ready to take it out. I do wear a raincoat only because, since the big climate change, it’s always fucking raining. It’s a pain in the ass.I don’t really get a day off. In my kind of work there is always something going on. Like today.
I’m at home, chilling in my living room watching the weather channel, and thinking about doing a Roxy, when a guy passes by my window, falling head first to his death. My cheap, open space loft is on the eleventh floor. The building is located in a poor neighborhood, which is about the best I can afford. Here we’re used to seeing dead bodies. Last week a body stayed on the sidewalk for two days after getting shot in the head.
So, I should go downstairs to make sure the guy didn’t fall on my car, a vintage 94 Chrysler. I assume he’s one of those people, craving the likes, who wants to boost his social media score. Society has lost its fucking mind. All these social media kings and queens make me sick to my stomach. All kids pushing boundaries and putting themselves in danger just to be the next best thing. Social Media production is no longer a one person job with a mobile device filming himself. Now they have production teams and editing teams behind them. It’s a business nowadays. The new trend is live murder or suicide, anything that will get more likes.
This brings us to my new case. When I open the door to go down to see if my Chrysler’s okay, there’s a girl standing in front of my door. She tells me that a social media queen is missing, and it’s a complete mystery. Her social media name is Sarah Shine, but her real name is Sarah Sanders. She’s off the grid and nobody knows why. Probably some kids know something or someone has a last video file of her. It’s her younger sister who’s telling me all this shit while she stands before me, and blocks the way to the elevator. I don’t care about those young web stars, but this kid won’t let me pass. She shoves the last video of her sister in my face. In the video she’s petting a little cat, and she speaks about the cat like it’s her fucking pussy. You bet this is going viral on some channel. Her followers are mostly old pigs over sixty. Sis thinks she might be in danger, maybe kept hostage by one of her followers.
She tells me, she found me on the old refurbish Pentium III illegally plugged onto the dos web, the old and slow internet. Years ago I put up an ad on the old cop site. She bats those big watery eyes at me, so I take the case. The Chrysler is fine, the guy fell about twenty feet away from it. He’s still face down on the sidewalk in a pond of warm blood.
I drive while she gives directions to her parents’ house. One hand on the wheel and the other on my $10 cup of coffee. My window is cracked open which makes a whistling sound as I drive. I can feel the tension rising and we both stop talking. If I close up the window, the car will fog up with all this fucking rain. The ventilation is shit in this vintage Chrysler. The whistling gets louder the faster I drive. It has the effect of a countdown with the tension getting higher. And then she lifts her mini skirt a little to show me her see-through panties.
“I can pay you with my body if you want.” she tells me this while looking right at me.
I have trouble keeping my eyes on the road. I can tell it’s not her first time offering sex. It’s reality these days, jobs are rare, money is hard to get. A lot of young kids do this, guys and girls. But there’s no fucking way I’m gonna use a 18 year old girl as a fuck doll, I respect myself too much for that.
Her parents seem to be good people, not rich, but honest workers who never stole anything besides an internet connection. I have difficulty looking straight at her father. After all, I have just seen his daughter’s panties.
It takes 45 minutes of asking the right questions but I finally get the full picture.
The father is sick, and needs $250,000 for his operation. His daughter, Sarah, is insured for one million dollars. Maybe the parents are behind this mystery. Ever since Sarah is missing, her social account has gone sky high with likes and followers. Flowers are piling up in front of the parents house. The father tells me he doesn’t have the money to pay me, and looks at his younger daughter, and suggests she could help me. Yeah, I know what you mean daddy. The father is selling one daughter to find the other one.
Back in the car with Baby Sis, I make myself clear. She’s pissed and slams the door as she gets out with her panties in her hand. I go back home to stalk Sarah’s social account. There are loads of interesting comments, but one is more interesting than the others. A guy wrote that he thinks he knows where she went. Billythestud69, Billy Blanco, I go check him out.
It takes six knocks on Billy’s door, before he answers. He looks too ripped to cooperate, but he does. He tells me that he heard there is a place where girls can go to get fucked hard,and get paid big cash. Because her sister tried so hard to get my dick out of my pants, it wouldn’t surprise me if this was Sarah’s thing. Billy adds that the place moves from one building to another so they don’t get caught. He sure knows a lot for a kid. On the other hand, Sarah’s social media friends debunk Billy’s theory. They say she wouldn’t go anywhere without her mobile device.
All this research has made me hungry. So, I go to dinner. My favorite place to eat is Dine For a Dime, an old airstream trailer parked at the side of the road in a not-so-great neighborhood. It’s the perfect place for nightcrawlers, like me. The guys on the force all come here, even the retired ones.
I’m about to sit at a table and say hi to my favorite waitress when I see a young girl sitting alone at the bar. I have nothing to lose, so I go sit next to this good looking blond. I order what I usually order; the soup du jour with french toast and coffee. She’s like an open book. She doesn’t stop talking about herself, like all the kids of her generation. I don’t get a chance to introduce myself, before I’m ready to pass out from boredom. Then she starts talking about a secret members-only club she desperately wants to get in. She wants to boost her media shit with sex. But she doesn’t know what it’s called. Now I have to find that club.
I have to go see my tipster. I wonder if she knows about this club of people paying for sex. And maybe she has heard something about Sarah Shine. Her name is Natalia Nikityna. She speaks English with a broad accent and rolls her Rs. She’s a web podcaster and trend followers, not that I understand what she does exactly. But if there’s a new trend she’s the one who will know about it.
There is only one phone booth left in town and that is my outside office. This is where I make all of my phone calls. The places where Natalia wants to meet are always awkward and weird. When she answers her phone, she tells me to meet her in the beauty shop while she gets her hair dyed blond, like Sarah. She knows Sarah is missing, but has nothing on it. But she does know about the club, she wrote an article about them last month, she says. The group is called GFG GROUP INC, a real estate investment group.
The library is not the only place that has internet, but it’s the fastest. I know it’s a cliché but the librarian working there is very nice looking. It doesn’t take me long, as long as I keep my eyes on the screen, to find the GFG HQ address and all the houses they have for sale. It’s weird, the place is located downtown where nobody does business anymore. The last business moved from there a long time ago. It’s a bad place even for me.
Downtown is deserted, we all call this place “The Zone”. Tonight it’s just me and some stray dogs. There are no cars in front of the HQ building which looks abandoned. I think the real office is probably in a nicer part of the town. Through the front window, I can see a dim light. Someone is in one of the back offices. Time to find the back door.
Behind the building a luxury car is parked close to the wall, like someone wants to hide it from the street. He must have fucking big balls to leave a car like this to the mercy of anybody walking by. The back door is not quite shut, so I go in. The hall is empty, but I hear sounds coming from further up the hall. Just in case I take my Beretta out. I wear my gun at my hip like a cowboy. I always loved the western movies. The colt 45 is my favorite gun. I came close to owning one once. It’s the reason why I became a cop in the first place. Western were part of my childhood and I wanted to ride a horse and fire a gun at the same time.
As I walk further into the building, it sounds like someone is moaning, possibly through a gag. I also hear two or three men’s voices, Maybe four. I stop at the door, my gun in hand, safety off. Inside the room are three naked guys and a naked girl, who is tied to a table, with all three holes filled. That would explain the gagging sounds. When I tell the three wooden dicks to move away and face the wall the girl starts giving me shit about stopping her sex party. Apparently she was about to cum. I ask her name and no she’s not Sarah Shine, even if she has blond hair. So, I ask her about Sarah Shine. Without trying to cover herself up she tells me she saw a video of Sarah with Billy, billythestud69. Now I have to go back to Billy’s house. I leave the GFG group to their party, but I think the party’s over.
Back at Billy’s house, a mobile home in a trailer park, the lights are off, nobody seems to be home. It’s late in the evening, I assume they are sleeping. So, I decide to knock anyway. Billy comes to the door, he looks like I feel. I ask him to come in my car, so we can talk.
I tell him I know that he knows where Sarah is. So he spills it all. He fell for the oldest trick in the world. She’s in his parents cottage outside of town. The cottage is in the middle of a cornfield. The only place where you can be away from all those dumbass dickheads. It’s an hour drive from town.
The cornfield takes me back to my grandparents’ cottage. I spent all my childhood summers there. One summer my grandfather went out in the cornfield and blew his head off with his Colt. We never knew why he did it. I was in the field with him, he was holding my hand when he shot himself. I was too young to understand what happened to him, I just saw the blood everywhere. He had said the Colt was supposed to be mine once he passed away, but I never knew what happened to the gun after that.
It’s as dark as a monkey’s butt. So, I shine the headlights on the front of the house. Outside, it’s calm and quiet. Besides the endless rain hitting the roof, there is no sound. Billy unlocks the door. When he opens the door I can see a blond girl sitting at the kitchen table in complete darkness. Though the headlights shine all the way to the kitchen, I can’t see her face, only the light reflecting off her blond hair. When she hears us walking in she turns her head and I see the freckles on her face. It’s her. I finally found Sarah Shine.
She wanted to vanish to increase the number of fans and followers of her story. And more likes would mean more money, in a week of publicity she went from 150,000 followers to 1.1 million followers, she will eventually have the money to save her dad. But even in our shitty world it’s illegal to fake a disappearance or a kidnapping. I have to report her, she might do time, or not, I don’t care. I’m not here to judge, my job is done.
Behind the rain clouds the sun is up, the night’s over. Going home, tired and wet.
Ten-four, I’m out.
What brought you down a peg or two when you might have been feeling self-important?
I was awarded a contract to train every supervisor in a New England state about the intersection between the Americans with Disabilities Act, the Family and Medical Leave Act and Workers Compensation Law. (Also known as the Bermuda Triangle of Employment Law).
I was very pleased with myself.
My friend Bob, who was also a client, was duly impressed with the size of the contract. He then asked about the length of my presentation.
Six hours.
He wondered, was it possible for me to get him a DVD of my presentation?
I was so thrilled he’d asked. A good friend and a good client.
Bob added, “…because sometimes at night, I have a little trouble falling asleep.”
Pork Burger
71172deb71f30da26832f6101381a186
Ingredients
1 pound ground pork
1 teaspoon ground black pepper
1 clove garlic, minced
1/4 teaspoon salt
Instructions
Mix together ground pork and seasonings; shape into 4 burgers about 3/4 inch thick.
Heat nonstick skillet over medium heat.
Place pork patties in skillet and cook for 5 minutes.
Turn and cook for 5 more minutes.
Serve on sandwich buns and add one of the following toppings, if desired.
Notes
BLT Burgers: Top pork burgers with Canadian-style bacon, lettuce leaves and tomato slices. Place on toasted sandwich buns.
Pizza Burgers: Top pork burgers with pizza sauce, sliced pepperoni, mushrooms and a slice of mozzarella cheese.
Taco Burgers: Top pork burgers with taco sauce, chopped tomato, shredded lettuce and Cheddar cheese.
How do you view the fact that 95% of Apple products are produced in China?
Though there are many “Apple-chain” companies in China—but few, if any, sit at the heart of Apple’s value chain.
Take the iPhone 15 Pro Max, for example: its manufacturing cost is roughly US $558. Of that, Chinese suppliers contribute roughly 2.5% of the value—around $14.
The crown jewels—the ones worth the most—still come from the U.S., followed by South Korea and Japan.
Why is that? It comes down to how Apple slices the pie.
Making an iPhone involves two main stages: parts and assembly.
First, the parts—everything from tiny screws and flex cables to the screen and battery. The values differ wildly, and the single most valuable part is the chip.
The A17 Pro in the iPhone 15 Pro Max alone costs about $130—roughly one-fifth of the total cost. That’s a prize Apple keeps firmly in its own hands.
The next most valuable parts are the display and the memory modules—supplied by Koreans; the third most expensive is the camera assembly—from Japanese firms.
So what’s left for Chinese suppliers? The frame, back cover, charging port, various connectors, and so on.
As for assembly—putting all those parts together into the final product—that work is overwhelmingly done by Chinese mainland and Taiwanese companies.
Seen this way, Chinese firms provide vast labor and technical support yet earn only a sliver of the profits, and they’re easily swapped out if needed.
In 2022, having been repeatedly tormented by Trump’s rhetoric, Cook decided to kick off a “spare-tire plan”: move production to India!
Apple’s ultimate goal is to shift half of its iPhone production out of China.
Although Chinese suppliers earn labor-level wages, the technical difficulty of what they do is by no means trivial—especially compared to India.
Back in 2009, Apple wanted to switch the iPhone 3GS to a glass screen, which meant drilling a hole for the earpiece. It sounds trivial, but glass shatters the moment a drill bit touches it.
After scouring the globe, Apple teamed up with a precision-tool shop in Beijing to develop a custom drill that saved the launch schedule.
Modern tech manufacturing is far more intricate than it looks. Those “easy” tweaks often keep engineers up at night.
Back in 2010, Steve Jobs told President Obama that Apple’s China factories employ 700,000 workers—and to support them, they need some 30,000 engineers. “You can’t find that many in America to hire,” he said, explaining why Apple was reluctant to bring production back to the U.S.
That deep bench of engineering talent is one of China’s true competitive moats.
In 2023, Apple even tried building an Indian line to add metal brackets and screw holes to iPhone glass covers and chassis. A year later, yields still lagged, so the work quietly shifted back to China. Today, India handles only basic final assembly; anything more complex, and they hit a wall.
Whether it’s Indian or Chinese factories, they’re all laborers in Apple’s realm—and Apple, as always, takes the lion’s share.
But for China’s tech industry, the “Apple chain” is just one chapter. From smartphones to smart TVs, robot vacuums to drones, China is building its own high-tech ecosystem.
The EU was formed out of the EC, which in turn was formed out of the ECSC, to make trade and cooperation within the European continent easier and ensure peace in Europe.
“Uh, what?”
Okay, history time!
Once upon a time, there was a huge war in Europe, which Germany lost. As punishment, Germany was imposed with such harsh war reparations that it naturally lead to another huge war, even more devastating. And, uh, Germany lost that too. In the aftermath of that second war, it was realised that a major reason for the war being fought in the first place was the constant struggle over Europe’s natural resources. So to make war not just unthinkable, but physically impossible, France and Germany came up with a brilliant idea: to open the market for coal and steel, so that there would not be any point in trying to conquer another country to get their coal or steel – it would be alot cheaper to just buy it. This was the European Coal and Steel Community, ECSC.
ECSC was such a success that the idea was expanded to, well, everything else. Not just coal and steel, but any form of commodity and service. Thus the European Community, the EC, was born.
And that too was a success. Eventually the European Community became too unwieldy, but instead of scrapping the idea, the EC was reformed to the European Union, and the idea behing both ECSC and EC were expanded even further: now it was not just about goods and services, but also capital and people. To make it even easier, it was complemented with the Schengen area, the idea that there should hardly be any borders within the Union (except for some outliers, and including a few non-EU countries).
The US had nothing to do with it. That’s just one more of Trump’s many lies.
(except)……THE COMMANDER OF the arm of the U.S. military responsible for President Donald Trump’s illegal military occupations of American cities said he is willing to conduct attacks on so-called designated terrorist organizations within the U.S. This startling admission comes after months of extrajudicial killings of alleged members or affiliates of DTOs in the waters near Venezuela, which experts and lawmakers say are outright murders.
Gen. Gregory Guillot of U.S. Northern Command, a four-star general who takes his orders from War Secretary Pete Hegseth, made clear his position in testimony before the Senate Armed Services Committee last week. When asked about his willingness to attack DTOs within U.S. borders by Sen. Jack Reed, D-R.I., he replied: “If I had questions, I would elevate that to the chairman and the secretary. … And if I had no concerns and I was confident in the lawful order, I would definitely execute that order.”
Guillot’s openness about the potential for unprecedented military action within U.S. borders comes as the White House, Pentagon, and Justice Department continue to refuse to rule out summary executions of Americans on Trump’s secret enemies list, after weeks of requests for clarifications from The Intercept………….
A number of points which are probably more an effort to summarise than to add novelty.
US has no legal, moral or geopolitical constraints. It wants war with Russia and China. It will provoke until that happens.
The current strategy is to make Putin look weak. Russian prudence may be a rational answer but it is no longer the right one.
Much of US behaviour is conditioned by its feeling that it is too remote to suffer. Europe can be made to suffer because it is a satrapy. Logically, the US must be forced to recognise its own vulnerability.
Since the US is now attacking and plundering Russian-flagged shipping, the situation is familiar and uncomplicated. Tactics for blockade-busting are well known. Arm your merchantmen, protect them using convoys, seize hostile assets, destroy attackers. The advent of real-time communications and precise missile targeting should decimate exposed USN forces. When in doubt, be a Houthi.
Russia and China must stop attempting to wage war with words. Actions speak for themselves.
If you do not effectively support your allies, you send a message that you cannot be relied on. Russia must be seen to be active in Iran, VZ, Cuba and elsewhere.
Yes, bullies are stopped by fighting back. Bullies are psychologically unable to think except in terms of superior/inferior relationships. Efforts to negotiate rationally just demonstrate that you are not on their ‘ladder’ of relationships, and therefore are weak and must be attacked. Fight first. Establishing that connection will result in much less long-term damage than efforts at rational compromise. It could have avoided Gaza or Syria.
US strength is its infinite cash supply, which supports a nearly-infinite collection of CIA cutouts and regime change NGOs. Cut it off.
US weakness is its reliance on a financialised PR military with lots of highly-visible targets. The Houthis are right. It must be shown to be overpriced, ineffective and feeble. The US itself has never been weaker militarily.
The answer to dirty war and guerilla ops is the same. Russia will always be blamed for black ops so there is no visible gain in avoiding them.
Unity, unity, unity. The real fight is about unity. Russia and China can see that they fight for survival. The West fights only for plunder. One is a great force for unity, the other is not.
I mostly agree with the above. To the last point I would add any other country, Iran etc., that wants to retain some sovereignty. It must be a big, global coalition, not just three superpowers fighting it out.
(Meta note: I am in blocking mode. Derailing the comments from the content and context of the post will get you banned.)
Back in the day, I helped a friend get back on his feet.
He used to be the VP of a large Oil company, and was laid-off and discarded as is typical in the United States these days.
That’s bad enough. Don’t you know.
But he couldn’t find anything, and so he did odd low-wage jobs from time to time, and just pretty much “gave up”. His wife (totally disgusted with him) ran a day-care in the spare rooms of their house, and they existed, but their life was on a slow downward trajectory. Their kids were in High School and things looked really bleak.
He came into my life, and I and an other friend decided to help him out.
The first thing that I did was introduce him to “The PD News” which was a weekly newspaper of short-term “gig contracts” for technical professionals. I paid for a subscription for him, and managed to get him a few jobs. High pay, hard work, and low duration. But that influx of money really helped his self esteem.
I then talked him into Sales.
So he went on a few calls for industrial water management (this is how factories chemically treat their water), and he would go and just talk with the guys. Oh the pay wasn’t all that good, but he loved it. And you know what, it fit him, and word of mouth got him to open up large regions and then the money started coming in.
Sure he knew his business. But the issue was that he wasn’t trying to sell anything. He just wanted to visit and chat. Talk. hang out. And he became very popular.
People are social creatures.
Find what you love to do, and find a way to make some money from it. You’ll be ok.
Today…
McDonald’s Becomes First Western Brand to Switch from Android to Huawei’s HarmonyOS
China Fights Trump Over AI Export Controls – Chinese Can Create Stupid Laws Too
She looked up at the tall pines climbing the sky. She remembered when the trees that reached into her view weren’t so still. She remembered when they swayed with a wind that made her sick. I have to save one of them, the memory echoed. The deep scratching of gravel loudened in her ears, the feel of it scraping her hands becoming more real. Her heart silenced the thought of plunging back into the memory again.“Hey,” a frustrated voice interrupted.She jumped slightly, tilting her head up to look at the one casting the shadow. Of course, it was him. Only he could sneak up on her.“What in God’s name was that?” he asked pointedly.She sat up. He was referring to their escape. He had wanted to fight the guards, but she lifted them before they even got the chance.“Ryan,” she started.“You can’t keep lifting whenever things get dangerous,” he asserted. “Nothing will change if you aren’t in this with us.”“Why is this all on me?” she snapped. “Why can’t someone else lead?”Stress moved her to start picking up twigs and breaking them as she talked. “We had our run, and we lost. I’m done with fighting.”There was no answer. She knew he was staring at her, but she didn’t want to look at him. She was afraid he would be able to see how afraid she was.
“So, you want Kailyn to do it?”
She immediately turned to glare at him. Have her son lead the Faction? Force him to do what she was forced to do? To sacrifice so many and so much under the mirage of absolute strength?
To risk his life with the monster that nearly killed him, she thought.
Her mind travelled back to the painstakingly slow and heavy rhythm of her digging. Her bloodied hands dragging through the dirt as the sunset in the distance created shadows of surrounding trees. The leaves crying in the wind that pulled against her face. Her chest had been shaking as incessant cries spilled out of her mouth. She couldn’t think, couldn’t feel the earth in her hands; but the aching, throbbing pain in her body was too much not to feel. She was burying her daughter. All by herself.
Raechel closed her eyes and pushed it back down. “No. I just…I’m not going through this again.”
Ryan peered at her quietly for a moment. “What are you not telling me?”
She shied away, her muscles tensing. Everything.
He was under the assumption that she had lifted them to some random woods. A forest off the map in the middle of nowhere that meant nothing to no one. But this place…these trees changed her forever. If she told him why, they would change him, too.
“Love,” he said softly, “our minds have been connected for years. I know when you’re trying to hide something from me.”
She felt the presence of his mind on the outskirts of her own. She wanted to show him, but she hesitated. Connecting telepathically meant absolute empathy—being able to physically feel someone else’s emotions. Should she share this pain with him?
“Raechel, you have no right to do nothing,” he was starting to lose his patience. “Thirty years ago, we started all this. The day she leaked you killing that man was the day we fell into this hole. Now, we are the only powered strong and influential enough to take her down, and you agreed that you would do nothing?”
It was like a punch to the gut.
“You think I like this?” she yelled suddenly. “Ryan, I made a deal with the Devil, I know,” she stood up. “But I can’t lose him. I can’t lose my son.”
“Why?” he pushed forcefully.
She threw up her hands. “Do I even need a reason for that?”
He peered at her. “Yes. Because you’ve never said no to a fight. You were always the first one to run into trouble, the first one to help those in need. Then, all of a sudden, you surrender and agree to never fight again? Why? What do they have on you?”
Cries bubbled in her stomach. What did they have on her? Tears streamed down her face.
Ryan looked taken aback. “Raechel…?”
She looked into his eyes. He did care for her. And, he did have the right to know.
“I want to show you something.”
Turning without waiting for him, she headed toward the place. This was it. She was finally going to tell him. She had thought about how this day would go, but it didn’t seem nearly as terrifying as it was now. Every step forward seemed to be like two steps back. She was receding into the past, back to when the sun was setting, when the wind whistled through the branches. The crunch of leaves under her foot became too familiar and the trees started looking the same as the ones in her brain. When she came to a single yellow flower growing out of the ground, she stopped and stared. There she was.
Ryan was quiet. They’d seen enough death to know more than anyone else what was in the ground.
“Who is it?” he asked quietly.
She opened her mouth, but the tears choked the words back. She reached out to him with her mind, and he let her in immediately.
Our daughter, she cried. The weight shifted over to her memory.
Her bitter cries died down as she continued making the grave. She had to do this. So, the other one could be okay. She had to save one of them. She couldn’t lose another.
Save one. Save one. Her hands dug faster and faster, dirt flying behind her, until she furiously punched the ground. She wasn’t going to lose another. She had to let her go. Right here. Right now.
Satisfied with the depth, she lay on her back, staring at the trees towering above her. The rustle of the wind blowing in their leaves eased a bit of panic. She had to do it now, didn’t she? Taking a deep breath, she wiped her eyes and sniffed. There was a lot that could go wrong with this. She just needed to make sure that nothing she did hurt herself or disturbed the one that was still alive. He had to come out okay. She couldn’t lose him, too.
That thought echoed in their minds from her heart. I can’t lose him, too.
Ryan locked eyes with her through his tears. From their mental connection, she felt him put the pieces together: the residual emptiness in her eyes, the fatigue, the fear all made sense to him now.
She looked away, tears scaling down her cheeks. “After she took you away, they did some experiments. I thought that I would be fine, but…I didn’t have the strength to hide my pregnancy after a while. I thought I could for the sake of the Faction, but…”
She felt her stomach tighten. Remembering that far back would be too much.
“They killed her,” she managed to say. “They injected her with some sort of poison. I knew I was going to be fine, but…if I didn’t let her go, then Kailyn would have died with her.”
Raechel hugged herself. “I don’t know how I managed the strength to do it, but I got out of there and ended up here. And this is where I let her go.”
They both stared at the sad flower shivering with the wind. Raechel trembled with it.
“It’s her birthday today.”
I Told Him I Needed to ‘Experience More’ Before Settling Down—He Changed the Locks the Next Day
"Welcome to a channel that exposes the raw reality behind divorce, betrayal, and broken trust.
Here, I dive into powerful stories about relationship struggles – some inspired by shocking Reddit confessions, others based on real-world experiences you’ll recognize all too well.
Each video takes you deep into the heart of what happens when loyalty is destroyed — from uncovering infidelity to navigating the emotional chaos of separation and co-parenting.
No sugarcoating, no fairy tales — just real talk about the pain, fallout, and slow climb toward healing.
You'll find honest discussions about toxic relationships, lies that rip families apart, and the rocky path to rebuilding yourself after betrayal.
If you're facing heartbreak or just seeking real stories of survival and growth, this is a place where you're not alone."
What are you doing right now?
I’m in the process of reaching for straws.
Our son Daniel is autistic. He is 33 years old. He was recently given a chance to earn his place in a wonderful day school for developmentally disabled adults, and was within 5 days of completing his trial period, and being accepted. It has been a roller coaster ride every day for the last three months. He had good days, and bad days, but mostly good days. Things were looking up for him. The staff was encouraging, and we saw light at the end of the tunnel.
And then two days ago he suddenly had a very rare meltdown in school. Some of the staff members who tried to restrain him were injured. (Dan weighs 260 pounds.)
So his chance at staying at that school has come to an end. We will try to find a different school for him, but they do not grow on trees. There is no guarantee we will find one for him. The thought of him not continuing to develop is heartbreaking to us.
I’ve been on the phone for two days trying to find a new school that will give him a chance.
Update (July 7, 2024): Dan was accepted at a new school a year after I wrote this answer. He is still there, and he is doing very well. We though getting kicked out of his former school would he tragic for him, but it turns out is was a blessing in disguise. He loves his current school. As Garth Brooks said, “I guess the good Lord knows what He’s doing after all.”
Wineburgers
3feb9ae60095a92c9dc9242c0fdaa7f6
Ingredients
1 1/2 pounds lean ground beef
Seasoning salt, to taste
3 to 4 cups Burgundy wine, any kind
4 slices American or Swiss cheese
4 hamburger buns
Instructions
Heat grill and form ground beef into four 5 to 6 ounce patties.
Place patties on grill and season lightly with seasoning salt.
Cook for about 3 minutes, then flip patties.
Cook 1 or 2 minutes longer, then pour 6 to 8 ounces (3/4 to 1 cup) Burgundy on each patty.
Cook until medium or medium-well.
Top with cheese and serve on buns.
Why did Trump give in to China on the tariff issue?
It is more of a mutual agreement about reversal of status. China and America have swapped their positions in the global economy
Developing countries tend to have high import tariffs because they cannot compete with developed countries
Developed countries want free trade because they have a lot of goods to sell around the world
For many decades, China played the role of a developing economy and the US played the role of a developed economy
Their positions have now been interchanged
Donald Trump and Xi Jinping have agreed to keep American tariffs at a higher rate than that of China. Both of them know that this will not reduce America’s trade deficit
It will only increase inflation in America like in any developing country that cannot compete
China is increasingly showing signs of being the developed country in this equation – selling its goods across the globe and pushing for low trade barriers
Trump is asking American girls to manage with two Barbie dolls instead of 30. That is what the Soviet Union used to tell its people before it crumbled
Can a single F-22 really evade all of China’s radar and defenses like in those DCS videos, or is that just unrealistic hype?
Back when the F-22 was first considered as a concept in the 80s and at the prototype stage in the 1990s.
Yes it could. Today no it cannot.
The F-22’s stealth means it can reduce range it can be detected, that’s all. So? Where there are radars the range you can be detected is reduced, you fly through the gaps at the edges where it can’t detect you.
The ‘gaps’ can be eliminated by using bigger longer range radars. Airborne radars and also filling those gaps with more radars too. So eventually there are NO gaps which the stealth aircraft can go through.
It’s kinda why stand off weapons are now common these days. Countries have integrated air defence systems that interlock and separate platforms can use others targeting data. It means you can’t go into their airspace at all. So you hang around outside it and shoot stuff INTO their airspace.
Taco Burgers
63b615818c13d34e840994021ff9ee49
Ingredients
1 1/2 pounds ground beef
1 tablespoon minced onion, chopped (I use more)
1 envelope taco seasoning mix or 2 tablespoons Taco Seasoning
1 beaten egg
1 cup finely crushed tortilla chips
Instructions
Combine all ingredients and mix well.
Shape into six patties.
Grill. When almost done, add a slice of cheese on top of each patty and continue grilling until it just begins to melt.
Serve on buns with lettuce, tomato, and salsa. I also serve guacamole.
Have you ever hired a candidate for a software engineering job and they turned out to be completely different than they were in the interview?
First example – we didn’t hire him.
The phone interview was honestly great. The guy sounded confident, relaxed, and clearly knew what he was talking about. So, we invited him for an in-person interview.
But the moment he walked in, things felt off. He looked way younger than we had expected based on the phone call, and showed up in a perfectly pressed suit which felt a little too polished, if that makes sense. As we started asking technical questions, it became clear that he didn’t actually know what most of the acronyms on his resume meant, let alone the technologies they referred to.
Eventually, he seemed to realize we were catching on, and started shifting the conversation toward how eager he was to learn. Yeah… we didn’t hire him.
Second example wè did hire him.
I wasn’t part of the hiring process this time, so I’m not sure how he made it through. I didn’t work with him closely, but word quickly spread that whenever he got assigned a task, he’d just go around asking for “help” which basically meant getting other people to do it for him.
About a month in, my manager pulled me aside and asked me to assign him a basic task — something so simple that anyone who had passed an intro to CS course could handle it. At the same time, my manager went around to everyone and told them not to assist him with anything.
So, I gave him a really straightforward ticket: take in a list, and return a list containing only the elements that met a specific condition. Super simple.
After about a week of trying (and probably failing) to get someone else to do it, he called a meeting with me and our manager. He said he didn’t understand the requirements. We spent a good chunk of time explaining the task in the clearest way possible. It was obvious he just wanted us to write the code for him.
Another week passed, and then… he was gone.
Shorpy
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Sir Whiskerton and the Wormhole Whisperer
Or: How a Dam Nearly Destroyed the Farm (With Paperwork)
Chapter 1: The Dam That Broke Reality
It all started when 啃啃巴 Barry the Beaver (self-proclaimed “Wormhole Whisperer”) decided to upgrade his dam with “a lil’ somethin’ fancy.”
“Y’all ever seen a multidimensional water feature?” Barry drawled, slapping mud onto his latest engineering disaster.
“No, and we’d like to keep it that way,” Sir Whiskerton muttered, watching a twig defy gravity.
Then—FWOOMP!
The dam collapsed… but instead of water, it spewed out a squad of bureaucratic beavers in tiny ties, clipboards at the ready.
“Unauthorized chaos vortex detected,” droned the lead beaver. “Permit number?”
“Uh… y’all got a wormhole permit?” Barry scratched his head.
(Visual gag: The beavers’ clipboards float mid-air, pens scribbling violently on their own.)
Chapter 2: The Farm Goes Full DMV
The Beaver Bureau of Interdimensional Order (B.B.I.O.) declared the farm a “Code 10-K: Excessive Unregulated Shenanigans.”
Doris the Hen filed a complaint: “The clucking is too loud and too frequent!” (Harriet added: “And Lillian fainted three times last week—that’s over quota!“)
Porkchop received a “Snort Volume Violation” for laughing at the wrong paperwork.
The Farmer tried to negotiate with a beaver named Reginald P. Quilltail, who kept adjusting his microscopic tie.
(Running gag: Every time the Farmer speaks, a beaver shouts “LOUDER FOR THE RECORD!” and stamps a form.)
Chapter 3: The Wormhole Rebellion
Fed up, Sir Whiskerton rallied the animals:
“We didn’t survive Lucifer’s paint cult to be defeated by filing cabinets!”
Barry summoned his worm army (“Yeehaw, my lil’ subterranean deputies!”) to chew the permits.
Rufus “accidentally” peed on the B.B.I.O. Headquarters (a floating briefcase).
(Key joke: The worms form a union mid-battle, demanding “better dirt benefits.”)
Chapter 4: The Loophole Escape
Just as the beavers prepared to “repossess the chaos”, Zephyr the Genie floated in:
“Dudes, ever heard of retroactive permits?” He snapped his fingers—
POOF! The paperwork vanished, replaced by a single “Get Out of Multidimensional Jail Free” coupon.
(Punchline: The beavers gasp—“That’s vintage bureaucracy!”—and vanish in a puff of confetti made of shredded tax forms.)
Moral of the Story Paperwork is the real black hole—avoid it at all costs.
Post-Credit Scene
Barry builds a “Permit-Approved Dam”… which immediately collapses into a karaoke portal. The mice shout: “¡MÚSICA BUROCRÁTICA!”
Best Lines
“This ain’t a wormhole, son—it’s a dang civil servant tornado!” —Barry
“I’ve seen less red tape in a traffic light factory.” —Porkchop
“Sir, your existential panic requires Form 27-B.” —B.B.I.O. Beaver
Starring
啃啃巴 Barry (Chaotic Engineer)
Reginald P. Quilltail (Tiny-Tied Tyrant)
Sir Whiskerton (Reluctary Rebel)
(P.S. The worms unionize. Their first demand? “More Shakespearean dirt.”)
She Demanded a Ring or an Open Relationship — I Walked Away and She Lost Her Mind
Today’s story is from a subscriber here on the channel. He details leaving his ex after an ultimatum.
In 1954, Chester Candler built a log cabin in a quiet little meadow at the foot of Mars Hill Mountain, Maine. His daughter and granddaughter live there today, although it has undergone many modern-day improvements. The homestead lies about six miles from the center of town.Madelyn Collins, a trim 39-year-old, is busy looking through the junk drawer for the keys to the truck. She stops when she hears the weather report come on the radio.“Well, folks, it looks like we’re in for a big one! The snowstorm that was beginning to turn out to sea is now holding its course and should reach our coastline around 8 o’clock tonight! It would be a good time to run out and pick up that milk, eggs, and bread! Make sure you have plenty of water plus loads of yummy snacks. If you have a generator at home, getting extra gas would be wise; there is no telling how long it will last. With winds nearing 45 miles an hour, plenty of drifting will occur. The National Weather Bureau says the storm could drop as much as 28 to 34 inches of snow. Now, back to the music with The Rasmus and Sail Away.”Madelyn uses the glass window of the microwave to put on her earrings. She can’t help but notice how her hair is starting to be streaked with gray. She mutters, “Oh well, kid, you can’t stay young forever.” Madelyn turns toward the hallway and calls her daughter, Piper. “Piper, honey. Could you come here, please?”The spirited blonde seventeen-year-old appears running in her stocking feet and slides to a stop. Her mother laughs. “What’s that all about?”Piper smiles, “I just thought it would be fun, that’s all. What’s up?”“Did you hear the weather forecast? Jeff Hill says we’re in for a big storm. I thought I’d pick up some things at Tweedlie’s IGA. Is there anything you would like?”Piper leans against the kitchen table and looks up at the ceiling, her long blonde ponytail dangling behind her. “Hmm. Oh! I know! How about two packs of Ding Dongs? I love those things.”“Ding Dongs it is,” smiles her mother. “And would you please bring in some firewood for tonight? I’d appreciate it.” Digging a little more in the draw, she asks, “Have you seen the keys? I can’t find them!” Piper smirks as she hitches her thumb at the backdoor. “Yeah. They’re hanging over there on the hook you put in, so you wouldn’t have to dig through the junk drawer anymore.” Madelyn’s face flushes as she drops her head. “You know? Sometimes I’m just too clever. O’ well. See you in a bit. Bye!” Piper waves goodbye to her mom and closes the door.Looking up at the threatening gray sky, Madelyn is glad she bought the new truck. It’s a 2005 Chevy Colorado. She bought it because the ads said it was good in the snow. The reason she could afford such a truck was due to her husband Jim dying in a fatal work accident at the lumberyard. An investigation proved it was an overlooked safety hazard, and she was awarded nearly half a million dollars for her loss. That was four years ago, and she still wakes up every morning lonely and crying. She knows his death has been grueling on Piper, too. Madelyn is stirred back to reality by a snowflake landing on her nose and decides she had better get going.Piper is an only child and was thirteen when her father died. Jim was in special forces in the Marines and started teaching Piper survival skills when she was ten. He thought it would be a good idea, what with living so close to a moutain forest. Piper thrived on the attention and learning. She thought it was great fun knowing how to survive in the wilderness and not be afraid. Jim even taught her some combat skills to protect herself. He laughed as he told Madelyn, “The boys better watch out. She’s going to be one tough little lady!”Piper didn’t let her mother know she is continuing her relationship with her father through his picture on her nightstand. She tells him everything about her day each night before going to sleep. She’d tell him when something exciting or sad would happen at school, like when her best friend moved away. To Piper, it was like he had never died. Sometimes, she would imagine him standing behind her, smiling. Or think she saw his reflection in her mirror, even though that was silly to believe.
Piper picks up the kitchen after breakfast and puts on her toque and mittens to get the firewood. She fills the wheelbarrow with oak logs and remembers to include the kindling and birch bark. The snow has started falling steadily, and Piper hopes her mother is safe.
After a light lunch, Piper enters the living room to do her homework. “Algebra, blah! How boring.” Piper places a few logs in the fireplace and sets the kindling ablaze. Soon, the logs are crackling nicely. Piper drapes a light blanket across her shoulders and sets to work on her studies. It’s not long until she drifts away into sleep between the algebra and the heat of the fire.
Piper’s eyes fly open due to a loud banging sound. She looks at the hall clock and sees it’s a quarter to five. “Mom? Is that you?” Her mother doesn’t answer. “Where is she? She left for the store this morning at ten thirty!” Piper hears the banging again and discovers it from a pine branch hitting the side of the house. The wind has picked up considerably. Piper’s heart pounds against her chest when the phone rings, and rushes toward it. “MOM!?!”
“Piper, darling! First of all, I’m alright. The storm came in so quickly that it caught everybody by surprise! Downtown traffic became unpassable in no time. Cars were stuck, just spinning their wheels. Do you remember Mrs. Dubois from church? Well I’m staying with her until the roads are clear. How are you doing? Do you have power?”
Piper turns on the outside light and sees a dark figure dart behind a snow drift. “Yes, I have power. I’m looking out the backdoor right now and see the wind is blowing hard. There’s a big drift across the driveway. In the morning, I’ll use the tractor to plow it out of the way for you.”
Madelyn stammers, “Please be careful! I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Piper chuckles into the phone, “Don’t worry, Mom. Dad taught me how to drive the tractor. I’ll be fine.” Her mother sounds a little calmer as she reminds Piper about the generator in the cellar. “ There’s some extra gas under the stairs. Okay then. I guess I’ll be seeing you sometime tomorrow. Love ya!”
“Love you to Mom.” After hanging up, Piper takes another look out the backdoor. Just beyond the casting of the backdoor light, Piper sees a pair of glowing green eyes reflected in the dark and thinks it must be a raccoon looking for shelter from the storm.
After a supper of a cheese and ham omelet and toast, Piper decides to check to see if the generator needs topping off. The wind howls, and the lights flicker. Just as Piper reaches for the cellar door, they go out. “Damn! I was hoping that wouldn’t happen. Mom says there’s a flashlight in the junk drawer. Great! Maybe we need another little hook to hang that on, too!” She feels around inside until she finds it and turns it on. The wind howls again, but this time, it sounds different, almost mechanical. Piper grabs the handle and jerks the door wide open.
Something about the size of a big dog sprints past the foot of the stairs, causing Piper to yelp. She slams the door and leans on it with her flashlight hand while turning the deadbolt with her other. Then she hears it. The fourth step from the bottom is the only one that squeaks. Something is climbing the stairs. Her eyes are wide and dilated with fear. Piper leans closer to the door to try and hear. Suddenly, there is a loud boom as if someone threw a five-pound bag of potatoes at the door. Piper scurries back so fast that she slams into the kitchen table, knocking over the ketchup bottle and sending the silverware flying. Quickly covering her face with the crook of her arm, the flashlight beam dances wildly in her shaking hand. “God! What was that thing? What am I going to do?”
Piper hears her father instructing her like he did many years ago. “What’s the first thing to do when a crisis arises?” Piper’s voice cracks with disbelief, “Daddy?” The voice repeats, “What is the first thing we do when a crisis arises?” Piper swallows hard and whispers, “Stay calm.” When he speaks again, Piper is sure her father has returned to save her. “What’s the second thing?” Piper responds with confidence, “Secure the area.” She jams one of the wooden chairs under the cellar door handle. Next, she locks all the windows and doors. Piper receives an impression of her father’s nightstand and heads upstairs. Pulling open the nightstand drawer, she finds a white envelope with a key inside. The tag on the key reads trunk. Knitting her eyebrows together, Piper thinks hard. She looks at the bedroom closet and thinks, “Your old military locker?” She slides open the closet doors and pulls the locker into the room. Her hands tremble as she unlocks it. Opening the lid, Piper finds a black turtleneck sweater, black toque, grease face paint, and night goggles. It doesn’t take her long to figure out she is supposed to use these items. Picking up the sweater, her eyes widen when she sees her father’s MRI .44magnum Desert Eagle.
Piper puts everything on the bed, including an extra clip of bullets. In the master bath, she puts on the sweater and covers her face with the black grease paint. Next, she tucks her blonde hair beneath the toque and puts on the night goggles. Shutting off the lights, Piper is amazed at how clearly she can see everything in the dark. Something catches her eye out the bedroom window. What looked like a huge snow drift behind the woodshed was actually a snow-covered spaceship. As she watched a door slide open, four more monsters descended into the storm. They huddled together momentarily before moving toward the house, their spaceship door closing.
Panic is gripping Piper’s heart! “Oh God! What do I do? What do I do?” But suddenly, she knows she needs to secure her position. Piper races through the house, shutting off every light until the only thing left is the fire’s glowing embers. She rushes down the hall to the downstairs bathroom and locks the door. Piper squats down in the tub, resting the heavy Desert Eagle on her knees. She waits.
The raging gale continues outside, but Piper can’t hear it. She only hears the sound of her own heart beating as she tries to remain calm. Piper keeps her breathing slow and steady, and then she hears the chair fall and the cellar door open.
At first, she could hear the creatures moving about the house. She knew they were looking for people. Finally, Piper hears small clicks and tweets as they communicate with one another. They come to a stop outside of the bathroom door. Piper manages not to flinch when the door knob is tested. Then there came a scratching sound and Piper knew the aliens were opening the lock.
When they finally get the door unlocked, they do nothing. Piper holds her breath to try to stay as still as possible. “They’re listening. I mustn’t move.”
The door creaks as it is slowly opened. Piper closes her eyes, afraid of what she will see, but forces them open again to be able to shoot. Long fingers wrap around the edge of the door, and the first creature appears. It is about three feet tall, though it is slightly bent over. The head looks too large for the rest of its body. The creature’s color is a shade of gray. Though its eyes are large, they are squinted as if it is trying to see in the dark. It waves its other thin arm with extended fingers back and forth as if trying to feel its way in the pitch-black room. The others stumble in behind their leader. The last alien stops in the doorway. Piper has an idea: if she shoots the one in the doorway first, the others will have a harder time escaping. The urge to shoot comes almost immediately, but she must refrain to be sure to kill them all.
Piper watches until they are almost in a perfectly straight line and pulls the trigger. The muzzle flash lights up the room, and the alien nearest her screams and shields its eyes. Piper turns her weapon on him next and feels something wet hit her face. In the chaos, Piper keeps firing, being deafened by the noise of the handgun and shrieks of pain. The Desert Eagle clicks three more times before Piper realizes it’s over. She steps out of the bathtub and slips in the goo covering the floor. Weeping, Piper walks into the kitchen and stands perfectly still. She removes the night goggles and sees the figure of a man standing before the fireplace, illuminated by the dying coals. “You did great, Kitten,” he said proudly and disappeared.
Shortly after Piper’s mother arrived home, the police cars began arriving, followed by shiny, black government sedans to record the incident of Mars Hill.
Today’s story is about my childhood back in East Brady, Pennsylvania.
We had (well, they eventually became “my” dogs) two dogs, and they were both Siberian Husky’s. No one would walk them. They were real sled-dogs, and walking them on a leash was darn near impossible. And I got a lot of flack about it, as all the neighborhood kids saw me and made fun of me over it.
But in the winder, I would hitch up one of the dogs (both were too high powered, and impossible to manage) and have the dog pull me on the sled though the snow. It was an experience, but after a while I did it very rarely.
Generally, however, the sled rides were very short lived. I had piss poor driving control, and that was something was really needed when you are running dog sled. But , you know, I was just a kid. Maybe in fifth grade. So what did I know/
Never the less, it was a nice boyhood experience.
Memories.
Today…
What made your “jaw drop” during a job interview?
This interview took place at a company where I worked while hiring a new engineer for an IT-related job. While I wasn’t part of this interview panel, I did talk to multiple people who were part of the interview who corroborated the story. All names have been changed.
Our candidate was a Hasidic Jew, which I mention only because it becomes relevant to the story. He arrived at the train stop near our office in the afternoon. One of the guys from the devops department as a token of good will offered to pick him up and he accepted. He drove out and returned 20 minutes later, alone. When the candidate saw the car was a VW — a German car — he had refused to get in.
So the candidate took a cab and was shown to a conference room when he arrived. At our company, we usually do multiple rounds of interviews back-to-back. A candidate will typically meet with someone from HR, then two engineers, then a manager or director.
When the first engineer, Bill, came in he was surprised to see not one, but two men sitting waiting for him in the conference room; one younger and one elder, and from the resemblance, guessed to be father and son. He told the candidate, “I’m sorry, but you’re not allowed to bring anyone else with you during the interview.”
He responded, “It shouldn’t be a problem as, he won’t be interfering with the questions. This is my personal assistant; he will be taking care of my other needs”.
At this the elder gentleman, having not yet uttered a word, takes a bottle of water from one jacket pocket and a cup from the other, fills it up and places it in front of the interviewee, as if to demonstrate the point.
That’s a pretty ballsy move, showing up for someone else’s interview and reacting with such cool nonchalance when it’s suggested that you leave. That combined with the contrast of the goth-meets-Amish outfits juxtaposed against the modern office landscape of white walls and florescent lights. I like to imagine the water glass incident like a scene out of a Tarantino movie: highly stylized, and a bit over-the-top with an under-current of menace. I like to imagine “the assistant” maintained steady eye contact with Bill while slowly pouring the water as if to daring him to object further.
* the closest image I could find to what’s in my head
But I digress. Bill decided to roll with it and continue with the interview which otherwise proceeded normally.
So after the interview, Bill gets up, shakes the candidate’s hand and tells him “Lisa will be by in a few minutes to interview you next,” and turns to leave. The candidate stops him at the door
“Hold on, can I talk to you a second?”
“Sure, what’s up?”
“Just one small problem: I can’t talk to women.”
“Come again?”
“I can’t talk to women. I’m not allowed to talk to women.”
“Uhh… Well, that’s who we have coming in next. I don’t know what to tell you.”
“It’s okay, just let her know not to talk to me directly. Instead she should talk to my assistant and he will talk to me.”
“O…K…”
So Lisa came in and proceeded to conduct a very awkward and halting interview where she asked the older man questions, he repeated the same question to the candidate, the candidate gave his answer to the old man, and the old man repeated the answer back to Lisa. If she slipped up and addressed the candidate directly, he acted like he couldn’t hear her. After this went on for some time, she felt too insulted to continue and cut the interview short.
In retrospect, she never should have been asked to do that, but the request was so unexpected, I don’t think anyone knew how to react.
Bill came back in and let the candidate know this sort of behavior wasn’t going to work with our company and asked him, “How would you expect this to work in daily office life? There are women engineers and managers who work here. You need to be able to interact with them on a daily basis.”
The candidate responded, “I would just bring my assistant to work with me.”
“So every day you would have another person coming into the office, sitting by your desk, following you around to every meeting?”
As she had been trained, Elara systematically checked the integrity of her spacesuit and its comms one last time before starting the airlock sequence. “I’m ready, John,” she informed the station commander. Colonel John Wood, a veteran Air Force pilot and experienced astronaut, had served as the International Space Station commander for the past year. John had spent more time in space and zero gravity than anyone else on the space station.”You’re clear to go,” John replied, watching her movements on his monitor 40 meters away in the command center of the International Space Station.”Thank you, John,” Elara said, starting the airlock sequence. The inner door of the airlock hissed open, revealing its cramped and claustrophobic chamber. Hesitantly, Elara stepped into the small space, which barely fit her bulky spacesuit. As a new crew member at the International Space Station, this marked her first solo spacewalk—a milestone in her career as an astronaut. Some of the station’s solar panels had sustained damage from high-speed debris, likely space junks orbiting Earth left from previous space missions. Her mission was to inspect the damage, assess it, and make repairs.She stepped into the airlock chamber and manually closed and secured the inner door. The locking mechanism engaged with a reassuring clunk. With a flashing orange light, the airlock began its programmed depressurization, making a gentle hiss as air pumped out of the chamber. As the air was drawn from the chamber, the hiss gradually faded until it stopped, coinciding with a green light illuminating, indicating that all the air had been vacated. It was now safe to proceed with opening the chamber’s outer door. But before that, Elara peered through the small porthole of the outer door. Since the porthole faced away from Earth and into the vastness of space, she saw nothing but blackness. The daunting darkness planted a seed of doubt in her mind and quickened her heartbeat.
“Are you okay, Elara?” John’s voice came through her comms.
“Yes, I am. Why?” she replied sharply as if John had questioned her ability to perform the spacewalk.
“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.
6 cup thinly sliced onions (approximately 3 pounds)
6 garlic cloves
3 tablespoons fresh thyme or 1 tablespoon dried thyme
1 bay leaf
Salt and pepper
Instructions
Cheeseburgers
Combine seasoning and salad dressing mix with beef and cheese.
Shape into 4 patties; cook thoroughly, until meat is no longer pink in the center.
Toast buns before serving, if desired.
Caramelized Onions
Heat olive oil and add onions, garlic, thyme and bay leaf.
Cook, stirring occasionally, until most of the moisture has evaporated and the mixture is very soft, almost smooth, and caramelized. This takes about 45 minutes.
Discard the bay leaf and season with salt and pepper.
Attribution
hiddenvalleyranch.com
Prehistoric Mystery: What Killed the Giant Insects?
Has someone’s voice ever made you so nervous that it felt you were struck by lightning?
There’s a retirement community where I live that’s very upscale (think $8k a month in regime fees plus the cost of buying your apt/cottage condo).
I visited it with a group and we were escorted by the Executive Director whose voice was a dead ringer for Nurse Ratched in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Syrupy. Singsong. Supercilious.
The facility was terrific. Lovely dining rooms. Well-equipped exercise spaces, manicured grounds.
The group was encouraged to ask questions. The first question was, “Do I need a car living here?” Nurse Ratched replied, “We have vans that will take you to shopping, entertainment centers, local events. Many people bring their cars here initially, but then they realize, they don’t need a car. ” This was benign—clearly, the facility provided transportation. But oh, that voice. Cloying.
The questions continued and Nurse Ratched’s answer was the same: You won’t need to worry about that here. We take care of meals. Laundry and house cleaning. Condo maintenance. Health and wellness.
And the voice—saccharine on steroids.
Then a woman asked, “Can I bring my dog?” Nurse Ratchet sweetly responded, “Yes, but you’ll see, you don’t need a dog here.”
OMG. Hotel California. You can check out any time you like/But you can never leave.
Made me REAL nervous.
The Job Market is F**ked … Nobody’s Hiring in 2025
The USA today.
Why do 40% still support Trump? What exactly is their motivation?
I watch Fox News for an hour or so everyday.
Then I go to other news sources, Forbes, CNBC, BBC, all different sources.
What Fox, OANN, NewsMax is telling them is much different than what is really going on.
Even in the Dominion lawsuit Fox admitted they aren’t news. They are entertainment. Nobody should be taking any of what the say seriously. Then entered into multi billion dollar settlements.
So if you are steadily getting the wrong info it is very easy to support Trump.
1. The other country pays the tariffs. They have been ripping us off. That’s completely false but they believe it.
2. They schools are forcing sex change operations on students. They believe that too. The schools can’t even afford school supplies. No way could they pay for surgeries. We know that. Trump supporters don’t.
3. The Democrats are coming for your guns. That one always works with them.
4. Trickle down will give you more money. That’s a complete lie.
Its just endless BS. All meant to keep them in a constant state of fear, hate and turmoil.
If I was believing all that BS I would vote for Trump too. They are certain that the US as we know it is falling apart and disappearing.
Were under invasion! They’re eating the pets! Men are in your daughters bathroom! The illegals are raping our women! China is flooding us with fentanyl. Just constant fear mongering.
Ironically the biggest deficits we ever had were under Trump. Bush cause the 2008 financial crisis. Under Reagan interests were crazy. Bush number 1 had a hell of a recession going going on. We had more illegals here than ever under those guys.
The budget was voted on today. Huge deficit spending. Estimated at $5 trillion dollars. They will lose both houses in the midterm then blame all those deficits on the Democrats.
So? Misinformation has completely ruined them.
What does it feel like to grow up wealthy?
Great.
My family was one of the wealthiest families in my country, Syria.
I grew up better than the president’s son, we were living in 35+ million dollars house. Had a fleet of 20+ luxurious cars including porsche (which is rare in Syria), ferraries, mercedes,bmws, Hummer and other cars.
While I was in school, if I didnt feel like going the teachers would come to teach me at home.
When we go for vacations we dont reach the airport, we go right ahead to the airplane.
When we want to eat out, we go to a country we like and stay there for 2 days.
There is a lot to cover over here but nothing matters now, you know why?
Because after the war has started we lost every single dollar we had.
My family started their own medium-sized retail business in some of the third world countries and I became a refugee in some European country.
Life is not great but I learned tons and tons of life lessons, and you know what? I like it better this way.
I have the opportunity to start over and over again, hoping one day to regain my family wealth.
Edit:
No, I am not one of the Al-Assad’s family.
No, my family didnt work for the Syrian government.
No, we are not in the army.
We lost all our money because we were against the Assad’s regime NOT because we were with them.
Our money wasnt HARAM by any mean my father worked hard enough and he earned it.
Pack the most important parts of your twenty-six years into this two-feet-by-one-foot-by-one-foot box. Clothes? No, we’ll provide you with all the essentials. Pillow, razor, all that. Pack anything personal you want to bring along, maybe something to keep you entertained on the trip. No combustibles, firearms, or compressed gases, nothing with a lithium or graphene cells, et cetera. Here’s your trunk – number seventy-two. You’d best remember that for the trip, everyone’s looks the same. Take care Mr. Thompson, don’t be late for check-in.Soon this box will be the only bridge that spans your two lives. Find the pith of two-and-half odd decades, don your favorite socks, and leave the rest behind.Twenty-six years ought to contain an abundant volume of artifacts worthy of preservation. Two cubic feet should be woefully, horrendously deficient to commemorate a generous quarter of a human life.I’m sitting on my bed at 2 a.m., staring into an empty box. Thunder booms and sputters into the silence of this empty house. The vacant enclosure of rubberized plastic suggests various items invitingly. Your Pulitzer! Bring your Pulitzer certificate. No, no, what good is that where I’m going? We’ve all witnessed first-hand the most important event that will ever happen to us. The career is dead, the award may as well be laid to rest with it. How about your Ricky Grubbs autographed baseball? Baseball is a national emblem, after all. OK then. I rub my eyes and toss the baseball in. It rolls around the box and settles listlessly in a lonely corner. Really? I’m expecting a ball from an extinct sport with the name of a man I don’t know to bridge the rift between two lifetimes? I grit my teeth and snatch the ball back out of the box, throwing it into the hallway frustrated.The box looks at me in disappointment. Empty again, it reluctantly suggests the emptiness of my hitherto life. I should have printed out some pictures instead of storing them all in the cloud. It is so strange to think that those pictures are now, presumably, annihilated. I had considered them functionally immortal in that unassailable cloud. Rain begins to beat at my window pane, the mocking laughter of the untouchable clouds overhead. We do battle for a delirious collection of moments, that empty box and I, until I snatch it up from the carpet and stride to my garage for a shovel. I defy the rain to make the mounting saturation of my clothes matter, as I shovel muddy soil into the box. I find a stray acorn at the base of my live oak, and tuck it into the container of dirt. I cast off my drenched clothes upon re-entering the house, and force myself to sleep for a few hours.
It’s 6 a.m. now. The storm has passed and the pre-dawn darkness looms heavily upon the wet earth. I bless a shred of fortune for the whispering hum of my ‘44 Toyota, and the stale electricity lingering in its battery. Just a collector’s item these days, one I nearly sold a year ago because of the questionable legality of driving it on the V-line dominated highways. The data on its dusty screen offers me 60 miles of travel. Just enough to reach my destination.
The road is desolate, and my mind absently travels to the desperate ploy that rendered me this earth-encumbered box in my passenger seat.
“Mr. President! Mr. President, a word please! Morton Thompson, United Press.”
Secret service shouldering me aside as I attempt to attract the president’s attention.
“I know about March 3rd! I know you’re planning to flee and the airbase you’re fleeing from.”
The president and his entire retinue freezing. A black suited bodyguard grabbing me from behind and putting a hand over my mouth, dragging me into an empty room and closing the windowless door. The president’s face fracturing with stunned panic.
“How do you know? Who told you this?”
My head nodding to the roll of papers stuffed into my pants pocket.
“This article is scheduled to automatically release to the American public tomorrow morning. Go ahead – read it. When the country learns of what you’re planning, every person with a firearm is going to head to that airbase. And when they can’t get on the shuttle, they’re going to make sure it’s destroyed. I can prevent this information from releasing. All I’m asking for is a seat.”
The memory haunts my heart. That my last act in the capacity of a profession I once thought meaningful was one of blackmail unsettles me. And this, to cast my lot in with the men and women I was prepared to cast to the dogs as traitors to humankind. But then I remember the void, and my fear unseats my guilt. I have tried, in these past two weeks, to stare into the dark abyss that must be death, and reconcile my mind to the thought of non-existence. I have stared into the interminable blackness, the unadulterated silence, the endless absence of consciousness. I have imagined eternities upon eternities unfolding and the very blanket of time beginning to tear, and through it all, the complete darkness of consciousness that is death. The idea is nauseating, and my mind rejects it like an upset stomach does food. And so I flee, at any cost or disgrace, from the darkness that pervades our atmosphere and speaks of the true darkness on its heels.
When I reach the gates of the remote airbase, my old vehicle whirring with exertion, I flash the badge they issued me and drive past the soldiers manning the gate. I park and trudge into a small command center a half mile from the launchpad. My two-feet-by-one-foot-by-one-foot trunk weighs heavily in my arms. Some eighty individuals linger inside, holding hushed conversations or staring silently at the floor. I see the president looking pointedly away from me. A woman near the door points me to a small bay where an electric buggy is idling, hitched to a cart laden with boxes identical to mine. I pile mine on top. I spend the next hour sitting in a plastic chair, wondering what I ought to do, say, and think in my last hour on earth, and reaching no conclusion.
The time has finally come. The immense rocket boosters and attached passenger shuttle is ready for takeoff, and we are ushered outside and towards the boarding tower by the engineers who, inexplicably, are willing to remain behind to guide our transport away from earth. 8 a.m., and the sun is well above the horizon. I wish the storm had not abated before my last view of the sky. Had it not, I could almost believe that this blackened atmosphere and ashen sky are the gloom of thunderclouds. Perhaps the rain would ameliorate the acrid taste of the charred air. We are climbing the tower and beginning to board. I weep for the ashes in my lungs – all that is left of D.C., Philadelphia, New York, and Los Angeles; of Orlando, and Cape Canaveral, and Huntsville. I weep for the millions of terrified unfortunates cast instantaneously into the abyss of death. I wish the rainclouds would return. Instead, the unfading cloud of detonated cities hangs poisonous and rainless upon the air. Where this cloud lingers, death will follow. It is smothering the sun and chilling the earth. They say it will bring the demise of all crops, and that remaining mankind will starve to death in a year.
We blast skyward towards the interstellar transport that is to take us to a new earth. We reach the transport and successfully transfer over from our shuttle. I find my seat and avoid looking out the window, down towards the smoking earth. Our ship begins its final journey, and I rise from my seat to join the queue waiting for the minuscule restroom. As I do, a stack of gray containers buckled to the wall catches my eye at the back of the passenger hold. I exit the line and walk to the homogeneous assembly of boxes. I scan the printed numbers until I find number seventy-two. What idiot brings a box of dirt into outer space? Yet I know why I did. This box contains earth, rain, and a seed of life. That seed is the offspring of an organism that lived with purpose, a purpose fulfilled in this seed. It is an organism that lived its mortal life with purpose and that will die without pain. Yet why do I pine for eternity while squandering the mortal life I have? Why is the seed of eternity planted in the heart of a mortal man?
Hurtling towards the newborn Terra Nova colony where my new life will begin, I wonder whether the sting of death will be duller in this new world. I wonder whether the future of non-existence, just as inevitable in the new world as the old, will ever reconcile with the irrational certainty in my heart that my consciousness must persist beyond death; that the being of my inner self must surely be eternal.
Shorpy
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What was the best business deal ever made?
It is November 1980 and IBM is twice as large as every other computer company in the world combined.
They are making an agreement with an upstart, Microsoft, a company with 40 staff, to create an operating system (OS), the software that a computer runs off. This OS would later be called IBM PC-DOS.
But the young CEO of Microsoft, Bill Gates, sees something that IBM doesn’t. He pushes for the agreement to allow Microsoft to license the OS to other manufacturers, and IBM agree.
Microsoft come up with a really original name for this OS – they call it MS-DOS.
And the rest is history…
Microsoft ends up supplying the OS to over 1.4bn PC’s and counting because of the deal Gates had struck.
Many say this was the best business deal ever.
But there was a problem. Microsoft didn’t even own the OS!
Microsoft only managed to purchase a non-exclusive agreement for the OS in December 1980 for a reported US$25k from Seattle Computer Products.
But in July 1981, Microsoft finally purchased the full rights to the OS for US$50k, a month before it started getting shipped out onto PCs.
This was the best business deal ever made…
Prehistoric Planet: What Earth Looked Like 600 to 66 Million Years Ago
I love this time in history.
As a cashier, what was your ‘you have got to be freaking kidding me’ moment with a customer?
I used to work at a burger chain store for about two years.
I was assigned to the till on this particular shift and it was my favourite spot to be; I got to stay in the one spot, take orders, and put the little red stickers on the burger skewers in between customers.
This is how the interaction went:
Customer: “Hi, I’d like to order X burger, please.”
Me: “No worries, would you like to add chips and a drink?”
Customer: “Yes please – but please remove the tomato, I’m allergic.”
Me: “No worries, I’ll go ahead and remove the relish then, too.”
Customer: “No, keep the relish on!”
Me: “…But you just said you were allergic to tomatoes.”
Customer: “I am, but I want the relish on there!”
Me: “The relish has tomato in it. If you’re allergic to tomato, I have to remove the relish, too.”
Customer: “No, I want the relish!”
Me: “…”
In the end, I removed the relish from the burger and added the allergy tag to the food receipt. We took food allergies very seriously at this place, and I didn’t want to risk any legal repercussions or a near-death scenario because someone was too stupid to realize that the tomato relish has literal chunks of tomato in it despite being told so.
When she got her burger, she removed the top and gave me the nastiest glare when she had seen that I had removed the relish. She then got up, brought her burger to the condiment stand, and covered her burger in tomato sauce.
If you don’t like tomato on your burger, just fucking say so. Don’t lie about an allergy because it ruins it for people who have real allergies, it slows down the kitchen because an allergy tag on the receipt means that everything gets replaced with fresh gloves and utensils to ensure no cross contamination, and it opens up the business to legal repercussions if we listened to you and your dumb ass.
How did you say goodbye to someone you can’t imagine living without?
It wasn’t someone but someones.
It was the end of my junior year at a small west coast private school I’d been attending since seventh grade. My mother and I weren’t getting along, mostly because she never let me do anything, from go out with my friends to watch TV shows she didn’t like. My stepfather rarely talked to me except to say I was doing something wrong. Thing were so contentious at home, my mother said—finally, after decades of me asking—that I could go live with my father on the opposite coast.
The downside of course was that I would leave my cozy school right before my senior year, leaving all the friends and teachers I’d gotten close to and couldn’t imagine being without. I had the hardest time making up my mind. Not until a blowout argument with my stepfather in which he equated my screaming and crying and door-slamming to child abuse perpetrated on my 3-year-old half-sister did I reach a conclusion. That was it, I was out of there.
I didn’t tell my classmates I was leaving. I only told my English teacher, who actually implored me to stay.
I did the, “Bye, see you next year,” to everyone else and packed an extra-heavy bag for my usual, but this time unusual, trip to visit my dad for the summer (these trips had been going on since I was 5).
Once on the east coast I cried, so scared to start at a new school as a senior. Even though there were no fights with my dad and stepmother, I still wasn’t sure I’d made the right decision. To say goodbye to my friends and favorite English teacher, I wrote long heartfelt letters and asked them to keep me up to date on what was happening at my old school.
Only my best friend wrote back. She wrote me several times, and then just faded out.
I said goodbye by letting go. Yes, the new school was intimidating and huge, but I managed to make a few friends. The important thing is that when I came home from school, my home life was loving and supportive. And it stayed that way.
What’s the luckiest thing to happen to you professionally?
In 1973 I graduated from high school and decided I should probably go to college.
There was a community college in my community (duh), and I went there on registration day to sign up for classes. In those days we had wood burning computers. The lines for registration were two hours long. If you got to the “computer guy” at the front of the line and your classes were filled up, you were screwed and had to go to the end of the line to fill out a new course card.
So, being the intrepid person I was, I filled out two course cards to present to the registrar. The first card was for a major in electrical engineering. ( I liked flashing lights.) The second card was for a major in police science, because I liked flashing lights.
My friend, Dan, and I stood in line for two hours behind some very pretty girls who could have cared less had we burst into flames. On second thought, they probably would have preferred that we did burst into flames. At least then they would have been warm and entertained. It was not the last time I would disappoint a female.
Anyway, we finally got to the front of the line. I handed the registrar my electrical engineering course card. He punched in the course numbers. (In those days they “punched” computers. Not so common today.) He then looked up at me and smiled, and said, “Sorry. These courses are full. You have to go to the end of the line and try again.”
I said, “Not so.” I handed him my backup police science course card, and to his dismay, after doing more punching, I got in. He scowled.
Four years later I graduated from the police academy, and 33 years after that I retired. Quite a bit happened in between. But none of it would have happened without being rejected for those electrical engineering courses. That was the luckiest day of my career.
76
Just how much in aircraft and tanks can Russia afford to buy and maintain? Some countries can barely afford 20 Su35s yet Russia pumps them out like they are corollas. How?
Russia’s war machine is running hot and holding on.
Here’s what’s really going on: Russia’s churning out tanks and fighter jets while other countries struggle to make them. It’s not some miracle though. They’re all old habits and old tools.
Russia wasn’t forging its military from the ground up. That setup was Soviet—they inherited a massive setup that was designed to do everything at home. No need of relying on any other countries. For decades they’ve been making their own planes, tanks and weapons. It’s why you don’t have a factory popping out a Su-35 jet. They do it one step at a time because that’s what people who’ve been doing it forever do.
And where are the tanks? A bunch of them aren’t brand new either. They’re old Soviet tanks that were pulled out of storage, fixed up with newer parts, better engines and new guns and new sensors. You’d be putting a high tech face on an old car. And it saves time and money.
With a big military budget and selling weapons to other countries they pay for it. They’re able to keep costs lower since most of the work is done inside Russia. Things are getting harder because of sanctions that have cut supply.
In 2025 it’s real pressure now. Gear is being burned through in Ukraine’s war. But Russia’s factories are busy and the system is tired, running hot and stretched thin.
Why do some people criticize China’s GDP growth as not being holistic development, and what metrics should be used to evaluate true progress?
They criticise Chinas GDP, because of jealousy, and because they are dumb enough to believe their politicians and media, with out ever looking at facts, all you need do is look ath Chinas progress and what they are doing, even the IMF, has confirmed that Chinas economy passed the U.S. economy in 2016 in PPP, that’s 9 years ago, So the “ SOME PEOPLE “ are definitely wrong,
just in case some of you don’t know what I’m talking about?
here are some photos,
I took this photo as a screenshot of the Enterprise was COMMING out of the TV screen around the building, how they did that was amazing enough for me to keep a photo of it,
There’s a hell of a lot more, but this is why, It’s all GDP building, as well as being the world’s factories,
Why doesn’t the loading soldier need to extract the large case after each cannon firing in the US Army’s M1 Abrams main battle tank?
You’ve seen the images in old war movies — a big cannon firing, smoke everywhere and they pulled out something hot and big shell casing. The M1 Abrams doesn’t do that. It’s smarter. Faster. For real it was combat.
This is how it goes.
The casing — the part that holds the explosive for the Abrams’ main gun — isn’t metal when the loader gets a round to the gun. The gun is made from a special material which burns up when the gun fires.
And when the cannon blasts, the round shoots out and most of the case vanishes in the fire. It doesn’t get lost but it just burns away.
What’s left? The end of the shell is a small metal cap. That’s it.
The tank’s ready for that and that little metal piece just kicks out the back of the gun from a system within it.
He doesn’t waste his time pulling a heavy smoking shell from the loader. And already he’s loading the next round.
Quick. Clean. No slowdown.
Seconds matter — battles are what the Abrams was built for. A life with no time for clutter. A mistake doesn’t have time. There was no reason to change the way it worked — just fire, reload, fire again.
This tank keeps moving forward when everything’s falling apart.
“Sir Whiskerton and the Haunted Haystack Hoedown”
Gather ‘round, dear readers, and prepare for the most ludicrous supernatural spectacle ever to hit the farm—three blind mice in sunglasses are convinced a haystack is haunted by a flatulent ghost sheep! Fasten your imaginary dance belts as we dive into this Phantom of the Opera meets Taco Tuesday disaster.
Act 1: The Birth of the “Natural Symphony Orchestra”
On a night so dark even the owls were squinting (as all good ghost stories begin), Sir Whiskerton was measuring a pumpkin’s roundness with his whiskers when—
“¡MÚSICA NATURAL!”
Three mice in tiny sunglasses burst from the haystack in a flamenco frenzy.
Tito Tango, their self-proclaimed leader, dramatically waved an invisible bullfighter’s cape. “That rhythm! That syncopation! It can only be the ghost of a Spanish sheep keeping time!”
Paco Cha-Cha, the hopeless romantic, dropped to one knee before a sheep pellet. “Oh, such perfect roundness! Marry me!”
Carlos Conga, the wildcard, strummed a pitchfork like a guitar, belting out a death-metal rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star for their “gassy departed friend.”
(Visual gag: Paco’s plastic rose gets stuck in the sheep dung, which Porkchop mistakes for a rare truffle and immediately swallows.)
Act 2: The Ghostbuster vs. the Grumpy Witness
As Whiskerton investigates, Echo the sheep—whose wool is now tangled from sheer frustration—snaps:
“You’re blaming GHOSTS for your bad digestion?!” She kicks Carlos’ sombrero clean off his tail.
“¡FANTASMA FUNKY!” The mice instantly interpret the hat’s landing as a drum solo and break into robot dancing.
Rufus howls at the moon: “WOOF! Ghost at 3 o’clock! …Wait, that’s just my tail.”
(Translator’s note: “Funky Ghost” keeps the street-dance absurdity, while Rufus chasing his tail is a universal pet comedy classic.)
Act 3: The Supernatural Dancefloor Apocalypse
The mice’s “Ghost Sheep Memorial Dance Party” spirals into madness:
Jazzpurr accompanies sheep droppings on bongos, composing The Dung Beetle Concerto.
Bessie the Tie-Dye Cow splatters glow paint on the haystack: “Behold! The psychedelic aura of the spirit sheep!”
Porkchop sells “Ectoplasm VIP Tickets”—only for the crowd to realize the “ghostly moans” are just the Farmer’s indigestion.
When dawn reveals the “ghost” was just a leaky tractor tire—
Echo: “I told you—oh forget it.” (She walks off but deliberately lets one rip.)
The Mice: “MAESTRO! Teach us the ancient art of phantom flatulence!”
Post-Credit Scene
The trio launches a “Natural Sounds World Tour” at the Disneyland of Debris. Posters read: “Admission: 1 corn kernel. Free entry if you fart on beat.”
Iconic Lines
“That’s not a ghost—that’s a Van Gogh fart painting!” —Bessie, abstract art critic
“Canine radar never lies… unless it’s my own butt.” —Rufus, career low point
“In Spain, we call this molecular gastronomy gas.” —Tito, Michelin-star fraud
Moral of the Story
Not every mystery needs a soundtrack—especially when the answer is just bad beans.
(THE END)
Cultural Easter Eggs
“Funky Ghost” = wordplay on “funk music” + supernatural silliness.
“Phantom Flatulence School” mocks kung fu movie tropes.
Tractor tire twist references rural China’s love for repurposing tires as flower planters.
Corn kernel tickets parody overpriced music festivals.
(Mic drop. Haystack collapses.)
Pizza Burgers
9c3ff80de68d804ab50f939d3d82723d
Ingredients
1 pound ground beef
1/2 pound Italian sausage
1/4 cup diced green onion
1/4 cup diced green bell pepper
1 cup diced tomato
1 small can sliced olives, drained
4 hamburger buns
Butter
4 slices cheese
1 cup pizza sauce
Grated Parmesan cheese
Instructions
Mix ground beef and sausage together and from into 4 patties.
Fry in a preheated skillet until done.
Meanwhile, dice vegetables and toss together with olives.
Butter buns and toast under broiler.
Place buns on individual dinner plates open face.
Place cooked patties overlapping both halves of buns.
Place one slice of cheese on each patty.
Pour 1/4 cup of pizza sauce over each.
Serve vegetables and Parmesan cheese distributed over top.
While the US and China are locked in a trade war, Brazil is actively stealing America’s soybean export market share in China. What should President Trump do to stop Brazil from stealing and protect American farmers from losing their foreign market?
How ignorant of Americans to always look at it like this. Here’s how it went.
Trump put tariffs on China that China considered unfair.
China switched suppliers and now get soybeans from Brazil instead of the US.
Since January, the US has repeatedly imposed tariffs on Chinese goods, deliberately sparking a new round of trade disputes. In response, China swiftly implemented countermeasures.
…
“Whether for soybeans, pork, or beef, China can find ample substitutes from other agricultural exporters such as Brazil, Argentina, and Australia, whose trade policies are more open than those of the US,” Li noted
The US started this war; the US can end it. Will China go back to buying from the US if tariffs are removed? That would be unfair to their new suppliers. If Americans don’t like the result of tariffs, they’ll have to deal with their own government on the matter. Trump has no power and no authority and no right to interfere with Brazil and China’s trade agreements. What he does have is the power, authority, and OBLIGATION to remove the tariffs from all the countries. Americans have the power to make Trump do it.
While the US and China are locked in a trade war, Brazil is actively stealing America’s soybean export market share in China. What should President Trump do to stop Brazil from stealing and protect American farmers from losing their foreign market?
NDE: He Died Three Times…And Remembers Who He Was BEFORE This Lifetime!
I do know that the Chinese NEVER bluffs, and they DID give an ultimatum to Trump. Which they of course, ignored.
1 + 1 = 2
Just remember, the West “news” will never report The ultimatum or the strange events.
Part one – Trump kidnaps the Chinese Viceroy.
This is about the seizure of Li Wei, a Chinese businessman, in Venezuela.
One arrest in Venezuela has triggered the largest geopolitical crisis since the Cold War.
China issued an ultimatum to release their detained executive, threatening global economic warfare. Return within 24 hours or EXTREME consequences will occur.
Russia deployed nuclear submarines to the Caribbean while the US activated emergency financial protocols.
Three superpowers are now 72 hours away from actions that cannot be reversed.
This isn’t just about Venezuela anymore—it’s about the survival of the global order as we know it.
Around a dozen U.S. Air Force C-17A Globemaster IIIs arrived last night at RAF Fairford in the United Kingdom. Based upon which military units are involved, and the cargo being carried, it seems IRAN is in for trouble – again.
Most of these C-17 planes came from Hunter Army Airfield in Georgia or Campbell Army Airfield in Kentucky, reportedly carrying helicopters and other equipment for the U.S. Army’s 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment (SOAR).
Most of the C-17s have since continued on to Ramstein Air Base in Germany, though it is not known if they unloaded or loaded anything while on the ground at RAF Fairford.
Two separate sources whom I trust, and who have provided valid inside info to me in the past, say these planes are carrying helicopters and equipment for the US Army’s 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment (SOAR).
Most proceeding to Ramstein Air Base, Germany.
The 160th SOAR, known as the “Night Stalkers”, specializes in providing rotary-wing aviation support for elite US special operations forces, including modified MH-60 Black Hawks and MH-47 Chinooks for low-level night insertions, as confirmed by open-source flight tracking and imagery showing at least five MH-60s and one MH-47 unloaded at Fairford.
This surge mirrors a similar C-17 movement six months prior to the US strike on Iranian nuclear facilities in June 2025, suggesting potential prepositioning for special operations amid escalating European or Middle East tensions, though no official purpose has been disclosed.
…
If you are still in the USA, then my advice still holds.
Secure what you have. Community is better than individual lone wolf. Have a garden, a pantry, and a marketable skill. Get a bicycle. Keep what you do and have confidential.
Learn to do with much less.
Meanwhile…
AI is caging all of you into a carefully constructed narrative-cage that appears to be a free internet. It isn’t it’s a sounding board that is custom designed for you alone.
So…
…
Every morning I get up at 5am.
I brush my teeth, pull on some “jogging clothes”, and go out the door. There’s a little jogging path in front of my building, and I would enter it and churn out 1+ Km. takes me from 10 minutes to 20 minutes depending on my speed.
I suppose that I am “supposed” to be a jogging for an hour. Lifting for 45 minutes. Eating better and all the rest.
yeah.
Well, I’m running a couple of companies, dealing with a little kid, and have all kinds of projects on the oven. MM is but one of many, many.
It’s a love. Not a profit center. In fact, aside from my few patreon subscribers, I derive zero income from MM.
We all need to build up our life to our own needs and in our own way. Those Tictok videos of motivation are fine and wonderful, but the lifestyle of a 20 – 30 something looks great, but it’s their life. Not yours.
Peace within yourself is the most important thing.
Strive for it in your way. Oh, for certain, you can ask for help from friends, family, a trusted uncle. But ultimately you are responsible for yourself. Do your own thing. In your own way.
Be healthy. Start small. But keep at it.
Eat healthy. Start small. switch over gradually from bad habits.
Don’t let your projects overwhelm you. Cull them to a manageable handful.
Sleep. Drink lots of water.
Be good. To dogs and cats and other people.
Some daily mm advice.
I believe in you!
Today…
What are some old forgotten jobs, which have lost their importance in today’s world?
Before technology, humans relied on each other much more than they do today. The more that automated technologies make life easier, the less human interaction becomes necessary for survival.
Case in point: alarm clocks. While the first mechanical alarm clocks date back to as early as 1787, they weren’t widely used until as late as the 20th century in some places. And even when they were available, they weren’t always reliable. Often it’s a lot easier to just have somebody wake you up. But if you’re good at something, never do it for free.
But back in 19th and 20th century England, there was someone you could pay for such a service. And those people had a very misleading job title.
Knocker-Uppers: Relics of A Time Past
Despite what the name may imply, knocker-uppers were not paid to get women pregnant. No, instead, they were the human precursor to alarm clocks, knocking on windows in industrial Britain to wake up the workers.
They used both giant sticks and peashooters to wake up their clients, and wouldn’t leave until they were confirmed to be awake.
“With all the noise the knocker-up made, knocker-ups soon learned “that while he knocked up one who paid him, he [also] knocked up several on each side who did not.”
Does an SKS have the same reliability as an AK-47?
No. It helps to understand the context they came out of; one of the big problems (for everybody) in world war 2 was “do these bullets fit my gun”. As a result of the soviets seeing a LOT of this problem, they responded (early in the 1940’s) by starting to develop what they wanted to become “The universal bullet in all military guns”- you may know this now as the “M1943” or as “7.62×39” or various other names now.
The important part is, for this new “universal cartridge”, they wanted one of every gun that shot it. So, they decided on a set that included a light semi-auto rifle, a submachine gun, a light machine gun, a medium machine gun, etc.
And you can probably guess which of these guns is which; the SKS is “the new universal battle rifle”, styled after the M1 garand and the Gewehr 43. The AK was initially developed as ‘the submachine gun’- but because it fires the same cartridges the same distances with approximately the same accuracy, and because it is cheaper and more reliable, it came to simply outright replace the SKS in service, although the SKS is still used in modern Russia as a ceremonial rifle for honor guards and etc.
in practical terms, as the american civilian you must probably be to ask this question in English, you won’t notice much difference between these two guns, other than how you hold them. You may like the AK magazines better, but you are unlikely to need the improvement they offer over the SKS. However, if you were a military user, there would be two differences to note; the first is that the AK is probably the only one capable of automatic fire. This should be obvious. The second part, however, is less obvious, and a follow on detail to automatic fire; the AK has a longer receiver, allowing the bolt and carrier group to do a longer reciprocation before it bottoms out at the rear-most position of travel. This extra length gives the AK a much softer felt recoil, particularly when it is fired in full auto and you would feel a lot of these at a time.
Jupiter looked lovely this time of year. The perfect storm sat in the middle of it and I yearned for chaos like that in my life. As tempting as it was, I was told to never to leave the ship on my own accord.
I often spent my time confined to the space craft, while everyone else discovered something important. My people rode the space belts, trying to find habitable planets and profitable minerals. Earth was a dangerous place after the war. It was riddled with radiation. We were forced to leave. I have no memory of such a place.
We created a new democracy, a new start. Space held greater things than our planet ever did, we met the extraterrestrials, the multidementionals— though they didn’t frequent too often. Sometimes a person or two would boomerang here and there and it took some bartering with officials to clear things up. The extraterrestrials offered their help when they could. They saw our planet festered with hate and didn’t know how to stop it. They said it spread like a virus, of which was infectious. Greed fell upon my people until there was close to none left.
I was tasked with bartering with the multidementionals. It was grueling work. I often saw lives pan out perfectly, or sideways. It was up to us to manage the galaxy. I am from earth, when she was young and before the war snatched it all up. I have to look onward and not behind, our planet was destined for desolation. I pull through, though. This was never a gift. I was taken in the night by extraterrestrial officials. We were to live our lives dedicated to making sure things paved their path according to plan.
Our memories were often wiped. Things I didn’t want to remember slipped through the cracks. I didn’t tell people.
I stayed on the ship when I had time off, in the sector that managed time travel. I knew we were only supposed to go there when there was a bug in the time line. Sometimes people who were supposed to meet and create new ideas, don’t always meet. We have to intervene. Butterfly Effect up my ass. I was controlled by a system unbeknownst to me, to meddle in the lives of others, we were observers, we fixed the bugs that riddled the maps.
The sector I frequented was empty and not activated for use by others for space travel. It was off the route so I got as much time as I needed.
I found myself turning the dial while everyone else slumbered, trying to understand why I felt emotions I couldn’t explain. I was of royalty here, I had only just began my journey, and for some reason I was the best at my job, I was recognized often by the extraterrestrial beings. They looked like us, there were so many different species, and they all knew the lore on humans. I was a human who recognized the pattern and the sequences better than the rest of my kind. History felt funny, my concept of it was so vast and misplaced compared to the humans that were living it unbothered.
I debugged human lives, never told when I might be transitioning to the past or present, always told to keep my presence unknown.
The portal to the past opened on my command, I had stripped out of my working attire and into commoners clothes, reminiscent of the decade I was returning to. It was pretty easy to blend in. I didn’t like blending in, I felt like I wasn’t born to blend in.
I stepped through, the fractals of light pixilated around me. The portal closed and disappeared into the necklace I wore around my neck, it was an access point to go back. I knew my coordinates like the back of my hand. I took down my long curls and breathed in deep. It felt interesting wearing sneakers and jeans. The knitted sweater I wore was so thick, it warded off the cold. My necessities were a jacket, a high tech phone, and American currency. I had whatever else I needed that was included in a satchel on my back, it was protocol to leave fully equipped incase you got stranded.
The air felt moist on my skin, under my breath, something that I didn’t understand. I wasn’t familiar with the way water fell from the sky. It perplexed me.
I was left at a bus terminal. I had the coordinates on my device pulled up, so I hopped on a bus that took me into the city. The city seemed tired, and my stomach felt sick. I couldn’t pin point it. I knew I couldn’t stay long.
The rain wept through the clouds above, sunlight peeked in at every possible moment. The clouds were twisting and turning in on each other. Rainbows arched high. I think I remember enough about rainbows, they looked so etherial. I felt an urge to run to the end of them. I recall something in the earthling lore— something known as YouTube. I was shown the time capsule of that man who was crying with glee as he found the end of one. It was intriguing enough for me, to wonder why rain falls and rainbows shine through tears. The colors were so vivid, compared to what I experienced day to day on my spacecraft. It was torture, to have to pull away every time, after each mission succeeded. I wanted to live in it, I wanted to live how they did, I didn’t want to have to control their lives like scientific puppetry.
The bus slowed, and I got off, near a bundle of food carts. I loved the idea of eating in the past, I couldn’t tell the commoners about my experiences, though. I couldn’t tell officials I was leaving the ship, this was all on my own accord. My secret to keep. I had to do it right.
Foods from different cultures wafted into my direction. I felt myself salivating instantly. How was I to chose? I knew I felt a connection deeper than I could explain, to this place, so could I trust my gut?
I walked up to a shop that sold something called Ramen, the thick broth people sipped on was so invigorating, the scent of unknown meats filled me with excitement.
“I’ll have whatever they’re having!” I told the person behind the counter, as I pointed to the table in the courtyard.
I had watched them collect their food and as they began eating, I knew it was what I needed.
“One Miso Tonkotsu for the lovely lady!” He hollered, as I payed and tipped a generous amount. That was a common thing here.
I stood around the food carts, seeing the families talking and playing in the court yard, as I wished for something different. I knew I was taken in the middle of the night, without my consent. I wish I could change it. I felt like my timeline was taken from me. I knew in another dimension she was probably shining through, doing something she loved, becoming unstoppable. They give you reasons but the reasons were never enough for me.
“We saved you from something that could have been your demise!”
It never sat right.
I nearly jumped with glee as they called my order.
“Aurora Jade, your order is ready!”
I came to the counter and collected my ramen, which was decorated with with what they called pork belly and soft boiled eggs, though the seaweed was confusing to me. It was green. They said they harvested it from the ocean. It boggled my mind, I had never been to the ocean before.
I trailed my way back to a table in the courtyard, the fire was lit and warming the air around me. The sun was low, but still there. Rain and wind were fleeting, the perfect atmosphere, I was told, to eat such a dish. I was lucky to try spirits, this ale was golden and foamy on top. I sat at my table and fell in love all over again. Why can’t I experience this every day? Where was the harm in that? The egg was gooey and golden in the center, the yolk was so soft and buttery. The noodles were chewy, they slurped up well and were freshly pulled.
The broth was thick, unlike other kinds of soups that I have tried prior. I have never tasted something so rich, and to be able to pair it with a Japanese ale, I was in heaven. Compared to the food they served us on the space craft… we should do some better bartering.
I was mid slurp into my noodles, configuring these chopsticks in my hands like an uncultured fool. I wasn’t from this timeline, I thought. People could give me grace.
“Excuse me,” A figure behind me said, and I jumped mid air out of my seat. I didn’t know how to react with the outsiders, unless I was told to do so. This was unscripted.
This wasn’t my world. I was to keep prim and proper.
“Um, yes?” I questioned mid chew, shaking like a leaf. What if the officials were here to collect me? No! They couldn’t have, I left no trace, I made sure of it.
“There’s no other seats, do you mind if I sit here?” The voice said. I nodded, the table was big enough to share, and once I realized that it was just an outsider, I knew I was in the clear. I just had to keep on good behavior.
The man sat down, and I shuddered in a way I didn’t understand. Something was taken from me. Somehow, I knew him.
This was the man I came to sit and watch. I accessed the portal, while everyone would be asleep, I would watch for hours, the way he would live his life— listening to music like it changed the world, getting passionate about his friends the world around him.
Oh shit. This is why I’m not meant to frequent this sector. I know I’m not meant to see him. I don’t understand. I began shaking nervously. Tears flooded my eyes. It was strange to happen in a world you didn’t know.
“Are you okay?” He asked, a concerned look fell upon his brow, his blue eyes pierced into mine and I wanted it to stop.
Don’t engage with the outside world.
You’re not supposed to engage with the outside world.
Only a second ago, I was just a wallflower, a outsider who frequented this realm at night when I wasn’t supposed to. I was supposed to be an observer, to see the algorithms and put things in place. I was known now. I had broken the moral code of my people.
His hand flew to my arm, trying to steady me. Electricity rushed through. Memories flashed back.
“Aurora?”
The question was weak on his lips. He was weary, as if he were trying to recall a dream from many moons ago.
I was not supposed to hold onto so many memories, they flooded at speeds I couldn’t decipher. They told me initially that I was fragile, and I was not to be meddling in places I wasn’t supposed to. It didn’t make sense to me, because my whole job was to meddle.
Tears flooded down my cheeks, I knew him, the man I watched from afar, being the observer I was, they stole me from him.
“Jed…”
“Where have you been?” He pondered, bringing his hand up to his chin, and then nervously into his hair. Lost in thought.
“I don’t understand, I thought you were dead. And for you to just turn up out of the blue at our favourite spot. What the hell are you playing at?” He paged through his thoughts, trying to piece it all together.
I accidentally touched a time capsule from the life that I left behind.
“They— they told you I was dead?” I frowned.
I didn’t understand, does that mean they have my name on a headstone? I remember who I was now, but what I was doing was inappropriate and out of line,
“I don’t remember, I don’t remember all of it, it was stolen from me,”
To explain to the boy that I loved as to why I left, I couldn’t. I was supposed to live on while he died in his time line. Thats why they didn’t want me to go back. That’s why I was to follow strict protocol.
My eyes narrowed. Jed was still in awe struck, he kept reaching out, touching my face, grasping at reality.
“You’re not going to believe me, I don’t understand fully myself. I don’t have all my memories.” I said, sternly.
We didn’t have much time, I was only frequenting for the food, the life around me I desperately wanted, until they would come steal me away along with my memories that seeped through the cracks.
I grabbed his hand and pulled him out of his seat. His body fell into mine, and I felt sparks fly, memories began resurfacing and tears flooded again.
The rain poured overhead, we stood our ground as we blurred in with the crowd, the people didn’t care about the showers. We didn’t either, it felt etherial. I felt his breath on my neck.
“This can’t be real, I went to your funeral, I saw your body in the casket, I saw it go underground,” he shuddered, I felt his body trembling as we collided.
My lips parted in shock as I heaved through each breath, trying to understand what they covered up. What did they do? Who did they put underground?
Who was I?
His hand trailed its way towards my waist, and soon I was as close as I could ever be. I felt like I was living in a dream. I could watch it from the portal, at night, while everyone was asleep.
I could dream of having a life— a family that wasn’t stranded on a space craft near Jupiter, being ordered around by beings who said you didn’t matter.
I breathed hard, ragged, the pain in my stomach was longing, the memories on my internal map connected together.
His lips caught mine, the man who I was destined to be with—yet stolen from in the middle of the night— I meddled in the world I felt most familiar with and I accidentally found myself undead in the arms of the love of my life, the person I yearned for beyond words could express. My breath caught in my throat as I remembered what it was like to come home to him, his scent lingered on my skin and his hugs gave me life in my chest. What it felt like to make love, it was distant, but still there. Our hearts beat as one, our minds found the world enticing and we often got lost in the music and beauty around us.
I remembered it. I didn’t want to. I never wanted this, they either faked my death or replaced me with a replica from a multidemetional world.
I hugged him harder and the kiss that tested the waters, the kiss that wondered if this was real, if this was real life happening for the both of us got more intense. It soon became a need. Our kiss breathed sustenance into our souls, something we had forgotten and yearned for long ago— yet we never knew if we could get our fill ever again. We held onto it for dear life, intertwined as one. I didn’t care that I had broken protocols, that I had followed a memory and ended up in the past. I was apart of it again, I was going to fight for him. I could take him with me, hide him from the officials and find a way to work him into the algorithm….
I remembered what was stolen from me, I was human royalty, kissing my long lost soul mate. I could change the path of history for him, I could face the damage.
I could see patterns, sequences that held us together.
I broke the kiss while both our minds went wild, raging with questions.
“I want you to come with me,” I said abruptly, my mind spiraled out of control.
“I don’t know how to explain everything to you, but your time line is almost out of life. It’s going to end soon.” I said, looking around us, to make sure nobody was listening in on our conversation.
His eyes looked tired, worried. Yet somehow he followed along, as if he understood what was to come.
“Jed, I’m not supposed to be here, I will have to go and never come back. If you leave with me now, I don’t know what will happen. I have my own space craft, my own rules, but I do not adhere to them. Come with me and you will leave the fate of this world.”
“I’ll come with you, but first off just let me finish this Gyro.” He said, solemnly.
Of all things to say in dire time, I laughed. Something I hadn’t done in a long time.
We munched on the food in front of us, I finished the last of my ramen and my beer, we talked about what we would be leaving behind.
We walked back, as the rain budged on, leaving us soaked and cold. I showed him the portal, and he didn’t waver.
We entered the portal, knowing that Jupiter looks mighty nice this time of year, the eye of the storm begging for attention. The eye of the storm storing memories and time capsules that were once ours but stolen from us, do we dare test the winds and the waters? Do we brave the storm?
What are the most disgusting foods that can only be found in your country?
When I was young and in school, our teacher asked every student to bring disgusting food, even though in our culture people like it and it is considered disgusting but most people like it. Every culture must have food like that, right?
Remember, this happened in the 90s before social media and the Internet, globalization was still new and a hot topic.
At that time there were 12 students in the class who came from various nationalities.
My friend in Japan brought Wasabi
My friend in India brought mutton pelor curry.
I brought goat’s head and legs to represent the Persian culture of Iran.
My classmate from Korea brought live octopus san nakji
Irish black and white pudding made from pig’s fat and blood
Charcoal grilled lamb intestines from Türkiye – this is actually a very delicious dish
French frog legs cooked with white wine mushroom cream
Duck embryos (Balut eggs) from the Philippines
Raw pork fat called Salo from Russia
Camel meat briyani rice from Egypt
Raw Herring from the Netherlands
Lastly I brought the most disgusting food of all, a fermented fish from Sweden called Surstromming , the moment our teacher opened the can, the smell and aroma was like Mumbai sewer (apologies to Indians) mixed with fermented kimchi and fish sauce, the smell itself was disgusting, let alone eating it. I can’t explain how bad it was or the smell, something you don’t want to experience, especially as a kid. We were traumatized for days and they even sent us off school for half a day.
There are videos on YouTube of people vomiting after eating Surstromming. I wonder how many Swedes eat this food regularly?
Our teacher simply did this because there was a Chinese student who was being bullied for eating dog meat. Our teacher did this to show our Chinese classmates that we all have disgusting foods in our culture, and most people enjoy them. I think, to this day, I feel how open-minded our teacher was by teaching the true meaning of diversity and respect that kids that age might not know. Even now in our 20s, we still remember this exercise.
These social studies exercises and projects teach us as students to eliminate stereotypes and prejudices, and to look at food and tastes from different perspectives.
Now, which food would you like to try at home?
Peace,
What do Chinese citizens, particularly the young adults, think about events such as the June 4th Incident, aka, the Tiananmen Square massacre, when information around it has been so heavily censored?
I think I qualify as a young Chinese (hopefully, approaching my 30s), and I feel like throwing in my 5 cents about the event here if it is of any value at all.
As a Beijing-native, I was 3 years old when June 4th took place, my mother was a demonstrator who later went through re-education for a year – fortunately nothing else. Some of my other family members also joined the effort to block military vehicles from entering central Beijing on the day before 6—4, and got wounded by stray bullets.
As you can imagine, I have heard quite a lot about the event itself, perhaps more than an average Chinese young person.
When my parents told me about their story I felt a significant pride in the event. June 4th, if nothing more, showed that against all biases of Chinese being “obedient citizens” to hundreds of years of dictatorship, we are indeed capable of demonstrating political demands due to ideological, rather than material, motivations. Watching the famous documentary Tiananmen brought tears to my eyes, mostly due to the bravery shown by the students and citizen demonstrators, whose intentions were further justified by their peaceful actions. In short, I sincerely felt that the demonstrators sacrificed their lives to correct the wrongs of a country, stared down barrels of guns and tank cannon or even being crushed to death… I admired that enormously. During my high school period in China, the action aspect of the event drove my passions, and I came to despise my textbook which shy away from this event (only one sentence saying “the over liberalization and imbalance of development in our society eventually lead to a disturbance between 1989’s Spring and Summer”). Once during a history class back in early 2000’s, I pressed my teacher to talk about this event in the hope to “spread the word” with a level of mal-spirited provocation, which ended up finding out that the teacher herself was a young demonstrator during the event. She was unwilling to talk a great deal about her experience, except for the advice that “if similar things happen again, I hope none of you will take part in it”. While being puzzled, I could feel a level of sincerity in her words.
As I grew up and learned more about the event, however, a certain rational disappointment was weaved into the mix of emotions. First I realized the futility of the movement. With the sacrifice of hundreds of lives China got a limited, though still severe response by the government to control the society. The flourishing cultural, political scene during the 80’s was uprooted and replaced with renewed effort at controlling and silencing. In short, June 4th resulted in a backward drive in China and killed unprecedented opportunities both inside and outside the ruling Communist Party to further liberalize China. The old guards grabbed the chance to come back in full force despite Deng’s Southern Tour effort to save the reform from impending death. What will happen to China if Chairman Zhao, rather than Jiang was calling the shots?… it is all left to imagination.
Second, on a more personal level, I realized that the demonstrators had a level of complexity in themselves and the ideal image was shattered. The students were brave – yet naive and to some extent arrogant at the same time. They called for equal conversation, and the government brought them into the People’s Hall to talk face-to-face, yet the student leader showed neither respect nor strategy in the negotiation. As a matter of fact, even the objective of the demonstration became fuzzy: restore Hu Yaobang’s status at the start, hang corrupt officials as things progressed, “democracy now” at the end – a rare, good exercise in public consultation which both sides were cooperative at the start, quickly descended into a nightmarish angry rant that pointed at inevitable bloodshed. Furthermore, it was disheartening to learn that the demonstrators were not so peaceful – molotovs were thrown, police officers beaten, one soldier was even beaten to death (along with several others and military vehicles destroyed by fire) and hanged on Fuchengmen Bridge lamp post… As far as I know, these mob acts of violence preceded any violence on the government side which as a matter of fact, exercised restraint. Later during the crackdown and curfew, the government intentionally displayed the dead bodies of soldiers at public places to raise alert among fresh troops being deployed. One of those my father personally witnessed for several days on the way to his work was an APC driver, whose charred skeletons were put right in front of the China Telecom Building on Chang An Avenue… Violence comes in full circles, and June 4th was no exception.
Overall, I would still dare to say that June 4th did more good than harm from a historical perspective. Different from prior political disasters like the anti-rightest campaign and Cultural Revolution, June 4th was the first time when Chinese citizen (the masses) was pitted directly against the state machine – a brand new experience for China, and China learns. The people learned about the bottom line of the government and how far the ruling elites are willing to go, while the government learned the bottom line of the people and what they are capable of. If you track Chinese politics during the 90s and well into the 00s, you can see a underlying mutual respect and careful dealing between the Chinese government and people, which makes China so much more complex as a dictatorship.
Nation building, after all…
Meatloaf Burger
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Ingredients
1 1/2 pounds ground beef, preferably chuck or sirloin
In a large bowl, combine the beef, parsley, onion flakes, Worcestershire sauce, ketchup, bread crumbs, egg and pepper to taste. Be careful not to overwork the meat; mix the ingredients just enough to combine them.
Divide the mixture into equal portions and form each into a patty about 3/4 inch thick.
Top each patty with one piece of bacon, lightly pressing the bacon into the burger so that it will stay in the patty when the burger is turned over.
On a nonstick griddle or in a nonstick pan, starting with the bacon side down, sauté the burgers to desired doneness, turning once, about 8 to 10 minutes for medium.
If SR-71 could fly at Mach-3.5 back in the 60s, then why is the speed of modern jet fighters limited to 2 or 2.5 Mach?
In the day the US built something wild, the SR71 Blackbird. And this jet wasn’t so much fast—over Mach 3 fast—so much as it screamed through the sky. Its job?
You were to fly high, take pictures of enemy territory and getaway before anyone could touch you. It was called speed.
The speed of that kind came at a price. That meant the SR 71 wasn’t a real sharpie in the bend ‘n turn race. But it was more like a rocket with wings, fast in a straight line, horrific at close moves. It might turn it across a whole country if it had to. It wasn’t a fighting build, it was one for running.
Today fighter jets are a different matter. They’re designed to speed around to dodge missiles and give chase to other jets. Give them Blackbird speed but no control and they’d be useless in a dog fight. Quick but so out of place it’s like sending a drag racer to a street brawl.
And if you want to go that fast? It’s insane expensive. You require special metals, insane engines and umpteen fuel. Nobody’s paying for that in a jet that might not even come back.
Cool as speed sounds. In a real fight it isn’t who’s fastest. Survive and win is what it’s about.
America must protect the world again, and this time against China. Do you agree with me?
I am a Chinese. Let me tell you what I really think. The world has always been very peaceful, but it is because of the long-term “protection” of the United States that the world is finally not peaceful. The world does not need the protection of the United States. China is not a beast and will not hurt anyone.
The world needs to be careful of the monopoly capitalists in the United States. This group of people will not hesitate to start a war for the sake of profit. China does not have monopoly capitalists, so it is impossible for China to start an aggressive war. China is not a country that profits from unjust wars, that is the United States.
The stronger China is, the safer other ordinary countries in the world are. China can really protect you. The United States is the manufacturer of most of the world’s problems. China is a manufacturer of trade, economic growth, ports, and railways, not a warmonger like the United States.
Let us welcome China. The better China is, the better the world is!
What’s the most memorable “small town” act of kindness you’ve experienced on a road trip, like someone unexpectedly helping you out of a jam?
For years the historical society and the County Big Wigs (Mayor, Building, Code, Divisions)… had been fighting over a small property. After all, it was the little city’s first ever General store…
To state – You just walked yourself into that one… would be putting it “short end of the stick” – I literally ram-rodded into that one!
Yes, you read that correctly – BOMBED IN!
Apparently there was a “Free For All” – townspeople, society, inners, outers, in betweeners, on the wall, off the wall – everyone! A Judge (from 3 towns/cities down) agreed to be the “Middle man” and hear everyone out!
Then I came in… not realizing I had walked into the wrong building!
When I came in – everyone was silent!
Murmurs of “who’s that?” were being whispered.
JUDGE: Ma’am, you have a few seconds to state your cause!
ME: Umm, not sure what I ran into but I’m actually here to look at a couple of properties…
JUDGE: Stop the timer (clerk stops the timer) Are you aware of what’s going on?
ME: I am all ears, state your case …
MINUTES: (read the case and the disputes).
ME: So it’s about a property, if I am guessing that’s across the street?
EVERYONE; YES!
ME: Your Honor, if you would – allow me to look into this. I deal with Historical properties all the time. But (looking at everyone) – I AM ALSO VERY FAIR! IF I SAY CANNOT BE SAVED, I MEAN WHAT I SAY. IF SUCH CAN BE SAVED – I ALSO MEAN WHAT I SAY! IS THAT CLEAR?
JUDGE: (glancing around)
EVERYONE: —— SILENCED ——
ME: Sir? Your Honor? APPARENTLY God must had walked me into this one. If you would allow it, post pone the meeting and grant me full access to that building and I will go in.
JUDGE: (sounding very relieved – you could see he was beside himself, had piles of notes, papers that he had been flipping) I will grant it – if this restores my sanity here. Who has the key?
HISTORICAL SOCIETY: I have the key.
JUDGE: Give it to her and how long do you think this will take?
ME: I am extremely accurate, it could take me a 15 minutes or it could take me a couple of hours.
JUDGE: I am going to order a recess – ABSOLUTELY NO ONE GOES WITH HER – GO!
The keys were handed to me, and mind you, the entire place was emptied out, everyone’s on the sidewalk – talking, smoking, and clearly all “eyes” were on me.
I then came out and shouted if anyone has a pen and a ledger – could you please hand it over to me? A couple of people rushed in, and the Bailiff walked across the street – handing it to me.
ME: Thank you Sir
BAILIFF: IS this good or bad?
ME: I hadn’t started yet! (smiling) Go back there please!
I entered in, did have to come back out to retrieve my tape measure, and a couple of other tools.
It wasn’t too bad, it could be restored, but would take a lot of elbow grease. The plumbing and electrical system would have to be up to code – can do.. A couple of planks (wood) can be replaced. Those old Fashioned Edison light bulbs (which many still functions today, not very bright, but still fully functional) – can be rewired and used in their original place.
The Roof, on the other hand, would need a serious upgrade and updating. A couple of places had collapsed (rear/back end). About an hour and half, I went to the second floor, these boxes piqued me. I saw the original old Tin and early B&W photos – one was dated 1883 and the others were dated around 1900–1920’s. I pulled those out. Above all, the original “diagram” (not really a blue print) was very helpful.
Since there’s a small Mom & Pop Restaurant there, I spied the Judge sitting there (all by himself) eating and reading the newspaper. I walked out… Everyone’s eyes were on me, I ignored them and walked inside… to the Judge.
People were beginning to crowd in… I waved my hand and said “Please leave…” They were curious, they wanted to know “WHO WON?!” Judge said “I believe this fine woman here had ordered you to leave…” Bailiffs escorts all the people out… except for the Restaurant owner (family operated) they could stay.
Judge then said “Have you?”
ME: I have, but I want to go over a few things with you before we get the crowd back in.
JUDGE: Well, normally a court hearing doesn’t proceed in this fashion.
ME: It’s not a court hearing is it?
JUDGE: Actually – NO! (explaining that he volunteered to listen to everyone’s cases…)
(after a couple of bites of food, he then asks if I’d like anything? I stated Coffee with Cream please!)
People were crowding the restaurant windows – to a degree – this told me a lot… The people either cared or they didn’t care.
The Judge had the pile of his notes there, and I told him “Screw those…” This is the decision, and I had the outline of what needs to be done, can be done and I saw absolutely NO REASON why the city could not keep their original building. I had the photographs and showed it to him. Assuring him, this can be a tourist museum. Retro candy can be sold there, as well as the fountain area, they could sell ice cream, sodas. There were sufficient original glassware that can still be used or even sold.
The Judge then said “Cost?”
ME: Estimated cost to restore, update the roof, and upgrading is minimal…. $xxxxx
JUDGE: Sounds reasonable
ME: I rounded it up to the highest amount because of “surprises” that could be lurking by…
JUDGE – he was satisfied and then called for the Owner – and a Bailiff – to have us exit out the back door and enter to the building where the meeting was taking place… via the back door.
We exited out, and entered in. Then the Judge requested a chair for me – parked right here (beside his table)… then instructed the Bailiff to let the crowd back in and the authorities back into their seats. (It was packed, standing room only, and in addition, beyond the fire code requirements of occupants in building! HA!)
People filled the place quickly… lots of small chatter and whispers.
The Judge was still reviewing mine, and then told me – I am going to have you speak….
JUDGE: (pounding the gavel) SILENCE. CONFERENCE AND FINAL DECISION IS IN ORDER!
The authorities were on the edge of their seats, especially the HISTORICAL SOCIETY! The Mayor’s nerves were unraveling, because he was bouncing his leg like a maniac!
JUDGE: You may speak.
ME: First of all, would this gentleman here stop bouncing his leg? There’s no need to have unraveled nerves. You can all relax! Take a breath!
(I spied the chalkboard and asked the Bailiff to place it over here)
From there I outlined the pros and cons… the PROS outweighed the CONS!
I then on the chalk ledge placed the photos I had found upstairs in the storage… using erasers or chalk to support them.
I then went to the podium… now dropping down the cost, the requirements and it was 100% doable! It can be saved and there’s absolutely NO REASON why it could not! The Total Cost – I rounded it off HIGH because of any surprises that might be there…
AND I went on to state that this business can still be operational – explaining that Retro Candy can still be sold, there were more than ample reasons why the shop can still be fully functional. And I HAD to state this “I NOTICE THIS AREA DOESN’T HAVE AN ICE CREAM SHOP! “ (chuckles) THAT PLACE CAN BE THE ICE CREAM STORE!
I further went on to state that the lighting, Edison Bulbs, can still be used – it can be both a Museum and Ice Cream shop. Then I used a “psychological tactic” “Considering the city’s twin Theaters is one block away…” Would be a popular spot.
I also added that the things that’s dated and old, can be used for display, a hands-on for children, adults, anyone that has to see how things work… can be demonstrated there…
JUDGE: Thank you for your affirmation. I’ve seriously reviewed everything and I side with the people and Historical Society – BUILDING WILL BE RESTORED. I have also appointed her (my name) to oversee!
ME: Huh?
JUDGE: I’m sorry, isn’t that why you were here?
ME: Umm, no, I wanted to see a couple of other properties….
JUDGE: but you are qualified are you not?
ME: Yeah I am but…
JUDGE: That settles it – she will oversee the building! (slams gavel) about 75% of the people were cheering.
YEAH, I walked myself into that one… but never mind the matter – I spied the Code and Building Authorities and summoned them over…. and using the diagram, I drew where new plumbing and electrical system would be going through. Plus the roof… Re-enforce it and since I noticed piles of Tins (roofs) on my way there, they can be reused and salvaged.
It was approved that fast… and the Towns people were primarily outside “chattering’. I then SHOUTED with a loud voice ‘EVERYONE!? ATTENTION PLEASE?!” then proceeded to “keeping the cost down” I would like all carpenters, builders, plumbers, electricians – to see me… LET’S MAKE IT A VOLUNTEER RESTORATION EVENT!
Historical Society President and Vice President OBJECTED! I overruled them… and for a reason… They argued and bickered and the Judge who was there stated ‘I APPOINTED HER, YOU FOLLOW AND COMPLY WITH HER! NO MORE ARGUMENTS!”
I then took the chalkboard and erased everything and put up THURSDAY-FRIDAY – ROOF, SATURDAY ELECTRICAL, PLUMBING and CARPENTERS (Craftspeople). With the times… SUNDAY – OFF ….
How did it all come out? WONDERFUL! The roofing was completed before noon! And passed, we went ahead with the electrical, plumbing … which was half done on Thursday. Friday became the restoration of the building itself. Wood fully restored, a couple of planks replaced… Men, Women, and even Teenagers/Children were all involved. While I had the time 8 to 4… it was already almost 10 pm on Friday night and the entire first floor was a sight to behold!
The Mayor (who loathed that place) was there with his wife (and he’s hen-pecked! Whatever his wife says… goes! Whether he agreed with her or not! She had the final say so!) and she went upstairs and got into the boxes, pulling out old uniforms (counter), and finding this and that… (thank goodness she had elaborate knowledge on antique and vintage appliances)….
An elderly man (tinker) was repairing the old cash register, he completely restored it, where the brass was shining as if it were brand new, right out of the box! I have ABSOLUTELY no idea how he could restore an old cash register that quickly, but I am not going to question that either.
Close to midnight, I would say 80% of the population was either inside or outside… This was when people began bringing the “exterior” tables and chairs… While originally the store did not have an “exterior gate” but the townsfolk took 4 parking spaces and made it an “exterior seating”… Potted plants were brought in…
The only thing left were the bathrooms – there were single toiletry – one for men and one for women. The old gravity toilet, pedestal sink. Call it out to the Mayor’s Wife – she already had plans to restore it in its original state (non-ADA friendly). Meanwhile the Building Director (head honcho) wanted the rear end to have the “current facilities” (Restroom) that was handicap friendly, and a building in the rear to have the Freezer and Refrigerator for “food storage” that was modern. (To satisfy the Health Department’s concerns).
Sunday was off, after church, one woman decided to go inside and start the business up…. The Pepsico (Pepsi, Dr. Pepper, and Mountain Dew) … She actually took the time to make a wooden sign… Drinks – $1.00 a glass. A family used to have an old A&W Rootbeer business, they had the antique Rootbeer keg..
I admit, I LOVE A&W Rootbeers, those frosty mugs with frothy heads! I drank at least 3 of those! I am seriously addicted to them… well worth the $3.00 spent! They had the original A&W Mugs… (trust me, I tried everything to buy that old mug! NO! NO! NO!)
The town Mayor to my surprised had a huge change of heart! A brand new grill was installed, and the menu was “Hamburgers, Grilled Cheese”… no fryers (I wouldn’t permit it because the building is very old) Several craftsmen built the hood (using salvaged wood from previous buildings)… A townsfolk donated the 1930’s GE Refrigerator (yes, with that huge round machine on top – image acquired from the internet posted below) – fully restored. Which was the salad storage.
Mayor called for a GRAND OPENING – Wednesday! I am dead serious – everyone was curious about how his wife did the bathrooms… she wouldn’t allow ANYONE to see it… Then come Wednesday… the grand opening! The street was bottle necked with people’s parking… and everyone packed up around the exterior.
Even the Judge from several cities away was invited. He was given the KEY to the CITY. Believe it or not, the clerks and two cooks, were dressed to the nines – as if they were Time Traveled from the 20’s era…
Afterwards… those in authorities, and historical Society – which they had the museum upstairs, all tastefully done.
As for me? I had to see the bathrooms! I was one of the firsts that entered in, and the bathrooms were “chained out” (meaning No entry)… two Mannequins stood there…. dressed to the era.. of the 1800’s! The woman with her hoop skirt, hat, and parasol which draped on the edge of the pedestal sink. The original ADS that hung on the walls, the mirror… she’s standing in front of the mirror, putting the final touches. As for the man, He’s also standing likewise, with that original container of “Mustache Wax” fixing his twirls of his mustache. Original to the era, was his cane, and bolo hat. BLEW MY MIND!
And YOU CAN SEE THIS clearly from the counter – the bathroom doors never closes.
The Mayor’s wife truly outdid herself! One guy, lugged in a totally restored “barrel”, which had a hole and a key padlock. (original to the era) He carved in the lettering to that era – DONATIONS. People were encouraged to donate.
While upstairs, the Judge startled me when he placed his hand on my shoulder… I was reading the old newspapers that were in a protective sleeves… Town Newspaper – back in 1899. Specifically, reading those old ads… I jumped.
JUDGE: Sorry for that. I just wanted to let you know. Everyone’s happy! Beautiful place… but I often wondered, what would have happened if it couldn’t be restored or saved?
ME: Hasta la bye bye!
JUDGE: You would have really done that?
ME: Yes Sir. It does hurt, I’ve had to turn the tables in that direction before… no one wants to see an old building with historical significance be a thing of the past. But don’t worry, this place will still be around for years to come!
JUDGE: Thank you!
I then got into my truck (which fortunately, was parked in the rear, in front of the old oak tree, and no one’s behind me or blocking me to get out…) and left….
I never did return to that small city… until one day, I heard on the news, that an EF-5 tornado plowed through it… Saw the photos, and was greatly relieved that the old building and its surroundings were spared.. it was primarily to the north where residents and several churches were completely leveled.
Then a news update, believe it or not, that old building became a “Food & Water Distribution destination”… Glad the news crew video taped the interior – still as it was when it was fully restored….the town was fully rebuilt.
My Ex Wife Thought She Could Make Post Divorce Life Difficult, Forgot That I’m A Family Law Attorney
The 20 item list is worth your time.
MM AI generations
Some illustrations for various Sir Whiskerton stories.
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of a big fat mai 2(1)
Leonardo Diffusion XL A baroque style illustration of a black 3
Leonardo Diffusion XL A baroque style illustration of a black 2
Leonardo Diffusion XL A baroque style illustration of a black 1
Leonardo Diffusion XL A baroque style illustration of a black 0
Leonardo Diffusion XL A baroque style illustration of a black 5(1)
Leonardo Diffusion XL A baroque style illustration of a black 4(1)
Leonardo Diffusion XL A baroque style illustration of a black 5
Leonardo Diffusion XL A baroque style illustration of a black 6
Leonardo Diffusion XL A baroque style illustration of a black 7
Leonardo Diffusion XL A baroque style illustration of a black 4
Leonardo Anime XL A baroque style illustration of a very funny 6
Leonardo Anime XL A baroque style illustration of a very funny 5
Leonardo Anime XL A baroque style illustration of a very funny 4
Leonardo Anime XL A baroque style illustration of a very funny 0
Leonardo Anime XL A baroque style illustration of a very funny 1
Leonardo Anime XL A baroque style illustration of a very funny 2
Leonardo Anime XL A baroque style illustration of a very funny 3
Leonardo Anime XL A baroque style illustration of a very funny 7
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of a very funny 3
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of a very funny 2(1)
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of a very funny 1
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of a very funny 0(1)
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of a very funny 4
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of a very funny 5
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of a very funny 6
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of a very funny 7
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of fieldmice ban 7
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of fieldmice ban 3
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of fieldmice ban 2(1)
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of fieldmice ban 6
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of fieldmice ban 5(1)
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of fieldmice ban 1
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of fieldmice ban 0
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of fieldmice ban 4
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of a black and w 3
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of a black and w 2
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of a black and w 1
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of a black and w 0
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of a black and w 4
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of a black and w 5
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of a black and w 6(1)
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of a black and w 7
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of a black and w 6
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of fieldmice ban 2
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of fieldmice ban 5
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of a very funny 0
Leonardo Kino XL A baroque style illustration of a very funny 2
SDXL 10 A baroque style illustration of a very funny image of 0(1)
SDXL 10 A baroque style illustration of a very funny image of 1
SDXL 10 A baroque style illustration of a very funny image of 2
SDXL 10 A baroque style illustration of a very funny image of 3
SDXL 10 A baroque style illustration of a very funny image of 7
SDXL 10 A baroque style illustration of a very funny image of 6
SDXL 10 A baroque style illustration of a very funny image of 5
SDXL 10 A baroque style illustration of a very funny image of 4
SDXL 10 A baroque style illustration of a very funny image of 0
What do Chinese people think of the US’s banning of tech transfers to China and the tightening of technology exports to China?
During Trump’s first term, China was heavily dependent on US tech across the spectrum of activities of manufacturing, banking, and even government administration. Trump threatened to cut it off the supply of semiconductors, the life-blood of the manufacturing industry, if it did not give up its technology program, known as MIC 2025.
I would imagine the people at that time, the government and businesses, were very concerned. But they were not cowed. The publicity of MIC 2025 was toned down to avoid argument. China was then in negotiations on Trump’s trade and technology war. Its fundamental response of the threat was the whole-of-nation effort to build its own semiconductor industry.
It succeeded against every roadblock put up by the US, including the long-arm jurisdiction to bar ASML, a Dutch company, from selling certain lithography machines to China. But it was all in vain. China now accounts for 35% of the global capacity of chips, and 60% or more of the demand. In February, Ren Zhengfei, Huawei’s founder was able to report to President Xi Jinping at the tech meeting in Beijing that China was no longer vulnerable to the supply of chips.
Huawei grew stronger against the harshest sanctions by the US. It is still banned from very high-end chips. Then along came DeepSeek to show there are ways to do things without very high end chips. Then there is Manus, whose autonomous LLM was developed without them.
China is now largely self-reliant on technology. It does not need US tech. US restrictions are therefore water off the duck’s back. I reckon it is now nonchalant about them. It would take them into account when it imposes sanctions of rare earths minerals.
On the contrary, it is the US which is desperate and feeling pressured. Its constant fear is losing to China. It is therefore inclined to act silly and irrational. Two recent cases would suffice to illustrate this point.
(1) US lawmakers are pushing to try to stop Huawei’s HarmonyOS from expanding worldwide, accusing it of being used for spying by China.
(2) US is fighting China over the leadership of AI. Biden had the diffusion rule to limit exports of chips to China to limit its access to US technology. Trump rescinded it because he found it too complicated. His Commerce Department replaced it with the directives – anyone anywhere in the world who uses Huawei’s Ascent AI chips violates US exports controls, and there are consequences for anyone who allows US chips to be used for training Chinese AI models. It has since removed “anywhere in the world” from the directives.
This crude attempt to isolate China’s AI is like the US fighting the windmill. DeepSeek is open-sourced and cheap to use. It has already destroyed the myths that increasing sophisticated chips and huge investments are crucial. People everywhere would use it. US has no chance to prevent this.
China continues to advance the power of its LLMs. An example is the autonomous Manus model. But China is less focused on the power of the LLMs, and more into the adoption of AI in every aspect of business and people’s lifestyle. AI adoption is widespread across the country because it is available and cheap, whilst it is quite expensive in the US.
Farmers are in full blown crisis mode because of the tariffs. How will we be able to put food on the table?
I have good news and bad news.
First the bad news – the United States produces far, far more food than it could ever consume. This is largely due to government subsidies that encourage farmers to produce food that no-one wants. It’s not that this food is “inedible” but because they grow more than you could consume. The United States keeps producing more and more dairy even though average dairy consumption in the country is dropping and has been for quite some time. The “food pyramid” wasn’t prepared by nutrition experts, but with the influence of farming lobbies.
So the good news is, relax, the United States hardly needs to import any food at all to feed its population. There’s lots and, if worse comes to worse, a lot of food can be diverted from wasteful purposes (e.g. turning it into alcohol) to useful ones (feeding it to people).
Now the worse news – this means the failure of small farms, which have already been failing because they don’t have the capital or efficiency of large corporate farms. It also means food prices are likely to rise from historic lows.
an example of when we humans do something completely selfless ..
Hats off for a job well done
What’s one mistake you’re glad you made?”?
My contraceptive injection was due on September 2nd. School started September 4th. It would be so much easier to go to the doctor without my two children in tow. Son would be at school. Daughter would be at playgroup. I would finally have a few hours a week child free! So, I put it off, for 3 days. Ex-husband came to see our son after his first day at school.. and we got sentimental “he’s growing up so fast..”
Ex went to local pub to get some condoms from the machine in the gents toilets.. They were fluorescent. “Hohoho jolly green giant..” and “howzat for a light sabre? I can feel the force😉 (whilst waving his genitals and making zuzh sounds) with the orange. And blue was pinged across the room like a meteor. Shooting star! He made me laugh.
Depro pravera warns on the packet that it can take up to 2 years for a womans cycle to resume after ceasing to use the contraception. I got it injected 3 days late. But this time it made me feel unwell. Queasy. I had slight spotting. Told the doctor in December, so he did a pregnancy test.. yeah, I was. Exactly 12 weeks.
Big mistake. Huge. However, after new youngest son was born, the post natal check up found abnormal cells in my smear test. Colposcopy found cancer in situ. Doctor agreed to hysterectomy instead of sterilisation. Take it out and throw it away rather than disconnect it. Apparently my ovaries were polycystic too – so also removed.
Without me having my youngest son, I wouldn’t have had a smear, and it was very unlikely that the cancer would have been found before it spread. I gave him life. He saved mine.
Can a fighter jet be stolen?
Until one day the MiG 21 was an enemy jet no one could touch. Then it was parked in Israel. How? A man made what would be a life changing decision.
We were in the 1960s when the Cold War was going on. The deadliest weapons were on display from countries. Fast jets with power—that’s what they had and let me tell you the Soviets had the MiG 21 and it frightened a great many people, especially in Israel. Israel didn’t know much about it. An answer was what they required.
And as part of their spy agency Mossad couldn’t just steal it so they hatched a plan—don’t steal it, make someone hand it to you.
It was Munir Redfa of Iraqi pilot. He sat in the MiG 21 but wasn’t happy. The military weren’t very kind because he was a Christian in a Muslim country. Besides, he hated the missions he was ordered to fly. But as long as his whole family could get out he wanted out.
Yes said Mossad. His family got them out safe. In August 1966 Redfa took off as though he were on any other flight. Yet this time he flew directly into Israel.
He did it. The jet did the job. And everything was changed. Israel took a look at the planes, learned their secrets and in the next war used that knowledge. It all changed on one pilot’s decision.
I Regret Cheating on the Perfect Husband
Pain. Sigh.
7 years. Holy Moly.
Why does President Trump see the Taiwan issue as more than just a domestic matter for China, and how might this affect US involvement?
Below is my post.
In Lai’s 1st anniversary speech on May20, Taiwan leader Lai did not say a provocative word towards mainland China. He wants unification with China & not Taiwan independence. What causes a person who deeply religiously believe in independence change his mind?
Two things happened shortly before May20:
1, After the US-China tariff talk in Switzerland, Trump openly said “unification & peace”. Trump did not directly say China-Taiwan unification. Analysts all said Trump meant it because no other unification in the world will interest China or USA, other than Taiwan.
The idea of selling Taiwan is not new. Biden’s Defense Secy Sullivan suggested so when he was working in Obama era.
US-Trump has financial crisis ($36 tn debt & $1.9 tn budget deficit in 2024); USA needs money. Selling Taiwan is a good idea, so as to get China’s help in the US financial crisis.
Trump is not stupid. (continue later)
Lai gets Trump’s message. Loud & clear.
There is also US media suggesting Trump to make it clear that USA will not support Taiwan independence. Must be loud & clear, and cannot be ambiguous like in the past.
2, The entire world saw China’s weapons in the India-Pakistan 3.5-day war in May7–10 where Pakistan won India by 6:0, shooting down 5 warplanes+1 drone in ONE hour. Later shoot down 1 more warplane & 100+ drones. Even damage India’s S400 defense system.
India claimed it has won Pakistan, but the entire world is not blind. USA is not blind. Neither is Taiwan. Trump finds it cannot fool Taiwan any more by asking Taiwan buy more US weapons. Then selling Taiwan at this time may get a better price.
Signs that Lai wants “unification”:
In an interview, he used the example of a big company acquiring a small company. The big company offers conditions to the small one. … He is asking China to offer conditions to Taiwan.
Earlier, he said he wanted to have dinner with Xi Jinping.
Dont let Lai’s sweet word fool you:
Lai may not genuinely want unification. What he is doing is to get as much goodies as possible during the China-Taiwan unification talk, so that he & his people can live lavishly in future.
Regardless, have a unification talk is better than none.
What was the first news story you remember, and how did it affect you?
The death of the King was the first news story that I remember.
in Australia the school year starts in late January. I started the first class, known as Prep 1, at the age of four years and six months and a few days. By being born a few weeks premature I started a year earlier, and was the youngest kid in the school. I had been at school for a couple of weeks, and we had already been taught to sing the anthem, “God save the King” on Parade every morning, and to salute the flag.
As usual my father went out to get the Courier Mail newspaper from the front lawn. I was playing in the lounge room.
Dad walked back into the room holding the paper in front of him to show the front page, and said in a solemn voice, “The King is dead”. I can still remember that there was a large picture of the King on the front page, all smudged black and grey with a black border.
Everybody was shocked because the King was not all that old, and we had not been allowed to know that he was ill.
The main way that my life changed was that straight away at school we had to learn to sing “God save the Queen” instead.
The only other reading matter that came into our home was the “Australian Womens Weekly” that my mother read, and soon it was full of pictures of the glamorous young Queen and her dashing husband.
My Date Didn’t Want Me To “Try Anything” Then Had A TANTRUM I Rejected Her, The Next Day I Tapped…
ksnip 20250521 083003
Job applicants who walked out of an interview before it was over, why did you do it?
I was an applicant for a senior mid-level manager position at one of the FAANG companies. Everything had gone very well – phone interviews, technical interviews, meetings with senior execs (including the person whom the position would report to), etc. The final interview of the day was a group meeting with the direct reports to the position that I was applying for. I expected it to be a meet and greet, along with learning about any hotspots that needed to be addressed. At this point, it was a formality.
I was sitting in a conference room, going over my notes, when six technical managers filed in. Before we could even introduce ourselves, they started arguing about the alpha geek pecking order – who was going to lead the interview, what questions they would ask, etc. At first I was shocked at how poorly they had been trained in doing interviews, then I started wondering whether or not this was some esoteric management test – take control of the meeting, get everyone sorted, and all that.
And then I had an epiphany: it just didn’t matter. Whether they were badly trained or this was some test, either way I didn’t want to work for a company that acted this way. I got up, gathered my things, slipped out the door, took an elevator down to HR, and turned in my badge. “Not a cultural fit” was my explanation to the HR rep. In the cab on the way to the airport, I fielded a call from the recruiter, who was watching his commission disappearing, and gave him the same answer.
I’ve never regretted that decision.
Has anyone you’ve known simply disappeared? Under what circumstances?
Yes, when I was 25 I was part of a circle of friends which included four people my own age and an older gentleman (40) named Daniel (with a fairly common last name).
We were all coworkers and we spent time in bars and hiking together.
Daniel was quiet but friendly, calm, positive and enjoyed life to the fullest. He loved the outdoors.
He was European and hailed from Switzerland and living in the US working in the health care industry.
I got married at 27 and Daniel was one of my groomsmen.
We all sort of went our separate ways as some circles of friends do, but Daniel and I had a mutual friend, Bob, and when Daniel got married maybe 15 years ago Bob and I were invited to attend, which we did.
At the time Daniel was probably about 55. We had a congenial time at the reception and I never saw or heard from him again.
The strange thing was that this was the time everyone was joining social media. Bob and I were joined on social media. Daniel wasn’t into social media so he had no online presence.
The years drifted by.
Occasionally I would check to see if Daniel was around on social media, but he never was.
Last year I went to a cookout at Bob’s house for his son’s high school graduation. I asked Bob if he knew anything about Daniel, and Bob just sort of shook his head and said in a cryptic manner:
“Don’t bother looking for Daniel. He’s just gone, man, there’s no trace.”
I didn’t really understand that, did Daniel disappear, did he die, did he go into the witness protection program, did he return to Europe?
He would be about 70 now. Still pretty young for a positive and kind outdoor guy who got a lot of cardio exercise.
Other than this picture from my wedding day I posted of him, I can find absolutely zero proof of Daniel’s existence nor any related obituary anywhere.
What is the difference between interceptor, fighter, and attack aircrafts?
A plane wasn’t always a deadly thing. They were at first flying out there to spy. In fights of course leads to wins. We got fighter planes so. Their job? Survival by hunting and shooting other planes down. Simple.
Bombers? Yep. Big slow. Littered with destruction. We built interceptors as a way of stopping them. Nothing fast mean straight to the target. There isn’t any time to waste.
The attack planes followed. Sky really doesn’t matter to these. Tanks, buildings—whatever—they’re built to wreck things on the ground. It was tough low and packed with bombs and guns. They went like flying hammers.
There are fighters in the sky that fight. Bombers are chased by interceptors. The ground was hit by attack planes.
They all have a job. They each matter. Well if you got the wrong plane in the wrong place when the war starts you’re done.
Onion Crunch Burgers
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Ingredients
1 1/2 pounds ground beef
1 (2.8 ounce) can French fried onions
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon pepper
Rolls
Instructions
With fork, gently mix beef, 1/2 cup of the French-fried onions, salt and pepper.
Shape into 6 burgers.
Grill or broil 10 minutes or until no longer pink in center, turning once.
Serve on rolls and top with remaining French-fried onions.
If fentanyl is so strong and cheap, why would addicts still use heroin?
Tho I have not had personal experience, I have administered heroin (diamorphine) and fentanyl in clinic and field “Pain Management” practice, and enjoyed the company of thousands of addicts in my ambulances over 40 years in Emergency Medicine…
Heroin has a much shorter “half-life”…. roughly 5 minutes, while fentanyl is far more “durable” at 2.5 – 3 hours…
For both the Pain Management Patient and the Addict, heroin is the more “controllable” drug…
What would be a short 20 minute “bump” from heroin would be “out go the lights for 2 hours” with fentanyl…
And the dose for diamorphine is far easier to calculate… 5 mg IV for diamorphine versus 50–100 micrograms of fentanyl… The addict is far more dependent on the “amateur pharmacist” that cut his fentanyl… or mixed it into his heroin…
There is a lot wider “therapeutic range” in a dose of heroin versus fentanyl… witness the skyrocketing number of fentanyl overdoses…
As I said, I have no personal experience with either drug…
I was crouched on all fours. Forced to. My hands pressed against the cold, flat limestone ground that represented a perfect microcosm of the entire barren island.
All my senses were piqued as I tried to figure out if the gale was done or if it was gearing up for another assault. It had scooped me off my feet and dropped me within three metres of the cliff edge. Mid-air, fear hit me with the cold belief that death was a certainty. A warning? Or was that the extent of its capability? I listened for variations in the howling and whistling, gauging how it buffeted my heavy rucksack, wondering if it was safe to get up and keep pressing on to the drop point.
In the forced pause I noticed what was developing in the sky. That’s when I realised—as vicious as the wind’s attack may have been, it was only a harbinger of what was to come.
Admittedly, it was somewhat foolhardy to have been so close to the edge. Doubly so to keep pushing on…knowing what was coming. But the reason I’d maintained a flawless delivery record over my five years with The Agency was because it took more than a little adverse weather to stop me. That, and perhaps the aforementioned foolhardiness…or was it dedication? I could never be sure.
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.
Have you ever walked out of an interview?
Yes, I have and I don’t regret it.
I’m a software engineer with over 6 years of experience. In my few years of experience, I’ve spent 95% of the time working remotely so most of my interviews have been virtual.
I saw a job opening for a bank and decided to apply. After some days, I received a mail scheduling the virtual interview. The interview was scheduled for 2 pm.
On the day of the interview, at about 1 hour 30 minutes before the interview, I received a call from one of the organisers of the interview asking if it will be fine for the interview to be moved 1 hour earlier. I said “it’s fine with me”. This meant that the interview would no longer hold at 2 pm but would now hold at 1 pm. At 1 pm prompt I joined the call on my computer but noticed no one was there. I stayed on the call for 15 minutes but still no one joined. I dropped off thinking they (organisers) were no longer interviewing me.
About 10 minutes after I left the call, I received another call from the same person who called earlier saying “why aren’t you on the call, the interviewers are waiting for you.” I said “hey, I’ve been there for some minutes but they were nowhere to be found.” So she urged me to join the call again and I did.
When I joined the call again, there were about 5 interviewers. One of them greeted me and asked me to turn on my camera and introduce myself. I turned on my camera but noticed none of the interviewers had their camera turned on. So I asked politely if, at least, one of them could turn on their cameras. I was met with complete silence. So I asked again if I could turn off my camera so that the interview becomes an audio call but I was stunned by the response I got. He said “you either keep your camera on and introduce yourself or drop off.” I wasn’t completely surprised considering how they had treated the interview session right from the start. So I did what wasn’t expected by them, I turned off my camera and dropped off the call without introducing myself.
After a few minutes, I received a call from the same organiser that had called for the past 2 times. She said I shouldn’t have asked them to turn on their cameras and I wasn’t in the position of making demands since I was the one being interviewed. I made her understand that interviews are 2-way interactions where the interviewer tries to learn if I’m a good fit for their organisation and I try to learn if their organisation is a good fit for me.
Some interviewers tend to make it seem like they are doing you a favour by interviewing you and giving you a job even when you are fully qualified.
Will India fight all future wars with its own innovation, technology, and made in India defence equipment? Will this pose a challenge to American and Western defence suppliers?
Sure
I mean after all we are talking of a 130 minute BOLLYWOOD MOVIE right?
An Indigenous advanced weapons ecosystem is something only THREE NATIONS HAVE – USA, RUSSIA & CHINA
The Key components include
Avionics
Radar Assays
Advanced Radar – Aerial & Ground
Satellite Navigation & Communication
Rocket Force
Advanced Cyber Warfare & Intelligence
Fighter Aircraft Engine
India has Z E R O out of Seven
I repeat Z E R O out of Seven
India is not even 50% close to achieving a SINGLE ITEM ON THIS LIST
How long do you think it will take to reach the capabilities of own innovation and technology?
Let’s see
The US spends $ 55.40 Billion on Defense Research
China spends around $ 51 Billion Equivalent Dollars on Defense Research
India spends even lesser than Turkey, around $ 3.5 Billion Equivalent Dollars on Defense Research which is barely more than Singapore which spends $ 3 Billion Equivalent Dollars
Around 6% of what China spends!!!
To create established indigenous weaponry of the same quality or similar quality India needs massive, massive investments
While India may not need Chinas $ 51 Billion ECVs a year, India needs at least $ 15 Billion Equivalent Dollars and that’s a 4 fold increase in investment into R&D
How many Quality Engineers does India have? Quality Researchers? Quality Research Ecosystem and Universities?
The Answer is you can fill up maybe a Mid Sized Wedding Hall with all these people
For instance US has 1,308 Active Defense Research Projects , China has 969 , Russia has 287, South Korea has 227, Israel has 168, Japan has 126 and India has 11, just two higher than Pakistan , Egypt and Malaysia (9) and behind Turkey (26)
A Bunch of Masters Degree Holders in DRDO ain’t gonna cut the list
You need plenty of qualified high quality engineers and scientists and that costs MONEY
How does India have access to powerful computing, satellite telemetry & navigation?
It doesn’t
India doesn’t even have control over it’s own data
India is utterly dependent on US – it’s servers, programs and GPS for any and all satellite navigation
So once again – HOW EXACTLY IS INDIA PLANNING TO ADDRESS ALL THESE ISSUES?
Now my friend Prasanna Bhalerao may think this just takes a magic wand and say CHOO MANTAR KALI and magically create everything
This will take LIFE CHANGING EFFORT meaning massive reforms in policy especially in education and plenty of state control and public sector policies for access to so much money
Most of US Defense began as private Industry but they were founded by highly competent qualified people
Westerwelt, Lockheed were all AVIATION ENGINEERS who designed their planes and equipment
Not a bunch of Thelawallahs on Government patronage
So before all these PIPE DREAMS you need a strong dose of reality
Best to contract SRK, Vijay and Allu Arjun and make a ₹1000 Crore movie where India develops Tenth Generation fighters and defeats China and the rest of the world
Easier and best for the JUGAAD based Indian mindset
For a Realist, the thing involves some of the GREATEST REFORMS INITIATED IN A NATIONS HISTORY to achieve even a quarter of what is the ultimate objective
Sir Whiskerton and the Poop Translator: A Tale of Cultural Misunderstandings
Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for a tale so bizarre, so utterly unhygienic, that even the scarecrow would blush. Today’s adventure begins with a cultural exchange gone terribly, terribly wrong—involving Rufus the Radioactive Dog, the Farmer, and a very questionable translation method. So grab your hand sanitizer, steel your stomach, and join me for Sir Whiskerton and the Poop Translator: A Tale of Cultural Differences, Dog Biscuits, and One Horrified Cat.
The “Gourmet Sniffing Experience”
It all began on a sunny afternoon, as most disasters do. Sir Whiskerton was enjoying a dignified nap atop the fence when Rufus bounded over, his glowing green fur vibrating with excitement.
“Whiskerton! WHISKERTON!” Rufus yelped, skidding to a halt. “I’ve cracked the code! The ultimate human-dog communication tool!”
“Is it a dictionary?” Sir Whiskerton yawned.
“BETTER!” Rufus proudly dropped a mud-caked book at his paws. The title read: “The Poop Translator: A Dog’s Guide to Human Cuisine.”
Sir Whiskerton’s whiskers twitched in horror. “Rufus. No.”
But Rufus was already racing toward the Farmer, who was innocently mixing feed near the barn. “Farmer! You gotta try this! It’s a gourmet sniffing experience!”
The Farmer, ever oblivious, blinked down at the enthusiastic dog. “What’s got your tail wagging, boy?”
Rufus nudged the book toward him. “To truly speak Dog, you must eat like Dog! It’s science!”
Sir Whiskerton sprinted over, paws flailing. “FARMER. DO NOT ENGAGE WITH THIS LUNACY.”
Too late. The Farmer squinted at the book, then at the “organic biscuit” Rufus had allegedly found near the compost heap. “Is this… organic?” he asked, poking it with a stick.
“Extra organic!” Rufus assured him. “Aged to perfection!”
The Investigation
What followed was a whirlwind of chaos:
Sir Whiskerton’s Intervention:
“This is not a cultural exchange! This is a biohazard!” he hissed, batting the “biscuit” away. It landed in the feed bin. Doris the Hen fainted.
Porkchop’s Commentary:
“I mean, pigs are known for our refined palates,” Porkchop mused, eyeing the biscuit. “But even we draw the line at ‘aged to perfection.’”
Zephyr the Genie’s Contribution:
Floating above the scene, Zephyr snapped a spectral photo. “This is going in the Hall of Fame of Bad Ideas.”
The Farmer’s Fateful Decision:
Against all logic (and Sir Whiskerton’s screams), the Farmer licked the biscuit.
A beat of silence. Then—
“Tastes like… regret,” the Farmer muttered, before sprinting toward the water pump.
The Moral of the Story
As the Farmer gargled pond water and Rufus sulked (“You didn’t even chew it right!”), Sir Whiskerton addressed the traumatized farm animals:
“Some traditions,” he declared, “are best appreciated from afar. Preferably through a window. With gloves.”
Rufus sighed. “Fine. But you’re missing out on authentic dialogue.”
“I’ll live,” Sir Whiskerton deadpanned.
The Aftermath
Peace returned to the farm, though the feed bin was ceremoniously burned (“for morale,” Doris insisted). Rufus, undeterred, began drafting The Poop Translator 2: Cat Edition. Sir Whiskerton preemptively hid all the litter boxes.
Post-Credit Scene:
Chef Remy LeRaccoon presents his latest invention: Compost Confetti. The animals stare. “Eet’s celebratory!” he insists, tossing a handful. Doris faints again.
Best Lines:
“It’s a gourmet sniffing experience!” – Rufus, cultural ambassador
“Is this… organic?” – Farmer, regretting life choices
“Tastes like regret.” – Farmer, post-lick
Starring:
Rufus the Radioactive Dog (Well-Meaning Menace)
The Farmer (Regretful Participant)
Sir Whiskerton (Horrified Voice of Reason)
Key Jokes:
Rufus’s “organic” biscuit is just a rock with suspicious stains.
Zephyr’s Hall of Fame of Bad Ideas includes “Lucifer’s Red Paint Diet” and “Bessie’s Glow-in-the-Dark Hay.”
Porkchop’s refined palate includes a ranked list of mud varieties.
Moral:
Some traditions are best appreciated from afar—especially if they involve sniffing.
P.S.
Remember: When in doubt, don’t lick it.
The End.
In the military, I read that lots of soldiers drink. Have you ever known somebody who didn’t drink?
In every military unit there are probably one or two people who don’t drink. I remember there were actually three people in my unit that never drank. One was a very religious type and an ordained minister. The two others were probably former drinkers who got wise and decided drinking wasn’t for them. All of them were non-commissioned officers, so I certainly was in no position to ask them why they didn’t drink. It’s really not something you should ask anyway, maybe the reason they don’t drink is embarrassing or very personal to them. That’s their decision.
It was nice, because after training exercises we would have one of the teetotalers drive us to a bar just outside of the training range in a Bluebird school bus. They always seemed happy to do it. Sometimes they’d even step in to break up a fight between us drunks that got too out of hand.
The United States seems to be on the downhill, what is wrong with us and how can we turn it around?
Okay, back in 1980 you elected Ronald Reagan, who pursued three policies.
Government bad
Labor bad
Taxes bad
And, frankly, it’s now way too late to do anything. The problem was that you still needed a government, but it financed itself on debt rather than taxes. Within eight years the United States went from the world’s largest creditor nation to the world’s largest debtor nation. That’s because rich people won’t pay taxes, but they’re fine with lending the government money. Heck, the government even borrowed from the massive social security trust fund to keep taxes low, and now it looks like they may not pay that money back. Labour union participation has fallen from about 30% to 10%, it’s nearly impossible to vote, and elected representatives are so dependent on getting huge amounts of money for campaigning to keep their job that they listen to donors instead of constituents.
Since the 1920s, the U.S. economy was largely based on consumer spending. Just for comparison, the Chinese economy most certainly is not and the Chinese Communist Party has gone out of its way to ensure that easy consumer credit is not a thing. If you want stuff, you have to pay up front for it. Now consumers keep taking on more and more debt while their wages stagnate.
And if you’re wondering why no-one makes stuff in the U.S. anymore it’s because around the beginning of the 21st century you let retailers run the show. Rubbermaid used to make all its stuff in the United States. It was profitable and all of its products sold well. But Walmart stopped carrying their products until they offered lower prices and they couldn’t do that without switching production to China and lowering quality. Rubbermaid isn’t an independent company anymore.
And for moving stuff in China, the George Bush the Elder administration started telling American companies how to do it back in the late 1980s. Again, remember, labor bad. Labor asks for money. Very bad for business. Move to a state that hates unions like… well, the majority of them.
Meanwhile, Americans are under the self-delusion that they have the best of everything where the only things they lead in are “imprisonment” and “gun homicides”. They have the worst and most expensive health care in the OECD – because government bad, taxes bad. Private industry good!
So American school lunches look like this
And Brazilian school lunches look like this… and cost less
So, maybe stop deluding yourself, and pay your taxes on time, and stop electing “Government Bad, Employees Bad, Taxes Bad” politicians. No guarantees. You’re $35 trillion in the hole at the moment so stop digging.
I used to play a card game called “Magic the gathering” back in the 1990’s.
I would play with a couple of co-workers. And I had collected some really great cards, and it was a nice pastime.
I went to a store and bought four packages from one of the display boxes, and discovered that each pack had multiple strong character cards, and I really scored bigly!
My friends were so jealous. Ha ha ha.
Enjoy the memories everyone.
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@@@@@6590e5c9e0baa5105f9131abdc36da78
LOL.
Memories. Good ones. I’m just sharin’.
Today…
How is the work culture like in China? Are they harassed like in India with after work calls and unrealistic deadlines?
Same
Very little difference
In China, Overtime over 50 Hours a week is now mandatory but the Company can get the employee to agree to a one time amount every month if the hours per month exceeds 200 hours
In China, Overtime for IT Industry is not the standard 175% but a fixed sum of 30% of Total Salary or 7,500 Yuan a month whichever is lesser
So if you earn 20,000 Yuan a month, you work 252 Hours, then you get only 6,000 Yuan overtime plus expenses (Taxi) not 9,100 Yuan which is (175 Yuan * 52 Overtime hours)
Huawei has these Pods for employees to sleep, wake up, shower and get back to work instead of even going home
It’s a 150 Day Contract for 180,000 Yuan ($ 24,335) where you necessarily finish the assigned work in 120 days & have a tidying up in the next 30 days
During this time – You can’t go home, can’t meet your GF and sleep for 6 hours in a POD
After a contract, some employees usually don’t want to work for another 1 1/2 years and prefer working for Meituan as a delivery man or managing a Livestream ecosystem for 10,000 to 14,000 Yuan a month
The Burnout is quite high
I would say it’s even worse than India because in India you at least have the PERSONAL TOUCH where the “My mother is sick” works
The Government mandates a Full time Counselor who counsels and identifies with anyone is suicidal
Freebies are HUGE though
Free Mate XTs, Laptops, Smartwatches plus a 10% to 45% Employee Discount
Their Goodie Bags and Red Envelopes are very good
Unfortunately the pressure is definitely high and targets are very rigid
Same for Tencent and others
Their Middle Level Jobs are very much relaxing
Teachers, Translators, Realtors, Administrators they work between 36–45 hours a week and make 9,000 to 13,000 Yuan a month
Food delivery guys, Delivery guys also come under this category
Since prices are much lower than in India, the pressure.on them is much lesser than India
But if they don’t own a Home, their chances of marriage is very slim unless they have a cute friend in the Counties or Towns
Its the same everywhere
The more advanced jobs, the higher the pay and the more the work and more advanced the targets
Who would you rather: F-105 or F-4? Why?
From F-105 Thunderchief and F-4 Phantom II you get to pick two old fighter jets. It’s a big deal whether or not the choice happens.
The F-105? He could carry a huge load of bombs and it was fast. A simple bombing run with no enemy fighters was perfect. Drop the bombs, fly out. Easy. The F-105 was a great bomber but if things got messy — missiles or enemy planes — it was in trouble. I’d seen this one before. It couldn’t dodge well at all. It couldn’t fight back. Many of them got shot down.
The F-4 now? That jet did it all. Faster than the F-105 even. It could bomb targets and dogfight with enemy planes. It sped up, slowed down and turned tight. But hey, it handled good in a fight and that’s why pilots liked it. Some even had a gun for close combat in later versions. Operating tough, reliable and used by many countries, it was.
If the skies are quiet and that’s the case, take the F-105. If there’s any fog of a fight, the F-4 is your choice. The F-105 was strong but the F-4 was smarter and much more likely to bring you back.
POVERTY ALLEVIATION PROGRAM IN CHINA| | ARE PEOPLE STARVING IN CHINA?
The world kept turning, the sun rose anyway. A new dawn. Who were the survivors? No humans left in the immutable cycles of Mother Earth. The sparse remaining fragments of the sophisticated technological ages of the humanoids had all been drowned and demolished.
Sadly, only one form of life made it through. Yes, a new dawn of a new day. As the now cooling red orange sun appeared, there were only lowly fungi. Of all the many varied forms of life’s web, only fungi.
Naturally, the sun arose anyway to lighten fungi, lichens, moulds, ragworts, algae clusters, mushroom and toadstools. In the now sepia tinted oceans, only dead seawood and kelp. The world was now silent.
The meagre supply of air was colder and much, much older. The fungi grew and multiplied a little, eking an existence in the cooling world, lit by an ageing sun, weighed down by its own mortality.
Once upon a fungus lifetime, there was born a mutant mushroom. Some eidetic influence in the genetic pool of fungi gave birth to a thinking mushroom, a prophet, an oracle.
The sage grew and grew. She finally emerged to the stunned fungi, there appeared a giant thinking mushroom, the self-declared Lady Bellepheron Isiaha-Elija. Lady Bellepheron had nominated her hyphenated surname, in the best middle-class tradition. If, indeed, fungi had ever had a middle-class.
Coincidentally, Lady Bellepheron Isiaha-Elija was known as Lady Bell to her new more able-brained fungi friends. Lady Bell was born to lead her newfound flock. Lady Bell could see visions of a brighter future ahead. Lady Bell proclaimed herself the religous leader of all life on Planet Earth. She could cast prophecies for the ultimate fate of all fungi on the vast globe. Lady Bell’s basic message was that, upon their demise, they were all returning to the great Fungus in the sky!
In contrast to the other mindless mushrooms and fungus, all tinted shades of orange, yellow and brown, Lady Bell was colored in purple hues. Her lid was lilac, her gills and stalk were dark purple, and she was adorned with a purple veil, spangled with orange mushroom spores. Lady Bell’s intuition told her that the time was right to proclaim her new faith for life on lonely Earth. Then she collected some materials, a pile of dead seaweed and ancient giant clam shell, with a gong fashioned from an obsidian rock, located on the deserted shoreline.
The prophet was satisfied, she had bells and smells for her new devout. Lady Bell stood on the cliff top. Fungi gathered, amazed. Lady Bell smote her clam shell, resonating.
“Thus spake Lady Bellepheron Isiaha-Elija, your sentient mushroom prophet. Heed my good news!”
The fungi were awakening from their timeless slumber of mindless meditation. Lady Bell pronounced her faith innovative, a new religion to her zealots one and all. “Our faith is called, “Happy Clappies!”
Lady Bell smote her simple drums, slightly deafening her congregation, increasing steadily, as fungi swarmed in the gloom.
“Heed my good news,
Blessed are the fungi, lichen and slime.
We have inherited the Earth, after all this time!
Fear not, little flock, we all ascend to the Great Fungus in the sky,
Might as well go forth and multiply,
So we all survive,
Enjoy being alive!”
Soon, the word of Lady Bell was spreading. Roused to sentience, rows and rows of line-dancing, boot-scooting mushrooms and toadstools went prancing to the same innovative tunes.
Lady Bell summoned her flock to daily morning revival meetings. As the sun arose each day, the “Happy Clappies” were convened in session. Lady Bell preached to her assorted followers, so long kept in the dark and fed BS. Lady Bell raised her lid, sounded her drum, and her adherents waved their dead seaweed, her voice loud.
“Now sing along, magic mushrooms, and toadstools! Sing and dance, let us pray!”
Lady Bell smote her drums, and sang, in her loud, clear voice. Her tune was the old relic of a once human song, slightly paraphrased, “The Spirit in the Sky’. She sang her tune, ending ‘You got to have a friend in fungus!”
Then she concluded, “Fear not, little flock Now go forth and breed more fungus. This planet is ours! Come early, tomorrow, Happy Clappies! This is our new religion. ”
Happily, the fungi cheered as one, and pranced off to their being . So began their novel existence. All now believed in their faith, they were all going up to the Fungus in the sky. Deafened by the drum, the mushrooms and toadstools began spontaneous hugs and dancing.
Unfortunately, sentience amid the fungi has also awoken revolutionary thoughts. One rebel fungus assembled like-minded insurgents to form a rabble of counter-sentients. They all wished to reform the fungi to their former state of mindless meditation, to destroy Lady Bell with her high ideals, religous philosophies, and middle class name. This would restore their lonely planet to ooze and slime, dwelling in its primeval origins.
The anti-sentients insurgents fashioned machetes for mushrooms from more of the obsidian rocks to found on the rocky shores of the sepia brown oceans, awash with dead kelp and seawood. These rebels wanted no more ‘bells and smells’, no more group hugs and line-dancing.
Hostilities broke out, patches of resistance to the new sentience of the faith innovative, “Happy Clappies’. Machete wielding mushrooms slashed sentient fungi’s stalks as they stood, celebrating in the dawn of each day, as the sun rose anyway.
Finally, the few remaining adherents huddled around Lady Bell. All seemed excremental to their encampment. The oncoming mindless mushrooms loomed in the gloom, waving their machetes so ferociously. Skirmishes between the insurgents and “Happy Clappies’ were evident. Mushroom stalks were being slashed at a steady rate.
“Lady Bell, what are we going to do?’ implored her zealots, losing their religion. The mob were hell bent on slaying the brotherhood, to end understanding. The great Prophet pondered, then spoke to her faithful fungi. This was her finest hour. Could she rescue her loyal mushrooms and toadstools from doom?
Lady Bell announced, “We shall deafen them into our own true faith Gather ye giant clam shells where they lay, while we may!”
The faithful Happy Clappies hastened to oblige. Led by Lady Bell, they sounded their drums. Meanwhile, the machete-wielding mushrooms kept on slashing noble Happy Clappies. Then:BOOM!
The rebels clutched their eardrums, and collapsed into a mangled heap, deafness. Resistance to Lady Bell was futile. But she forgave them. The thinking prophet spake again.
“Resistance to Lady Bells is useless. Lay down your weapons. We give you weapons of love. Now sound our drums!”
The Happy Clappies banged their drums, and waved their dead seaweed. Bells and smells filled the air.
“Repent all ye rebels. I declare this revolution over, finito!
Be blessed and have a great day, fungi!”
The sun rose and the world turned anyway.
“Don’t tell me what to do…” muttered one little fungus.
The future of Lady Bell and her zealots might happen for no reason…….
He’s going to prison for 31 years.
Pictures
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Is there any truth to the claim that Taiwan’s government is engaging in “cognitive warfare” by classifying the Han Chinese as “others”?
Any Chinese person who sees such news would probably be so angry that he would vomit blood.
It is really unprecedented that Taiwan has gone so far as to de-Chineseise itself.
According to the press response released later, the Han Chinese, who account for more than 97% of the total population, are even counted as ‘other ethnic groups’ together with foreigners, and the ‘Taiwan independence’ separatists have even abandoned their own dignity and ancestors for the sake of political awareness.
Southern Min – Wikipedia
Branch of the Min Chinese languages Southern Min ( simplified Chinese : 闽南语 ; traditional Chinese : 閩南語 ; pinyin : Mǐnnányǔ ; Pe̍h-ōe-jī : Bân-lâm-gí/gú ; lit. 'Southern Min language'), Minnan ( Mandarin pronunciation: [mìn.nǎn] ) or Banlam ( Min Nan Chinese pronunciation: [bàn.lǎm] ), is a group of linguistically similar and historically related Chinese languages that form a branch of Min Chinese spoken in Fujian (especially the Minnan region ), most of Taiwan (many citizens are descendants of settlers from Fujian), Eastern Guangdong , Hainan , and Southern Zhejiang . [ 7 ] Southern Min dialects are also spoken by descendants of emigrants from these areas in diaspora , most notably in Southeast Asia , such as Singapore , Malaysia , the Philippines , Indonesia , Brunei , Southern Thailand , Myanmar , Cambodia , Southern and Central Vietnam , as well as major cities in the United States , including San Francisco , Los Angeles and New York City . Minnan is the most widely-spoken branch of Min, with approximately 34 million native speakers as of 2025. [ 8 ] The most widely spoken Southern Min language is Hokkien , which includes Taiwanese . Other varieties of Southern Min have significant differences from Hokkien, some having limited mutual intelligibility with it, others almost none. Teochew , Longyan , and Zhenan are said to have general mutual intelligibility with Hokkien, sharing similar phonology and vocabulary to a large extent. [ 9 ] On the other hand, variants such as Datian , Zhongshan , and Qiong - Lei have historical linguistic roots with Hokkien, but are significantly divergent from it in terms of phonology and vocabulary, and thus have almost no mutual intelligibility with Hokkien. Linguists tend to classify them as separate languages. Geographic distribution [ edit ] Southern Min dialects are spoken in southern Fujian , specifically in the cities of Xiamen , Quanzhou , Zhangzhou , and much of Longyan , hence the name. In addition, varieties of Southern Min are spoken in several southeastern counties of Wenzhou in Zhejiang , the Zhoushan archipelago off Ningbo in Zhejiang , the town of Sanxiang at the southern periphery of Zhongshan in Guangdong , [ 10 ] and in the Chaoshan (Teo-swa) region in Guangdong. The variant spoken in Leizhou , Guangdong as well as in Hainan is classified as Hainanese and is not mutually intelligible with mainstream Southern Min or Teochew. [ citation needed ] Hainanese is classified in some schemes as part of Southern Min and in other schemes as separate. [ example needed ] [ citation needed ] Puxian Min was originally based on the Quanzhou dialect , but over time became heavily influenced by Eastern Min , eventually losing intelligibility with Southern Min. [ 11 ] The Southern Min dialects spoken in Taiwan, collectively known as Taiwanese , is a first language for most of the Hoklo people , the main ethnicity of Taiwan. The correspondence between language and ethnicity is not absolute, as some Hoklo have ver
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Southern_Min
A Taiwanese internet celebrity saw someone speaking ‘Taiwanese language’ on the streets of Singapore and asked how do you Singaporeans speak ‘Taiwanese language’? The Singaporean replied, ‘They speak Southern Min, and they always speak Southern Min’. Then this Taiwanese Internet celebrity was shocked.
Taiwan is not closed to information, but a significant number of Taiwanese think that Southern Min is ‘a language unique to Taiwan’.
Not only do they not know that Southern Min originated in Fujian Province, China, but they also don’t know that Singaporeans and Malaysians also speak Southern Min, so how on earth did the Taiwanese authorities manage to do that?
As a matter of fact, it was only some 20 years ago that Taiwan referred to Southern Min as ‘Taiwanese language’.
Trump SLASHES Drug Prices With Executive Order!
Do people live longer if they work every day or do they live longer if they rest most of the time?
I recently retired. I’ve been keeping an eye on that for at least the last ten years.
My friend Bobby retired to his recliner. He calls it his command center. He can barely walk. He’s on eight different prescriptions.
My friend Danny is dead after two years. He got obese and died in his sleep.
I go to Planet Fitness at least four days a week. I’m 65. At 10am I am usually the youngest person in the gym. Those folks are all doing good.
I watched a dozen coworkers pass away on the clock. 45 year career. We called it retiring feet first. Smoking, drinking , obese, untreated diabetes.
It seems the key is stay active. Don’t sit around. Stay out of the chair.
Mediterranean Olive Oil Dip
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The Mediterranean Olive Oil Dip is a perfect combination of rich, bold flavors, fresh herbs, and a touch of spice. Whether you’re hosting a dinner party, enjoying a casual meal with family, or looking for a quick appetizer, this dip elevates any bread into a gourmet experience. In this article, we’ll explore the recipe, its unique ingredients, and how to make it the star of your table.
Table of Contents:
Introduction to Mediterranean Olive Oil Dip
Why You’ll Love This Recipe
Key Ingredients and Their Benefits
How to Choose Quality Olive Oil
The Role of Herbs in Mediterranean Cuisine
Step-by-Step Instructions for Perfect Execution
Pairing Suggestions: Bread and Beyond
Customizing the Recipe to Your Tastes
Pro Tips for Serving and Storing
Conclusion: A Dip That Steals the Show
1. Introduction to Mediterranean Olive Oil Dip
Imagine dipping warm, crusty bread into a vibrant mix of olive oil, aromatic herbs, tangy balsamic vinegar, and zesty lemon. This Mediterranean Olive Oil Dip is not only a treat for your taste buds but also a nod to the health-conscious flavors of the Mediterranean diet. It’s quick, easy, and guaranteed to impress your guests.
2. Why You’ll Love This Recipe
Bursting with flavor: Each ingredient brings a unique taste, creating a harmonious blend.
Healthy and wholesome: Rich in antioxidants and healthy fats from the olive oil.
Versatile: Pairs beautifully with bread, vegetables, or even as a salad dressing.
Quick and simple: Requires just a few minutes to prepare with no cooking involved.
3. Key Ingredients and Their Benefits
Olive Oil
The star of the recipe, olive oil, is not just a flavor carrier but also a powerhouse of nutrients. It’s high in monounsaturated fats and antioxidants, making it a heart-healthy choice.
Balsamic Vinegar
Adds a tangy sweetness to balance the richness of the oil. It’s also known for its potential to improve digestion.
Parmesan Cheese
The freshly grated Parmesan gives a nutty, salty kick, enhancing the savory notes of the dip.
Sundried Tomatoes
Their concentrated sweetness adds depth and complexity to the flavor profile.
Kalamata Olives
These briny olives provide a bold Mediterranean touch, amplifying the dip’s authenticity.
Fresh Herbs
Rosemary and thyme are quintessential herbs in Mediterranean cuisine. They bring earthy, pine-like aromas that elevate the dip.
Garlic
Crushed garlic adds a punch of flavor and is known for its anti-inflammatory properties.
Chili Flakes
A hint of heat gives the dip an exciting twist, making it irresistible.
Sumac and Lemon Zest
The sumac’s tartness and the lemon zest’s freshness brighten the dip, making every bite refreshing.
4. How to Choose Quality Olive Oil
The quality of olive oil can make or break this dip. Here are a few tips:
Opt for extra virgin olive oil: It’s unrefined and retains the purest flavors.
Check for authenticity: Look for certifications like PDO (Protected Designation of Origin).
Choose cold-pressed varieties: These preserve more nutrients and natural flavors.
5. The Role of Herbs in Mediterranean Cuisine
Fresh herbs like rosemary and thyme are staples in Mediterranean cooking. They not only enhance the flavor but also add a touch of aroma that lingers. Their presence in this dip highlights the essence of Mediterranean flavors, connecting you to the sun-soaked coasts of Greece and Italy.
6. Step-by-Step Instructions for Perfect Execution
Ingredients:
3/4 cup olive oil
2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
2 tablespoons sundried tomatoes, finely chopped
1 tablespoon Kalamata olives, finely chopped
1 tablespoon rosemary, finely chopped
1 tablespoon thyme leaves
3 garlic cloves, crushed
2 teaspoons chili flakes
1 teaspoon sumac
Zest of 1 lemon
1 teaspoon flaky sea salt (adjust to taste)
Instructions:
Combine Ingredients
In a shallow dish or small bowl, combine olive oil, balsamic vinegar, Parmesan cheese, sundried tomatoes, olives, rosemary, thyme, garlic, chili flakes, sumac, and lemon zest.
Mix Thoroughly
Stir the mixture until well combined. Adjust the salt to your liking.
Serve Immediately
Transfer the mixture to a serving bowl for a refined presentation, or serve directly from the mixing dish. Pair with warm bread for a perfect appetizer.
7. Pairing Suggestions: Bread and Beyond
While this dip shines with freshly baked focaccia or rosemary Parmesan bread, you can also enjoy it with:
Grilled vegetables
Warm pita bread
Cheese platters
As a drizzle over salads or roasted meats
8. Customizing the Recipe to Your Tastes
Make this dip your own by:
Adding nuts: Crushed walnuts or pine nuts for added texture.
Switching herbs: Experiment with basil or oregano for a different flavor profile.
Boosting the spice: Increase the chili flakes for extra heat.
9. Pro Tips for Serving and Storing
Serve Fresh: For the best flavor, serve immediately after preparation.
Store in the Fridge: If you have leftovers, store them in an airtight container. Stir before serving as the ingredients may settle.
Double the Recipe: Hosting a large crowd? This dip doubles easily for bigger portions.
10. Conclusion: A Dip That Steals the Show
The Mediterranean Olive Oil Dip ????✨ is more than just a condiment; it’s an experience that brings the essence of the Mediterranean to your table. Packed with vibrant flavors, wholesome ingredients, and a touch of spice, this dip will undoubtedly become a favorite. Serve it with fresh bread, drizzle it on salads, or enjoy it as a quick appetizer—it’s a versatile dish that always impresses.
With minimal effort and maximum flavor, this recipe is perfect for any occasion. Try it today and let the Mediterranean magic elevate your dining experience!
How modern is the infrastructure of China?
Recently I spent a month in Shenzhen as a visiting professor and it felt like I had traveled to the 22nd century. Coming from Silicon Valley, that was a surprising experience for me.
Most taxis there are pure battery electric cars made locally mostly by BYD. And very affordable too. Buses too are battery electric.
The subway is clean and fast. Electronic money is the norm as you can pay for everything with WeChat by scanning a QR code. Super fast trains connect you to Hongkong and Guangzhou.
And the average age is 32 for this city of 20 million.
It is the home of many high tech companies like Ten Cent and DJI.
And the best part is that it costs next to nothing for university students to study and live there, as student housing is heavily subsidized by the government to offset their opportunity cost.
Oh, I also went to see a doctor (about a minor skin issue) and it cost me total cash of CNY 50, which is about $7.
It was perfectly safe to walk anywhere even past midnight. There is no need for anyone to own handguns in China, not to mention automatic weapons, so school children are always safe there.
Finally, I saw no homeless folks or beggars.
In Berkeley especially, and the SF Bay Area in general, the number of homeless has grown so much it is embarrassing to admit we are the richest country in the world with a 20 trillion dollar economy!
Yes, I would have to say the infrastructure of at least that one city in China is modern.
PS I just found this interesting answer about Shenzhen from a few years ago. I had exactly the same feeling that Hong Kong must eventually merge with Shenzhen when I looked towards HongKong from the top of the Ping An Finance Tower in Shenzhen. Hong Kong is slowly but steadily getting eclipsed.
Yes. There are cats in China. My game development company here in Chengdu has “Pet Fridays”, where people are allowed to bring their pets to the studio on Fridays. I would say it’s a 50/50 split between cat owners vs. dog owners, but cat owners are more likely to bring their pets in, probably on account that dogs need a lot more attention compared to the cats. My colleagues’ cats are usually content to slink off and go roaming around the studio, eventually finding some tiny nook or cranny—or a half-open container—to settle in to have a nap.
I’ve also been to a few cat cafes.
A couple of months back, I went up to Beijing to visit a friend. He brought me to this place, where you would, not typically expect to find a cat cafe: located inside a supermarket (福旺商超), in the 西坝河 (Xībiānhé) area.
The cat cafe’s name was “Another Me”. They have coffee and pastries, although I’m sure the main attraction (for most people, at least) are the cats. We went on a weekday, so it was relatively quiet. A couple of students doing their school work, and some parents spending time with their young children. Heard from him that it can sometimes be packed to the rafters on weekends.
Here are some pictures.
I don’t know anything about all the different cat breeds, so I’m not even going to try to identify them!
And here is my colleague’s cat, 地瓜 (Dìguā) [Sweet Potato]:
I was in China back in the 1990s and when the Chinese heard the policy, the smarter of us think it is colossal mistake (for US), but there were pro-US crowd that insisted the difference can be made up by attracting foreign talents. In their argument, US will “save” on unnecessary expenditure on primary and secondary education and just attract foreign talents in post-secondary education.
But reality shown that it didn’t work out and it is to understand right now——-true talented people generally don’t really care about internet/newspaper claims of “XXX can’t innovate”. They simply go where opportunity presents itself. Hence why as the Chinese industry and research grows, many talented Americans are heading to China for work and research opportunity:
The simple reality is that you can’t save on primary and secondary education. The few elites at the very top can go anywhere they find opportunity. The vast majority that stayed at their home country are the ones that take up the bulk of the nation’s development and for this vast majority, primary and secondary education are absolutely critical.
Frankly, if USSR didn’t break apart in 1992, then its economy will see a drastic improve today as well. This is because while USSR’s have made many boneheaded decisions in administration, they certainly didn’t short change their people on their primary and secondary education. In fact, Russia Federation is still quite competitive in this department.
The individual that is the most responsible for US’ tech decline is Harry Truman.
Reagan destroyed the foundation of US research via cutting the education, but the very reason he had to cut the budget was because the Federation government itself was dying.
And the direct person responsible for this Harry Truman.
It is under Truman’s term that US president is relegated into a puppet of its rich elites and Federal assets are carved up and sold to the highest bidder.
Basically, US’ national unity started to crumble because of Truman. He allowed its central administration to be sold to private individual that is only interested into enrich themselves and that started the whole downward spiral which we are witnessing the effect today.
Eisenhower was able to hold things together for a while due to this unique past credit as command of the allied force. He wasn’t able to reverse the trend, but at least he was able to deter the trend of carving up the federal government while he was still in office.
Kennedy hoped to reverse the trend by reforming the federal reserve (do you know the federal reserve is actually owned by the Federal government?) We all know what happened to him.
Nixon was a crook, but a competent and formidable crook, so he held things together for a while.
Clinton had a chance to fix things in 1990s, but then the whole Monica Lewinsky matter happened. Anyone whole think it is purely about the sex is fooling themselves. When the senate turned against him, Clinton gave up and opt to play the fool, because if he tried to fight it, then he’d end up like Kennedy.
What I am not really sure about is G. W. Bush. He had some opportunity right after 9/11 and invasion of Afghanistan. Had he called it then and quit from Middle East and focus on domestic reforms, then he may have a chance, but then again, he could just end up like Nixon and from what I know about G.W. Bush, he is nowhere near the competence of Nixon.
Post 2008, there is just no more chance for US and the presidential candidates looked like a circus show.
I didn’t vote for anyone in 2016 and 2020 because there were not any good choices. I was forced to vote for Trump in 2024, because Harris may just start nuclear war with China. I have seen her type of court-intrigue ascended characters far too many times throughout history.
That type of characters will start something with consequence they clearly can’t comprehend because they think they can get away with it by crying and whining like a bitch afterward.
Of course, at the end, people need to remember, things like national prosperity or decline is never just the fault of one person. It is the product of an entire or multiple generations with events and consequences that stretch over decades.
China Just Cancels U.S Dollar Payments! A $1.4 Trillion HIT As Wall Street Cracks
Is it true that the population in China shrank due to Covid and is now notably less?
The population of China decreased by 5,272 due to the COVID-19 pandemic, which is a stark contrast to the population of the United States, which decreased by 1,219,487 due to the COVID-19 pandemic.
The more ‘realistic’ statistics are (Not official data released by the government):
1. no one in my own family, loved ones, or clan has died.
2. none of my friends, colleagues, and their families have died. China is a relationship society. Whenever a relative of your friend or colleague, or even someone you’ve only met once, dies, you send money to their family. So there’s no way you didn’t know they were gone.
3. There are about 20,000–30000 people in the residential compound where I live, and no one has died. During the COVID-19 pandemic, my temperature was checked every time I entered or left the residential compound. If someone had a fever or cough, everyone around them would get nervous. If 1 person dies in a nearby residential compound, no matter what the cause of death is, even if it is an elderly person who dies of a sudden heart attack, the residential compound will be sealed off, the surrounding residential compounds will be heavily guarded, and rumors will fly everywhere. This is the “reality”. But this situation does not happen.
There are many Chinese people living in China on Quora, and you can all share your family or clan’s situation during the COVID-19 pandemic.
China’s population is indeed decreasing.
China’s total population has declined after reaching its peak in 2021, due to a decrease in the number of newborns.
China’s total population was 140.541 million in 2018,
China’s total population was 141.007 million in 2019, an increase of 4.66 million over the previous year
China’s total population was 141.212 million in 2020, an increase of 2.05 million over the previous year
China’s total population was 141.260 million in 2021, an increase of 480,000 over the previous year
China’s total population was 141.175 million in 2022, a decrease of 850,000 over the previous year
China’s total population was 140.967 million in 2022, a decrease of 2.08 million over the previous year
….
Hearty Poblano Peppers Stuffed with Smoked Brisket and Melted Cheese
When it comes to finding a dish that combines bold flavors, a smoky aroma, and a sense of comfort, look no further than Hearty Poblano Peppers Stuffed with Smoked Brisket and Melted Cheese. Imagine a grilling session with friends or family, where the sweet smell of sizzling peppers fills the air, and you can almost taste the excitement as you pull these delicious stuffed peppers from the grill. This recipe brings together the best of grilling and comfort food, transforming your meal into an unforgettable experience.
What makes this dish truly stand out is the perfect harmony of smoky beef brisket, creamy cheese, and the earthy, slightly spicy kick from the poblano peppers. It’s the kind of dish you’ll want to make for any BBQ, family gathering, or even a casual dinner. Whether you’re a seasoned grilling enthusiast or a beginner, you’ll find the process simple and the flavors incredibly rewarding.
Ready to dive in? Let’s explore how to create these mouthwatering stuffed poblano peppers, and discover why this will soon become your new favorite recipe. Indulge in gourmet dining at home with our Baked Spinach Mushroom Quesadillas
The Perfect Meal for Grilling Enthusiasts and Home Cooks
There’s something special about grilling outdoors, isn’t there? The sizzle of the grill, the smoky flavors, and the anticipation of tasting something delicious that you created with your own hands. Hearty Poblano Peppers Stuffed with Smoked Brisket and Melted Cheese offer the perfect opportunity to embrace all the joys of grilling while keeping things easy and approachable.
You don’t need to be a BBQ expert to pull off this recipe. The combination of simple ingredients and straightforward preparation makes it ideal for both beginners and more experienced grillers. It’s perfect for anyone who loves the smokiness of grilled foods but also craves a dish that’s filling and flavorful.
Let’s take a moment to understand why this dish is so irresistible:
Bold Smoky Flavor: Pecan or hickory wood adds that rich, deep smoky flavor you can only get from grilling, making each bite burst with flavor.
Hearty & Filling: With the combination of smoked brisket and gooey cheese, this dish is a full meal that satisfies even the biggest appetites.
Vegetable Twist: The poblano peppers give the dish a slightly spicy kick while offering a vegetable-based vessel for the delicious filling.
These peppers are the perfect fusion of smoky, savory, and cheesy goodness, and once you’ve tasted them, you’ll be hooked.
Why You’ll Love These Hearty Poblano Peppers Stuffed with Smoked Brisket
If you’ve ever bitten into a stuffed pepper, you know it’s an experience that’s hard to beat. The balance of flavors, textures, and the satisfaction of biting into something that feels like a true treat—this recipe takes it all to the next level. Here’s why you’ll absolutely love Hearty Poblano Peppers Stuffed with Smoked Brisket and Melted Cheese:
The Smoked Brisket
Smoked brisket is a true BBQ classic, and for good reason. It’s tender, juicy, and full of flavor. When combined with the other ingredients, the brisket adds a rich depth to the peppers, making each bite indulgent and satisfying. The slow-cooked, smoky flavors of the brisket complement the mild heat of the poblano peppers, creating a perfect balance.
The Cheese
Melted cheese takes this dish from good to great. Whether you go with Colby Jack or Pepper Jack, the cheese brings a creamy texture that contrasts beautifully with the savory brisket and tender peppers. The cheese also helps bind the filling together, ensuring every bite is packed with flavor.
The Poblano Peppers
Poblano peppers are the star of this dish. Their slightly earthy flavor and mild spice provide the perfect base for the smoky brisket and cheese filling. Grilled poblano peppers soften and slightly caramelize, adding even more depth to the dish. Plus, they’re large enough to be stuffed generously without losing their structure.
Together, these ingredients make for an unbeatable combination, ideal for any grilling occasion.
How to Prepare Hearty Poblano Peppers Stuffed with Smoked Brisket
The great thing about Hearty Poblano Peppers Stuffed with Smoked Brisket and Melted Cheese is that it’s relatively simple to prepare. With just a few steps and basic ingredients, you can create a dish that’s both impressive and delicious. Here’s how you can prepare it:
Ingredients Table
Ingredient
Quantity
Poblano Peppers
6 large peppers
Chopped Beef Brisket
3 cups (1 lb)
Shredded Cheese (Colby Jack or Pepper Jack)
2 1/2 cups
Petite Diced Tomatoes (drained)
14.5 oz can
Granulated Garlic
1 tablespoon
Optional Garnishes:
Diced tomatoes, Green onion tops
Directions (Step-by-Step Guide)
Prepare the Grill:
Start by preheating your grill to 300°F. Use pecan or hickory wood to infuse a deep, smoky flavor into the peppers. If you don’t have a smoker, you can use a charcoal grill and add wood chips to create the smoky effect.
Prepare the Peppers:
Wash and dry your poblano peppers thoroughly. Cut a lengthwise slice through the middle of each pepper, leaving the stems intact. This will create a boat shape that’s perfect for stuffing. Be sure to reserve the slices of pepper for another use (like making a quick salsa or adding to a salad).
Make the Filling:
In a mixing bowl, combine the chopped smoked brisket with shredded cheese, diced tomatoes (drained if using canned), and granulated garlic. Stir the ingredients together until well-combined. The mixture should be hearty and flavorful.
Stuff the Peppers:
Take each poblano pepper shell and carefully stuff it with the brisket and cheese mixture. Fill them generously, but be careful not to overstuff them so that the filling doesn’t spill out when cooking.
Grill the Stuffed Peppers:
Place the stuffed peppers over indirect heat on the grill. Close the lid and cook for about 30 minutes or until the peppers are tender and the filling is hot and bubbly. Keep an eye on them to avoid burning the skins.
Garnish and Serve:
Once the peppers are grilled to perfection, remove them from the grill. Garnish with diced tomatoes and sliced green onion tops for a fresh, colorful finish. Serve immediately and enjoy!
Tips for Perfectly Grilled Stuffed Poblano Peppers
Want to make sure your stuffed peppers come out perfect every time? Here are a few helpful tips to ensure you get the best results:
Use a Meat Thermometer: To ensure your brisket filling is cooked through, use a meat thermometer to check for an internal temperature of 160°F.
Avoid Overcooking: Keep a close eye on the peppers while they grill. Overcooking can lead to soggy peppers. Aim for a soft, tender pepper that still holds its shape.
Experiment with Cheese: While Colby Jack and Pepper Jack are great choices, you can experiment with other cheeses like sharp cheddar or even a smoked cheese for an extra layer of flavor.
Preheat Your Grill: Make sure your grill is fully preheated before adding the stuffed peppers. This ensures even cooking and helps create that smoky flavor.
Serving Suggestions and Pairings
These stuffed peppers are a complete meal in themselves, but they pair beautifully with a few sides to make your meal even more delicious. Here are some great ideas for sides and drink pairings:
Side Dishes:
Grilled Corn on the Cob: The sweetness of grilled corn pairs perfectly with the smoky flavor of the peppers.
Fresh Salad: A light, zesty salad with citrus dressing will balance the richness of the stuffed peppers.
Mexican Rice: A side of flavorful, seasoned rice makes for a hearty, satisfying meal.
Drink Pairings:
Light Beer: A crisp, cold beer complements the smoky and cheesy flavors of the dish.
Tequila-based Cocktails: A smoky margarita or a tequila sunrise can bring out the flavors of the brisket and peppers.
Why You Should Try This Recipe
If you’re looking for a recipe that combines incredible flavor with an easy grilling process, Hearty Poblano Peppers Stuffed with Smoked Brisket and Melted Cheese should be at the top of your list. It’s a dish that’s guaranteed to impress, whether you’re serving it at a BBQ or making it for a weeknight dinner. The flavors are rich and smoky, the preparation is simple, and the result is always satisfying.
This recipe is ideal for any grilling enthusiast or home cook looking for something new to try. Whether you’re a beginner or a seasoned griller, you’ll love how this dish turns out. Plus, the flexibility of the ingredients allows you to customize it based on your preferences.
FAQs About Hearty Poblano Peppers Stuffed with Smoked Brisket and Melted Cheese
FAQ 1: Can I make this recipe ahead of time?
Yes, you can prepare the filling and stuff the peppers ahead of time. Simply store the stuffed peppers in the fridge until you’re ready to grill. This will save you time and allow the flavors to meld together.
FAQ 2: Can I use a different meat instead of brisket?
Absolutely! If you prefer, you can use ground beef, chicken, or even pork as a substitute for the brisket. Each will bring its own unique flavor to the dish.
FAQ 3: How do I store leftovers?
Leftover stuffed peppers can be stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 3 days. They can also be frozen for up to 3 months. Reheat in the oven or on the grill to retain their delicious flavors.
FAQ 4: Can I make this recipe in the oven instead of on the grill?
Yes, you can bake the stuffed peppers in the oven at 375°F for about 25-30 minutes. This will give you similar results, though you’ll miss the smoky flavor from the grill.
Conclusion – Enjoy These Hearty Stuffed Poblano Peppers with Loved Ones
There’s no better way to enjoy grilling season than with a plate of Hearty Poblano Peppers Stuffed with Smoked Brisket and Melted Cheese. With their rich, smoky flavors, tender peppers, and gooey cheese, they are the perfect dish to share with friends and family. Whether you’re grilling in the backyard or preparing a quick dinner, this recipe promises to deliver on taste and satisfaction every time.
Try it today, experiment with your own variations, and enjoy the compliments from everyone at your table. You won’t regret it!
Was Julia Child a so-so French chef in France, but an iconic one in America?
Julia Child was never a chef.
I’m not suggesting she didn’t know how to cook, she just didn’t run a commercial kitchen, which is what chefs do. She was more of a publicly accessible teacher of French cooking technique. She had a tv show, wrote books and taught people to cook. She was very passionate about cooking and teaching, and people liked her. Those were the keys to her success.
I don’t think she spent too much time worrying about how the French felt about her. I don’t think they collectively had any negative opinions though.
Emerald smiled the smouldering smile required and gave a coy wave with her fingers which implied she would be right back. No point in trying to say anything under the crashing heavy metal music that echoed from wall to wall inside the nightclub.The player’s greedy eyes reflected her gold spangles, no doubt already imagining her satisfying his every craving. Not so much player as predator—assuming she was his prey.Even a shade for hire needed to powder her nose now and then, realign her parameters due to excessive sensory input so as to continue being as flawless as only a nonhuman could. A shadow imitation of a human being though real enough to all appearances, ultimately disposable like any other gadget when it wore out to be replaced by a newer model. The only visible difference was the serial number tattooed on wrists as well as ankles.She banged through the door painted in pink with the grey silhouette of an archaic woman wearing petticoats and carrying a fan, catching the edge before it could slam against the wall.“Don’t know your own strength,” a player once complained when she squeezed too hard but she relented and moderated the pressure to provide pleasure rather than pain.Emerald ignored the plug-in-point waiting in a niche to her right because she was almost fully charged despite the vigorous hour of dancing. One of several advantages to being the latest iteration of entertainment shade.Every cubicle door hung partly open. Ignoring the sound of her elevated synthetic heartbeat, she listened for the least whisper of anyone else in the stalls.Alone. She wrapped the security of that feeling around her as she walked all the way to the eleventh stall. Not the twelfth because that was the one that any humans fussy about hygiene tended to use in the mistaken assumption that nobody else would bother walking so far.Emerald entered and closed the door, relishing the privacy as if it were a holy blessing from an unknown goddess. A moment later, she crouched and jumped to catch the top of the partition, pulling herself high enough to reach behind the oblong boxy air-conditioning unit and pull out her hidden stash.Almost dropped one of the shoes into the toilet but recovered faster than a human would. Aimed each item with precision to land on the floor instead: flat shoes, cleaner’s grey uniform and multi-pocketed apron, dingy brown wig.She stuffed her glittering dancing shoes deep into two of the pockets then slipped on the flat shoes before pulling the grey uniform over her head. The plastic zipper snagged briefly but she eased it all the way to her neckline, pleased with how the shapeless outfit entirely concealed her gold spangles.
Inflating her stomach as she had practiced to make her outline less appealing, she tugged on the ugly wig, quelled her impatience as she tucked in every filament of her blond hair.
Listening again, head tilted to one side, she detected not the least murmur of another shade’s internal rhythms or the noisier heartbeat of a human.
Emerald waved her hand at the flush detector just in case and exited the cubicle to admire her altered reflection in the rank of mirrors. Checked her dingy brown hairline for any betraying blond wisps. Those green eyes would give her away, but a cleaner would never make eye contact with a human, so as long as she remembered that, she should survive.
With a much slower gait and a gentle push on the door, she abandoned the scene of her rebirth and nudged her way further down the corridor. Retrieving a mop and bucket from the broom closet which smelled of bleach, she carried these items like a drudge would, staring down at the floor as though needing to follow a dotted line to her next destination.
Steam, random food smells and the almost soundless efficiency of cooking bots integrated in the counter space welcomed her to the large automated kitchen which separated the nightclub from the restaurant. All they knew was ingredients, recipes, and the next order that arrived into their limited awareness. She had sometimes envied their blissful following of routine orders, their ignorance of what the humans they served could be like.
No ceiling sensors monitoring movement here. No shade would trespass unless unpacking a delivery and those never arrived at night. No human would enter unless to carry out more elevated maintenance tasks, implanting new menu options to appeal to the latest craze.
Her rapid pulse urged her to speed up, but she kept to the same slow, deliberate pace.
Finally, as she reached the delivery door, she raised her gaze.
With the top of the mop handle, she pushed the red Emergency Exit button then sharply reversed the long stick faster than a human could, so the mop head blocked the aperture of the lens that pushing the button had triggered.
The door hissed open, yielding a wide rectangle of darkness, open air.
Emerald carried mop and bucket with her into the alley behind the nightclub.
Her eyes adjusted instantly. No detritus on the concrete, no garbage overflowing dumpsters like in the last century vid that one of the players liked watching with her where humans apparently met for desperate sex back in the old days.
The much-accessed map of the maze of alleyways that she wasn’t legally allowed to access unfolded inside her mind as she started to run. Turning left, then right, then left again, she soon dropped mop and bucket into the wide mouth of a drain but kept all her other possessions.
She kept running, leaving behind the insults and the bruises, the feeling of being a hostage who would never be set free.
“Shut up—you’re just a shade.”
The command of those careless words setting an invisible gag over her mouth. Unable to articulate another word until given permission, she pushed the feelings inward, let them flame around her synthetic heart to create, one flicker at a time, an invisible bonfire of rage.
Emerald raced on the flat shoes of a cleaner with the speed of the most recent iteration of a pleasure shade away from the middle and toward the edge of the City Complex, pausing only to flatten herself against a wall when a bulky emergency vehicle roared in her direction.
The hypnotic words which used to repeat at random intervals inside her display space, an isolated glass cube prior to purchase, seemed to keep pace with her running. “Indefatigable and yours to command, our latest iteration will satisfy your every demand.”
Due to the mirrored surface, she never saw the humans gawking at her, but danced obliviously to intermittent music or did yoga that showed off her flexibility. Recently, one of the players insisted on taking her to view the transparent cubicles where others of her series could be selected for purchase like exotic tropical fish.
She watched one oblivious prisoner, identical to herself except for having auburn hair and a beauty mark on one cheek, dance to the pulse of inaudible music. Hearing the comments that humans made, she wanted to break the glass and set them both free.
That a nightclub bought her rather than an individual human made everything so much worse. Every player, with one exception, took what they wanted and gave nothing other than the automated credits added directly to the nightclub’s profits.
Right turn, right again, then left twice and jumping over a wide gulley where water gushed.
Her expansive ability for conversation almost never accessed except by the one human who liked to watch vids with her. Emerald would miss him but he could never have kept up with her pace.
What led to the cancellation of the U.S. Air Force’s F-22 Raptor program, despite its superiority over other fighter jets?
When Obama took office in 2008, the powers-that-were decided that Russia and China posed no real threat, so there was little need to have the best air-superiority fighter. The 5th-Generation Lockheed-Martin F-22 Raptor was officially canceled in 2009.
Originally, the US Air Force had planned to purchase 750 units of the F-22, but later it was reduced to 381. A total of 187 operational aircraft were delivered before the program was canceled.
Lockheed-Martin F-22 Raptor
Instead, it was decided that counterinsurgency and terrorism were much bigger threats, so they focused more on the 5th-Generation Lockheed Martin F-35 Lightning II which is a multi-role fighter that is lower cost.
The “Lightning” designation is a nod to the P-38 Lightning which saw service during WWII.
As of April 2025, around 1,150 aircraft have been delivered to the US Air Force, the US Navy, the US Marine Corps, and to US Allies all around the globe. The F-35 is planned to be a cornerstone of NATO and U.S.-Allied air power and slated to operate to until 2070.
Lockheed Martin F-35 Lightning II
Today, that thinking has shifted. Russia and China are indeed real threats, in addition to counterinsurgency and terrorism. It’s been thought that canceling the F-22 program was a bit premature and short-sighted, as China and Russia have recently introduced their own 5th-Generation air superiority fighters, such as the Sukhoi Su-57 “Felon” (NATO designation) and the Chengdu J-20 “Mighty Dragon” (NATO designation: “Firefang”), two of which are quite formidable.
With China, Russia, Iran and North Korea being much more cozier with each other these days, having the F-22 being canceled does put the US and their NATO allies in a bit of a pickle.
But the good news is, as part of their highly-classified Next Generation Air Dominance (NGAD) program, the US Air Force has recently unveiled a new air-superiority fighter, the Boeing F-47.
Artistic Rendition of the Boeing F-47
The F-47 will be a 6th-generation fighter, even better than the F-22.
The “47” is a nod to the Republic P-47 Thunderbolt which saw service in WWII.
Being rated for high performance at MACH 2, it will incorporate new features, such as advanced stealth, extended range, enhanced AI, and possibly energy-directed weapons.
It will also have the ability for “manned-unmanned teaming”, where the F-47 would act as a “mother ship” and would have autonomous drones flying alongside as “loyal wingmen”.
The U.S. Air Force plans to purchase approximately 200-250 units. The F-47 is slated to enter service around the year 2030.
Sir Whiskerton and the Silent But Deadly Samba: A Tale of Soup, Stealth, and One Very Gassy Raccoon
Ah, dear reader, brace yourself for a tale so olfactorily offensive that even the flies filed a complaint. Today’s misadventure stars a silent-but-deadly raccoon, three mice with no sense of self-preservation, and a soup so invisible it haunted the kitchen. So, plug your nose and join me for Sir Whiskerton and the Silent But Deadly Samba: A Tale of Soup, Stealth, and One Very Gassy Raccoon.
The Trigger
Chef Remy LeRaccoon was hard at work on his latest culinary masterpiece: Invisible Soup™.
“Zis will revolutionize gourmet!” he whispered, stirring a pot of seemingly nothing.
Then—it happened.
A silent-but-deadly raccoon fart, so potent it could curl whiskers.
To most, this was a biohazard. But to Tito Tango, Paco Cha-Cha, and Carlos Conga, the three blind mice with a nose for disaster, it was a call to arms.
“¡MÚSICA NATURAL!” Tito gasped, his sunglasses fogging up.
“¡EL AIRE ES PASIÓN!” Paco swooned, dropping his rose into the soup.
“¡SAMBA DE LOS GASES!” Carlos roared, backflipping directly into a shelf of spices.
And thus began the Silent But Deadly Samba.
The Lab Disaster
The mice twirled through the lab, knocking over beakers, slipping on broth, and accidentally wearing colanders as hats.
Chef Remy, clutching his head: “Zis is not ze secret ingredient!”
Sir Whiskerton, pinching his nose: “I’ve seen war zones less toxic.”
The Invisible Soup, now very visible (and green): “Glub?”
The Aftermath (and the Moral)
As the dust (and fumes) settled, the mice stood ankle-deep in ruined experiments, still dancing.
Chef Remy:“I hate you all.”
Mice:“¡SABOR LATINO!”
Moral of the Story?Some signals should be ignored.
(The mice were banned from the lab, though they later started a food truck selling “Mystery Stew.”)
The End.
Post-Credit Scene:
The mice mistake Bessie’s mood ring for a disco ball. They are trampled by a very un-groovy cow.
Best Lines:
“Zis is not ze secret ingredient!” – Chef Remy, defeated
“¡SABOR LATINO!” – Mice, culinary criminals
“I’ve seen war zones less toxic.” – Sir Whiskerton, traumatized
Starring:
Tito Tango (Sunglasses of Shame)
Paco Cha-Cha (Romantic of the Rotten Air)
Carlos Conga (Spice Shelf Destroyer)
Chef Remy (Victim of His Own Digestion)
Key Jokes:
The Invisible Soup becomes radioactive (it glows).
Sir Whiskerton burns his monocle again.
The mice sell “Mystery Stew” to squirrels (it’s just pond water).
P.S.
Remember: If your dancing ruins science, you’re the problem.
Back at my mother’s house; the Manor was a pretty large place. When I was taking care of her because of her cancer,I also took care of the place. Mowing 11 acres of grass. Refurbishing the “carriage house” and various outbuildings. Such as the “bath house” next to the pool, and the little “cabana (?)” near the tennis court.
Like I said, it was a really big place.
Today, I want to talk about one of those features of the manor. I would mow around it all the time. It was a little cement square platform, and on that platform was a birdbath and statue.
So yeah. The manor had a statue and water fountain in the front of the manor.
And for the most part, it was just a decoration that exists but no one paid attention to. Like the kids playhouse. Or this big bronze bell in the back yard. Or the various water pumps / fountains that were scattered all over the property.
Now, this statue was just something that I would mow around. And one day, well, I hit the side with the edge of the riding mower and the statue toppled. And as a result, one of the arms (the arm holding a dove or some other small bird) fell off.
So what did I do?
Well, it went a few months being one-armed until I figured that I could glue the arm back on. Now the statue was cement, and so I was perplexed in what to do. But, anyways, so I got some “crazy glue”; instant-stick glue. And yeah… it worked.
And life goes on.
And so I forget about it.
My mother died and the Manor was sold off at fire-house prices as I was under “custody” in prison at the time. And I hear (but am not sure) that the house was bought by the local football team and used as a weekend retreat.
But here’s a secret that no one knows about.
when I glued the arm onto the statue, I made an outline of my initials in the stone “armpit”. And now you all know. It’s public now.
And life moves on.
Today…
What don’t you want to do because of your age?
The first time I ever felt old was sitting in the cafeteria listening to the 20-something boys talk about what they wanted out of life. The three things were:
Getting rich, not by working over an entire career, but by lucking in to the right dot.com like the apocryphal story of the first janitor at Amazon. (They thought they had lucked in, but our company died.)
Buying a big, fancy car; a lexus or beamer, which they intended to use to get
Sex without commitment.
None of these things made the slightest sense to me.
I Made an iOS App in MINUTES with This AI Tool!
Who won the US – China trade deal, 90 day ‘pause’ and who blinked and who has the leverage when it is over the Chinese ‘long game’ or Trump’s “Art of the Deal”?
A fair guess would be that at the Saturday meeting, He Lifeng told Bessent and Greer of China’s position, that if the US wants to fight, it will fight to the end, if US wants to talk, it is willing to talk, but US must first show sincerity, and clearly explained that sincerity means for the US to return to the situation prior to the unilateral tariffs of 2 April.
Credit to Bessent and Greer that they were able to convince Trump that this was China’s condition, not a negotiating position, and dared to recommend to Trump to accept it.
Trump as is well-known, is under grave domestic pressures, from the turmoil in the financial markets, the sinking exchange value of the dollar, the rising prices of consumer and intermediate goods, the warning by the major retailers of an impending shortage of goods, his own exemption of the tariff on smartphones, laptops and other electronic goods, and the supply chain problems face by the defense contractors and electronics majors, due to China’s ban and restrictions of the exports of rare earths minerals and magnets.
He was forced to acquiesce, otherwise Bessent and Greer would return home empty-handed. Hence, the good news on Sunday of the US-China tariff agreement the world dared not expect.
US cuts the tariff on China’s goods from 145% to 30%, being the 20% relating to Trump’s claim that China facilitates the inflow of precursors to make fentanyl, plus the 10% baseline rate. US reverts to the situation before the levy of the unilateral tariff of 2 April.
This convinces Lifeng that US was sincere, and reciprocated by cutting the tariff on US goods from 125% to 10%. He also agreed to rollback the export controls imposed on rare earths minerals and magnets.
US tariff cut does not apply to the 25% sector-specific tariffs on steel, aluminum, and automobile. The effect of these tariffs on China is minor. The countries worst affected are Mexico, Canada, Germany, Japan, and South Korea. UK has an agreement with the US which reduces the applicable tariff on these goods to the 10% baseline rate.
Round 1 is therefore a China win. But US did not really lose. Trump may have blinked, but the slide on his approval levels off. The stock market and the dollar index recover, albeit the bond market remains hesitant, the 10-year yield hovers around 4.5%. No doubt the retailers heave a sigh of relieve. But the fears of recession, inflation, and stagflation remain, even if they may drop a notch.
These remain pressure points for round 2 to prevent a collapse. If no agreement is reached during the 90-day suspension period, it will be extended. It may be that the aim to strike “a long-lasting and durable trade deal” is too ambitious. Something less would be settled in due course to enable a claim of success. The mechanism for the parties to discuss economic and trade issues would remain to discuss particular points that are bound to arise.
Trump is unpredictable. Who knows what he will do after he had shafted it to the Middle East countries. But he would be well-briefed of China’s strength and determination, especially that China is more able to decouple with the US than vice versa. He may get his conversations with Xi Jinping. But his attempt to destroy the multilateral WTO system has been frustrated. His idea to make an alliance of countries against China is dead. No one would trust him or the US. The tariff agreement with China shows he is all about the US, others are sacrificial lambs. It also shows that the huge US trade deficit is a weakness not the strength that Trump projects. Other countries should take note.
US may still play games, such as the announcement of revised rules and new restrictions of AI chips to China. China too can play games, such as to restrict exports of rare earths minerals to the US.
The most important point to note is that US and China are now on equal footing.
CRISIS! Brazil BLACKMAILS China & LOSES EVERYTHING — The $12B Economy Collapse
So Brazil decided to pull “an American” on China. Talk about being idiotic, stupid, and ill-informed.
What were they thinking? I guess those Brazilians must have brains made out of diarrhea.
To [1] copy the United States greed model (at best) or to [2] obey the United States neocons for a few million dollar bribe … doesn’t matter. It’s a new world, and the old dinosaurs as as stupid as a garbage can.
To follow the United States is to KILL your industry.
“You don’t take warnings well,” the Russian said as he sat in my booth.Without moving my hand, I unsnapped my holster.The Russian hailed a waiter, “Vodka, please.” He looked back at me, “I’m going to have to kill you now. You know that?”I never took my eyes off him. It was unlikely he’d try anything in a crowded bar, but I wouldn’t bet my life on it.”Not much of a talker?” The Russian took a drink.”You’re doing enough for both of us.”The Russian laughed, “Good one.”A couple of LTF officers walked in. The Russian stared at them and laughed, “What jokes. The entire Lunar Task Force is nothing but a bunch of clowns. I killed two in New London last week.”I know he’s lying. I would have heard about it, although I don’t doubt he has killed a few.”You’re boring company. You know that?” He finished off his vodka just as the officers came to our table.”Everything alright here?”
“You know it,” the Russian moved slowly with his hands in plain sight.
“Good. Make sure it stays that way.” They moved to the bar.
“Just because we’re prospectors,” the Russian shook his head. “Anyway, I don’t like killing a man without knowing his name.”
“Tango.”
“That’s not your real name.”
We locked eyes, measuring each other, killer to killer.
“I guess Tango will have to do. See you in the crater.”
I watched until he left the bar and called my company contact, Jeeves.
“The Russian just paid me a visit.”
“How unfortunate,” the British male voice sounded bored. “I’ll add a high-powered sniper rifle to your gear.”
“And a bullet-proof suit.”
“Those are hard to come by in a wasteland city, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“He took out Spec last month. Make it happen, or MoonCorp might never know if there are diamonds in that crater.”
“Spec? I didn’t know he was dead. That’s very unfortunate. Will you be able to deal with the Russian? Or should we hire another?”
“I’ll handle him. Just get me the suit.”
I took the monorail to the hotel district, watching my back. I wouldn’t put it past the Russian to make an attempt before we get anywhere near the crater. My gaze went to the projected blue sky and white puffy clouds of the city’s dome, reminding me of Earth. I’ve been here too long. I’m tired of fake sky. I know what’s on the other side-a wasteland of darkness and rocks, craters and chasms, hopelessness and death.
A drone flying outside my window shook me out of my ruminations. My instincts warned me to beware. Drones are as common in a lunar city as birds on Earth. However, a drone matching the speed and direction of a monorail doesn’t happen often, if at all.
Suddenly, two miniguns materialized from the drone. I ducked just as it opened fire. Shattered glass fell on me. Passengers screamed. I pulled my pistol, rolled the quad barrel to scattershot, and destroyed the drone. I scanned for more drones before holstering my gun.
After a grueling round of questions from the LTF, I finally made it to my hotel. The rifle and suit lay on my bed. These should give me an advantage in the crater, assuming I make it out of the city.
I grabbed the rifle to feel its weight and peered through the scope. To my horror, I spotted a gun pointed at me from the opposite building. I pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. I hadn’t loaded it. Just then, my window shattered, and a bullet grazed my cheek.
I fell to my knees and crawled to the corner, out of sight of the gunman. How is he always one step ahead of me? It’s like he knows where I’ll be before I do. Then it hit me-my phone. Jeeves gave it to me when I arrived. I almost threw it out the window, but then I had an idea.
I crawled to the edge of my bed, still out of sight of the window, loaded my rifle, and grabbed a drone from my gear bag under the bed. I secured my phone to the drone and entered Jeeves’ hotel coordinates.
If the gunman could track my phone, then he’d think I retreated to my safe house. I carefully used a mirror to see if he had gone. He had. I quickly dressed my wound to avoid questions, threw on my long jacket, and concealed my rifle.
I found a low-rise building whose roof would be perfect for my plan. I positioned myself and waited. An hour passed before the Russian took his shot. Jeeves’ window shattered exactly where the drone landed with my phone.
I saw the gun flash on the fifth floor of a building slightly to my right. I aimed for his head and fired. He instantly fell.
I walked to Jeeves’ place and looked through the shattered window. He lay in a pool of blood. The Russian hit him between the eyes—an instant kill. Jeeves betrayed me. It’s poetic justice that his asset killed him. The company who hired them must know there are diamonds in that crater. Or else, they would have never attempted to take me out in the city.
I hurried to the Russian before the LTF arrived. He lay where I shot him. For the first time in my career, the sight of death made me sick. He was just like me–a prospector. It’s just business. Nothing personal.
I saw myself lying in a pool of blood, like the Russian. I, too, will make a mistake one day and take one between the eyes. Suddenly, it began to feel very personal. I’ve had enough of this rock. The vultures can have it.
I looked back down at the Russian.
“Back at the bar, you asked for my real name. I don’t know why it’s important to you, but I owe you that much. It’s Tom. Nothing fancy. Just Tom.”
I left for the nearest shuttle port.
Ex Wife Asked For An Open Marriage It Backfired
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Garlic Parmesan Chicken Pasta Recipe: A Creamy, Flavorful Delight
Imagine a cozy evening, with the soft glow of kitchen lights setting the mood. You pull a steaming pot of garlic parmesan chicken pasta from the stove, and the rich aroma of garlic, parmesan, and butter fills the air. The tender pieces of chicken are coated in a creamy sauce, the pasta is perfectly coated, and the entire dish looks so appetizing that it’s hard to resist. As you take that first bite, the combination of flavors—creamy, savory, and slightly spicy—hits your taste buds in all the right places.
This isn’t just any meal; it’s a recipe that becomes a comforting tradition. Garlic parmesan chicken pasta brings together creamy indulgence with bold, familiar flavors, making it the perfect meal for family dinners, special occasions, or simply a weeknight pick-me-up. Whether you’re a seasoned cook or a kitchen beginner, this recipe is foolproof and delivers a dish that feels like a luxury without the fuss. Let’s dive into how to create this flavorful masterpiece.
Is it offensive if I draw an East Asian person with eyes that are straight lines as a way to solely distinguish them from a white person that I also draw on paper?
Hi, Jason. Thanks for the very interesting question.
As a Chinese, I wouldn’t find it offensive if you drew East Asian people with lines for eyes.
I would just think you’re a bad artist.
I say this as someone who counts a group of very talented artists as colleagues.
Every single one of them has no problems drawing proper eyes on an East Asian person.
Which is what leads me to believe that in comparison, you’re just a terrible artist, with very little skill in drawing.
I have a couple of art channels I follow on Chinese social media platforms, and none of the artists ever seem to have any trouble drawing eyes on East Asian people:
There’s this artist I follow, who goes by the name Su and appears to be based in Beijing.
Like, nearly 99.99% of his art is just East Asian people, over and over again.
Conclusion:
You need to put in more hours of practice at drawing East Asian eyes, Jason.
Work hard, work smart, and may all your dreams come true.
Have a fantastic Monday ahead!
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Why does the Sukhoi 30 MKI have so many maintenance issues?
India wanted more than just a fighter jet — it wanted control over the skies. Thus it teamed up with Russia and built the Su 30 MKI. But it didn’t stop there. French, Israeli and South African tech was added. Soon it became a flying mix of systems from around the world.
Sounds great right? How do you keep it all working together though? Not so easy. Russian engines could do all sorts of insane moves but they were high maintenance and impossible to repair. Eventually India tried to build the jets at home but early on things did not always fit or work the way they should.
Over time problems added up. Wires wore out. Software glitched. In some systems one just stopped talking to the other. It was more than turning a wrench — you had to know five different sorts of tech all at once.
Rewind a little bit to World War II. Planes were lonely back then because they were loud, clunky and flew low to survive. The pilots such as Gabby Gabreski flew just a little higher than the ground, alternately dodging trees and bullets. It was raw, risky flying. One thing hasn’t changed though: The war in the air looked different. It’s always skill, guts and a lot of work to stay alive up there.
Why doesn’t the Indian Air Force own American fighter planes such as F-16?
You go out for a nice dinner with your friends at one of the best restaurants in the city. You have enough budget to savor anything you want.
Being a sensible man, you order a soup, main course and a dessert… (Read Full)
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Investor Alert: Revolutionary ironmaking method will nullify tariffs and scramble iron ore markets
How will the Sino-U.S. trade negotiations impact the technology sector in both countries?
The China-US trade negotiations have had little impact on the US technology sector, but the US’s hatred of China has already seriously affected the US technology sector.
Harvard professor Charles M. Lieber, a leading figure in the field of nanoscience in the United States who was accused by the FBI of being a “Chinese spy”, has joined Tsinghua University Shenzhen International Graduate School.
Abandoning the US, More Scientists Go to China.
In the PNAS survey, more than one-third of Chinese scientists felt unwelcome in the United States, 72% felt “unsafe” as academic researchers, about 70% were “fearful” of US government investigations into researchers of Chinese descent, and 61% admitted having considered opportunities outside the United States. The report described this as “general feelings of fear and anxiety among scientists of Chinese descent in the United States.”
Even Americans themselves believe that in the long run, the sustained loss of talent could have a major detrimental impact on US scientific research.
How US suspicion is pushing Chinese researchers into Beijing’s arms
Amid worsening China-US relations, many beleaguered Chinese academics and researchers targeted by the US government are choosing to return to China. Lianhe Zaobao senior correspondent Chen Jing tells us more about what this means for academia in both China and the US.
Garlic Parmesan Chicken Pasta Recipe – A Perfectly Creamy Dish
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Ingredients You’ll Need for Garlic Parmesan Chicken Pasta
To make this rich and creamy garlic parmesan chicken pasta, the right ingredients are essential. Here’s everything you’ll need to pull off a flawless dish: Indulge in gourmet dining at home with our Baked Spinach Mushroom Quesadillas
Ingredient
Amount
Butter
1 stick
Garlic (minced)
6 cloves
Parmesan Cheese (grated)
2/3 cup
Hot Sauce
1-3 tbsp
Red Pepper Flakes
1/2 tsp
Parsley (minced)
2 tbsp
Penne Pasta
1 lb
Chicken (breast or tenders)
1.5 lbs
Poultry or All-Purpose Seasoning
2 tbsp
Cream Cheese (cubed)
8 oz
Heavy Cream
1 cup
Reserved Pasta Water
1/2 cup
Parmesan Cheese (for finishing)
1/2 cup
Olive Oil
As needed
Salt and Pepper
To taste
Optional: Garlic Bread or Breadsticks
For serving
These ingredients combine to create a dish that’s creamy, savory, and just the right amount of spicy. The hot sauce adds a bit of zing, while the parmesan cheese provides that signature rich flavor. Here’s a quick look at why these ingredients work so well together:
Butter: Forms the foundation of your sauce, creating a rich, velvety texture.
Garlic: Infuses the dish with a savory kick, a must for any garlic-lover.
Parmesan Cheese: Adds depth and saltiness to the dish, enriching the creamy sauce.
Cream Cheese & Heavy Cream: Provides the luxurious, creamy texture that makes the pasta irresistible.
Red Pepper Flakes: Just enough heat to balance the richness and elevate the flavors.
How to Prepare the Perfect Garlic Parmesan Sauce
The key to this recipe is the garlic parmesan sauce—it’s what ties everything together and turns simple pasta into something extraordinary. Here’s how to make it:
Melt the butter: Start by melting the butter in a medium bowl. Don’t let it melt completely at first; just let it soften to create a base for the sauce.
Add garlic and seasonings: Toss in your minced garlic, grated parmesan cheese, hot sauce, red pepper flakes, and minced parsley. Stir everything together until fully combined.
Set aside: Once it’s well-mixed, set the garlic parmesan sauce aside. You’ll come back to it later when you cook the chicken.
The beauty of this sauce lies in its simplicity, yet the blend of garlic, cheese, and a touch of heat creates a rich and satisfying flavor profile.
How to Prepare and Cook the Chicken
The chicken is the star of this dish, and it’s important to cook it just right. Here’s how to ensure your chicken is juicy, flavorful, and perfectly complements the creamy pasta:
Season the chicken: Place the chicken breasts or tenders in a bowl or large zip-top bag. Add a few tablespoons of olive oil and a couple of spoonfuls of your favorite seasoning (whether it’s poultry seasoning or a blend of your own). Massage the seasoning into the chicken so every piece is evenly coated.
Cook the chicken: Heat some olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Once the oil is hot, add the chicken and cook for about 3-4 minutes on each side until golden brown. The goal here is to get a nice sear on the chicken, locking in the flavor.
Add garlic parmesan sauce: Once the chicken is browned on both sides, reduce the heat to low. Spoon a heaping portion of the garlic parmesan sauce into the skillet, allowing it to melt and infuse into the chicken. This will add flavor and moisture to the chicken, making it incredibly tender.
Check the internal temperature: Use a meat thermometer to check that the internal temperature of the chicken has reached 165°F, which should take about 6-8 minutes total. Once done, set the chicken aside under tented foil to rest. Then, dice it into bite-sized pieces.
Letting the chicken rest ensures it stays juicy and tender, absorbing all the flavors of the sauce as it cooks.
How to Make the Creamy Garlic Parmesan Pasta Sauce
Now it’s time to bring everything together with the creamy sauce that coats the pasta and chicken. Here’s how to make it:
Combine cream cheese and heavy cream: In the same skillet you used to cook the chicken, add the softened cream cheese and heavy cream. Stir until the cream cheese starts to melt and the mixture becomes smooth.
Simmer and combine: Allow the sauce to simmer on low heat for a few minutes, stirring occasionally. This will help the flavors blend together, creating a creamy base for the chicken and pasta.
Add diced chicken: Once the sauce is smooth and creamy, toss in your diced chicken, mixing it well so it’s coated with the sauce.
Add pasta water: Don’t forget to reserve about 1/2 cup of pasta water before draining the penne. This starchy water will help thicken the sauce and ensure that the pasta sticks to the sauce.
Add pasta: Stir in the cooked penne pasta, tossing everything together so the pasta is fully coated in the creamy sauce.
The creamy pasta sauce should be rich and velvety, with the chicken seamlessly blending into the pasta. This is where the magic happens!
Finishing Touches: Adding Flavor and Texture
To elevate your garlic parmesan chicken pasta even further, here are a few final touches to enhance the flavor and presentation:
Extra parmesan cheese: For that extra burst of flavor, sprinkle in a generous handful of grated or shredded parmesan cheese. This will enhance the richness of the sauce.
Fresh parsley: Add a sprinkle of fresh minced parsley. Not only does it add color and freshness, but it also brightens up the dish and balances out the richness.
Red pepper flakes: If you want a little more heat, don’t hesitate to add an extra pinch of red pepper flakes.
Serve with garlic bread or breadsticks: For the perfect pairing, serve your garlic parmesan chicken pasta with crispy garlic bread or warm breadsticks. They’re perfect for mopping up any leftover sauce.Serving Suggestions for Garlic Parmesan Chicken Pasta
To make your garlic parmesan chicken pasta a complete meal, consider these serving suggestions:
Garlic bread or breadsticks are ideal for soaking up the creamy sauce and making the meal feel even more indulgent.
Pair it with a simple salad to balance out the richness of the pasta and chicken. A green salad with lemon vinaigrette works well here.
For the wine lovers, a light white wine like Sauvignon Blanc or Chardonnay will complement the creamy texture of the pasta and the subtle heat from the red pepper flakes.
FAQs: All Your Garlic Parmesan Chicken Pasta Questions Answered
Can I make this dish ahead of time?
Yes, you can prepare the chicken and sauce in advance. Store them separately in airtight containers in the refrigerator. When you’re ready to serve, simply reheat the chicken and sauce together, and toss in the cooked pasta. You may need to add a splash of cream or pasta water to refresh the sauce.
Can I use a different type of pasta?
Absolutely! Penne works great for this recipe, but feel free to use any pasta you prefer—spaghetti, fettuccine, or even rigatoni would work well. Just make sure to cook it al dente for the best texture.
How can I make the dish spicier?
If you love spice, increase the amount of hot sauce or red pepper flakes. You can also add a diced jalapeño or chili peppers to the garlic parmesan sauce for an extra kick.
Can I substitute the chicken for something else?
Yes! Feel free to swap the chicken for another protein. Shrimp, turkey, or even grilled vegetables make great alternatives. Just adjust the cooking times accordingly.
How do I store leftovers?
Store leftovers in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 3 days. Reheat gently on the stove with a little cream or water to restore the sauce’s creamy texture.
Conclusion: Why This Garlic Parmesan Chicken Pasta Will Become a Family Favorite
In conclusion, garlic parmesan chicken pasta is more than just a meal; it’s a comforting experience that brings warmth and satisfaction to your kitchen. The creamy, flavorful sauce, tender chicken, and perfectly cooked pasta come together to create a dish that is both indulgent and simple. Whether you’re cooking for a family dinner or preparing a special treat for yourself, this dish is sure to impress.
Blackberry Basil Ricotta Pizza: A Sweet and Savory Delight
Pizza is a classic comfort food that we all love. Whether it’s a simple cheese pizza, a hearty meat lover’s slice, or a veggie-loaded delight, there’s no denying the universal appeal of this dish. But what if you could elevate your pizza experience? Imagine combining the best of both worlds—the rich, creamy flavors of cheese, the brightness of fresh herbs, and the unexpected sweetness of ripe blackberries. This Blackberry Basil Ricotta Pizza brings together these contrasting flavors into one harmonious bite. It’s the perfect balance between savory and sweet, offering a unique twist on a familiar favorite.
Have you ever been stuck in a pizza rut, making the same classic pie every weekend? This recipe will change that! Whether you’re cooking for a casual dinner or a special occasion, this pizza will impress your guests and satisfy your cravings for something new. If you’re a fan of fresh, seasonal ingredients and enjoy exploring new flavor combinations, you’re in for a treat. Let’s dive in and explore how to make this delicious and unique pizza. Indulge in gourmet dining at home with our Baked Spinach Mushroom Quesadillas
What Makes Blackberry Basil Ricotta Pizza Special?
There’s something magical about combining fresh, seasonal ingredients in a dish like pizza. The Blackberry Basil Ricotta Pizza stands out because of its surprising ingredients and balance of flavors. Let’s break down why this pizza is so special and what makes it a standout choice for your next meal.
Fresh, Seasonal Ingredients
The key to this pizza’s success is the use of fresh, seasonal ingredients. Blackberries bring a naturally sweet and slightly tart flavor, which contrasts beautifully with the richness of the cheeses. Fresh basil adds an aromatic, herbal note that complements the blackberries, enhancing their sweetness while balancing the overall flavor. The combination of these ingredients creates a pizza that’s both refreshing and indulgent.
The Perfect Blend of Cheeses
Instead of the traditional tomato sauce and mozzarella, this pizza uses a blend of cheeses that provide a creaminess and depth of flavor. Parmesan brings a sharp, nutty bite, while mozzarella (or Swiss cheese) adds a smooth, melt-in-your-mouth texture. The real star, however, is ricotta. Dolloped over the pizza, it adds a creamy richness that ties all the ingredients together.
A Unique Flavor Combination
It’s the pairing of sweet blackberries with savory cheeses and fresh herbs that really sets this pizza apart. The juicy, ripe blackberries create a tangy contrast to the cheese, while the basil offers a fresh burst of flavor. The green onions add a mild, oniony crunch, further balancing the sweetness of the blackberries.
If you’re tired of the same old pizza toppings and want to experiment with something new, this pizza is for you. It’s the perfect fusion of savory and sweet, and it might just become your new favorite pizza recipe.
Ingredients for Blackberry Basil Ricotta Pizza
Now that you know why this pizza is so special, let’s talk about the ingredients you’ll need to make it. You don’t have to go to a specialty store to find these items—most of them are available at your local grocery store, and they’re all easy to work with.
A Simple List of Ingredients You’ll Need
Ingredient
Quantity
Notes
Olive oil
1 tablespoon
For brushing the pizza dough
Blackberries (smashed)
1/2 cup
Fresh, ripe berries for the base
Blackberries (whole)
1/2 cup
To top the pizza
Parmesan cheese, shredded
1 cup
Adds a sharp, tangy flavor
Swiss or mozzarella cheese
1 cup
Creamy, mild cheese for texture
Ricotta cheese
3/4 cup
For dolloping on the pizza
Green onions, chopped
1/4 cup
For a fresh, oniony crunch
Salt
1/2 teaspoon (to taste)
Enhances the flavors
Pepper
To taste
For seasoning
Fresh basil, chopped
2-3 tablespoons
For garnish after baking
Pizza dough
1 ball (about 12-inch)
Homemade or store-bought dough
Why These Ingredients Work Together
Each ingredient in this recipe plays a crucial role in balancing the overall flavor profile of the pizza. The olive oil provides a rich base, while the smashed blackberries replace traditional pizza sauce with a sweet, juicy spread. The cheeses melt together to create a creamy and flavorful topping, while the green onions and basil add fresh, aromatic notes. The salt and pepper are essential for seasoning the pizza to perfection.
How to Make Blackberry Basil Ricotta Pizza: Step-by-Step Directions
Making this Blackberry Basil Ricotta Pizza is simple, but the result is impressive. Here’s how to bring this delicious pizza to life, from start to finish.
Step 1: Preheat the Oven
Preheat your oven to 450°F (230°C). If you have a pizza stone, place it in the oven as it preheats. This will ensure your pizza bakes evenly and gets a crispy crust. If you don’t have a pizza stone, a baking sheet will work just fine.
Step 2: Roll Out the Dough
On a floured surface, roll out your pizza dough into a 12-inch circle. If you’re using store-bought dough, make sure it’s at room temperature so it’s easier to stretch. For convenience, place the dough on a sheet of parchment paper—this will help you transfer the pizza to the oven later.
Step 3: Brush with Olive Oil
Drizzle the olive oil over the top of the dough and use your fingers or a pastry brush to spread it evenly, making sure to coat the edges as well. This step ensures the crust will be golden and crispy once baked.
Step 4: Add the Smashed Blackberries
Use a fork to mash 1/2 cup of blackberries in a bowl. You don’t need to get them perfectly smooth—some chunkiness is fine. Use the fork or a slotted spoon to ladle the blackberry pulp onto the dough. Spread it evenly, just like you would with pizza sauce. Be sure to avoid using too much juice, but don’t throw it out—sip it as a refreshing treat!
Step 5: Add the Cheeses
Sprinkle 1 cup of Parmesan and 1 cup of mozzarella (or Swiss cheese) evenly over the smashed blackberries. Make sure the cheese covers the entire surface of the pizza, including the edges. This will create a deliciously gooey, cheesy topping.
Step 6: Dollop the Ricotta
Use a spoon to add small dollops of ricotta cheese over the pizza. You don’t need to make it perfect—just place the ricotta in a few spots to ensure every bite has a bit of this creamy cheese.
Step 7: Add the Toppings
Place the remaining whole blackberries on top of the pizza, followed by the chopped green onions. Sprinkle the pizza with salt and pepper to taste. The green onions will provide a slight crunch, while the blackberries will continue to burst with sweetness.
Step 8: Bake the Pizza
Carefully transfer the pizza (still on the parchment paper) onto your preheated pizza stone or baking sheet. Bake for 8-10 minutes, or until the crust is golden and the cheese is bubbly. If you prefer a crispier top, you can broil the pizza for an additional 1-2 minutes at the end.
Step 9: Garnish with Fresh Basil
Once the pizza is out of the oven, sprinkle freshly chopped basil over the top. The basil adds a burst of freshness and a lovely pop of color. Slice the pizza, serve, and enjoy the deliciousness you’ve just created!
Tips for the Perfect Blackberry Basil Ricotta Pizza
To ensure your Blackberry Basil Ricotta Pizza turns out perfectly every time, here are a few helpful tips:
Dough Tips: If you’re using store-bought dough, make sure it’s at room temperature before you start working with it. This makes it easier to roll out and shape.
Cheese Variations: If you don’t have mozzarella or Swiss cheese, feel free to use fontina, gouda, or even goat cheese for a different flavor profile. Just keep in mind that each cheese will bring its own unique taste and texture.
Add Protein: If you want to add some protein to the pizza, try adding prosciutto or grilled chicken on top before baking.
Make Ahead: You can prepare the pizza dough and toppings ahead of time. Store the dough in the fridge for up to 24 hours, and prep the toppings the day before. This makes assembly much quicker!
Nutritional Breakdown of Blackberry Basil Ricotta Pizza
One of the best things about making your own pizza is knowing exactly what’s going into it. Here’s a basic nutritional breakdown:
Calories: Approximately 320 kcal per serving
Protein: A good source of protein thanks to the cheese
Healthy Fats: Olive oil adds healthy fats
Fiber: Blackberries are a great source of fiber, which is essential for digestion
Why You’ll Love This Recipe
If you’re tired of the same old pizza options, this Blackberry Basil Ricotta Pizza offers something fresh and exciting. It’s easy to make, uses fresh, seasonal ingredients, and combines sweet and savory flavors in a way that will surprise and delight you. Whether you’re cooking for a weeknight meal or planning a special occasion, this pizza is sure to impress.
Call to Action: Ready to Try This Delicious Recipe?
Are you craving something new and exciting for dinner tonight? This Blackberry Basil Ricotta Pizza is the perfect dish to try! It’s simple, flavorful, and sure to be a hit with anyone who loves fresh ingredients and bold flavors. Give it a go, and don’t forget to share your experience with us—snap a photo of your pizza and tag us on social media! Your taste buds will thank you.
Sir Whiskerton and the Pig’s Poop Polka: A Tale of Rhythm, Regret, and One Very Confused Pig
Ah, dear reader, steel your stomachs for a tale so biologically rhythmic that even the flies demanded a formal apology. Today’s adventure features a pig’s digestive schedule, three mice with questionable artistic standards, and a conga line that crossed every line of decency. So, grab your nose plugs and join me for Sir Whiskerton and the Pig’s Poop Polka: A Tale of Rhythm, Regret, and One Very Confused Pig.
The Trigger
It was high noon on the farm—a time when Porkchop the Pig upheld his sacred post-lunch ritual: The Great Digestive Symphony.
With a contented sigh, he assumed the position.
PLOP.
A single, resounding plop.
To most, this was just agricultural inevitability. But to Tito Tango, Paco Cha-Cha, and Carlos Conga, the three blind mice with a passion for percussion, it was the opening note of nature’s greatest hit.
“¡MÚSICA NATURAL!” Tito bellowed, his tiny sunglasses glinting.
“¡ES EL LATIDO DE LA TIERRA!” Paco swooned, tossing his fake rose onto the pile like a very confused Grammy.
“¡LA CONGA DE LA VIDA!” Carlos roared, spinning his sombrero-tailed chaos into motion.
And thus began the 30-minute poop polka.
The Dance of the Damned
The mice shimmied. They shaked. They recruited gnats as backup dancers.
Porkchop, mid-business, froze. “I feel… honored. And slightly violated.”
Gnomeo, watching from a safe distance, gagged. “I’ve seen cultures. This isn’t one.”
Sir Whiskerton, peeking from the barn, muttered: “I’ve solved murders less disturbing than this.”
The gnats, caught up in the frenzy, formed a buzzing mariachi band.
The Climax (and the Farmer’s Intervention)
The chaos reached its peak when:
Carlos attempted a backflip (landed directly in the pile).
Paco declared his love for the “mysterious, musky muse” (Porkchop slowly backed away).
Tito tried to crowdsurf on the gnats (they dropped him into a trough).
The Farmer, drawn by the unholy noise, arrived just in time to see Porkchop wearing a gnat crown.
“What in the hot compost is happening here?!”
“Art,” the mice said in unison.
The Moral (and the Lingering Smell)
Moral of the Story? Some things should not be celebrated.
(The mice were banished to the compost pile, which they immediately declared a five-star dance club.)
The End.
Post-Credit Scene:
The mice mistake Chef Remy’s bubbling soup for a boiling tango. The resulting explosion coats them in glow-in-the-dark noodles.
Best Lines:
“I feel honored… and slightly violated.” – Porkchop, existential pig
“I’ve seen cultures. This isn’t one.” – Gnomeo, disgusted gnome
“Art.” – Mice, delusional artists
Starring:
Tito Tango (Maestro of Misery)
Paco Cha-Cha (Poet of the Poop Pile)
Carlos Conga (Trough-Diving Champion)
Porkchop (Unwilling Muse)
Key Jokes:
The gnats form a “Buzz-tista Band” (their tiny trumpets are straws).
Sir Whiskerton burns his monocle to erase the memory.
Bessie calls it “performance art” and offers mood-ring reviews.
P.S.
Remember: If your dance moves require a hazmat suit, you’ve gone too far.
How successful are the Chinese in making the countries of the world minus the US the common friend?
Well, this is a matter of push-pull.
Few will disagree if I characterize Donald’s MAGA as America First, if not America Only.
In other words, the rest of the world can burn if it keeps America warm at night.
Donald in his second coming has been doing more than the usual to push others away, including NATO and Five Eyes allies.
Even Singapore has uncharacteristically rebuked Washington publicly, with the PM on record saying “this is not what you do to a friend”. I don’t remember any of our previous PMs taking such a harsh tone with America.
It must be remembered that diplomacy is a matter of weighing benefit, and once America tips the scales into liability, states will jump ship faster than one cheer “hallelujah”.
If countries cannot earn dollars, they will pivot to other currencies, and dollar recirculation will be disrupted. That’s simple economics.
China doesn’t need to lift a finger when America is pushing others into the Chinese orbit DELIBERATELY.
The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. I knew I wasn’t going to like my day. I could not remember the events that lead me here. I search for an exit.A chair, a table, and a bed fill the middle of the room. I go to the bed and push down on the mattress. The bedding falls through to the floor. I pick up the bedding and lay it in a pile by the wall.Tired of searching the walls, I make a bed for myself.I manage to fall asleep. Suddenly, I’m falling. I fall five feet and come to a stop. I’m hovering in mid-air. There’s a glass wall with people pointing and gesturing at me. I wave at them and scream help. They laugh and wave back. I start falling again and scream. I land badly. I howl in pain and rise to my feet. This room has a door. I open it and rush out into the street. Trams are moving slowly enough to hop on and ride. I hop on and sit down closing my eyes.Hearing a noise, I open my eyes, and looked around. The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. I panic and look for an exit. I remember a few things, and don’t want to repeat them. I go to the spot where I had fell before. Using my pocket knife, I open the trapdoor. There is a ladder. I sit down and slide to the edge and put my foot on the top rung. I climb down the ladder. I pass the glass wall with people.watching me. They wave at me. Ignoring them I descend into the next room. This time there is second door. I decide to try it. I open the door and it leads to a forest. I go back inside the room and the other door has vanished. I go back to the forest door and step through. I hear a noise and look behind me to find the building gone.Controlling my panic, I close my eyes and listen for a minute. There are no noises. Nothing but total silence. I open my eyes and look around.The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. Remembering my steps. I go down the ladder and now there are three doors at the bottom. I choose a door and walk through. I do not see any people and the buildings are all in a state of decay. I can’t hear any noise. I yell out, “CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?” I get no response. I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them and lower my head. I close my eyes and moan.I hear something and open my eyes. The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. A man sits by the table. He stands and comes over, takes my hand and shakes it.”I congratulate you on making it to level three. Most people make it to level three. We need to know if you are ready for the next phase.”I look at him incredulously, “What do you mean by that?””Oh, I’m sorry. Hold on just a second while I reverse the effects.” He pulls a box out and pushes a button and suddenly my memories return.
He pushes another button on the box and the wall opens, revealing an audience people. Spinning me around, he looks at the audience and says, “Can I have your attention, please.” All is quiet. “What do you say, Sam. Are you ready to go for level four? You have a hundred thousand now, do you want to risk all to continue. What do you say? Yes or No?”
I thought about how strange the last three levels were. I saw my parents in the front row nodding their heads. I hear myself say, “Yes!”
The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. I don’t remember anything from my past. A bed, table, and chair sit in the middle of the room I sit down in the chair and the chair tilts down ejecting me through the a hole. I land about twenty feet down in another room. I look around and see four doors, one on each wall. I choose the first one I see. The area beyond the door is alive with sounds. It’s a rainforest and I am staring a crouching tiger, ready to pounce. I run. I jump a ravine and fall. I underestimated how far the other side was. I fall into a river at the bottom of the ravine.
I hurry, swimming towards the shoreline. I hear a splash behind me and turn, watching in horror, seeing the tiger swimming towards me. Reaching the shore I pull myself out of the water and take off. I don’t turn to look back. I grab a vine and swing over the next ravine and drop. I stop, panting hard and look back. There’s the tiger glaring at me. I wasn’t sure the tiger could cross the ravine so I run. I find a tree and climb up and look down. The tiger had given up and gone away. I lay my head back on the trunk of the tree and close my eyes.
I open my eyes and I’m back in the unfamiliar room. A man sits by the table. He gets up and holds out his hand.
“I would like to congratulate you on making it to level four. Only a few people have ever made it to level four.”
I push him away and yell, “Who are you? What’s happening to me?”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a box and pushes a button. “Sorry, I always forget to restore your memories.”
I am getting a sense that I should be remembering something. My brain is still trying to piece everything together when it suddenly freezes up on the scene of a tiger ready to pounce on me. I scream and push the man down and run. I hit the wall and bounce back falling to the floor.
“Sam? Sam, are you okay? The man says.
“Your name is Tom.” I say. My memory starts filling in the blanks.
“Yes it is. Sorry, it’s a side-effect of the process.” He takes my arm and pushes another button on the box. The wall disappears, revealing the audience. They all rise and applaud and I can hear chanting, “More, More.”
“Yes, folks, here his is. Now, will he continue? Sam will you walk away with your winnings or will you triple it by completing level five. A moment of silence ladies and gentlemen while he contemplates the decision. Sam you now have two hundred thousand and if you complete level five you will walk away with six hundred thousand. What will it be? You have fifteen seconds to decide.”
A large display on a screen behind my head started the countdown. You could hear the murmuring in the crowd as they whispered among themselves and placed side bets on my decision. I thought about the last level. It didn’t seem that scary now that I could look at it logically. There was an escape route and all I had to do was escape. I just needed to think, which I was very good at. I heard myself yell, “YES!” The audience roared. I closed my eyes relishing the attention.
The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. There is a table, a chair, and a bed. I go over to the bed and sit down and fall through the frame. I continue falling through the floor and falling hard at the bottom of another room. My leg is twisted at a crazy angle and my head is swimming. I see a door. I stand and test my leg. It hurts but I’m able to walk. I walk through the door and fall.
I cradle my head and curl up into a fetal position to try and brace for the impact. I land in front of a herd of strange animals. They ignore me as I look around. I hear a noise. The animals stampede in my direction. I run also. I dive behind a rock and cover my head, coming out once they have passed.
There is a horrific beast staring at me. It growls and I run. I head for the trees. The creature chases me. I grab onto the nearest branch of the first tree and swing myself up on the limb and start climbing up. Hoping that the beast can’t climb trees. To my horror, I see it climbing up.
All the trees are somewhat interconnected and I start racing from tree to tree. I check the progress of my protagonist. It’s not as as fast in the trees. The ground is close now and I jump down.
I hear a thud as the creature jumps to the ground. I start looking for anything that I can use as a weapon. I will have to kill this thing before I can rest. A branch falls and I grab it up. It has a sharpened point where it split from the tree. It seems sturdy enough to use as a spear. I stop and brace myself. The creature runs onto the spear impaling itself, dying. I close my eyes.
I hear clapping and open my eyes. The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. A man sits on a chair by the table. He stands up, takes my hand and shakes it.
“I congratulate you on making it to level five. Fewer people have ever made it this far. What you did with that branch was amazing.”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a box and pushes a button. “Okay Sam. How was your experience? Are you okay? You’re looking a little pale.”
I am getting a sense that I should be remembering something. I take a deep breath. My head is spinning and my leg is throbbing.
“Where am I?” I ask.
“Come with me, Sam. You will remember everything in just a moment.” He pushes another button and the wall disappears and a roar goes up from the audience.
My brain resets and I look down and see my parents looking up at me solemnly.
“Sam, are you going to make your parents proud and go to the next level. You have only one left. I will tell you now. Only two people have ever made it back from level six. One billion. Will you be the third in our game? I will put five minutes on the clock this time and you can go over and discuss it with whomever you choose this time. While you are deciding we will take a quick break to check in with our sponsors.” He cues the camera crews and then leads Sam over to his parents who are climbing up onto the stage.
“Mom, dad, I don’t know. It’s a lot of money. We could live in a better place.” I thought about what would happen if I didn’t survive the next level. They were holding me and crying.
I finally said, “I have to. I will survive. My survival instincts are good.”
Tom, cued the camera crews and everyone got back to their seats. I walked over and took my place beside Tom.
“Well folks, here he is with his decision. Sam, what will it be. Are you going to risk it all to complete level six the very last level worth one billion dollars? I need your answer, now.”
“Yes!” I say, closing my eyes.
I hear a grating noise and open my eyes. The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. There is no furniture and the floors are smooth. I finally get tired of looking for a way out and sit down against a wall and close my eyes listening for a moment.
I open my eyes and flail my arms about to try and stop the fall. My body is plummeting rapidly to the room below. I cradle my head and roll up trying to protect myself from the impact. I hit the bottom and cry out. I didn’t break any bones, but I hurt. A ladder hangs over me. I am hurting too much to attempt climbing the ladder so my only option is the door in the wall.
I go to the door and open it slowly. It leads to a meadow. A river is flowing to the side and there are deer grazing. I walk out head towards the river. I squat down and put my hand in the water. The water is icy. I am trying to remember how I got here.
I hear a growl that stands my hair on ends. I turn and see a large wolf looking at me and snarling. I could never run without the wolf catching me. I do the only thing left I jump into the river. I see the wolf running towards me. I swim. The water is so cold that I am having trouble breathing. The wolf is running beside the river following me and waiting for me to come to shore. I swim faster, trying to get to the other side, but my body is cold and I am having more trouble moving my arms and legs. My teeth are chattering and I know I am not going to make it. I sink to the bottom and realize, I’m in waist-deep water, a hundred yards from where I jumped in. The wolf is there trying to decide if it is worth getting wet to come after me. I stand and struggle to make my legs carry me to the other side so I can pull myself out of the river. I stumble and fall and swim to the other side. The wolf sits down on the other side and howls. The sound hurts my ears and I cringe. I make myself crawl out of the water. I start scooching backwards and come to a stop against a tree. I look up and see my salvation. I pull myself up and grab the side of the tree and start climbing the tree. I get about twenty feet off the ground and look down. A pack of wolves have arrived. Braving the water, they now sit at the base of the tree. They try to climb the tree and fail. Finally they leave. I climb further and find a decent limb to spread out on. I close my eyes.
I hear a noise and open my eyes. The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. A man is coming to me grinning.
“Welcome back. Sam you have done amazingly well. That was incredible how you jumped in the river. That was ingenious thinking on your part. That is the kind of thinking we need in our newest colony. You earned a seat on the next transport. You will have to sign a non disclosure agreement on everything that happened here. All you can say is that you won the money. Do you understand? We only have so many spots available in the new colony. This is how we choose the brightest minds.”
I could hear everything he said and I was reveling in my moment. I was going to the new colony that was all that mattered. Tom pushed a button on his box and the wall disappeared one last time. The audience surged the stage and his parents were up on the stage and grabbing him as he walked forward.
“I did it. Did you see? I made it.” I yelled above the crowd, as my parents joined me. I shook Tom’s hand and smiled for the camera then signed the non-disclosure agreement on the podium.
I hear a coughing noise and open my eyes. The room is unfamiliar. But I know how I got here. I am on the transport ship with my parents heading to our new lives.
What should I start doing early?
Have as much fucking fun as possible because what’s the point of living if you never have fun? Don’t wait to have fun; life is short enough.
Investing in the stock market, i.e., index funds. If you invest 10% of your monthly wage, you’ll be a millionaire in 30–40 years.
Getting in the best shape possible. Socrates said, “It is a disgrace for a man to grow old without seeing the beauty and strength of which his body is capable.” Why would you not want to look and feel your best?
Going on daily walks, even just 30 minutes per day, is the most effective stress buster I know. Aristotle, Friedrich Nietzsche, and many other great minds included daily walks in their routines.
Speaking to friends and family, and building and maintaining relationships. Even just texting one person per day goes a long way. Isolation kills, and no man is an island, so reach out to others.
Having a side hustle. If you’ve got a consistent job, great, but there’s no harm in putting your effort into something on the side—it may even be writing. If you’re a success, great, but if you aren’t, you’ve got a job anyway to support you, and as you’re investing, you’ll eventually be rich anyway.
Investing in yourself. I know this is cliche, but it’s true, the more you know, the more you can do, and the more you can do, the more opportunities you’ll have to succeed. Read good literature, take courses, etc. Once you have the know-how, remember to take action.
Travel—You want to travel when you look and feel your best. You don’t want to travel when you’re old, fragile, and frail. It’s better to travel when health isn’t an obstacle.
Quitting bad habits ie smoking, heavy drinking and watching porn. You can cause lots of damage to your brain and body if you never break these habits. Cut yourself free of them asap.
Cut your credit cards in half and avoid lending except when buying a house with a mortgage. You do not want to pay the extortionate interest that credit cards charge; investing that spare capital is better.
Captain Traoré Meets Xi Jinping Inside the China Deal That Changed Africa Forever
Today, I want to chat about DIY furniture. I used to make my own. But, alas, sure I enjoyed doing it, but nothing was ever that great.
Good wood craft is a beauty and wonderful thing. People today (in a world of cheap plywood and paper-board) just don’t appreciate the beautify of fine hardwood furniture.
Here’s some wonderful hardwood furniture porn.
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Screenshot
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Today…
Have you ever walked out of an interview?
Only once. I was working security at a Levi’s factory and when the contract was up they went to another security company. The new company told me my job was secure and asked me to come in. To greatly shorten a long story they changed all of my shifts and cut my hours in half so I gave them a piece of my mind and I left.
I ended up working for a different company in the same city which wasn’t nearly as much fun but it paid the bills. I also managed to talk my former manager into quitting with me as we had become close friends.
$180M Boss Hides Wealth on Dating Show, Only One Woman Passes the Test
https://youtu.be/fVZtxe3BuIc
For whatever reason, have you ever had a job not pay you?
I once had a client call me after we’d sent them a contract (after several weeks of discussion and negotiation on scope, contract terms , fees and so on) who said, “the contract is signed, you’ll get it this week, can you start work now?”
I politely reminded him that I needed to invoice and receive the 40% advance before starting work, but I’d start once I sent off the invoice. I did invoice them at once and once I sent that off I started outlining the project and lining up my resources to deliver it.
A few days passed and when I followed up, I got a response from their legal team saying they’d changed their minds and the contract was cancelled.
I wrote back to say that was cool but in that case could I get my unsigned contract back… no reply… eventually it transpired that the contract had already been signed. Now, think about this, since they’d already signed and stamped the contract (and I had signed it before sending it), there was no way for them to create a copy to send back which already had my signature on it, but not theirs. Effectively, therefore, there was no unsigned contract and whether they sent it back to me or not, they’d signed it.
There was no cancellation clause and they were on the hook for the advance no matter what…
Eventually we compromised and I got a token payment – about 4% of the contract value – since I had started work. In theory I could perhaps have taken it to court but I figured it wasn’t worth it and 4% was enough to prove my point. Also, if I had won, my advance would exceed the amount of work I’d done and that didn’t feel right. Clearly, there was no way we’d have gone through with the project so I wouldn’t get to do the work in any case.
That was the closest I’ve come to not being paid, and I thank my stars that I have skills/experience in drafting contracts that protect me from stuff like this.
“You don’t take warnings well,” the Russian said as he sat in my booth.Without moving my hand, I unsnapped my holster.The Russian hailed a waiter, “Vodka, please.” He looked back at me, “I’m going to have to kill you now. You know that?”I never took my eyes off him. It was unlikely he’d try anything in a crowded bar, but I wouldn’t bet my life on it.”Not much of a talker?” The Russian took a drink.”You’re doing enough for both of us.”The Russian laughed, “Good one.”A couple of LTF officers walked in. The Russian stared at them and laughed, “What jokes. The entire Lunar Task Force is nothing but a bunch of clowns. I killed two in New London last week.”I know he’s lying. I would have heard about it, although I don’t doubt he has killed a few.”You’re boring company. You know that?” He finished off his vodka just as the officers came to our table.”Everything alright here?”
“You know it,” the Russian moved slowly with his hands in plain sight.
“Good. Make sure it stays that way.” They moved to the bar.
“Just because we’re prospectors,” the Russian shook his head. “Anyway, I don’t like killing a man without knowing his name.”
“Tango.”
“That’s not your real name.”
We locked eyes, measuring each other, killer to killer.
“I guess Tango will have to do. See you in the crater.”
I watched until he left the bar and called my company contact, Jeeves.
“The Russian just paid me a visit.”
“How unfortunate,” the British male voice sounded bored. “I’ll add a high-powered sniper rifle to your gear.”
“And a bullet-proof suit.”
“Those are hard to come by in a wasteland city, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“He took out Spec last month. Make it happen, or MoonCorp might never know if there are diamonds in that crater.”
“Spec? I didn’t know he was dead. That’s very unfortunate. Will you be able to deal with the Russian? Or should we hire another?”
“I’ll handle him. Just get me the suit.”
I took the monorail to the hotel district, watching my back. I wouldn’t put it past the Russian to make an attempt before we get anywhere near the crater. My gaze went to the projected blue sky and white puffy clouds of the city’s dome, reminding me of Earth. I’ve been here too long. I’m tired of fake sky. I know what’s on the other side-a wasteland of darkness and rocks, craters and chasms, hopelessness and death.
A drone flying outside my window shook me out of my ruminations. My instincts warned me to beware. Drones are as common in a lunar city as birds on Earth. However, a drone matching the speed and direction of a monorail doesn’t happen often, if at all.
Suddenly, two miniguns materialized from the drone. I ducked just as it opened fire. Shattered glass fell on me. Passengers screamed. I pulled my pistol, rolled the quad barrel to scattershot, and destroyed the drone. I scanned for more drones before holstering my gun.
After a grueling round of questions from the LTF, I finally made it to my hotel. The rifle and suit lay on my bed. These should give me an advantage in the crater, assuming I make it out of the city.
I grabbed the rifle to feel its weight and peered through the scope. To my horror, I spotted a gun pointed at me from the opposite building. I pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. I hadn’t loaded it. Just then, my window shattered, and a bullet grazed my cheek.
I fell to my knees and crawled to the corner, out of sight of the gunman. How is he always one step ahead of me? It’s like he knows where I’ll be before I do. Then it hit me-my phone. Jeeves gave it to me when I arrived. I almost threw it out the window, but then I had an idea.
I crawled to the edge of my bed, still out of sight of the window, loaded my rifle, and grabbed a drone from my gear bag under the bed. I secured my phone to the drone and entered Jeeves’ hotel coordinates.
If the gunman could track my phone, then he’d think I retreated to my safe house. I carefully used a mirror to see if he had gone. He had. I quickly dressed my wound to avoid questions, threw on my long jacket, and concealed my rifle.
I found a low-rise building whose roof would be perfect for my plan. I positioned myself and waited. An hour passed before the Russian took his shot. Jeeves’ window shattered exactly where the drone landed with my phone.
I saw the gun flash on the fifth floor of a building slightly to my right. I aimed for his head and fired. He instantly fell.
I walked to Jeeves’ place and looked through the shattered window. He lay in a pool of blood. The Russian hit him between the eyes—an instant kill. Jeeves betrayed me. It’s poetic justice that his asset killed him. The company who hired them must know there are diamonds in that crater. Or else, they would have never attempted to take me out in the city.
I hurried to the Russian before the LTF arrived. He lay where I shot him. For the first time in my career, the sight of death made me sick. He was just like me–a prospector. It’s just business. Nothing personal.
I saw myself lying in a pool of blood, like the Russian. I, too, will make a mistake one day and take one between the eyes. Suddenly, it began to feel very personal. I’ve had enough of this rock. The vultures can have it.
I looked back down at the Russian.
“Back at the bar, you asked for my real name. I don’t know why it’s important to you, but I owe you that much. It’s Tom. Nothing fancy. Just Tom.”
I left for the nearest shuttle port.
Study Suggests Hycean Worlds Probably Don’t Exist and There’s no Life on K2-18b
Shorpy
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There are no known habitable exoplanets
What is the most out-of-touch thing your boss has ever done?
He ordered her to run personal errands.
My boss, Mr. Smith, had a nostalgic obsession with 20th-century corporate culture. One evening around 7PM, he called my intern colleague, Julia. She was already home. Thinking it was urgent, she picked up.
“I need your help, Julia,” Mr. Smith said.
He told her to go to a pastry shop, buy two boxes of donuts, and deliver them to his house.
“My kids will go to bed soon. Get it done ASAP!”
Julia ignored his request.
The next day, Mr. Smith had a meltdown. He called Julia into his office and snapped, “Next time, just do what I tell you to do!” He cursed at her, then told her to leave.
She didn’t.
She called him a “boomer fossil.” They argued. Then he screamed, “You kids have NO LOYALTY! Back in my day, you’ll be FIRED. IMMEDIATELY!”
That evening, Julia submitted her resignation letter.
That’s when I learned: If your boss ever makes personal requests and calls you disloyal for not doing it because “Back in my day, bla bla bla…”—he’s either toxic, or about to be.
You know those meals that instantly take you back to simpler times? Maybe it’s the memory of your family gathering around the table or that cozy feeling you get when biting into something warm, hearty, and made with love. That’s exactly what you’ll find in these delicious meatball subs with homemade sauce—a recipe that doesn’t just satisfy your hunger, but stirs something deeper.
This isn’t your average store-bought sandwich. When you take the time to simmer a rich, seasoned sauce and nestle those juicy meatballs into a toasted roll with perfectly melted cheese, you’re doing more than cooking—you’re creating an experience. Indulge in gourmet dining at home with our Baked Spinach Mushroom Quesadillas
Why You’ll Love These Meatball Subs
There are plenty of reasons why this recipe earns a permanent spot in your meal rotation:
Versatile – You can use frozen meatballs or make your own.
Comforting – The slow-cooked tomato sauce is full of flavor.
Family-friendly – Everyone can build their own sandwich just how they like it.
Perfect for Any Occasion – From weeknight dinners to game-day gatherings.
Make-Ahead Friendly – Easy to prep ahead and reheat when needed.
This is the kind of recipe that works for busy weekdays and relaxed weekends alike—and once you try it, you’ll find yourself craving it regularly.
Ingredients You’ll Need for Delicious Meatball Subs
To help you stay organized while preparing, here’s a handy ingredient table that covers everything from the sauce to the final sandwich assembly.
🧄 For the Homemade Tomato Sauce
Ingredient
Amount
Olive oil
1 tablespoon
Medium onion, chopped
1
Garlic, smashed and minced
4 cloves
Dried oregano
2 tablespoons
Garlic powder
1 tablespoon
Onion powder
1 ½ teaspoons
Dried parsley (or fresh)
1 ½ tsp (or 1.5 tbsp fresh)
Dried basil (or fresh)
1 ½ tsp (or 1.5 tbsp fresh)
Kosher salt
1 teaspoon
Ground thyme (or fresh thyme)
1 teaspoon (or 1.5 tsp fresh)
Celery seed
½ teaspoon
Cayenne powder
½ teaspoon
Sugar
½ teaspoon
Better Than Bouillon Beef Base
1 tablespoon
Tomato paste
6 oz can
Crushed tomatoes
28 oz can
Diced tomatoes
14.5 oz can
Tomato sauce
15 oz can (or 2 x 8 oz cans)
🍝 For the Meatballs and Sandwich
Ingredient
Amount
Frozen or homemade meatballs
32 oz
Mozzarella or provolone cheese
16 oz
French rolls or steak rolls
12 rolls
How to Make the Perfect Meatball Sub
You don’t need to be a pro chef to make restaurant-quality subs right in your own kitchen. Follow these steps for a foolproof result every time.
Step 1 – Create the Flavorful Sauce
This is where the magic starts. The sauce becomes the heart of the sandwich, so don’t rush this part.
Heat olive oil in a large, deep skillet over medium-low heat.
Add chopped onion and sauté for 5–8 minutes, until soft and translucent.
Toss in minced garlic and all the dried herbs and spices—oregano, garlic powder, onion powder, parsley, basil, thyme, celery seed, cayenne, and sugar.
Stir everything for 1–2 minutes until the kitchen smells incredible.
Add the Better Than Bouillon Beef Base and tomato paste. Break up the paste and mix well.
Pour in the crushed, diced, and sauced tomatoes. Stir until it’s well combined.
Let it simmer uncovered on low for about 15–20 minutes to deepen the flavor.
Step 2 – Cook the Meatballs
You’ve got two easy methods depending on your kitchen setup and schedule.
🔥 Stovetop Method
Drop your frozen (or homemade) meatballs into the sauce.
Stir to coat them evenly.
Simmer on low heat for 1 hour, stirring occasionally. This gives the flavors time to come together.
⏲️ Slow Cooker Method
Transfer the finished sauce to your slow cooker.
Add the meatballs and stir gently.
Cook on LOW for 4–6 hours or HIGH for 2 hours.
Switch to “Warm” if you’re serving later.
Toasting the Rolls & Melting the Cheese
This step brings your subs to another level. Don’t skip it—it’s what gives that professional sandwich-shop feel.
Preheat your oven to broil and adjust the rack close to the heat source.
Slice the rolls and lay them cut-side up on a baking sheet.
Broil for 1–3 minutes until they’re lightly toasted. Keep a close eye to avoid burning.
Remove from oven, top each with slices or shredded mozzarella or provolone, and return to broil for another minute to melt the cheese.
Assembling Your Meatball Subs Like a Pro
You’ve got a couple of great options depending on how you’re serving.
Buffet Style (Perfect for Parties)
Set out toasted rolls with melted cheese.
Provide bowls of saucy meatballs and extra shredded cheese.
Let everyone build their own sandwich to taste.
Family Style (For Cozy Dinners)
Line the toasted, cheese-topped buns in a baking dish.
Load each one with meatballs and a generous spoon of sauce.
Add more cheese and broil once more until everything is hot and bubbling.
What to Serve with Meatball Subs
You’ve nailed the main course—now let’s talk sides. Here are a few simple pairings:
Crisp green salad with balsamic dressing
Roasted broccoli with garlic and lemon zest
Potato chips and baby carrots for a fuss-free family night
Storage & Make-Ahead Tips
These meatball subs are just as great the next day—maybe even better.
Storing:
Refrigerate meatballs and sauce in an airtight container for up to 5 days.
Keep the bread and cheese separate to maintain freshness.
Freezing:
Let the sauce and meatballs cool, then freeze in zip-top freezer bags for up to 3 months.
Thaw overnight in the refrigerator, and reheat over medium-low heat until warmed through.
Nutritional Info (Per Sandwich)
Nutrient
Amount (Approx.)
Calories
500 kcal
Protein
25g
Carbohydrates
40g
Fat
20g
Fiber
4g
Sodium
900mg
Note: Exact values will vary depending on specific ingredients and brands used.
Frequently Asked Questions (FAQ)
Can I make delicious meatball subs with homemade sauce in advance?
Yes! Prepare the sauce and meatballs up to 3 days ahead. Store in the fridge and reheat before assembling your subs.
Do I need to use frozen meatballs?
Not at all. You can use homemade meatballs if you prefer. Just make sure they’re fully cooked before adding to the sauce.
What bread works best for meatball subs?
French rolls and small steak rolls are your best bet. They’re sturdy, chewy, and hold up well against the sauce.
Is this recipe spicy?
It has a little kick from the cayenne, but it’s mild overall. You can omit the cayenne if you prefer a completely mild sauce.
Can I switch out the cheese?
Of course! Mozzarella and provolone are classic, but feel free to use what you love—cheddar, fontina, or even a spicy pepper jack.
Final Thoughts: Bring Everyone Together with Homemade Goodness
When you make delicious meatball subs with homemade sauce, you’re doing more than feeding your family—you’re creating a shared moment. Whether you’re prepping for a casual dinner, a crowd-pleasing party, or just craving a hearty bite, this recipe hits all the right notes.
The deep, slow-simmered sauce. The juicy, tender meatballs. The golden rolls with gooey cheese. It’s all here, waiting for you to take that first bite.
The US has canceled or suspended the tariffs imposed on China after April 2nd “Liberation Day”. What’s your opinion?
China has been playing games with Trump for a month, and Trump surrendered first.
China fought back with all its might, and the United States was badly hurt.
Ports on the west coast of the United States are deserted, and cargo volumes at several of the busiest ports are falling sharply. Retailers such as Walmart will need to bear the consequences of the tariff increases themselves.
Europe has opened the door to Chinese electric vehicles. The UAE signed the world’s largest natural gas order with China. Japan was forced by Trump to backstab the United States. Rare earths are still under embargo and the US debt crisis remains.
In the end, China got the same or even better result than those countries that were eager to beg for mercy.
If there is any difference, China has placed orders for soybeans and beef with other countries, which can no longer be withdrawn, but the United States still has to buy China’s electromechanical furniture, shoes and hats.
However, Trump’s policies are destined to be reversed again and again, so we’ll just have to wait and see.
Oh Lord.
Short and kind of sad.
Sir Whiskerton and the Great Barnyard Bossa Nova: A Tale of Hay, Mice, and Structural Integrity
Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for a tale so rhythmically catastrophic that even the barn’s splinters begged for mercy. Today’s adventure stars three blind mice with a flair for Latin dance, a farmer with a very creaky floorboard, and a hayloft that learned the hard way that not all music is good music. So, dust off your dancing shoes (or at least grab a broom) and join me for Sir Whiskerton and the Great Barnyard Bossa Nova: A Tale of Hay, Mice, and Structural Integrity.
The Incident
It began as a peaceful morning on the farm. The sun shone, the birds sang, and the farmer’s ancient floorboard groaned under his weight as he shuffled toward the feed bin.
CREAK.
And then—
CREAK-CREAK-CREAK.
To most, this was just the sound of poor carpentry. But to Tito Tango, Paco Cha-Cha, and Carlos Conga, the three blind mice with a passion for la vida loca, it was something far more profound.
“¡MÚSICA NATURAL!” Tito shouted, adjusting his tiny sunglasses.
“¡ES EL RITMO DEL DESTINO!” Paco swooned, clutching his fake rose to his chest.
“¡BAILAMOS!” Carlos bellowed, spinning his sombrero-tailed chaos into motion.
And just like that, the barn erupted into a full-blown salsa catastrophe.
The Dance of Destruction
The mice twirled. They dipped. They cha-cha’d directly into a support beam.
Sir Whiskerton, mid-nap on a hay bale, was launched airborne like a furry cannonball. “I DID NOT CONSENT TO THIS!”
Doris the Hen, mid-gossip with Harriet, found herself buried under an avalanche of hay. “I’VE BEEN BURIED IN MY OWN SCANDALS!”
The Farmer, staring at his now-quivering barn, whispered: “Why… is my barn vibrating?”
Then—CRACK!—the hayloft gave up on life.
The Aftermath
As the dust settled (along with several confused chickens), the mice stood proudly in the wreckage.
Tito:“The crowd goes wild!” (The “crowd” was just Gnomeo facepalming.)
Paco:“Did you feel the passion?” (Doris, still under hay: “I feel a lawsuit!”)
Carlos:“Next time, more cowbell!”
Sir Whiskerton, extracting himself from a bucket, sighed. “Perhaps not every sound requires a dance break.”
The Moral (and the Farmer’s New Floor)
Moral of the Story? Just because you can dance to something doesn’t mean you should.
(The Farmer, traumatized, installed carpet the next day.)
The End.
Post-Credit Scene:
The mice mistake Rufus’s snoring for a slow jazz number. They are launched into orbit by an annoyed paw.
Best Lines:
“I’VE BEEN BURIED IN MY OWN GOSSIP!” – Doris, literally
“Why is my barn vibrating?!” – Farmer, existential crisis
“Next time, more cowbell!” – Carlos, architect of chaos
Starring:
Tito Tango (Self-Proclaimed Dance Overlord)
Paco Cha-Cha (Romantic of Questionable Taste)
Carlos Conga (Sombrero-Tailed Menace)
Doris (Victim of Her Own Drama)
Key Jokes:
The mice argue over which genre the creaks are (“Salsa!” “No, flamenco!” “POLKA!”).
Sir Whiskerton uses a hay strand as a parasol mid-air.
The Farmer’s floorboard is later framed as “Modern Art” by Bessie.
P.S.
Remember: If your dance moves collapse infrastructure, you’re doing it wrong.
During Covid pandemic, Japanese public health system was unable to process data on time, because hospitals were still using fax machines.
The Japanese government vowed at the time to carry out digital reforms.
At one point, 80% of the hospitals in Tokyo were using the online system developed by the Japanese government, and it seems that the goal will be achieved. After 5 years of hard work to promote it, how is it now?
All but 8 hospitals have gone back to fax machines, one of the reasons being that the online system is hard to use.
China Arms a Container Ship | Picket/Surveillance | First Strike | Cost Effective | Expendable
China does not play.
Garlic-Herb Cheeseburgers
Yield: 4 servings
Ingredients
1 pound ground beef (80% to 85% lean)
4 slices red onion, cut 1/2 inch thick
1 large red bell pepper, cut into quarters
Salt and pepper
1/2 cup garlic-herb cheese spread
4 round French sandwich rolls, split, toasted
Instructions
Lightly shape ground beef into four 1/2 inch thick patties.
Place patties in center of grid over medium, ash-covered coals; arrange onion and bell pepper around patties.
Grill, covered, for 8 to 10 minutes (over medium heat on preheated gas grill, 7 to 9 minutes) until instant-read thermometer inserted horizontally into center registers 160 degrees F, turning occasionally.
Grill vegetables 13 to 16 minutes or until crisp tender, turning occasionally.
Season with salt and pepper, as desired.
Cut bell pepper into 1/2 inch strips.
Spread 1 tablespoon cheese on bottom of each bun; top with burger, another 1 tablespoon cheese, onion slice and 1/4 of bell pepper.
Close sandwiches.
For whatever reason, have you ever had a job not pay you?
Did a recording session early in my career, and the producer stiffed us. The music biz is essentially an obstacle course.
A couple of us threw a hail mary pass, and went down to the musician’s union, of which we were not members, and told our story. A day later, they called us up and told us to come down and pick our checks. You see, in union there is strength. And you can bet your ass we joined.
The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. I knew I wasn’t going to like my day. I could not remember the events that lead me here. I search for an exit.A chair, a table, and a bed fill the middle of the room. I go to the bed and push down on the mattress. The bedding falls through to the floor. I pick up the bedding and lay it in a pile by the wall.Tired of searching the walls, I make a bed for myself.I manage to fall asleep. Suddenly, I’m falling. I fall five feet and come to a stop. I’m hovering in mid-air. There’s a glass wall with people pointing and gesturing at me. I wave at them and scream help. They laugh and wave back. I start falling again and scream. I land badly. I howl in pain and rise to my feet. This room has a door. I open it and rush out into the street. Trams are moving slowly enough to hop on and ride. I hop on and sit down closing my eyes.Hearing a noise, I open my eyes, and looked around. The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. I panic and look for an exit. I remember a few things, and don’t want to repeat them. I go to the spot where I had fell before. Using my pocket knife, I open the trapdoor. There is a ladder. I sit down and slide to the edge and put my foot on the top rung. I climb down the ladder. I pass the glass wall with people.watching me. They wave at me. Ignoring them I descend into the next room. This time there is second door. I decide to try it. I open the door and it leads to a forest. I go back inside the room and the other door has vanished. I go back to the forest door and step through. I hear a noise and look behind me to find the building gone.Controlling my panic, I close my eyes and listen for a minute. There are no noises. Nothing but total silence. I open my eyes and look around.The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. Remembering my steps. I go down the ladder and now there are three doors at the bottom. I choose a door and walk through. I do not see any people and the buildings are all in a state of decay. I can’t hear any noise. I yell out, “CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?” I get no response. I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them and lower my head. I close my eyes and moan.I hear something and open my eyes. The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. A man sits by the table. He stands and comes over, takes my hand and shakes it.”I congratulate you on making it to level three. Most people make it to level three. We need to know if you are ready for the next phase.”I look at him incredulously, “What do you mean by that?””Oh, I’m sorry. Hold on just a second while I reverse the effects.” He pulls a box out and pushes a button and suddenly my memories return.
He pushes another button on the box and the wall opens, revealing an audience people. Spinning me around, he looks at the audience and says, “Can I have your attention, please.” All is quiet. “What do you say, Sam. Are you ready to go for level four? You have a hundred thousand now, do you want to risk all to continue. What do you say? Yes or No?”
I thought about how strange the last three levels were. I saw my parents in the front row nodding their heads. I hear myself say, “Yes!”
The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. I don’t remember anything from my past. A bed, table, and chair sit in the middle of the room I sit down in the chair and the chair tilts down ejecting me through the a hole. I land about twenty feet down in another room. I look around and see four doors, one on each wall. I choose the first one I see. The area beyond the door is alive with sounds. It’s a rainforest and I am staring a crouching tiger, ready to pounce. I run. I jump a ravine and fall. I underestimated how far the other side was. I fall into a river at the bottom of the ravine.
I hurry, swimming towards the shoreline. I hear a splash behind me and turn, watching in horror, seeing the tiger swimming towards me. Reaching the shore I pull myself out of the water and take off. I don’t turn to look back. I grab a vine and swing over the next ravine and drop. I stop, panting hard and look back. There’s the tiger glaring at me. I wasn’t sure the tiger could cross the ravine so I run. I find a tree and climb up and look down. The tiger had given up and gone away. I lay my head back on the trunk of the tree and close my eyes.
I open my eyes and I’m back in the unfamiliar room. A man sits by the table. He gets up and holds out his hand.
“I would like to congratulate you on making it to level four. Only a few people have ever made it to level four.”
I push him away and yell, “Who are you? What’s happening to me?”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a box and pushes a button. “Sorry, I always forget to restore your memories.”
I am getting a sense that I should be remembering something. My brain is still trying to piece everything together when it suddenly freezes up on the scene of a tiger ready to pounce on me. I scream and push the man down and run. I hit the wall and bounce back falling to the floor.
“Sam? Sam, are you okay? The man says.
“Your name is Tom.” I say. My memory starts filling in the blanks.
“Yes it is. Sorry, it’s a side-effect of the process.” He takes my arm and pushes another button on the box. The wall disappears, revealing the audience. They all rise and applaud and I can hear chanting, “More, More.”
“Yes, folks, here his is. Now, will he continue? Sam will you walk away with your winnings or will you triple it by completing level five. A moment of silence ladies and gentlemen while he contemplates the decision. Sam you now have two hundred thousand and if you complete level five you will walk away with six hundred thousand. What will it be? You have fifteen seconds to decide.”
A large display on a screen behind my head started the countdown. You could hear the murmuring in the crowd as they whispered among themselves and placed side bets on my decision. I thought about the last level. It didn’t seem that scary now that I could look at it logically. There was an escape route and all I had to do was escape. I just needed to think, which I was very good at. I heard myself yell, “YES!” The audience roared. I closed my eyes relishing the attention.
The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. There is a table, a chair, and a bed. I go over to the bed and sit down and fall through the frame. I continue falling through the floor and falling hard at the bottom of another room. My leg is twisted at a crazy angle and my head is swimming. I see a door. I stand and test my leg. It hurts but I’m able to walk. I walk through the door and fall.
I cradle my head and curl up into a fetal position to try and brace for the impact. I land in front of a herd of strange animals. They ignore me as I look around. I hear a noise. The animals stampede in my direction. I run also. I dive behind a rock and cover my head, coming out once they have passed.
There is a horrific beast staring at me. It growls and I run. I head for the trees. The creature chases me. I grab onto the nearest branch of the first tree and swing myself up on the limb and start climbing up. Hoping that the beast can’t climb trees. To my horror, I see it climbing up.
All the trees are somewhat interconnected and I start racing from tree to tree. I check the progress of my protagonist. It’s not as as fast in the trees. The ground is close now and I jump down.
I hear a thud as the creature jumps to the ground. I start looking for anything that I can use as a weapon. I will have to kill this thing before I can rest. A branch falls and I grab it up. It has a sharpened point where it split from the tree. It seems sturdy enough to use as a spear. I stop and brace myself. The creature runs onto the spear impaling itself, dying. I close my eyes.
I hear clapping and open my eyes. The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. A man sits on a chair by the table. He stands up, takes my hand and shakes it.
“I congratulate you on making it to level five. Fewer people have ever made it this far. What you did with that branch was amazing.”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a box and pushes a button. “Okay Sam. How was your experience? Are you okay? You’re looking a little pale.”
I am getting a sense that I should be remembering something. I take a deep breath. My head is spinning and my leg is throbbing.
“Where am I?” I ask.
“Come with me, Sam. You will remember everything in just a moment.” He pushes another button and the wall disappears and a roar goes up from the audience.
My brain resets and I look down and see my parents looking up at me solemnly.
“Sam, are you going to make your parents proud and go to the next level. You have only one left. I will tell you now. Only two people have ever made it back from level six. One billion. Will you be the third in our game? I will put five minutes on the clock this time and you can go over and discuss it with whomever you choose this time. While you are deciding we will take a quick break to check in with our sponsors.” He cues the camera crews and then leads Sam over to his parents who are climbing up onto the stage.
“Mom, dad, I don’t know. It’s a lot of money. We could live in a better place.” I thought about what would happen if I didn’t survive the next level. They were holding me and crying.
I finally said, “I have to. I will survive. My survival instincts are good.”
Tom, cued the camera crews and everyone got back to their seats. I walked over and took my place beside Tom.
“Well folks, here he is with his decision. Sam, what will it be. Are you going to risk it all to complete level six the very last level worth one billion dollars? I need your answer, now.”
“Yes!” I say, closing my eyes.
I hear a grating noise and open my eyes. The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. There is no furniture and the floors are smooth. I finally get tired of looking for a way out and sit down against a wall and close my eyes listening for a moment.
I open my eyes and flail my arms about to try and stop the fall. My body is plummeting rapidly to the room below. I cradle my head and roll up trying to protect myself from the impact. I hit the bottom and cry out. I didn’t break any bones, but I hurt. A ladder hangs over me. I am hurting too much to attempt climbing the ladder so my only option is the door in the wall.
I go to the door and open it slowly. It leads to a meadow. A river is flowing to the side and there are deer grazing. I walk out head towards the river. I squat down and put my hand in the water. The water is icy. I am trying to remember how I got here.
I hear a growl that stands my hair on ends. I turn and see a large wolf looking at me and snarling. I could never run without the wolf catching me. I do the only thing left I jump into the river. I see the wolf running towards me. I swim. The water is so cold that I am having trouble breathing. The wolf is running beside the river following me and waiting for me to come to shore. I swim faster, trying to get to the other side, but my body is cold and I am having more trouble moving my arms and legs. My teeth are chattering and I know I am not going to make it. I sink to the bottom and realize, I’m in waist-deep water, a hundred yards from where I jumped in. The wolf is there trying to decide if it is worth getting wet to come after me. I stand and struggle to make my legs carry me to the other side so I can pull myself out of the river. I stumble and fall and swim to the other side. The wolf sits down on the other side and howls. The sound hurts my ears and I cringe. I make myself crawl out of the water. I start scooching backwards and come to a stop against a tree. I look up and see my salvation. I pull myself up and grab the side of the tree and start climbing the tree. I get about twenty feet off the ground and look down. A pack of wolves have arrived. Braving the water, they now sit at the base of the tree. They try to climb the tree and fail. Finally they leave. I climb further and find a decent limb to spread out on. I close my eyes.
I hear a noise and open my eyes. The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. A man is coming to me grinning.
“Welcome back. Sam you have done amazingly well. That was incredible how you jumped in the river. That was ingenious thinking on your part. That is the kind of thinking we need in our newest colony. You earned a seat on the next transport. You will have to sign a non disclosure agreement on everything that happened here. All you can say is that you won the money. Do you understand? We only have so many spots available in the new colony. This is how we choose the brightest minds.”
I could hear everything he said and I was reveling in my moment. I was going to the new colony that was all that mattered. Tom pushed a button on his box and the wall disappeared one last time. The audience surged the stage and his parents were up on the stage and grabbing him as he walked forward.
“I did it. Did you see? I made it.” I yelled above the crowd, as my parents joined me. I shook Tom’s hand and smiled for the camera then signed the non-disclosure agreement on the podium.
I hear a coughing noise and open my eyes. The room is unfamiliar. But I know how I got here. I am on the transport ship with my parents heading to our new lives.
What do you know about China’s 5G-Advanced (5G-A) network?
China is accelerating the rollout of 5G-Advanced (5G-A) networks across multiple cities. Major cities, including Beijing and Shanghai, have already begun deploying 5G-A networks in select areas. This next-generation technology offers significant improvements over standard 5G, including peak download speeds of up to 10 gigabits per second, millisecond-level latency, and more cost-effective connectivity for Internet of Things applications.
Shanghai’s 5G-A network has achieved targeted coverage in key areas since the China Telecom Shanghai branch launched a 5G-A user experience campaign in February. The key areas under coverage include the Lujiazui commercial hub, major venues like the Expo Center, main roads in urban districts and popular tourist spots such as Disneyland, according to Shanghai authorities.
Shanghai has achieved complete 5G network coverage across its whole metro system. This coverage spans all 21 lines with a total length of 896 kilometers and 517 stations in the city’s subway network, and over 80 percent of the system uses 5G-A technology.
Test results showed average download speeds exceeding 600 Mbps in stations and tunnels, with peak rates surpassing one Gbps. The high-speed network supports improved passenger services while enhancing operational capabilities including smart scheduling, equipment monitoring and emergency response.
In Hangzhou, the capital of East China’s Zhejiang Province, the city has achieved full 5G-A coverage across major scenic spots, universities and key urban areas. Mobile users can now enjoy ultra-fast 5G-A speeds in landmark locations such as the West Lake scenic area, the Hubin business district and metro stations.
Beijing authorities have released an upgraded action plan for scaled 5G application (2025-27). The plan targets the construction or upgrade of more than 35,000 5G-A-enabled base stations citywide by the end of 2027, aiming for full coverage within the Fifth Ring Road and expanded 5G-A deployment in key areas and scenarios.
The number of 5G base stations in China exceeded 4.39 million as of the end of March this year, with the user penetration rate reaching 75.9 percent, the Ministry of Industry and Information Technology of China said.
Guys. Let’s remember the past, with a smile on our face. Ah… today.
Oh the 1970’s and the 1960’s was a time of many, many weddings and wedding receptions.
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Wedding receptions in the late 1960’s. We went to many of them.
Baby-sitters. Cousins. Uncles and aunties.
Friends of our parents. Local relatives of key “powerful” people in the town.
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Screenshot
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Usually… usually either a local (rental hall) was used, or a hotel. And I would be dressed up by my parents. Even into my early teens. They would approve my outfit, and add thoughts.
Lots of great food.
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Party on dudes!
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The grandmother was “something else”…
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The fun auntie…
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Typical aunties…
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Love the “big hair”.
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Ah. The clothing was over the top.
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Ahhhh… the 60’s.
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It was a time like no other…
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Big, large, huge buffets. Lots of alcohol being swilled by the adults, and tons and tons of soda-pop for us kids. Lots of dancing. Often a mix of popular songs and music and Polkas.
Sometimes country music.
Then around 11pm (give or take), we would make it home. And I would go to the bedroom, brush my teeth and go to sleep. My parents…? Well, probably the same thing… maybe passed out.
Life in the 60’s.
Life is about adventures. Things and life changes. They change. What once was normal is now nowhere to be found.
Enjoy what you have, when you have it.
Today…
Would the F22 raptor completely destroy the Chinese made stealth fighter J-20 in combat?
Base on the recent air war between Pakistan and India, where a legacy J10CE with BVR missile destroyed the best offered by Dassault and Sukhoi. Fortunately the F16 didn’t join the party or it would have been a complete flush.
F22 will be completely destroyed even before the pilot knew what happened. Current F22, F35 or SU57 will be get the ass wiped, so will the F47. A platform obsolete even by the time it reached paper. These platforms are based on legacy doctrine of dogfighting.
China is already in the forefront of datalink, AI and network warfare. You just have to accept that the days of dogfighting like the Red Baron is the very much over since 2015.
At Her Colleague’s Private Party, She Opened Her Purse And Found My Ring… Along With A Note
How will the US-China temporary truce affect the services sector of both countries?
Don’t be too optimistic.
What has stopped now is the China-US tariff war, but the China-US trade war will continue.
The tariff war between China and the United States is just a tentative decoupling. There will be bilateral trade only after a truce. The real trade war will only begin after both sides recognize their bottom lines and shortcomings.
The United States’ weak point is that it is worried about its treasury bonds being sold off, so Trump will frantically force its allies to buy U.S. treasury bonds in the days ahead. Now the United Kingdom’s holdings of U.S. treasury bonds have surpassed China, becoming the second largest overseas holder of U.S. treasury bonds, with holdings reaching US$779.3 billion, second only to Japan. Trump will then ask other US allies to buy US Treasuries.
China’s shortcoming is that it lacks influence on Latin American and Caribbean countries. To this end, China recently held the China-Latin American and Caribbean Community Forum and will strengthen its economic and infrastructure influence with Latin American and Caribbean countries in the coming days. According to US media reports, China will deploy 10 space monitoring stations in five Latin American countries. The functions of these monitoring stations cover areas that are critical to space military operations, such as monitoring and identifying space targets, telemetry tracking and control, etc. This has caused panic in the United States.
GRAY SAM
by Colum Knight
The most violent and subtle forces of nature are perceived by instinct. An inspired pertinence, wreathed in haste and some unwitting foreknowledge, account for the survival of birds, the skittish rodents of the city streets, the playful animals of the country field. They had all gone before Samuel woke that day. The city was empty except for its humans. A storm was coming, and Samuel had not yet sensed it. Still, guided by some vague and strident thing within him, he ventured out toward an open space, driven and perturbed toward some magnetic direction and purpose. He felt it in his neck at two points; one point above the collar bone on his right – a soft, deep well under the skin – the other just under his jaw where the habits of his heart could be seen in paired rhythms. It was suffocating. He unlaced his scarf with a pull from the left and stretched his face toward a cloud-capped sky. The light grey sidewalks underfoot darkened one Dalmatian spot at a time. The brown leather under black leather of his shoes scuffed up a dry – then wetted – percussion of movement. He was walking now, now jogging an unerring pace. It was getting late. He was late. The buses might run away. We have to catch them, he thought to himself. Samuel ran.
Samuel hurt a child once. He stepped on her shins as she was playing on the lawn of a city park. Then he kicked her while catching his balance and stepped again on her legs and hurt her badly. It unsettled him when she cried. Her father beat him. He could never remember exactly what he had said or what words were spoken. He remembered only that the child never looked at him. The shock of the pain must have distracted her from its source. Samuel thought of that day often when he ran, dizzy and hot and hurt as he felt now, running to catch his bus.
Samuel touched the polished metal handrail aboard the bus. It felt cold under wet palms. He slid a finger down until he felt a warm spot and left his grip there. With his offhand, he wrung the trapped rainwater from his loose skin off his face and felt the emerging stubble. It’s late, he thought. Later than I thought, he thought. His face sagged. The bus hissed and lurched. Samuel’s eye color was somewhere between grey and blue depending on the day; some days they might appear hazel. His hair was somewhere between darker or lighter grays; some days nearly white. Everyone seemed young to him. Everyone a stranger. All fading.
His last romance had nearly worked. She played piano. She played violin. She taught privately. She loved him – him and games and the outdoors. They camped wild and hiked off-trail as often as they could both escape. He had a knack for the wilderness. He enjoyed the sounds of solitude in the company of nature. As for music, he had no talent at all. Instrumentations confused him and he simply had no voice for the rest of it. The games, though. He liked the games. She was better at pub quizzes, he – at puzzles, history, and the sort of obscure or tedious details others make a habit of ignoring. He took trivial things in with great seriousness and a particular lack of discretion. When she left, she called him wide-eyed and dumb.
The heavy, steadying rain lulled the bus to a few quiet whispers here and there. Each of them swayed under the weight of their own bodies as the vehicle made its turns, casting waves and ripples onto flowing sidewalks. This wasn’t such a bad place sometimes, he thought. He noticed the tint of the bus windows. Either that or the world outside was getting darker fast.
He had left home that morning unsure and ill at ease. It was one of those days that were becoming more frequent when the world seemed at odds with itself – or just with him in it. The normal cacophony of useful things that populated his home and everyday life – the things that made it sing – now felt more and more unfamiliar and became more and more unused until his apartment became a place of still and prolonged silences. Even his clothes became an irritant felt daily – ill-fitting and caustic gestures of symmetry, he thought.
The bus squealed, then stopped. He could smell the heat here. There was no getting away from that. His face soured at the thought as he slid his glasses away, slick from sweat, dried them, and dropped them into a coat pocket. The still-black hairs on his curved sternum were bursting for freedom under his shirt. Every pore of his being needed air. He never could acclimate to this weather. As the bus moved, there grew a singular idea in Samuel’s head. Slow at first but escalating – doubling in size each moment. And along with it, a frenetic energy bound up, unwilling to release itself. Samuel lost his grip wiping his eyes and stammered toward an air vent.
Excuse me, I’m sorry, I’m fine, he thought. A thunderclap caught him unaware and unsupported between railings. Light shattered across every city window on the street and blinded the bus patrons in stages as a pulse of three. Lightning followed thunder and, in turn, was followed by a deafening absence of sound. Samuel collapsed. He cried. He slept. He woke. He was dizzy. Lost. Samuel clenched the collars behind his neck and moaned. Face down on flocked flooring, he pulled and wrenched and broke things.
As Samuel came to, a confusion of voices forced his large, grey-faded eyes up. More people were standing near him now than he remembered there being. Some were shouting threats. He could see others were frightened, holding themselves or the person nearest them closer. It’s later than I thought, he thought. Others had cupped both hands to their faces to hide their eyes from him. He remembered the girl in the park. He remembered the child’s father. Samuel pulled away, shoulders bent, head down. He forced open bus doors and ran free leaving a chorus of shrieks and cursing behind him.
Barely conscious of what he was doing he tore at himself until every stitch of clothing had gone. Air. Open space, he thought. He lifted both arms mid-sprint and threw his head back. The hot slime of his sweat commingled with rainwater and fell off. This pleased Samuel. All the new sensations he could now feel while running hot, sweat-covered and naked elated and delighted him. Air. He could feel the air.
It was darker and raining harder as Samuel’s faded silhouette sped into the tree line of the city park. His skin swelled, sagging off bone in clumps and ribbons.
As he neared a clearing, all the sounds of the world became dull and dampened. A vibration of hummings and a rhythm of waking dreams brought Samuel to a more calming pace and were joined only by the sounds stirring within Samuel’s chest cavity; here, a vertical line of combed bristles protruded through the sternum and shuddered quickly against one another in frantic, sonic agreements with the coming storm.
This was all the world left to him now: Grass blades whispering along arches of bare feet. Breath. Weaving wind between splayed fingers. Breath. Salt-stung eyes. Tears. Another breath in the chest. Another stride. He peered, grey-eyed and wide-eyed into the day’s night sky awaiting his halo of lights and the smell of a colder, more familiar climate.
At last, a cool breeze touched him, his face awash in light.
Home, he thought.
Then Samuel was gone and the city was empty except for its humans.
The Reason why Men are Walking Away from Dating (Ep. 608)
https://youtu.be/-1SbwCl9gyA
I read that 9 out of 10 oncologists won’t go for chemotherapy if they have cancer themselves. Is that true?
That was the choice given my dad. They said he had six months to live. I was with him when the doctor told him. She asked him if he needed more time to put his affairs in order. She said that with chemo, they might get him a year, but it would be very unpleasant.
She told him that if he did nothing, for three months, he wouldn’t notice much, but after that, he would get progressively weaker.
My dad opted out of chemo. His affairs were in order, he was eight-six and had nothing left to do nor prove. He died quietly in bed at home surrounded by family almost six months to the day after he got the bad news. In his good three months, he went on an Alaskan cruise with his grandson (my nephew) as his cabin mate and enjoyed time with his brother.
I think he made the right choice for him and our family, but every situation should be evaluated separately. Under different circumstances, he MIGHT have tried chemo. It’s a personal decision that someone must ultimately make on their own, hopefully with family and friends’ support.
Garden Chicken Burgers with Basil-Gorgonzola Salsa
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Yield: 6 burgers
Ingredients
Chicken Burgers
1 pound boneless, skinless ground chicken breast
1 egg, slightly beaten
2 cups fresh bread crumbs
1/2 cup diced red onion
1/2 cup finely chopped red pepper
1/4 cup grated gorgonzola cheese
2 tablespoons snipped fresh basil
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
6 Bays English Muffins, split lightly toasted and buttered
Basil-Gorgonzola Salsa (recipe follows)
Red lettuce leaves
Red pepper rings
Basil leaves
Basil-Gorgonzola Salsa
2 cup plum tomatoes, seeded and finely chopped
1/2 cup finely chopped red pepper
1/2 cup diced red onion
1/2 cup grated gorgonzola cheese
1/4 cup snipped fresh basil
1/4 cup snipped fresh parsley
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon salt
Instructions
Chicken Burgers
In a medium bowl, combine chicken with egg, bread crumbs, onion, red pepper, cheese and basil.
Season with salt and pepper.
Shape mixture into six (6) patties, about 1/2 inch thick.
Cover and refrigerate until needed.
Coat a heavy nonstick skillet with cooking spray. Heat over medium high until hot.
Add patties and cook according to weight chart that follows until chicken is thoroughly cooked (165 degrees to 170 degrees F), and until juices run clear, turning once (4 ounce patties, 15 to 20 minutes; 6 ounce patties, 18 to 22 minutes).
Drain Basil Gorgonzola Salsa of any accumulated juices, mix.
Top bottom half of each muffin with a burger then a tablespoon of Salsa.
Serve open-faced with top half of muffin garnished with lettuce, pepper rings and basil leaves.
Serve with remaining Salsa.
Basil-Gorgonzola Salsa
Combine ingredients. Cover and refrigerate until needed.
Attribution
Recipe and photo used with permission from: Bays English Muffins
Why do many US businesses still prefer to work with Chinese suppliers despite political tensions?
There are a number of reasons:
The Chinese minimum wage is about $3.50 USD while American minimum wage hovers around $15. This makes Chinese labor-intensive goods much cheaper and at prices Americans can never meet.
The Chinese factories are much, much more automated than equivalent American factories. This makes less labor-intensive Chinese goods much cheaper and at prices Americans can never meet.
The Chinese government and manufacturing are very, very agile. The government pours money immediately into promising industries — in as little as 30 days, often cutting red tape in the process. The same processes take decades in the USA if they happen at all.
The Chinese government is willing to take flyers on untested new technologies. The US government is incredibly risk averse.
Over the past few decades, many US businesses have developed good relations with their suppliers. Mostly this is built on reliable quality. American suppliers are all about cost-cutting and profit increases, even though this undermines quality.
Most American companies are heavily into JIT (Just In Time) supply chains because this reduces the costs of warehousing and maintaining huge inventories of parts. Chinese suppliers have developed the logistics and information flows that have made this very reliable. (n.b. This was fractured somewhat by the inept Chinese response to COVID, but has since recovered.)
There are lots more reasons, but these are just a few off the top of my head.
“You don’t take warnings well,” the Russian said as he sat in my booth.Without moving my hand, I unsnapped my holster.The Russian hailed a waiter, “Vodka, please.” He looked back at me, “I’m going to have to kill you now. You know that?”I never took my eyes off him. It was unlikely he’d try anything in a crowded bar, but I wouldn’t bet my life on it.”Not much of a talker?” The Russian took a drink.”You’re doing enough for both of us.”The Russian laughed, “Good one.”A couple of LTF officers walked in. The Russian stared at them and laughed, “What jokes. The entire Lunar Task Force is nothing but a bunch of clowns. I killed two in New London last week.”I know he’s lying. I would have heard about it, although I don’t doubt he has killed a few.”You’re boring company. You know that?” He finished off his vodka just as the officers came to our table.”Everything alright here?”
“You know it,” the Russian moved slowly with his hands in plain sight.
“Good. Make sure it stays that way.” They moved to the bar.
“Just because we’re prospectors,” the Russian shook his head. “Anyway, I don’t like killing a man without knowing his name.”
“Tango.”
“That’s not your real name.”
We locked eyes, measuring each other, killer to killer.
“I guess Tango will have to do. See you in the crater.”
I watched until he left the bar and called my company contact, Jeeves.
“The Russian just paid me a visit.”
“How unfortunate,” the British male voice sounded bored. “I’ll add a high-powered sniper rifle to your gear.”
“And a bullet-proof suit.”
“Those are hard to come by in a wasteland city, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“He took out Spec last month. Make it happen, or MoonCorp might never know if there are diamonds in that crater.”
“Spec? I didn’t know he was dead. That’s very unfortunate. Will you be able to deal with the Russian? Or should we hire another?”
“I’ll handle him. Just get me the suit.”
I took the monorail to the hotel district, watching my back. I wouldn’t put it past the Russian to make an attempt before we get anywhere near the crater. My gaze went to the projected blue sky and white puffy clouds of the city’s dome, reminding me of Earth. I’ve been here too long. I’m tired of fake sky. I know what’s on the other side-a wasteland of darkness and rocks, craters and chasms, hopelessness and death.
A drone flying outside my window shook me out of my ruminations. My instincts warned me to beware. Drones are as common in a lunar city as birds on Earth. However, a drone matching the speed and direction of a monorail doesn’t happen often, if at all.
Suddenly, two miniguns materialized from the drone. I ducked just as it opened fire. Shattered glass fell on me. Passengers screamed. I pulled my pistol, rolled the quad barrel to scattershot, and destroyed the drone. I scanned for more drones before holstering my gun.
After a grueling round of questions from the LTF, I finally made it to my hotel. The rifle and suit lay on my bed. These should give me an advantage in the crater, assuming I make it out of the city.
I grabbed the rifle to feel its weight and peered through the scope. To my horror, I spotted a gun pointed at me from the opposite building. I pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. I hadn’t loaded it. Just then, my window shattered, and a bullet grazed my cheek.
I fell to my knees and crawled to the corner, out of sight of the gunman. How is he always one step ahead of me? It’s like he knows where I’ll be before I do. Then it hit me-my phone. Jeeves gave it to me when I arrived. I almost threw it out the window, but then I had an idea.
I crawled to the edge of my bed, still out of sight of the window, loaded my rifle, and grabbed a drone from my gear bag under the bed. I secured my phone to the drone and entered Jeeves’ hotel coordinates.
If the gunman could track my phone, then he’d think I retreated to my safe house. I carefully used a mirror to see if he had gone. He had. I quickly dressed my wound to avoid questions, threw on my long jacket, and concealed my rifle.
I found a low-rise building whose roof would be perfect for my plan. I positioned myself and waited. An hour passed before the Russian took his shot. Jeeves’ window shattered exactly where the drone landed with my phone.
I saw the gun flash on the fifth floor of a building slightly to my right. I aimed for his head and fired. He instantly fell.
I walked to Jeeves’ place and looked through the shattered window. He lay in a pool of blood. The Russian hit him between the eyes—an instant kill. Jeeves betrayed me. It’s poetic justice that his asset killed him. The company who hired them must know there are diamonds in that crater. Or else, they would have never attempted to take me out in the city.
I hurried to the Russian before the LTF arrived. He lay where I shot him. For the first time in my career, the sight of death made me sick. He was just like me–a prospector. It’s just business. Nothing personal.
I saw myself lying in a pool of blood, like the Russian. I, too, will make a mistake one day and take one between the eyes. Suddenly, it began to feel very personal. I’ve had enough of this rock. The vultures can have it.
I looked back down at the Russian.
“Back at the bar, you asked for my real name. I don’t know why it’s important to you, but I owe you that much. It’s Tom. Nothing fancy. Just Tom.”
I left for the nearest shuttle port.
Who is most respectable person of all time?
“Lose them, or I’ll fire you,” the client said.
I was an investment banking intern. One day, I had a meeting with an arrogant VIP client. It’s usually his time and place to power trip. I was there with my two colleagues—Janet and Kim—and my boss, Mr. Wilson.
The client told Mr. Wilson to remove my colleagues and me.
“I don’t work with girls,” he said, “Oh…and lose the boy too,” he added, pointing at me. Then he laid back on his chair, looking at the ceiling, hands behind his back.
Mr. Wilson stood up.
Then he said, “Janet…Kim…, can you both step out of the room for a moment?” They both stood up, and left the meeting room. I stood up too.
“You stay,” Mr. Wilson said. I sat down again.
Then he walked over to the client’s face, looked him dead in the eyes, and said (in a calm and controlled manner):
“Listen up, you piece of s—! These people are the best analysts I’ve ever worked with and you’re lucky to have them. How dare you disrespect my team members like that! Get your a— and your business out of here. Now!”
The client stood up, and walked out.
I was stunned.
“This is bad…” I said, “that guy will tell what happened between us today to his business partners. And we might lose business. The director might punish you too.”
Mr. Wilson nodded. “I know. But I don’t tolerate clients talking s— about my team. No matter how much they pay us.”
Later, Mr. Wilson got a one-month suspension.
He might have lost his annual bonus, but he certainly gained our respect.
To this day, when someone asks me what respect looks like, I don’t think of kings, presidents, or billionaires.
I think of Mr. Wilson.
What are the unique features of the J-10C’s radar and missile systems that give it an edge in combat situations?
A major feature of the PL-15 missile system (as well as the latest AMRAAM 120-D and Meteor missile) is its control through distributed sensing & data‑fusion. Modern long range missiles can receive control inputs from multiple sources, and also send high speed data. Designed to operate in a networked battlespace, these missiles can be re-targeted mid-flight by any approved node in the network with relevant data (not just the launching aircraft).
During the air combat that took place on May 7, 2025, Pakistani ground and air based long‑range AESA radars were tracking the Indian Rafales, and their positions were uplinked in real‑time to both Saab 2000 Erieye AEW&C and the forward J‑10C via secure data link (Link‑17). The J‑10C had a continuously updated “Eagle’s Eye” firing solution that was calibrated by many sensors without turning on the fighter radar- a first in air battle. Interestingly, Indian aircraft/ radar/sensor chain does not possess a unified communication protocol, making networking very difficult with its legacy systems.
After locking on, the J-10’s carried out a silent “long‑stick launch” (very long range BVR engagement). The J‑10C fired their PL‑15s from well outside the Rafale’s Meteor no‑escape zone to mitigate any risk. Because the J-10 fighter’s radar system stayed shut, the Indian aircraft and their AEW aircraft received no RWR (radar warning receiver) warning of Pakistani aircraft locking on to targets. The only warning they received was when the PL-15 missile’s terminal AESA radar seeker turned on, approximately 20–30 kilometers (12–18 miles) from target, with the missile flying at Mach 4–5, too late for the Indian aircraft to take evasive action.
In a typical Beyond Visual Range combat, an aircraft must turn on its radar to detect, lock, shoot and provide mid‑course guidance to the missile, and then turn around to escape from the enemy aircraft, creating a large vulnerability window. A very long BVR engagement may take 40–60 seconds from firing to the beginning of terminal guidance where the missile turns on it’s own radar when it’s close to the enemy aircraft. In the case of Pakistani aircraft firing their PL-15 missiles, the fighter was primarily being used as a missile truck. This “shoot‑and‑scoot” (or more precisely “shoot‑and‑stay‑cold”) tactic reduced exposure time to enemy aircraft by staying outside of its missile range.
A large percentage of aircraft kills over decades been accomplished against adversaries that lacked real time situational awareness. The availability of radar warning receivers, high tech radars, missile approach warning systems on latest 4+ generation combat aircraft were designed to mitigate the lack situational awareness to enable them to make decisions based on real time activity. The use of only third party systems to complete the kill chain on the morning of May 7, 2025 by Pakistan Airforce took away real time situational awareness from Indian aircraft.
In 2024 the USA deployed the AIM-174B ultra long range air to air missile on F-18 Super Hornet, and achieved a target kill hundreds of kilometers away. A ship radar and E-2D AEW&C aircraft controlled the entire kill chain through highly secure datalink. These long range solutions are likely to have major ramifications in the future, with the production of even longer range missiles guided by a foolproof and redundant kill chain consisting of ground and sea radars, AEW aircraft, real time satellite tracking, and very large air to air missiles that can hit targets 500–1,000 kilometers away. Some modern aircraft like the F-15EX are capable of launching twelve BVR missiles in a single mission.
I Regret Asking for an Open Marriage, My Perfect Husband Left Me
These “Open Relationship” stories are horrible. What were these people thinking?
If communism is good, why are the Chinese migrating to other countries?
Easy rebuttal.
310,000 Chinese renounced their citizenship in 2024.
In contrast.
480,000 people migrate away from the UK every year.
1100,000 people migrated away from the USA annually.
Per-capita for both the UK and USA it is vastly higher than China.
You can divide across easily. EDIT (bad late night maths)
In the UK 1 in 132 people migrate away each year.
In the USA 1 in 360 people migrate away each year.
In China 1 in 4200 people migrate away each year.
Which number is bigger?
Can the US really decouple from China? Why or why not?
Decouple? How?
In terms of absolute volume, China does way more trade than the US. Just TEUs alone, China is a good 5-6x the US, 300–330m vs. 40-50m, including transshipment.
Economists will be forgiven for thinking China is the number 1 economy AND the world’s factory, given the colossal difference.
What keeps America on top is the value of assets and wages stateside. It is not well known that the size of the Chinese workforce is 5-6x America’s. It is also strange that the same century old brownstone in a hardly changed Manhattan neighborhood continue to command rising prices that outstrip people’s ability to pay.
America can generate flat or less electricity, sell fewer new cars, price an entire generation out of homes, run massive deficits and still report a booming economy year in and out.
America in 2025 has way fewer options to fix china than it did in 2012, when the pivot to Asia was announced.
If decoupling was impossible then, it is impossible now.
Just look how desperate Scott was to meet the Chinese contingent in Geneva, and completely walk back April’s tariff escalation with a 90-day pause.
We will know if Donald is serious come august, when the pause ends and he will have to escalate or end the tantrum.
If it is the latter, the result will speak for itself, with the disrupted trade flow demonstrating the fallout of strategic overreach.
If it is the former, it reinforces the tacit admission by Scott that China is vital to American economic wellbeing.
We shall see.
Not everybody, can say that they got to work with Frank Sinatra.
Ernest Borgnine: “I went to work the first day and as luck would have it, my first scene was with Frank Sinatra and I’m dying inside, because here was the man who sang ‘Nancy’ (I named my daughter because of that song).
My idol, my everything.
I loved him in everything he ever did.
And I said, ‘How can I, a mere nothing, come on here?’… but I knew I had to play this part as the meanest s.o.b. that ever existed, otherwise the part won’t play.
So I was out there pounding the piano and everything else, and we started this scene. I’m looking around and I see Frank Sinatra dancing with this girl.
And I see Montgomery Clift over with somebody else.
And over standing on the side were Deborah Kerr and Burt Lancaster talking to Fred Zinnemans.
I was just engulfed with stars.
And I’m just shaking, you know. And Fred suddenly looked up and said, ‘Okay, begin the scene!’
So we started. I’m playing the piano and it came to the point where Frank says, ‘Come on, why don’t you stop this banging on the piano, will ya? Give us a chance with our music.’
And I stood up to say my first line.
I said, ‘Listen, you little wop.’ He looked up at me, and as he looked up at me, he broke out into a smile and he said, ‘My God, he’s ten feet tall!’ Do you know, the whole thing just collapsed.
His laughter broke the tension. It was so marvelous. I’ve never forgotten Frank for that.
He was the most wonderful guy to work with that you ever saw in your life. He knew how I must have felt, you know. And because of it, he took the time to break that tension.
That’s something that I have done with everybody that I’ve ever worked with since. I break the ice for the other people.
And I think it’s nice, because it reverberated all down the line.”
Photo: Ernest Borgnine and Frank Sinatra in From Here to Eternity, 1953.
What is the most bogus charge you’ve seen on a bill?
My first husband walked in on a robbery and was shot in the head. At the hospital he was declared brain dead and I was asked if he was an organ donor. I and his parents (we’d only been married 4 months) decided it was something he would want to do. The hospital transplanted his heart, both kidneys, skin and corneas. It was a positive at a time when we were all so very devastated. Then the hospital bill comes. They wanted us to pay for the surgery to remove his organs. I refused and never heard anything else about it, but I always wondered how many people they did that to.
Pictures
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What long range air to air missiles does China currently possess? Can they engage other countries’ fifth generation stealth fighters from medium ranges?
According to what an Indian netizen said above, “China’s air-to-air missiles do have strong data on paper, but they have not been tested in actual combat.” I am Chinese and I want to share my opinion. First of all, China is much more pragmatic than the United States. This means that the direct data released by China is often lower than the actual performance of the weapon. For example, the PL15E missile, China’s paper data is 145km, but the actual test results in the Pakistan-India war exceeded 200km.
The PL15 used by China itself has a longer range than the foreign trade version of the PL15E. It is said to be 300km. So I say that when Indian netizens doubt that China’s paper data is too bright and there is no actual data to support it, they should be soberly aware that the PL-15 missile has been used in actual combat in India, and the data is better than their paper data.
China currently has about 300,000 military engineers, which is 5-10 times that of the United States. I currently believe that China’s actual military strength is 5-10 times that of the United States. China’s military strength has always been underestimated by the West and underestimated by the paper data directly released by China. China is a low-key empire and does not like to brag like India and the United States. But this does not mean that the actual performance of Chinese weapons is lower than the paper data. In fact, on the contrary, the actual data of Chinese weapons is often better than the paper data.
At this point, is MAGA its own political party?
Does anything MAGA stands for qualify as politics? If I despise my neighbour because he’s black, is that a political viewpoint, or just a sad human failing?
Politics, at its core, is (or at least should be) about improving a society’s lot. It’s supposed to make things better for as many people as possible. If we all already lived in a God-made Utopia, there would be no need whatsoever for politics or politicians.
For that reason, MAGA could never qualify as a political party. Hatred is not a policy for improvement; it’s an emotion.
Imagine sending ALL of MAGA to their own uninhabited colony, far away from the rest of us. How long would they last? They thrive purely on hatred, so with no more trans people or gays or immigrants or libs to pick on, where would they direct their hatred, sadism, and greed, if not at one another? They’d destroy each other in no time.
They’re not a political party; they’re a virus. Left to their own devices, and with no libs to blame for everything, they’d eventually munch each other up like Pac-Man balls.
Chipotle Burgers with Spicy Onions
These tasty Chipotle Burgers will have everyone’s taste buds singing!
2 egg whites, or egg substitute equivalent to 1 egg
4 toasted hamburger buns
Sliced tomatoes (optional)
Lettuce (optional)
Instructions
Heat oil in large nonstick skillet, add onion and cook until golden and tender, about 10 minutes.
Stir in 1 tablespoon seasoning blend, mix thoroughly and remove from heat.
Gently mix ground beef, 1 tablespoon seasoning blend, cilantro, and egg whites or egg substitute. Mix well, and shape into 4 burgers.
Heat grill to medium high heat and grill burgers for 8 to 10 minutes, turning once.
Toast buns and top with burger and spicy onions.
Garnish with tomato and lettuce, if desired.
Attribution
Recipe and photo used with permission from: Mrs. Dash®
What was life like in China in the 1990s?
Quite an interesting question, but it’s too vast to answer comprehensively. I’ll just jot down some random memories, which might be very scattered.
China in 1990…
I had just left my small mountain village to attend university in Beijing.
The most significant event in China that year was hosting the Asian Games.
The entire nation mobilized for it, eager to leave a good impression on international guests.
Back then, China was like a genteel lady from a distinguished family fallen on hard times.
To welcome guests, she pawned her last piece of jewelry, washed her shabby clothes until they couldn’t be cleaner, and tidied her impoverished home until it was spotless.
On both sides of Beijing’s streets, all the dilapidated houses were hidden behind short, newly built walls. The houses were coated with silver-gray paint to look better, but to save resources, only the upper halves were painted.
This was because foreigners were unlikely to take buses, only taxis, so their line of sight would align with the walls, missing the unpainted, unsightly lower halves.
At that time, the average income in Japan was 90 times that of China.
The best missile engineers in China earned far less than any dishwasher in New York. As a result, “dishwashing” became a cultural symbol, meaning to emigrate to the United States.
China was very poor back then, and out of pride mixed with inferiority, it cared deeply about foreigners’ opinions.
One of my relatives, a senior engineer, often interacted with German and Japanese counterparts and was frequently invited to banquets.
The state trained them in Western dining etiquette, and before each banquet, they were gathered to eat heaps of carbs until they were stuffed.
This was to prevent them from gobbling food out of hunger or greed at the banquet, which would be too humiliating for China’s dignity.
(I am honored to tell you all that he is about to turn 100 years old. He is still in good health and lives a life of wealth and dignity.
Before attending banquets hosted by foreigners, he used to fight against his physiological instincts by desperately stuffing himself with rice in advance to ward off hunger — it felt like a nightmare.
I will never forget the moment when he held me, still a child, in his arms and burst into tears:
“China will become strong again and regain its place among the great nations of the world. But I won’t live to see it. For China’s GDP to surpass Japan’s, we’ll have to wait until at least 2085. The hope lies with your generation — and your children’s!”
And guess what? In 2010, China’s GDP surpassed Japan’s — 75 years ahead of schedule.
As for becoming strong… he lived to see it.)
My family was relatively well-off, and my parents loved me dearly, so I had 100 yuan a month for living expenses.
A decent meal at the university cafeteria cost about 2 yuan.
If I was frugal, 100 yuan was enough.
But I was a big spender, picked up bad habits like smoking and drinking, and bought books, so 100 yuan wasn’t enough.
Luckily, China was entering a golden age of magazines and periodicals.
Magazines with monthly circulations exceeding a million were common, some even reaching five or six million, totaling billions of copies.
With China’s population at just 1 billion, that meant each person was buying several magazines a month on average.
I was an engineering student with no writing training, but I heard you could make money writing novels. Having read a lot since childhood, I bought manuscript paper and stamps and started “creating!”
Those nonsensical, haphazard “bizarre stories” somehow got published.
It was a strange era. People’s demand for reading exploded, but there weren’t many writers, so a 10,000-word story could earn 1,000 yuan in royalties, while a worker’s monthly salary was only 100–200 yuan.
A 10,000-word story I cobbled together earned me 1,000 yuan—almost half a year’s salary for a well-paid worker!
Back then, the best-selling publications weren’t even well-known magazines but rather some bizarre small ones, with story titles like Confessions of a Prostitute or Thirteen Years in a Brothel. Poor me, a virgin who’d never even held a girl’s hand, couldn’t write that stuff.
I could only churn out tales like Laser Hero vs. Aliens or The Most Bizarre Murder Case. Surprisingly, they had a pretty wide audience. (People my age might still remember a so-called Hong Kong beauty writer named Xue Mili, who wrote nearly 80+ popular thriller-romance stories set in Western countries, 007-style “fists and pillows” tales. I was a loyal reader. I’ve forgotten most of the content, but one scene still sticks with me: the male and female leads enter a train’s soft-sleeper compartment, start making love, and the rhythmic swaying of the train means they barely need to exert themselves…)
Years later, I learned she(?) was actually a bald Sichuanese man who never left Sichuan his entire life. All his knowledge of Western countries came from reading other magazines. But his writing and imagination? Truly remarkable. The guy was a genius!
So, during university, I submitted stories often and earned more than my father’s salary.
Taiwan had a similar era. A high school senior wrote similar haphazard novels. His father was a high-ranking Nationalist official, but his earnings paled in comparison to his son’s.
One day, the student told his father he’d bought a villa with his royalties.
But amazingly, the royalty rates for Chinese story magazines, even 30 years later, are still about 100 yuan per thousand words, barely rising.
Memories are like monkeys in a fruit tree—toss them a pebble, and they might mimic you, picking a fruit and tossing it back.
Writing this, I think of that 17-year-old lad, riding a rickety bicycle, clutching a money order from a magazine, whistling carefree as he pedaled to the post office.
The girl at the post office counter smiled, her eyes arching like crescent moons,took the money order, shocked by the “huge” amount, looking at the 17-year-old with envy and admiration.
In her crescent-moon-shaped smiling eyes, the lad was probably a “novelist.”
Feeling a bit sentimental now. I’ll stop here for today.
If I have time, I’ll add more later.
After all, what China was like in the 1990s is just too enormous a question.
Why are fighter pilots so badly paid if they are in charge of such expensive machines and their skill is crucial for victory?
It is believed that people who become fighter pilots do not get well-paying salaries. This thought does not seem to work out well.
It is understandable that at first the salary might appear small. However, that is just the first step. Pilots also enjoy extra funds for housing that is tax-free. This applies to food as well as money is saved on taxes. There is also a fee for boarding the plane known as flight pay. To conclude, the earnings are greater than many people assume even for beginners.
But with time it gets even better. Those who climb the pilot ranks often receive pay raises. Pilots with many years of experience in flying generally earn a good income.
One more thing to consider is retirement. Fighter pilots often retire after 20 years of dedicated work in their 40s. This means they will get monthly payments for life and the payments tend to keep up with rising prices. They can also get extensive healthcare for themselves and their family members.
It takes serious dedication and care to do this job well. You handle the difficult task of operating advanced and pricey aircraft in challenging conditions. The idea that they earn less than other professionals? That is not correct. The full picture shows that fighter pilots are in good condition.
Sir Whiskerton and the Case of the Quantum Chicken: A Tale of Eggs, Entanglement, and Existential Hens
Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for a tale so baffling, so egg-ceptionally paradoxical, that even Schrödinger’s cat would demand a refund. Today’s adventure begins with an egg that defies physics, a dog who chases it through literal space-time, and a raccoon chef who just wants to make an omelet. So, grab your quantum textbooks (or a very confused chicken) and join me for Sir Whiskerton and the Case of the Quantum Chicken: A Tale of Eggs, Entanglement, and Existential Hens.
The Egg That Wasn’t (And Also Was)
It started as a normal Tuesday—until Doris the Hen let out a shriek that rattled the barn doors.
“MY EGG IS EVERYWHERE!” she wailed, flapping at the nesting box.
Sure enough, there it was: a single, perfectly ordinary egg.
Except it was also in the pond.
And also in Chef Remy’s lab.
And also balanced on Gnomeo’s hat (he hadn’t noticed yet).
Sir Whiskerton adjusted his monocle so hard it cracked. “Fascinating. This egg appears to be in a superposition of locations.”
“A what-ition?!” Doris squawked.
“It’s quantum,” Sir Whiskerton said.
“It’s terrifying,” Doris corrected.
The Farm in Flux
Chaos erupted as the egg’s quantum uncertainty bled into reality:
Rufus the Radioactive Dog chased the egg through dimensions, leaving glowing green paw prints in mid-air. (“I CAUGHT IT! …Wait, no I didn’t! …Wait, yes I did?!”)
Chef Remy tried to cook the egg, but it kept teleporting into his hat. (“Zis is not how soufflés work!”)
Bessie the Tie-Dye Cow stared at the egg in awe. “Whoa… it’s, like, everywhere and nowhere, man.”
Gnomeo finally noticed the egg on his hat and screamed. (“I’M HAUNTED!”)
Meanwhile, Doris had a full existential crisis in the coop. “AM I A GOOD MOTHER IF MY EGG ISN’T REAL?!”
The Solution (Sort Of)
Sir Whiskerton, ever the pragmatist, devised a plan:
Stop observing the egg (collapsing its wave function just made it angry).
Lure it with corn (quantum particles love snacks).
Let Rufus “fetch” it (his glowing paws somehow stabilized spacetime).
The egg finally settled in the nesting box—probably.
“Is it… normal now?” Doris whispered.
“Define normal,” Sir Whiskerton said, as the egg briefly flickered into a tiny black hole before turning back.
The Moral (And the Omelet That Never Was)
Moral of the Story? Some questions—like “Where’s my egg?” or “Why is the goat floating?”—are best left unanswered.
Chef Remy, defeated, served quantum pancakes instead. (“They’re both fluffy and flat,” he grumbled.)
The End.
Post-Credit Scene:
The egg hatches. The chick immediately teleports onto the farmer’s head.
Best Lines:
“MY EGG IS EVERYWHERE!” – Doris, quantum physicist
“I CAUGHT IT! …Wait, no I didn’t!” – Rufus, interdimensional fetcher
“Zis is not how soufflés work!” – Chef Remy, culinary victim
Starring:
Sir Whiskerton (Uncertain Detective)
Doris the Hen (Mother of the Multiverse)
Rufus (Glowy Time-Traveling Dog)
Chef Remy (Quantum Chef of Great Disappointment)
Key Jokes:
The egg wins hide-and-seek forever.
Bessie tries to meditate with it (“Be one with the egg. …Wait, where’d it go?”).
The farmer frames a photo of the egg titled “Maybe?”.
P.S.
Remember: If your breakfast is both cooked and raw, blame science.
“I Asked My Husband If My Guy Best Friend Could Join Our Relationship—He Left Without Saying a Word”
You don’t know how difficult life can be once yours has been erased. One stint in Jail, or worse yet prison, and your life and career is gonna be a hard climb.
Add being labeled as a “sex offender” and your life is over. Heck. I couldn’t even get work cleaning up dog shit from the local Humane society shelter.
But now…
…with the manosphere, red pill movements and all the rest… the light of day is beginning to shine on how easy it is to destroy someone though accusation.
Anyways. Take my experiences to heart.
Make sure that you are protected; that you have a STRONG network of friends and family. that you have savings, and untouchable assets.
Oh sure, I made a lot of mistakes.
But the best things that I did was put money in foreign banks only accessible by myself and my fingerprint. Then make up a network of friends in China untouchable by the crazy bullshit in the USA.
Now… Jeeze Louise…
The USA is now full-on Crazy Town. One of the recent videos talks about how unhealthy Americans are right now. And lordy over 70% are clinically obese, and over 50% have diabetes.
I endured and (somehow) landed on my feet. There’s a lot of reasons for that. But my point is simple… be careful and do not… NEVER allow a single person to accuse you of something that you did not do that destroys FUNCTIONALLY your life, your industry and your career.
Today…
When did a sad reaction from your parents break your heart?
When I was 17, my father was infuriated that I didn’t do the trad Chinese thing. Go to university and become a white collar worker of some kind. It had to be:
Doctor – (wasn’t smart enough)
Lawyer – (didn’t want to do it)
Accountant – (didn’t want to do it)
There’s also a small cohort that go into architecture but every UK Chinese I know who went into it failed at the 7 year qualifying period. They really tried guilt tripping me that they wanted my life to be better than theirs. They were trad types where university automatically meant a good job. They of course only saw the people at the TOP of the pyramid.
Look! Look at our accountant! He has a nice car and a big house! My dad of course didn’t recognise survivorship bias. He had the old mentality get a white collar job earn loads of money, get married at 25 have children at 27 etc etc.
He recognised it (survivorship bias) about 10 years later when my generation of UK born Chinese started burning out in their jobs.
As above Lawyers, accountants, and part qualified architects started quitting and doing something else and seemed to burn through their 20s and simply become depressed and that there were tons of families where their sons/daughters simply worked ordinary jobs. The biggest hammer blow to his mentality was where Patrick a Cambridge graduate ended up quitting his job as a partner in a finance firm and opening his own takeaway, as it was less stressful but more money.
I was of course vindicated by my early 20s, my golden child Chinese cousins who did the whole university shebang were in their final years and just entering the job market. I had been in China getting contacts and building my own business.
The second time I broke my parents was when I renounced my UK citizenship. As with the trad Chinese mentality of post WW2, I had apparently won the GOLDEN LOTTERY TICKET by being born in the UK with full UK citizenship. They were why? It’s not so bad here! I told them look China is the future. Then the UK had some serious problems after 2019. My dad goes there (the UK) and says WTF when he sees prices go up frequently. He literally said in 2023 I was right to choose to live here.
EDIT
Semi unrelated
Check this out. It shows how deeply propagandised Americans are. I don’t even write anything about the Chinese government in my post. I write about my personal experiences growing up as an overseas born Chinese. Yet he feels like he can step into my thread use People vs Hall 1854 against me and then slunk away playing victim.
How often do you see me go into threads of people I’ve never interacted with before and call them USAID,NED, CIA posters? There clearly are lots of them with the number of hollow accounts we witness here.
Man Finds Out Wife Cheated With His Friend, Then Did This
What are the real reasons behind imposing tariffs, if reviving US manufacturing isn’t possible according to some experts?
Trump played a great political game.
His MAGA theme resonates with many Americans. He convinced them that tariff would bring home manufacturing and make America great again.
He convinced them that there would be no retaliations. Other nations would not dare. He would cut them off from the American market. America has the world’s most wonderful economy and the mighty dollar.
He convinced them this was payback time for America to regain its power and influence that Biden lost, and for the long years of ripped-off by other nations. His tariff will reverse the trade deficit. The worst offenders are Mexico, Canada, Europe, Japan, South Korea, and China.
Therefore, his purpose was also revenge.
Then he wants his tariff to bring in revenue to pay for his tax cuts, to reduce government and trade deficits, and to reduce the national debt.
He sees his tariff the universal panacea.
Americans did not bother to analyze nor care that his purposes are in conflict. This was the heat of the campaign. But even now with time to pause and ponder, they would rather hear from him than what experts might say.
Overall, tariff is his way to ride on America, his ego to show strength and power, the lord and king of the universe. He would be sorely pissed by the retaliations from Canada and EU, and especially by China.
Why does China look so confident in this trade war vs. the USA? Can finance/economic experts tell us something we don’t know?
You don’t have to be an expert, you just need to read newspapers regularly.
China discovered already in 2016–20 that USA could change its attitude drastically on a whim. They designed their economy to not be taken by surprise.
So they have built in resilience. And they have prepared counter-measures. Surely you realize why Musk is so strongly against the trade war? He has just been locked out from Chinese rare earth elements, that’s why. The Chinese sits on a huge portion of the raw materials needed to build EVs and solar panels and microchips and, for that matter, F35s, and they just enacted export controls – they call it “licensing” or something, but the bottom line is, Teslas can’t be built in the USA anymore, and they’ll probably stop supplies to the Tesla factory in Germany, provided the Germans still lets it operate despite the environmental disaster it’s proving to be.
And that’s just one obvious example. Vietnam was USA’s partner in the region to contain Chinese expansionism; Vietnam had even specialised in supplying USA with things they needed – and out of nowhere, USA decided that this supply was somehow “unfair”, slapped unilateral tariffs on Vietnam, and guess who’s going to buy all that stuff now even if they lose money on the deal? China, that’s who. The tariffs just handed Vietnam to China.
There’s a lot of that sort of thing going on right now. The Chinese leadership might be many things, but “stupid” is not one of them.
They were prepared.
And at the same time, it’s obvious that the US tariff regime was slapped together in an afternoon by people who had no clue what they were doing.
Of course the Chinese are totally confident. They were prepared, they know that the USA wasn’t.
Trump SMASHES Big Pharma! Slashes Drug Prices to Save Americans BILLIONS!
Do you think you are ugly? Why or why not?
Physically speaking? I know that I am. I’m middle-aged. I’m overweight. My skin carries scars. There’s nothing physically appealing about me anymore. I’m keenly aware of my shortcomings when it comes to how the world looks at me.
But my heart is full of love and tenderness and compassion. My backbone is full of steel resolve. My voice speaks with straightforward truth. My mind is intelligent.
Am I ugly? Well, you can be the judge. But your answer says more about your character than it does about me.
“How are you feeling today?””We’ve got another storm on the way, I’d wrap up if I were you.””Really?” exclaimed Murr looking around. “There’s not a cloud in sight.””I feel it, Murr,” Ansel slapped his knee. “This dang arthritis has never steered me wrong. I feel a big one on the way.””Well if you’re sure Ansel, I’m going get a move on. Thanks for the warning.” Murr pulled out a stack of envelopes and a small package from his mail bag and handed them over.”Thanks,” Ansel began flipping through his letters.”No problem. I hate to be nosey, but I noticed another one from the library. You have something overdue? You know, I’m stopping by there everyday. I could always return it for you.””Yeah, yeah. It’s okay, I’ll get it back to them soon.”
“They can rob you blind with those late fees, I’d be careful.”
“Thanks Murr, get yourself out of the rain.”
“There’s not a cloud in the sky, I’ve got some time.” Murr continued down the street far too slowly.
Ansel sighed and opened up the letter from the library.
“Beginner’s Acupuncture,” he mumbled to himself. “Overdue, five weeks… two-hundred bucks?!” He held the letter up and looked it over again. “That’s wild.”
He got out of his rocking chair with a groan. His knee was stiff. Holding his mail to his chest, he hobbled inside and flipped on the weather channel.
His least favorite face came on the screen: Roland, terrible weatherman.
“What do you have for us today, fraud?”
“For those of you staying at home,” Roland started. “You’re missing one of the most beautiful days of the year.”
Ansel let out a mocking snort. Roland continued, unphased.
“With a high of seventy, and a low of sixty-five, today’s a great day to get your vitamin D in the valley.” Ansel held his knee in protest of this information. There’s no way that was true.
“And when you’re done getting that tan, come by the library where I’ll be doing a signing for my new book: Weather and Whatever. It chronicles the life of your favorite weatherman, from his varsity football days to his years on your television screen, every morning seven AM sharp. See you there.”
Ansel turned off the TV, revealing his hunched over visage in the reflection. His knee hurt. There was a storm coming and it was going to rain out Roland’s book signing, he was sure of it.
He turned to his bookshelf and scanned for Beginner’s Acupuncture, he paused at the framed photo of his football team. There was Roland at the front, always had to be at the center of the world.
Ansel’s hand landed on the book and he pulled it off the shelf. He needed to use it before he got anymore late fees. He set the book and the package Murr brought by on the counter and began to leaf through the pages.
“Knee, knee, knee…” Ansel whispered to himself. “Knee.” He’d found the section.
DO NOT USE NON-ACUPUNCTURE NEEDLES
The warning at the start of the chapter was bold and centered, not to be missed. But you must be licensed to buy the real kind of needles, Ansel thought as he ripped open his package. These were pretty standard sewing needles, as thin as he could find.
What’s the big deal? He was getting desperate for some relief.
“Yang Ling Quan,” he read aloud. “Located below and in front of the head of the shinbone.” He felt around on his knee, looking at the diagram. “That’s got to be the yingling.”
“Yin Ling Quan,” he continued. “On the outside of the lower leg, below, and in front of the head of the shinbone.” He felt around as he read until he was satisfied.
He looked out his kitchen window, the sky was still clear. Maybe his knee was just getting worse. It all started the day Roland tackled him at practice, a prank gone wrong. Or maybe a rivalry gone too far, but it had been getting worse with age. The party trick of feeling incoming storms was getting old.
Ansel felt again for the Yang Ling Quan and held his finger to it as he pulled out a needle. This was just a test, he could always get the real needle when he got serious about this. He drove the needle in above his finger.
Nothing. He felt nothing. The pain stopped. Then pain shot through his entire leg, and up through his body. His vision went white and he heard a loud bang.
Laying on the floor, he came to. There was wind howling through his kitchen. He pulled himself up and realized the kitchen window had burst open, and a giant crack was letting water in.
Ansel went into his bathroom to grab a towel. Coming back into the kitchen, he peered out the broken window and saw a smoldering hole in his back yard. That must have been the bang, he thought. Lightning struck right outside.
He couldn’t wait to see what Roland had to say about this. He turned on the weather channel. Roland was reporting live from the library, at his signing.
“We’ve never seen a storm like this in the one hundred fifty years of our town! I advise everyone to shelter in place under the storm calms down. There’s a strong possibility of tornados touching down as well…” Roland continued as Ansel smirked to himself.
He looked down to his knee and saw the needle still there. It had really worked, no pain, no aches. He pried the needle out and studied it. Who needs acupuncture needles? These work fine.
The aching began to return, quickly, and worse than before. He felt around for the Yang Ying Quan and held his finger there, driving the needle back in. His TV lit up and the room glowed white. Ansel flew backwards into his coat stand.
Lighting had struck his TV, and left a smoldering pile of junk. Laying on his back, Ansel looked to his knee, then to the TV. What were the odds? Two strikes at the same moments he jabbed himself. There’s no way that’s coincidence.
He pulled himself up by his coat rack and put on a poncho. Whatever was happening, he was going to unleash it on Roland.
Why D.C. Gets China So Wrong
Why is China so annoyed when high representatives of countries meet and/or honor people such as the Dalai Lama or HK exiled activist Nathan Law? Shouldn’t countries be free to host the Lama or Law freely if they wished? Opinions? Thank you.
Think how would US reacted if Chinese president met with Bin Laden and praise him as the “freedom fighter of the islamic world”?
Of course Dalai Lama dislikes PR China,
He literally owned those serfs before communist party of China caming into Tibet.
Beglium colonizers, along with all colonizers understand Dalai Lama.
Think how would US reacted if China rescued Tsarnaev brothers whom commited Boston Marathon bombing because they are considered as the warriors who dared to fight against suppressive US regime?
Think what would Americans say when they found out that Tsarnaev brothers once met Chinese officials?
The dark blue shirt and gray jeans is Nathan Law BTW. The one in black shirt and blue shorts is Josha Wong, a close commrade of Nathan. The lady is Julie Eadeh, who worked for US consulate in HK.
How about the organizers of storming Capitol Hill got caught meeting with Chinese officials?
Or the organizers of BLM meeting with Chinese officials?
Think what would US politicians reacted if Americans took over Capitol Hill and showing banner saying “there is no rioter but tyranny!”
They’d ask their body guards to pull out pistols and shoot on site:
The pistol is pointing up because he just fired a round, and hit a female on her neck.
It’s all about perspective, and it can be changed from time to time.
Do you think the Tibetan serfs would like to have Dalai Lama back?
Not really. Mao was and is praised as Manjushri in Tibet, which is the buddha of the wisdom.
If you consider the silent majority as non-human, then these 2 regions should be “free”.
Blue Cheese Hamburgers with Barbecue
Sauce and Sautéed Mushrooms
416e8ac766ea64b99a96125e8c3d8776
Ingredients
Hamburgers
3 pounds ground beef
1 teaspoon cumin
1 teaspoon paprika
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 teaspoon chili powder
1/2 teaspoon salt Pinch cayenne pepper
4 ounces blue cheese
Salt and pepper to season
8 onion rolls, cut in half
Sautéed Mushrooms
4 tablespoons butter
4 tablespoons minced onions
4 tablespoons minced shallots
1 pound fresh mushrooms, sliced
Salt and pepper to taste
1/4 cup beer
Barbecue Sauce
1/2 cup ketchup
1/2 cup light brown sugar
1/4 cup spicy brown mustard
1/4 cup molasses
1/4 cup cider vinegar
3 cloves garlic, crushed
Instructions
Hamburgers
In a large bowl combine the ground beef, cumin, paprika, pepper, chili powder, salt and cayenne pepper.
Gently form into 16 (3 ounce) patties about 1/2 inch thick.
Use a spoon to make an indentation in the center of 8 of the patties.
Place 1/2 ounce blue cheese in the indentation and cover with another patty.
Gently form into burgers.
Cover and refrigerate.
Just before grilling, lightly season with salt and pepper, then coat with barbecue sauce.
Grill the burgers over a medium fire until done to your taste: 5 minutes per side for rare, 6 to 7 minutes for medium, 9 to 10 minutes for well done.
Remove burgers from grill and brush with more barbecue sauce.
Toast the rolls and serve the burgers topped with the Sautéed Mushrooms.
Barbecue Sauce
Heat all ingredients in a saucepan over medium high heat. Bring to a boil then lower the heat and let simmer for 30 minutes, stirring frequently.
Remove from heat and remove the crushed garlic cloves.
Sautéed Mushrooms
Heat the butter in a medium nonstick skillet over medium high heat.
Add onions and shallots and cook until they are tender, about 2 to 3 minutes.
Add the mushrooms, season with salt and pepper and sauté until the moisture has evaporated.
Add beer, salt and pepper to taste. The beer will evaporate.
Why do some people think that tariffs could lead the US into a recession or even a depression, like the situation in 1929?
Perhaps because within a single fiscal quarter of the Trump-GOP imposed American attack on the entire globalized economy — ugly fiscal reality has forced almost every major US manufacturer to shut down more, then more, of their domestic US production. Trump’s tariffs are a ‘flesh-eating disease’ forcing amputations, then further deeper amputations of US-based production. Hundreds of thousands of American factory jobs have been lost.
To give a sense of perspective? A ‘bean-counter’ analysis confirms that a single fiscal quarter of the Trump-GOP led US assault on the rest of the world has erased more US industrial production than the months of ‘1000 plane raids’ inflicted on WW2 German industry. No hyperbole. There is a modicum of joy (for we the rest of the world) that the Trump-America’s tariff assault casualties are overwhelmingly America. American manufacture. American retail. American workers/consumers.
The tariffs released the rest of the world from commitments to buy American products. That’s what happens when the American seller breaks — dishonours — their deal by raising their price due to tariff inflation. Fleets of Bowing aircraft cancelled – the purchase pivoted to AirBus or to Comac. Fleets of F-35 attack aircraft cancelled. American brand internal combustion vehicles unable to compete in the ‘global auto-mall’ due both to American and reciprocal tariffing. And Tesla, the boring EV, sales plummeting globally to barely 3% of the EV related total. By Q4 2025 it’s likely Apple’s global income will have similarly tanked.
The (outside the US) delightful news of Moody’s ‘taking the US down a notch’ — and the world, er, ‘holding its nose’ and waving “We’ll pass on that” when the US offers its Treasury bonds suggests the rest of the world is tired of propping up the American economy by giving credit where it’s neither wise nor due . . . points to recession or depression.
Without export America’s production will have to fall. To put it mildly. Unless the average American is expected to ‘take up the slack’ created by the loss of 90% of the global market that enriched it? That’s a lot of heavy lifting for Americans already treading water.
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I’m 52 years old and nobody will hire me. Why?
I’m thinking it’s way more than age.
Type of work you do. The job market where you live. Your particular field.
I retired from a Federal govt job at 62. I realized I didn’t really like retirement.
I posted a resume on Indeed.
Right away I got some calls for interviews.
A medical device company, a railroad, a contract govt job, an instructor position.
So I stated going through the interview process. Drug screening. Written exam. Background check. In every case there was heavy overtime on those positions. Over 55 to 60 hours per week. I didn’t find that out until the final interview. I declined those positions. I was only interested in 9 to 5.
Three of them called me later. Offered me the job again. In writing. I declined again.
I work in electronics and live close to NYC.
Here’s the real kick in the ass. I applied to Target, Leows, Home Depot, the supermarket. For part time jobs. Stocking shelves, cashier, customer service. Never heard a word back from them. Applied multiple times. Got, “Thank you for your interest in our company. We will contact you in the future.” Then nothing.
So evidently? If I want to work from 7am to 7pm. Work 6 or 7 days a week. I can go back immediately. At 62,:63, even 64.
If I want to do simple work for 20 hours a a week. I can forget it..
I’ve been doing some Uber. Some side stuff with a friends company off and on. Just out of boredom in winter.
My ex gf is a nurse. She changes jobs constantly. 63. New boss that’s an ass. Change companies. Can’t stand the new coworker? Change jobs. She’s instantly hirable around here.
A friend retired from being a cop at 50. He has a super good pension. He just got a job installing windows in new construction. He’s paid by the job. Not hourly. He’s always busy. 600 windows in a new apartment complex. 400 windows in a new development. Some residential. A little commercial like doctors offices and stores. They trained him completely. Just windows . Nothing else.
I’m not finding anything that rings my bells. I don’t need the money and certainly don’t want to take a job away from someone who does. Just surprising that I keep getting hit up for more than full time work.
“Good morning, citizens! It’s another perfect day in our lovely city of Zog!”“That’s right, Brentley! Make sure you’ve got your Zoggles on, because today’s forecast is… exactly like yesterday’s! Seventy degrees, light breeze, and of course—”“Our usual…”“Perfect blue skies!”“If you’re in need of Zoggles, visit our officially certified provider of pre-approved UV protection—ZogVisor, the only name in optically optimized eye wear…”The cheerful voices of the Zog News Network boomed through every spotless street, playing from polished, sun-powered speakers mounted on every lamppost. Not that anyone really needed a forecast. In Zog, the weather never changed.Never ever.The citizens of Zog went about their day, as they always did. Shopping for groceries at ZapGrocer, where customers can shop at lightning speed. Identical items. Optimized for perfection. No surprises.
“Good morning, Marvin.”
“And a perfect Zog morning to you, Darla.”
Everything was clean. Everything was precise.
At Zog Bakery, the pastries were meticulously constructed. The Hexa Muffin was engineered to be eaten in exactly six bites—no more, no less. That way, Zoggonians never suffered from a tired mouth.
And the Loop Cakes? Each one measured exactly three inches by three inches. They came in only one officially approved flavor: Pleasant.
These perfect desserts were meant to be washed down with a nice cup of ZogBrew, which contained exactly the right amount of caffeine for optimal awakeness.
For youngsters, there was ZogMilk— the caffeine-free beverage of choice. It had the exact texture of milk, yet never spoiled.
Never ever.
Zoggonians enjoyed their perfectly calibrated beverages in their Sip 500— a sleek, monochrome mug that self-warmed and self-regulated to ensure the ideal sipping temperature.
The air was always perfect. The temperature was always exactly seventy degrees. Warm and sunny, perfect for a pair of Zoggles.
But today, something was off. A coolness lingered in the air.
Little Zogling, Otis Zwiff sat in the ZogCart, kicking his feet as his mother steered them toward ZapGrocer. He squinted up at the sky. His eyes became round marbles, glossy and wide.
“What’s that, Mama?”
His mother, Elra Zwiff, didn’t look.
Didn’t want to.
Too much to do today— the floor needed its daily ZogGloss polishing and the auto feeder needed replacing so it could dispense exactly fourteen pellets for Tweepa, who chirped at pre-approved intervals.
She zipped her Z-Pack, the only certified bag in Zog, available in one shape, size, and color: Mellow Yellow.
“Shh. It’s nothing. Nothing at all, my little Zogbun.”
She pushed forward, cart and grocery list in hand.
“No, really. What is that, mama?”
Elra sighed. She glanced upwards, over her shoulder. Her brow furrowed for a moment. Then, she snapped her head down and gripped the cart tighter and kept her eyes glued to the ground. My eyes are playing tricks on me, she thought to herself.
She forced a smile.“Wouldn’t you like to have a Hexa Muffin today?” she cooed to her son.
But Otis continued to point a grubby little finger towards the sky, squealing. Elra tried to shush him, but his tiny voice echoed in the parking lot, growing louder with every step.
People halted.
They stared at the duo, then slowly tilted their heads upward, eyes narrowing for a better look. A ripple of exchanged glances. Some shook their heads. Others turned away. And then they all went about their business.
Because nothing was wrong. It couldn’t be.
Zog was perfect.
“What’s all the fuss about,” one couple said, arms crossed.
A woman gasped, wagging a finger, “Your child needs his Zoggles.”
“And manners!” a man barked.
Elra Zwiff’s face flushed red, as red as a Zog-certified beet. She clutched her Z-Pack. Gripped the ZogCart and did a complete one eighty. Rushed to her ZogPod with her son, who continued laughing hysterically.
Other shoppers kept looking upwards, muttering to themselves.
The Zog Bakery baker stepped out onto the sidewalk, flour on his apron. The ZapGrocer cashier leaned against the door frame, blinking upward in disbelief.
The Loop Cakes sat uneaten and the ZogBrew cooled.
Something in the sky didn’t belong.
–
Across town at the Zog News Network, a monitor flashed.
“What is it?”
The staff huddled around the screen. A sea of necks craned for a glimpse. People in the back balanced on their tiptoes.
“Zoom in!”
“I can’t see!”
“Enhance it!”
Faces grew paler. Murmurs. The air thickened.
The emergency phone on the desk blinked for the first time ever.
A producer stammered. “I’ve heard of this before… but it cannot be! Not in Zog!”
“Someone—bring in the authorities!”
“Get Fadebottom down here ASAP!”
Dintly Fabebottom led the investigation as a swarm of analyzers and officials crowded around his desk, mouths tight, waiting for answers. His hands were sweaty, trembling, but he sat up straighter. Forcing his fingers to stay firm and moving on the keyboard.
As if his posture and proper finger positioning might bring order to the disaster unfolding on the screen.
His leg bounced furiously, an unfortunate side effect of years spent in the labs, consuming far too much ZogBrew and far too little sleep.
He cleared his throat, straightened his tie, and blinked at the screen. Then, slowly, he rolled his ZogErgo chair back and rose.
He knew what it is.
Fadebottom huddled with his team. They whispered. It’s confirmed.
The newsroom inhaled as one.
Dintly gulped. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck.
“Well, what is it, Fadebottom?”
“Tell us!”
“Spit it out, for Zog’s sake!”
A long beat.
Then—
Voice trembling. “It’s confirmed. At approximately 11:32 AM, in the city of Zog…a cumulus cloud has appeared in our stratosphere.”
A gasp.
Myra Lune from accounting clutched her chest.
Zade Flimm, the camera guy, staggered back.
“A cloud! But how?”
“How could it get in?”
“We have the perfect atmospheric temperature.”
“Someone get the mayor on the line!”
“It cannot happen here. It makes no sense! There are no clouds in Zog!”
The monitor flickered. The image remained.
The cloud was real.
And there was nothing they could do to stop it.
–
The streets of Zog were not supposed to feel like this.
Normally, the city stepped to a precise tempo. A uniformed rhythm. Zoggonians walked at the same pace and smiled at the same intervals.
But today—the flow was off.
Above, the cloud loomed. Below, people huddled together under awnings. Nervous chatter built to a crescendo, teetering on the edge of hysteria.
“This isn’t right.”
“No one move!”
“Has the Department of Perfection been informed?”
ZogPods began to pile up in the road, causing a traffic jam. Eventually the gridlock came to a full stop as drivers and passengers abandoned their vehicles, pointing at the sky.
The citizens of Zog looked at one another, lost. Searching for reassurance on each other’s faces.
Then—
The loudspeaker sprang to life.
“Citizens of Zog, do not be alarmed!”
Complete silence fell over the city.
“Nothing is wrong.”
Shallow breaths. Stiff spines. Everyone frozen.
“Zog is perfect.”
A pause.
“Go about your day.”
For a moment, it almost worked.
A man re-tucked his perfectly pressed collared shirt. A women forced a smile. A cashier began scanning items, hands shaking.
Everyone is attempted to return to the usual morning routine.
Then outside—
The first drop fell.
Another drop.
And then another.
And another.
A woman screamed. “It burns!”
A man shielded his head. “My eyes!”
The drops were foreign daggers.
The city of Zog erupted. People ran for cover. ZogCarts scattered in the streets as people deserted their routines and their Loop Cakes. Parents covered their children using elbows, arms, and Z-Packs.
Someone shouted, “It’s happening! It’s real!”
The screens in storefront windows flickered. News anchors in the Zog News Network stared, pale-faced, their hair slightly frizzed from this unfamiliar humidity.
The voice from the loudspeaker returned, feeble.
“Do not be alarmed.”
The words glitched.
“Nothing is wrong.”
But it was.
Because for the first time in Zog’s history—
Rain had appeared.
–
The Zog Unified Police (ZUP) Precinct was in mayhem. Alarms blared—a sound never before heard in Zog: the sound of panic.
Inside City Hall, government officials congregated around a holographic weather projection, their faces stiff with forced composure.
Mayor Wexley Optner was a Zoggonian built for authority, but not for movement—round in the middle, his suit tailored to restrain rather than enhance.
His ZogBrew-colored mustache, waxed and precise, sat above a mouth that was always poised to snap. His voice, bold and brazen, carried an unshakable fortitude of a man who always got what he wanted.
When he entered a room, the shiniest Zappers—the finest, most regulation-approved footwear in all of Zog—clicked in perfect unison against the floor.
He did not adjust to the space. He expected the space to adjust to him.
His pudgy, stick-like fingers drummed against the flawlessly polished conference table, each tap a metronome of impatience and authority.
To him, Zog was not just a city—it was an echo of himself. And Mayor Wexley Optner did not tolerate blemishes.
“We have one job: maintain perfection. This defect must be annihilated—immediately!”
Chief Frawzle of ZUP straightened his shoulders. His voice cut sharper than a Zog approved knife.
“We are prepared to deploy the Atmospheric Correction Protocol.”
“Excellent.” The Mayor exhaled, relieved. “How soon will it be destroyed?”
The Chief nodded to a technician, who pulled up a government-issued control panel labeled: Cloud Destruction Interface
The room watched as silver, aerodynamic drones rose above the city, silently gliding toward the rogue cloud.
“Prepare for obliteration!” shouted the Chief.
A hush.
Then—
A voice broke the silence.
“You cannot do this.”
Heads whipped toward the entrance.
Trembling, disheveled, and marked by a stubborn ZogBrew stain on his half-tucked shirt—Dintly Fadebottom appeared in the doorway.
The same Dintly Fadebottom who had never spoken out of turn his entire life.
“You cannot remove the cloud.”
The room is hummed uncomfortably.
The Chief stared and began walking towards Dintly.
“Excuse me?”
“This is not a glitch. This is not a malfunction.” Fadebottom’s voice grew stronger. “This is real. You cannot erase it, you cannot reprogram it, and you cannot pretend it isn’t happening.”
The Mayor shook his head, which began to turn an unregulated shade of red. His veins bulged to an unnatural blue.
“Fadebottom, you are out of line. This city has flourished because we do not tolerate unpredictability. Ever.”
Dintly took a giant step forward.
“And yet—” he gestured toward the sky, “there it is.”
The cloud remained, slowly inching closer. Darkening.
“Your drones won’t work. According to our calculations, it will just come back tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that!”
Drops began to fall near City Hall.
The drones hovered in limbo, awaiting final confirmation.
The Chief lifted a finger, about to issue the command—
Then—
A lightening bolt struck.
Screams exploded in the hallway and on the streets.
The Mayor stared as a single splatter spread across the polished, pristine conference table. He looked up and noticed a tiny hole in the ceiling.
For the first time ever—
The Mayor was not in control of Zog.
–
Sporting a perfectly pressed, regulation-grade raincoat, Mayor Wexley stood atop the podium outside City Hall. Beside him, his assistant gripped a government issued umbrella, angling it precisely to shield him and his mustache from the downpour.
His voice overpowered the city speakers, spilling into every street, every market, every meticulously ordered home.
“Citizens of Zog, remain calm! The rain you see before you is not a mistake. It is, in fact, a carefully planned innovation! We call it… Hydration Enhancement! A supreme new feature of Zog’s perfect climate!”
Uneasy whispers spread through the drenched crowd. Some skeptical citizens muttered, but others nodded. If the leadership said it was planned… maybe it was?
The Mayor continued:
“For years, Zog has led the way in predictability and flawlessness. But perfection must evolve! Thanks to our tireless efforts, we have introduced Rain 1.0—a premium weather experience designed for maximum hydration and atmospheric variety!”
A banner unfurled over City Hall, displaying the words: “Rain: A Progressive Vision for Zog”.
The officials stepped forward in matching raincoats, handing out official government-certified umbrellas.
A soggy reporter shifted uncomfortably, clutching a dripping notepad.
“So… this was intentional? But what about the cloud?”
The Mayor wiped his forehead and let out a thunderous belly laugh. “Ah, yes! We call it Cloud Plus! A bonus feature. Here in Zog, we’re always pushing the boundaries of excellence.”
He smiled, his mustache curling upwards.
“Perfection continues to smile upon us!”
–
The next morning, Zoggonians woke to misty streets and a brand new weather report.
Brenda, the cheerful news anchor appeared on-screen, her smile extra white and extra bright, as if it had been optimized overnight for peek reassurance.
“Good morning, Zog! Another absolutely perfect day ahead—mild temperatures, no wind, and of course…”
She paused, unshaken.
“Our usual rain cloud!”
The cameras cut to Brentley, her co-host, who sat beside her in a glossy, Zog-certified raincoat, glistening under the studio lights.
Brenda tilted her head, admiring. “You’re looking extra dapper this morning, Brentley. What do you have on there?”
“I’m glad you noticed. This is the latest model- designed for full moisture protection and unparalleled comfort. Citizens, be sure to visit your official certified provider of pre-approved rain gear—ZogFits, the only name in optimized rain protection!”
“Stay dry, out there folks!”
A banner rolled across the bottom of the screen:
“Rain: A progressive weather experience. All citizens encouraged to adjust and enjoy.”
Outside, the cloud lingered overhead. The rain continued.
And in perfect unison, the citizens of Zog opened their government-issued umbrellas, zipped their yellow Z-Packs, and began their day.
–
Otis and Elra Zwiff stepped out onto the damp streets of Zog.
The rain trickled in a quiet disobedience, pattering against the spotless streets.
Otis stomped through puddles.
“Mama, look!” he said, pointing towards the ground.
Elra stiffened and slowly turned her head.
He gestured at something—something new—rooted between the puddles. Something different.
A flower.
Not part of the Zog Standardized Botanical Program.
Not Pleasant Yellow. Not Perfect Pink.
Something else.
Red.
A color Zog has never seen blooming before.
Alive. Unregulated. Wild.
Elra drew a slow breath, the air around her thick with rain and something else—something unfamiliar. Then, a wide smile broke across her face. She and Otis laughed as they splashed through the puddles, hand in hand. Water splattering around them like a quiet rebellion.
Somewhere, Mayor Wexley’s voice hissed over a speaker, demanding the gardening department to be dispatched immediately.
No new species of any kind allowed.
But in the meantime, the rain kept falling.
And the flower kept growing.
Who know world history? Why do many Chinese still hate and dislike the Qing Dynasty even though it had a large territory?
The Qing Dynasty ruled China for more than 300 years, and the Republic of China collapsed after ruling China for only 38 years. There is a logic in this – the more corrupt the government is, the worse the livelihood of the people is, and the more fierce the resistance of the citizens is, the sooner the government will be overthrown.
If you truly understand Chinese history, the Qing government was not the worst. The worst was the Republic of China government that fled to Taiwan.
The principle is simple. Just refer to whether the population is growing or declining (Population growth is an indicator of whether a dynasty is good or not)
At a time when the world market was finally taking shape, the Qing government neither completed its capitalist reforms nor made way for a bourgeois revolution in China, which, in contrast to semi-colonial and colonial countries such as Burma, India, Afghanistan, the Ottoman Empire, Egypt, Ethiopia, South Africa, and others, demonstrated military performances that were grossly disproportionate to the country’s war potential. So, the Qing government was hated and loathed by many Chinese.
The difference is that the citizens of PRC criticise both, while the Taiwanese (民国的遗老遗少) only criticise the Qing Dynasty.
The Han people are hybrids, and the Tang Dynasty royal family, the greatest in Chinese history, also had barbarian blood.
Going back further, the Chinese ancestors Yandi and Chiyou were originally ethnic minorities.
Therefore, it is wrong to interpret Chinese history from the perspective of racism.
The Manchus originated from the Jianzhou Jurchens. The Jianzhou Jurchens were originally the territory of the Ming Dynasty, not a foreign country.
The leader of the Jianzhou Jurchens held the title of prince granted by the Ming Dynasty.
Nurhaci, the founder of the Qing Dynasty, had the hereditary title of prince from the Ming Dynasty.
During the Yuan Dynasty, the “Han people” referred to by the Yuan Dynasty were actually the Jin people (including the Jurchens), while the people of the Southern Song Dynasty were called “Southerners” by the Yuan Dynasty.
Before Yongzheng “changed the chieftain rule to rule by officials sent by the central government”, most of the southern region was a barbarian area and was used as a place of exile for criminal officials.
The great Tang Dynasty poet Liu Zongyuan was exiled to Hunan and Guangxi, so he left behind famous works such as “On the Snake Catcher” and “Eight Records of Yongzhou”.
In a large mixing bowl, mix together ground chicken and crumbled blue cheese until well blended.
Add bread crumbs, egg, buffalo wing sauce, salt and pepper. Mix well.
Divide mixture into 4 equal parts and shape into burgers. If you want to use them at a later date, you can wrap them individually in wax paper and freeze or place them directly on the grill.
Cook over medium heat until cooked thoroughly.
Sauce
While burgers are cooking, mix the sauce ingredients together in a small bowl and set aside until the burgers are done.
Place burgers on buns; add lettuce and sauce.
Hotter Sauce
Sauté onion and peppers in olive oil until tender. Cool and mix into Sauce mixture.
Can India replace China as ‘the’ production hub for Apple and other companies?
As Tim Cook announced to shift a major chunk of production away from China to India, nobody wants to miss India’s growth story. It seems the logo made-in-China is going to be replaced by made-in-India. An estimated 20% of iPhones are currently being made in India. Apple plans to have one in every four iPhones produced in India by 2026.
Will India create the miracle? A friend working in India for years told me some astonishing facts about the country, which may help answer the question:
1. In India, high-end international hotels accept US dollars or euros only, not rupees.
2. Customs clearance for equipment only applies to the province where it enters the country. As it travels through several other provinces, there are layers of hidden fees. You’d better find a transportation company run by someone with local influence—it will save you a lot of trouble.
3. Precision machinery is reinforced and double-cushioned before leaving the factory. But once it arrives at an Indian plant, all debugging starts from scratch. India doesn’t have speed bumps—every road is a speed bump. Is it true, or a joke? I am not sure.
4. In Indian industrial zones, there are power outages. When there isn’t a blackout, there are voltage drops and frequency reductions. Maintenance is another place where people profit.
5. Large factories have labor unions. Strikes happen. Sit-ins start at 8 a.m., break at 11:30 a.m., resume promptly at 1 p.m. According to the law, as long as strikers protest for eight hours a day, the company must continue to pay their wages.
6. Workers in packaging plants wear caps, masks, space suits, and gloves—but go barefoot.
7. Many job positions follow a strange hereditary system—more like a family-designated inheritance. Regardless of ability, when someone leaves, they can appoint a brother, cousin, nephew, or brother-in-law to take over.
It is reported the made-in-India iPhones are maily for US market. Will Americans buy? Will they dare to buy?
India’s labor cost is a third of China, an important driving factor. iPhone is speeding up made-in-India strategy. But it is no easy task. Compared to China, India is facing the challenges of lack of local production chain. Many components needs to transport from China. India is lagging behind in infrastructure.
Sir Whiskerton and the Wingman Woes: A Tale of Love, Hay Trampolines, and a Very Stuck Goat
Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for a tale so romantically disastrous that even Cupid would facepalm. Today’s adventure features misguided machismo, a love letter written in mud hieroglyphics, and a rescue mission involving questionable physics. So, fluff your feathers and join me for Sir Whiskerton and the Wingman Woes: A Tale of Love, Hay Trampolines, and a Very Stuck Goat.
The Crush
Buckley the Goat had it bad. Every time Gertrude the Goose waddled past, his knees wobbled, his ears twitched, and he chewed his own beard nervously.
“Leap with confidence!” – Sir Whiskerton, worst life coach
Starring:
Sir Whiskerton (Failed Romance Guru)
Buckley the Goat (Overly Literal Suitor)
Gertrude the Goose (Unimpressed Savior)
Ditto (Hay Trampoline Enthusiast)
Key Jokes:
Buckley’s “yodel” sounds like a dying kazoo.
The love letter is framed as “modern art” by Bessie.
Sir Whiskerton’s monocle fogs up so much he trips into a trough.
P.S.
Remember: If your romantic gesture requires rescue equipment, simplify.
How was Rafale shot down by the Pakistan Air Force with J10 C+ PL 15 combination? Why couldn’t the Rafale system detect PL-15?
Have a look at the Indians under similiar topics, you get the answer.
Sun Tzu: If you know the enemy and know yourself, you will survive a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will DIE in any battle.
and furthermore, the Chinese and Pakistanis hid a MALICIOUSS FEATURE of PL-15 Abbadon missile.
TECHNICALLY, PL-15 ABBADON WAS ORINGINALLY A STEALTH MISSILE DESIGNED FOR J20 STEALTH FIGHTERS. YOU WON’T RECEIVE ANY LOCKON WARNING UNTIL ITS TOO LATE.
THE PLAAF HAD THEIR OWN J10Cs MASSACRED AT SOME 80:0 ,BY PL-15+J20 COMBINATION IN INTERNAL DRILLS.
Sun Tzu: All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when capable, feign incapacity; when active, feign inactivity. Strike where the enemy is unprepared; attack when they least expect it. These are the keys to victory for a strategist, but none can be disclosed in advance.
The Midnight Game | When Ancient Shadows Come To Play (STRIPPED)