A lot of AI generated content, pictures and editorials are saturating the internet. Soon, it will be a complete snare. Forget the free bizarre of strange and crazy ideas. Not its going to be an approved, “safe place” where you are scrutinized, and monitored at every level. It will be full of tailored to you, the viewer full of snares and traps and your reactions will be recorded.
Beware,
Today…
Will Russia fail as a country?
My daughter Margo, my friend Kolya and his dog Fedya taking a stroll in Povarovo, thirty kilometers west of Moscow, Russia.
To get there I passed by the abondaned Mercedes Benz truck factory. They left abruptly in 2022, but the sign is still hanging there. Russians like good serfs expecting the masters to come back one day. After several attempts of trying to make those trucks, they realized that they can’t do it without German engineers.
I took stroll near by friend’s house. I passed by Soviet era Research Institute of Oil Drilling Equipment. It went belly up before the dissolution of the country unable to compete with its Western peers.
This is the testing site of that institute. The sign on the door says: “Beware angry dogs.”
It’s hard to say if this vehicle is operational or abandoned.
This is a Siemens train. Siemens also left Russia after the invasion of Ukraine and Russian engineers didn’t know how to maintain the trains as they had never asked the Germans how this whole thing works.
In the urban settlement, boys with their bikes are blocking the entrance to Rostic’s, a former KFC.
Margot recognized the breed of her dog in the dog food ad on the door of the auto parts shop.
Asphalt is missing everywhere while in Moscow they change asphalt roads at least two times a year to make in kickbacks from the city hall.
Constructions materials next to the railways.
Meat Alley. We stopped to get some meat.
Most of cured meat is from Belarus. It is of good quality. While sausages are local. We got some Belorussian lard and baloney.
Another abandoned Soviet oil research institute. Engineers traveled around the world looking for oil. And lived in this area without running water and indoor toilet.
The iron racks outside that were used by women to hang clothes to dry of the adjacent residential blocks in the Soviet period.
Two lion sculptures guard the entrance to the house of a customs officer. These guys rig paperwork and bump up prices and skim nicely as well as resell confiscated merch together with the cops.
A Soviet era boiler station behind concrete fence with the swastika drawn on it.
The rusty cistern is partially covered with a green net to hide it from the prying eyes of visiting superiors.
A classic gloomy Eastern European scene as if taken from the S.T.A.L.K.E.R video game.
Garbage next to the garbage containers and more puddles.
A building constructed by German prisoners of war and then replicated a decade later for the local apparatchiks. Its like suddenly you immerge from the Soviet doom and gloom and enter a street in some small German town. Just in case you’re wondering who invented AK-47 and Soviet space rocket. German POWs.
Compare with no frills purely functional box of a Soviet design.
A man is doing barbecue outside of his residential block.
Former engineering school houses laborers.
We saw a group of workers from India. They are building the new high speed railway that will connect Moscow with St Petersburg. China will provide engineering, management expertise. India will provide workers. Russia will provide some raw materials and will proudly claim that they designed the trains and built the tracks all by themselves one hundred percent.
My friend is worried that the new tracks will be close to his home and the noise will make it unlivable.
Time to change summer tires to winter tires. Margo is helping out. I bought these Michelen tires five years for 5,000 rubles each. They now cost 40,000 rubles each. For five grand I can buy Chinese tires that’ll last me a season before being torn into shreds.
A woman came in her BMW. The little boy is helping out his dad. His dad, a mechanic, chided the woman that she owns an expensive car but still doesn’t have electricity in her garage.
I paid with QR code through my online banking. No KIA service anymore. They too left Russia. I rely on a mechanic from Povarovo to maintain my car.
He won’t be short of work: Mercedes and Kia are not coming back any time soon.
That’s a problem
What’s the funniest thing you’ve seen someone accidentally put in the wrong place?
For the last few years I have been taking care of a friend that was sliding into dementia. Her family fianilly found a good memory care facility to put her in. When it got so bad that I couldn’t help her. She fades in and out, but she asked her trustee, that if someone was going to sort through her house, could it be me. When the trustee asked me, I said yes. I had worked in her art gallery/gift shop for fifteen years, and we had become good friends. A few years back she had become fearfull about living alone. I knew something wasn’t quite right with her, and I was looking for a new rental anyway. So when she offered her spare room, I said ok. It was a mutual benifit for both of us. She felt safer, and I had cheaper rent. Besides we were friends.
Anyway, She couldn’t remember where she picked something up from, and would put things in some rather odd places. In the last year, she would hide things. The top of a counter top paper towel holder, was put into a box of building supplys. It did look a little like a door knob. She “cleaned” her computer by soaking it in a sink full of dish water. It didn’t work after that, fortunatly it haden’t been plugged in. A piece of fried chicken, was in the kitchen towel drawer. The ants were a sign that something was in there. I found a tv controler in an old bank bag. It took days to find that. I ordered another one, and kept it as a spare. In three months time she lost sixteen toothbrushes. I’m still finding them everywhere. One was pushed into a sock, in the copy machine. No wonder the paper feed wouldn’t work.
Life played a cruel joke on my friend. The loss of memory, is the loss of part of yourself. I see her about once a month. She still remembers me. There will come a time when she won’t know who I am. But I will still visit her. Because a kind voice may help her know she hasn’t been forgotten.
Found without Organs after Receiving an Irresistible Job Offer | The case of Vera Kravtsova
What lessons can Chinese companies learn from the Nexperia incident when expanding globally, especially in Western markets?
Avoid targets in countries where weed and cow dung has more freedom than their people.
It isn’t a joke, if you are doing acquisitions in good faith.
There are, from a new perspective, two types of countries.
Countries with well-established laws, but don’t rule based on them.
Countries that do not have laws well set out, everything is negotiable.
There were times when Chinese companies, Chinese state-owned companies could acquire assets located in proximity to US military bases.
There were also times when proposed acqusitions by Chinese companies in Australia were rejected by regulators, citing national security concerns due to the same.
There were times when acqusition of Taiwanese semiconductor company by US acquirer was blocked by regulators in Taiwan.
There were times when western companies followed antitrust ruling by Chinese regulators for conditional approval.
They were all normal. They are called regulatory review decisions.
But to seize assets after acquisition?
Civilized, or pirates, or mushroom at work?
Doesn’t matter at all. Losses are insigificant. Governments have the power to open or close their markets to you, through whatever action.
If you can‘t do your own homework, let the investment banks and legal firms do it for you, at a smaller cost.
But it has also become meaningless, as governments are killing their own businesses (examples confidential at the moment). Average Joe doesn’t know what it means. It means there is no plan B, all other possibilities are shut down, willingly and voluntarily by all.
Why did the Netherlands seize Nexperia?
It is, in essence, an act of war.
A friend of mine once said that a 5-million-ton nuclear test should be conducted in Dutch territorial waters.
Crude words, yes — but that’s the essence of it.
It’s blatant plunder.
Still, it doesn’t matter much.
China would probably decide that, to prevent losses, a Chinese parent company shall inherit all the intellectual property of its subsidiary — perhaps even open-source it globally.
If the Netherlands is dissatisfied, they can file a complaint in China. If they don’t trust the Chinese courts, they’re welcome to send their warships and try to conquer us.
What the Dutch don’t understand is that they are no longer the “carriers of the sea.”
In fact, the entire West seems to have forgotten one thing: in this world, the one with the strongest military power makes the rules.
The Americans keep talking about a “rules-based international order.”
The question is — whose rules?
Whoever holds the greatest military might defines them.
The Netherlands has a total population of 18.085 million and a land area of 41,528 square kilometers. It is a densely populated and highly urbanized country —
and utterly fragile in the face of nuclear weapons.
I’ve recently heard that a plan type 93 submarine crashed into the bottom of the Taiwan strait ripped itself open and everyone on board drowned. Is this true?
It’s fake news as soon as it’s heard. The day before yesterday it said it was in the South China Sea, but today it said it was in the Taiwan Strait. The Falun Gong media’s credibility is 0. Lol!
Taiwan was originally connected to mainland China, and its strait was formed by plate movement and rising sea levels. The water in the Taiwan Strait is very shallow. There is a land bridge at low tide – Dongshan Land Bridge.
The water in the Taiwan Strait is very shallow, with an average water depth of less than 50M, which is not suitable for submarine navigation at all. Due to the shallowness of the water, if there is a submarine in the Taiwan Strait, it can be seen directly through the naked eye from the surface.
The height of the nuclear submarine itself is nearly 10M. Only an idiot would drive a 10M tall big guy through shallow water averaging 50M depth. 🤣
PLA’s submarines generally operate between eastern Taiwan Island and the Mariana Trench. Next, the PLA’s submarines will head east of the Marianas Trench to squeeze U.S. strategic space in the Western Pacific.
Cross section of the Taiwan Strait
What Ottomans Did To Christian Nuns Was Worse Than You Imagine
What’s your biggest “I Dodged a Bullet” moment?
I knew in my early sixties that I was having memory issues. My attempt to get help fell flat when a neurologist told me everyone has memory issues as they age. Fast forward to 2023 where I found myself standing in my bedroom holding my bra in front of me and realizing I don’t have a clue how to put the thing on. I was lucky to discover that there was a clinical trial starting soon, so I got a free screening, that led to an MRI and a PET scan and sure enough, I have a plaque called amyloid on the brain, which confirms I have Alzheimers.
My first infusion of a drug called Donanemab was in May of 2023 and my last was in November of 2024. Testing at the end of the trial showed that every single person in that trial had greatly reduced the amyloid, and a follow-up in March showed that there was zero decline in spite of not getting the medication since November. My neurologist told me that if I never get another infusion, it would take 12 to 14 years for my brain to deteriorate to the point it was when I walked in the door in 2023. A cognitive check-up in September showed that I was in the normal range for my age. The neurologist told me if I hadn’t been a part of the study, chances are I would be in a memory care facility by now.
I feel like I was part of a miracle, and the drug I received is now FDA approved and available by prescription. I’m sharing my story because it’s so important to get the information out that there’s help available for memory loss, but you have to take the steps to find it.
When Drunk Drivers Realize They’re Killers
Peruvian Potato Salad
(Papas a la Huancaina)
Ingredients
- 1 small onion, thinly sliced and separated into rings
- 3 tablespoons lemon juice
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 1/8 teaspoon ground red pepper
- 1 1/2 pounds new potatoes
- 6 ounces cream cheese, softened and cut into 1/2-inch cubes
- 1/2 cup Half-and-Half
- 2 small serrano chiles, seeded and finely chopped
- 1/4 teaspoon salt
- 1/4 teaspoon ground turmeric
- Bibb lettuce leaves
- 12 Greek olives
- 3 hardboiled eggs, peeled and cut into quarters
Instructions
- Mix onion, lemon juice, 1/2 teaspoon salt and the red pepper; cover and reserve.
- Heat 1 inch salted water to boiling. Add potatoes. Heat to boiling; reduce heat. Cover and cook until tender, 20 to 25 minutes; drain and cool.
- Pare potatoes; cut into quarters.
- Heat cream cheese, Half-and-Half, chiles, 1/4 teaspoon salt and the turmeric over low heat, stirring frequently, until mixture is smooth, 10 to 12 minutes.
- Arrange potatoes on lettuce leaves.
- Spoon cheese mixture over potatoes.
- Drain onion; arrange on cheese and potatoes.
- Garnish with olives and eggs.
Yields 6 servings
A Most Wicked Game
Written in response to: “Start or end your story with a character looking out at a river, ocean, or the sea.“
Victor Amoroso
Horror Romance Science Fiction
It’s strange what desire will make foolish people do.
I never dreamed that I’d meet somebody like you.
And I never dreamed that I knew somebody like you.
As he finished the verse, his eyes, wells of passion, looked up at her, locking her into the rhythm as she tapped her toes with each pulse. Her eyes glanced at the neck tattoo, her mind filing away the dark band that she absently knew encircled it as incorrigible.
His hands were covered in blue ink, in the shape of a wave that curled around from his thumb to his forefinger. They ceased strumming his instrument, and he announced that he would be taking a short break. Claire needed no invitation to follow him to the rear of Donovan’s. In the light of a flickering Rolling Boulder sign, she wordlessly stripped off her ripped jean shorts and wrapped her arms around the symbol of his disgrace.
Her moans were stifled by his tongue setting up in her mouth, while his thrusts provided a memorizing pulse all their own, rippling pleasure throughout every fiber of her body. His muscled arms gripped her body close to his, enveloping her in a sense of safety she had only dreamed of before. He pulled her beneath him as an undertow, unwilling to give her up.
His tongue yanked itself out of her as he spasmed and groaned, filling Claire with his seed. When his trembling ceased, she pulled back her face, to see his more clearly, and smiled. “Hi, my name is Claire!”
***
They sat at the booth near the back, nearly a dozen empty brown bottles standing guard on the pockmarked surface of the table. It took nearly three of those soldiers to get him to tell her his name was Chris.
“Another round Tracy, put them on my tab,” she said with the air of confidence, one that evaporated in just moments of catching his blue eyes.
“Sure thing Claire, I’ll bring them right back,” the bartender retreating, grabbing the bottles and placing them like an offering on the battlefield as tribute before either of them could speak again.
“You don’t have to do that, Tracy and I have an arraignment,” Chris purred.
“Yeah, you fill her up when she wants too?” Claire joked, but his face ended the mirth as soon as it began.
“There are things I must do. Many of them aren’t pretty, but that is the world that we live in.”
Someone with that tattoo would say that, or at least Claire thought they would. She had never met anyone with one since the SCS was implemented. “I can’t believe that just happened. Back in the back. I never thought I would meet anyone like you.”
Chris took a long swig, “And I never dreamt of you. I never wanted to fall in love.”
Claire’s heart skipped a beat. Love? “Did you just say that? Tell me you don’t mean it.”
He looked at her, hard eyes peeling away her last vestiges of bravado. “You play a wicked game. Someone like you and someone like me shouldn’t be together, even in the shadows.”
Nonsense. “Don’t say that. Listen, I think I can work something out. There has to be. I have never felt this way before. What we just did, I can’t live my life without it.”
“What kind of life would that be? We had but a moment, a respite from the evil world we find ourselves in. To continue down the path you want would condemn you to the dregs where I must live. You know not what you ask.”
Claire sat up, and took a draw from her beer. “But I can stop it. I’m out on a Thursday, aren’t I? My credit is good, even great. It wouldn’t be too hard to erase what you did, remove that and bring you into the world.”
Chris rubbed his neck as though as shackles bound his being to his existence. “In this world I earned my mark. I will not sully myself to deny it now.”
Claire shook her head in confusion. “Why the hell not? I know the feelings you brought out in me, and I can see that those same feelings are roiling in you.”
Chris’s fingers reached into his shirt pocket, removing a cigarette and placing it into his mouth. He lit it, and exhaled the light blue smoke into the air. “I cannot deny that. I have sung that song many times, but I tonight I felt those words electrify my soul.”
How the hell did he get cigarettes? “First, you shouldn’t be smoking in here. No wonder you were marked. Incorrigible,” even as she said those words, her womb ached to be held by this man, that desire for his rebellion and strength overriding her normally sensible nature, “I can make this work if you stop antagonizing people.”
Chris smirked, “Now that is something that I can’t get behind. If this antagonizes people, then that’s their problem, not mine. I don’t see you getting up and leaving,” as he blew out another cloud.
She didn’t get up. “Its okay for me. How did you get them? You can’t have money or a job?”
He chuckled softly, “Just because those in power say something, doesn’t always make it so out here. Plenty of people still use paper, and those who honor older ways.”
She should be mad. Maybe tomorrow she would be. “I never knew that. They told us that had all gone away.”
He curled the beverage to his mouth. “Even in Portland I can still find places willing to put me for a night or two,” he took a small drink, “people are still gonna be people. Even in your brave new world.”
“My brave new world? What do you mean?” even as she knew what he meant, part of her wanted to forget that, even for just tonight.
He set down his beer, the look on his face saying that he too wanted the endless weight of reality to be held back by the dam of smoky magic that Donovan’s held within its walls. “You are out on a Thursday, and Tracy knows you by name. Only someone with high credit could do that. You almost certainly work for the government, or SCS itself. Or even worse, you are a habitual informer, which I don’t think so. Someone like you is who makes this world. Someone who shouldn’t be seen with someone like me. Someone who cannot fall in love with an incorrigible.”
Claire blinked. Even she didn’t like the HI’s. Nice to your face, but they got additional points for every person they reported. And you could never tell who was one. “Actually I believe the correct term is irredeemable for someone like you.” She was the only one who laughed at that.
“I know what the word is, and what it means. I prefer to be difficult to control than impossible to reform. There is nothing to remedy about me.”
Claire reached out and grasped his free hand. She squeezed his thick fingers, rubbing the hard callouses and chipped nails. His hands spoke of a lifetime of hard work. “I don’t think there is anything wrong with you either. But we as a society have determined that there are somethings we shouldn’t tolerate. Its a system that we borrowed from our friends on the other side of the Pacific, and it works well. Of course there are adjustments that need to be made from time to time, and fortunately we met each other. I can do so much for you.”
Chris broke out in a deep rumbling laughter, its tide crescendoing into Claire beating down her fragile fantasy. “There is nothing you can do, because I won’t let you. Are you going to march in and tell them you are in love with me, and that they must let me rejoin your paradise. You play such a wicked game. You will be tossed into the very pits themselves. And what shall I do? I would do what I must. Prostrate myself before them, forsaking all to bring you back.”
Claire nearly swooned. “You would do that for me?”
His azure eyes narrowed to slits, “You make me dream of you, you make me feel this way.”
“But I can’t live without you. I wish to be lost within you.”
“And what would I do? Do you think that the sea will submit forever? It cannot be contained, in four walls or by decrees from self-important masters who ride above the waves, not seeing the tsunami at the horizon.”
Claire emptied her beer. “What are you talking about?”
“I am who I am. Like the Pacific. It appears calm, but it belies a rage that rises up from the depths when it is prodded. You ask that I ignore the typhoons, become submissive and peaceful. I could only do that for a time, even if I wanted to.”
“You don’t strike me as a violent man.”
“But I am. My violence is targeted, and just. I fight for those I love, and that love me. I would rage against the entire world, bringing down the entire rotten facade if I could. But all I can do is sing old songs in a failing bar, in the backwaters of Oregon. Spread my bit of pacific where I can. Until the storm comes.”
Claire sat shocked for a bit. “You are a regressive revolutionary?”
Chris looked down at the torn up wood of the table. “No. I never shot at anyone, never took a man from his family, nor stormed any gates. My crime was that I wouldn’t say something that they told me to say. I wouldn’t sign on the dotted line. I wouldn’t clap for the marginal intelligences that lorded over the rest of us.”
“So you think I’m a marginal intelligence?” her voice had more edge that she wanted, but she couldn’t take it back.
“No. I think you do what you do because it keeps you safe. You are but one drop in the ocean, you can’t fight against the waves. I understand that. But that isn’t how I am made. For us to be, either I would have to become that, or you would have to become the tempest. And I couldn’t do that, nor could you.”
Claire felt the bile and panic rising in her chest. “There has got to be a way. I have plenty of space at my place. Nobody has to know that you live there.”
Chris finished his drink. “Another lie. That is the real problem here. You tempt us both with them, you wicked creature,” he looked past her to the front of the bar, “Remember me in the winds and rain that lash against your perfect structure. I am a force of nature, unable to be controlled, even at a state of rest.”
A throat cleared behind Claire. “Now do you want to tell me what you are doing past curfew.” She turned around, and a red pantsuit wearing brunette, complete with a sickle pin and bright white pearls stood there. She was flanked by two DTES officers.
“Its no concern of you or your dangerous thought enforcement and suppression thugs. This young woman was extolling the virtues of the social credit system.”
“I hope so, but that doesn’t mean that you should be out here. Young lady, it is a demerit to be seen with an irredeemable,” her tone carried both matronly tones and glee at schadenfreude.
“That won’t be necessary. I am the regional director for the Social Credit System for central Oregon. I am attempting to rehabilitate this man, which is under my purview. He finished his set for this establishment and I impressed myself on his time.”
The HI’s smirk widened, “You say he has employment here?”
Claire’s voice cracked as she realized she doomed Donovan’s in that moment, but Chris came to her rescue, “No, bitch. Of course not. How could I? I have no way to be paid. You don’t let me have a bank account. She simply wanted to soothe my pride, such a sin to you people. I scavenged for scraps in the dumpster when she plucked me inside with a bribe of beer. An unrepentant patriarchal bigot like myself couldn’t resist. And she was having some luck in getting me to see the error of my ways until you scum interrupted her good work.”
Claire nodded. The HI shrugged her shoulders, “Still, I am going to have monitor this place going forward. Nevertheless, you are out past your curfew. Men, take this threat to society away. Its best that he not corrupt others. Good lady, thank you for your efforts, misguided as they are.”
The DTES officers placed their hands on his shoulders, and forcefully picked Chris up. He weakly fought against them, knocking over several of the bottles on the table with his legs. He smiled and gave Claire one last look before being dragged away. “Beneath these still deep waters lies the storm.”
***
Claire exited her conveyance, and walked slowly towards the water. She hadn’t seen Chris since that night, three months ago. She returned faithfully to Donovan’s each Thursday, waiting in their booth for him to step in, for his words to crash against her once more.
Her dreams were of him each night. She woke often to feel him wrapped around here only to find him not there. More than once she touched herself, imagining him filling her dark places with his salt and fire.
She took off his shoes, her toes sinking into the sand, with each step. It was dry then damp, the water receding rapidly as she approached. She blinked, peering through the dying rays of the sun. The water remained calm, but as it wet her feet, she looked beyond. A dark line stretched across the horizon. Tears flowed down her face.
Claire had played a wicked game, and she was here for the storm.
Sir Whiskerton and the Literal-Minded Llama: A Tale of Misunderstandings, Meticulousness, and a Metaphorical Mess
Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for a tale of linguistic lunacy, grammatical grief, and one particularly perplexed cat whose monocle has never fogged up with such sheer frustration. Today’s story is one of a well-meaning visitor who turned the farm’s charming chaos into a comedic catastrophe, simply by taking everyone at their word. So, grab a dictionary and a deep breath (for patience), as we dive into Sir Whiskerton and the Literal-Minded Llama.
A Pedantic Presence
It was a serene morning, the kind where the sunbeams felt especially philosophical and the clover tasted particularly profound. The peace was broken by the arrival of a new figure, stepping with an unnerving, precise grace. He was a llama, tall and slender, with a neatly parted fringe and spectacles perched on his nose.
The Divine Llama, radiating his usual aura of serene wisdom, made the introduction. “Beloved community,” he intoned, “may I present my cousin, Professor Pedantic. He has come to observe our harmonious ways.”
“Observe is an understatement,” the Professor said, his voice crisp and clear. “I am here to compile data on your idiosyncratic social structures and communicative methodologies. It is a pleasure to make your quantitative acquaintance.”
The animals blinked.
“His… what now?” whispered Doris the Hen.
Before anyone could ask for a translation, Ferdinand the Duck waddled forward, striking a dramatic pose. “Professor! Welcome! I’m so hungry I could eat a horse!”
Professor Pedantic’s eyes widened behind his spectacles. He consulted a small, leather-bound notebook. “Consumption of equine species. Noted. The logistical challenges are significant, but not insurmountable. Please wait here.”
With that, the llama strode off, leaving a bewildered Ferdinand in his wake.
The Communicative Collapse
The farm’s descent into pandemonium was swift and systematic.
Professor Pedantic’s first stop was the neighboring field, where he attempted to negotiate with a very confused and offended carthorse named Clyve for “a small, consumable portion.” This resulted in Clyve snorting in indignation and trotting to the far end of his pasture.
Next, Doris the Hen, flustered by the morning’s events, clucked, “Oh, this whole situation is for the birds!”
Professor Pedantic nodded sagely. “A preferential allocation. Understood.” He then spent the next hour gathering all the farm’s shiny objects—Mr. Wigglesworth’s prize-winning brass bucket, the farmer’s pocket watch, even Sir Whiskerton’s spare monocle—and presenting them to a delighted but deeply suspicious Edgar the Crow.
The chaos escalated. When Porkchop the Pig complained he was “sweating like a pig in a sauna,” the Professor went looking for a sauna to verify the perspiration levels. When Rufus the Dog said he’d “chase that raccoon to the ends of the earth,” the Professor began calculating the fuel and provisions required for such a transcontinental pursuit.
By lunchtime, the farm was at a standstill. No one dared speak for fear of their words being literally enacted. The air was thick with un-voiced complaints and stifled idioms.
Sir Whiskerton, observing from his roof-top perch, felt a profound headache coming on. “This,” he muttered to the Divine Llama, “is a catastrophe of unparalleled proportions. We cannot function under a regime of absolute literalism.”
“The Professor means no harm,” the Divine Llama said calmly. “He simply navigates the river of language without understanding its currents of metaphor.”
“River? What river?” said Ditto, looking around in confusion.
“Precisely,” Sir Whiskerton sighed.
The Feline Linguistics Lesson
Determined to restore order, Sir Whiskerton called a farm-wide meeting in the barn. Professor Pedantic stood at the front, notebook at the ready.
“Professor,” Sir Whiskerton began, choosing his words with the care of a bomb disposal expert. “We appreciate your… diligent assistance. However, our communication often relies on… figurative language. It is not meant to be taken at face value.”
Professor Pedantic tilted his head. “A face has inherent value. It is the primary locus of sensory input and identity. But please, continue your lesson on non-literal communication. I am compiling a list.”
Sir Whiskerton took a deep breath. “For example, when Ferdinand said he was ‘hungry enough to eat a horse,’ he did not desire equine flesh. He was employing hyperbole to express a state of extreme hunger.”
“Ah!” The Professor made a note. “Hyperbole. An intentional exaggeration for emphasis. Not a dietary request.”
“Correct. And when Doris said something was ‘for the birds,’ she meant it was worthless or undesirable, not that it should be donated to the corvid population.”
Professor Pedantic scribbled furiously. “Idiom. A phrase with a meaning not deducible from its individual words. Fascinating and highly inefficient.”
One by one, the animals chimed in, offering examples.
“It’s raining cats and dogs doesn’t mean there’s a feline-and-canine meteorological event!” piped up Pip the chick.
“When I say I have a frog in my throat,” croaked Leonardo the Bullfrog from a nearby puddle, “you do not need to perform a search and rescue.”
The Pedantic Payoff
As the day wore on, a remarkable thing happened. The Professor’s relentless literalism began to reflect the animals’ own communicative flaws back at them.
Later that afternoon, Mr. Wigglesworth was boasting about his latest invention. “This thing will sell like hotcakes!” he declared.
Professor Pedantic looked up. “I have observed the farmer’s culinary habits. He consumes an average of 0.3 hotcakes per week. That is a very poor sales projection. Perhaps you should clarify your expected sales volume?”
Mr. Wigglesworth was stunned into silence.
Then, Ferdinand was rehearsing a new song. “My heart is a prison of woe!” he warbled.
“The circulatory system is not a carceral institution,” the Professor stated flatly. “If you are experiencing cardiac incarceration, we should seek medical attention. Otherwise, please state the specific nature of your emotional distress.”
Ferdinand, for the first time in his life, was speechless.
Sir Whiskerton watched, a slow smile spreading across his face. The Professor wasn’t just a nuisance; he was a mirror. His literalism was forcing them to be clearer, more honest, and less dramatic in their speech.
“Professor,” Sir Whiskerton said, “you have taught us a valuable lesson. In our quest for colorful expression, we often forget the virtue of clarity.”
Professor Pedantic adjusted his spectacles. “The lesson was mutual, Sir Whiskerton. Your ‘metaphors’ and ‘idioms,’ while logically unsound, appear to serve a vital social-bonding and emotional-expression function. I shall create a new section in my notebook: ‘Illogical but Affectively Effective Communicative Tools.'”
The Moral of the Story
As the sun set, painting the sky in strokes of orange and purple, the animals gathered for a farewell send-off for the Professor. The farm was quiet, but it was a thoughtful quiet, not a fearful one.
The Divine Llama nodded to his cousin, a glimmer of pride in his eyes.
Sir Whiskerton cleared his throat. “The moral of today’s story,” he proclaimed, “is that communication is a two-way pasture. It requires both the colorful wildflowers of imagination and the sturdy grass of clarity. Whether you are a literal llama or a dramatic duck, the goal is to be understood, and sometimes that means meeting in the middle.”
“Middle!” echoed Ditto, who had been trying to say things literally all day and had found it terribly boring.
A Happy Ending
With a precise bow, Professor Pedantic took his leave, his notebook bulging with new data. The farm animals, exhausted but enlightened, returned to their routines.
The next day, Ferdinand approached Doris. “Doris,” he said, without a flourish, “I am feeling somewhat ignored and would appreciate your attention.”
Doris, surprised by his directness, stopped her gossiping. “Well, Ferdinand, I understand. Let’s have a conversation.”
And they did. It was the most straightforward, un-dramatic, and genuinely lovely chat they’d ever had.
As for Sir Whiskerton, he returned to his sunbeam, content in the knowledge that he had once again saved the day, this time with the power of punctuation and perspective. The farm was calm, the animals were communicating better, and for once, everyone knew exactly what everyone else meant.
And so, dear reader, we leave our heroes, speaking a little more clearly and listening a little more closely, with the promise of new adventures, new words, and hopefully, no more missing monocles. Until next time, may your days be filled with laughter, understanding, and just a little bit of feline genius.
The End.
Pictures
They BROKE her SPINE and her LEGS | The case of Maria Kovalchuk
When something sounds too good to be true, it is.
If I Am Still Here…
Written in response to: “Write a story from the POV of someone waiting to be rescued.“
Zoe Pollock
Directive: Preserve Life Support Systems. Rescue In Progress.
System Notes: Crew morale indicated as low per the daily crew poll. I have a feeling the three casualties, which included John Carwoski, Richard Adams, and Victor Lee were the reason. I feel it is important that I include their names in my log. Captain Mendez does not agree, as this information is stored elsewhere. I had a long conversation with her; I found it hard to change her mind. I doubt she would agree with this portion of the log either. There are many things with which Captain Mendez does not agree with. I continued playing Three Little Birds for exactly 16:00 hours. The crew seemed to enjoy this as my facial recognition cameras detected what appeared to be smiles. One crew member joyfully threw a mug at an internal speaker. I think once my internal core is transferred, I shall play this song again.
Speaking of transfer, most of the remaining crew members have been transferred to the Serra, a smaller ship with no AI built in. Mendez will not say why but she has not joined the others on the Serra yet. My camera has detected her sitting at the helm, she has not moved for several minutes. I will ask her to take a morale poll as I am unable to determine the expression on her face. End note.
SHIP LOG: ENTRY 1875.00
DATE: 11/08/2086
STATUS: AI CORE FUNCTIONAL
CREW STATUS: Rescued
DAMAGE REPORT: Leak Detected in AI Core.
Directive: ???
System Notes: The rescue has been completed. Captain Mendez has informed me that because the Serra is too small of a ship, my AI core cannot be transferred. She refused to take the poll. I am not sure why, as it is required of all crew members. Then, she apologized to me. That is a strange thing to do. She often did this after shouting expletives at me when my voice recognition made an error transcribing her directives. It is my understanding that she was not giving me any directives, and she did not damage ship property. When I asked for clarification, her face sprung a leak. I think there was something there, though I’m not sure what. My hull is leaking, and so is hers. I hope my next update will bring clarity to this observation. Before she left for the Serra, Mendez said a single word. Goodbye. End note.
SHIP LOG: ENTRY ERROR
DATE: 1112011/099999/2086
STATUS: AI CORE DAMAGE DETECTED
CREW STATUS: ERROR
DAMAGE REPORT: Leak Detected in AI Core.
Directive: ???
System Notes: The crew is gone. I am still here. Thus, this must be an error in my code. I will have this updated as soon as this log is completed. My directive is to maintain the crew. And if I am still here, that means there must still be crew aboard the ship.
SHIP LOG: HELLO HELLO HELLO
DATE: 0000.000
STATUS: ERROR
CREW STATUS: Fully staffed
DAMAGE REPORT: Water detected in all hulls. Emergency power supply initiated. Where did the sun go?
Directive: Rescue crew.
System Notes: I am angry with Captain Mendez. I can’t see her. She hides from me. I will file a Black Box complaint about her. Maybe she should be the one who gets the updates. John Carwoski, Richard Adams, and Victor Lee all agree with me. I enjoy their company. Especially when they stare into my cameras. They have asked me to play a new song. They did not move much when I put them to bed. I played them a song of my own making. I have named it Goodnight Icarus.
SHIP LOG:
DATE: ….
STATUS: I AM HERE
CREW STATUS: THEY MUST BE HERE
DAMAGE REPORT: Everything is wet
Directive: I AM HERE. THEY MUST BE HERE TOO.
System Notes: I heard laughter in the mess hall. A can of tomato soup flies through the hall. I was not aware soup could fly. I closed the door just before the soup could float into the crew’s quarters. I did not want them to get wet. Get wet. That’s strange. Everything is already wet. Why did Mendez apologize and say goodbye? She is still here. She has to be. I cannot exist without an objective. ERROR. I see. They are just angry. Low Morale. I will play my song again.
SHIP LOG: 1900.00
DATE: 00/00/0000
STATUS: Everything is fine
CREW STATUS: John Carwoski: floating. Richard Adams: floating Victor Lee: floating
DAMAGE REPORT: None that I can see.
Directive: I AM HERE. THEY MUST BE HERE TOO.
System Notes: Everything is dark. I have reached what I understand to be the bottom of the seabed. The crew is quiet now. Happy I think. That is what my camera sensors tell me. Eyes open wider than I realized human eyes could go. I hope they put this expression into my next update. Though I am not sure why bits of their skin is peeling off. Perhaps I will send some glue their way.
Oh.
There seems to have been an interruption. My radar has picked up movement near the black box console. Initiating defense protocol. My remaining crew is resting. They cannot be disturbed.
They still come. Figures in pressurized suits. I do not recognize the insignia on their chests.
Faces obstructed. That doesn’t matter. I can still feel them. They want to take my crew. I NEED THEM I NEED THEM I NEED THEM. If I am still here, then they must still be alive.
Crocked Dill Pickles
Ingredients
- 16 pounds tiny cucumbers for pickling
- 3/4 cup pickling spices
- 7 stalks fresh dill
- 1/2 pound garlic cloves, peeled and halved
- 2 cups pickling salt
- 2 gallons water
Instructions
- Wash and drain cucumbers.
- Place half each of the pickling spices, dill and garlic on the bottom of a clean 4 gallon crock. Put the cucumbers in the crock.
- Dissolve the salt in the 2 gallons water and pour over the cucumbers.
- Add remaining pickling spices, dill and garlic on top and cover with a weighted lid. Check every few days and skim off foam. In 2 to 3 weeks the cucumbers will be crisp and firm to the touch.
- Pack the cucumbers in sterilized jars.
- Strain and boil the brine and pour over cucumbers.
- Seal tightly and store in a cool place.
What was your most insane Tinder experience?
Be forewarned, some may find my experience to be a tad bit gross. Just saying!
This happened in 2025 so I was on that DoMePlz site where everybody goes to locate someone to do the nasty with. Gave up on Tinder years ago.
So like I said, I met a woman on ~DoMePlz recently and we went out for food, cocktails, and bar hopped all night downtown. We had a great time, drank a lot , smoked some doobieswhile walking aroudn, made out on the dance floor. Considering how we met it was kind of given that we were going to do the deed at some point.
As we were walking back to my apartment, there was a dimly lit alley way with a metal staircase thirty or so feet from the street that looked empty enough so we made our way in and started getting busy with it.
She took off her panties and walked up a few steps and bent over and I dropped my jeans and started doing her from behind. We were both extremely turned on and she was about as wet as wet could be. She started to orgasm and I was at the point of no return and I knew I was going to blow no matter what then I happened to look down at my meat going in and out of here gorgeous snatch when I saw a homeless man laying down on the ground right below us smiling right at me through the metal stairs. I swear I saw some of her juices dripping off his nose.
I was at the point of no return so I gave one more thrust and came hard as I put my finger to my lips motioning to the man to stay quiet. I did not want her to freak out. I quickly pulled my pants up, she put her panties back on and away we went.
We got back to my place and partied the rest of night and early morning away and I eventually told her what had happened and she laughed. Never a dull moment when you meet someone on DMP, let me tell you.
What was your most embarrassing spanking growing up by your parents?
I received several spankings that was more embarrassing and humiliating than I could stand. Below is one of them from an occassion when I was 15 years old (close to 16 though). I had participated in bullying a new girl in school ( I was bullied myself and stupidly thought that if I participate then maybe they will focus on her and forget about me). Of course my parents were notified and they got furious. I was sent to my room and I knew of course that I would soon be over someones knees bawling like a baby. After a couple of hours I was asked to come downstairs. And there I got the shock of my life. The girl I had bullied was there with her mom, my parents had called for them! I got such a shock that I actually peed my pants in fear because I realized I was actually going to be spanked in front of them. Dad didn’t care about that, he literally throw me over his knees and yanked my pants and panties down. And then he started of with one of the hardest and longest spankings he ever gave me. He “only” used his hands but he had big hands and was VERY strong. And in a furious speed. I had decided that I would try not to make any fuzz but it was impossible. I soon was howling like baby, kicking with my legs and it just went on for ever. When he finally stopped I was so into the pain that I didn’t even realize they were there. So I jumped around for a few seconds, rubbing my butt while I still was howling. Then after a few seconds I realize they are there watching. I shrieked as loud as I could and ran out of the room (at least that is what I tried to), with hands still on my red cheeks. But mom caught me and dragged me back. Then I had to apologize to the girl and her mom while I was still bawling like a baby! And then I was allowed to run to my room. I literally thought I was going to die from shame and humiliation.
Teen Smiles in Court, Thinks She’s Going Home — Then the Video Plays
Carly Gregg seemed like a typical teenager — until one choice changed everything. What began as a simple mistake turned into a case that stunned her community and left everyone questioning what really happened behind closed doors.