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.
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.
Yummy. Especially when you add ice cream or pudding. Microwave it, or hot out of the oven. Yummy!
Today…
Is China afraid of war? Why has it always exercised such restraint? 21 more answers
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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
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.
A Perfect Day in Zog
Written in response to: “Set your story in a place where the weather never changes.“
Audrey Elizabeth
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.
China Killing Microsoft Windows – Huawei HarmonyOS is the Future
Italian Dressing Beef Sandwiches
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.
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“Mesdames et Monsieurs!” he quacked. “Tonight, we celebrate talent! Singing! Dancing! The dramatic arts!”
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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.
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“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:
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Ratso narrating every act like a hardboiled detective:
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“The dame was a chicken with a past… and a future.” (Doris faints into a feed bag.)
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“The pig crooned like an angel… if angels ate slop for breakfast.” (Porkchop took a bow, then ate the mic.)
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Ferdinand, now unwittingly the saxophonist for this farmyard film noir, played careless whisper on loop.
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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:
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“Ratso, this is a talent show, not a B-movie.”
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Ratso lit a pretend cigarette: “Life’s a B-movie, Whiskerton. Some of us just got better lighting.”
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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.
Post-Credit Scene
Elvis sells autographed eggs: “Limited edition! Contains mystery!” (Doris buys six.)
Best Lines
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“I’ve seen less melodrama in a soap opera about turnips.” —Sir Whiskerton
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“The only thing hardboiled here is that egg Elvis laid.” —Porkchop
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“Atmosphere! Atmosphere!” —Ferdinand, saxophoning into a hay bale
Starring
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Ferdinand (Unwitting Jazz Duck)
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Ratso (Overly Dramatic Rodent)
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Elvis (Egg-Laying Rockstar)
(P.S. The saxophone was later found in Bartholomew the Piñata. No one knows how.)
Cultural Easter Eggs
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Ratso’s narration = parody of film noir clichés.
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Elvis’ egg = nod to gender norms debates (but sillier).
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Glow-in-the-dark cheese = callback to Bessie’s tie-dye phase.
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“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
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
Yeah. Pretty much unforgivable.