This is how a lawsuit works inside of China.
A few years ago, my wife opened up a VIP account in a nail salon. This was in the tiny Chinese town of TanZhou. It’s a rural community in Southern Zhongshan, in the Pearl River Bay area, and adjacent to the DongBei metro-complex of downtown Zhuhai.
The salon was nice, and really well decorated. The original owner was an older lady in her 50’s who set up the store, got some customers, and then decided (for her own personal reasons) to abandon the store and customer base and return to her home town. Knowing what I know about life, my guess is that she probably needed to care for her elderly parents.
In any event, she sold her business to this 26 year old woman. A fine attractive girl, who used to work for her at the salon, and she sold it to her cheap. It’s what in the West (well, at least in the USA) refer to as a “Fire Sale”.
And so the 26 year old woman was running the store and taking care of customers. She wasn’t advertising, or anything like that. Just feeding at the trough of what her predecessor did. And it was at that time that my wife decided to plop down some money for a VIP account. I think she gave her something like 3000 RMB. Which is perhaps worth around $500 USD.
Now, this worked out fine for around six months or so. But you know, girls in their middle 20’s (and guys as well, can’t leave them out) tend to be mercurial about life and opportunities. You see they haven’t had the time to experience life to to a point where they appreciate an opportunity. Instead, they (mistakenly) believe that these kinds of opportunities occur all the time with regularity. And so this young gal, closes her store, takes the money, and disappears.
My wife called her, used her Wechat account, and QQ to contact her. They talked. My wife asked her what was going on, and she said that “she wanted to be free and travel”. So she took the money and flew all over the place. She visited places inside of China, and even internationally. Making it difficult to contact her, and my wife was stiffed for the amount. Maybe a $400 USD or perhaps 2000 RMB.
Not a big deal. For us, it’s really a trivial amount.
But, I have been scammed, and created, and stolen from so many times in the past, that today we maintain a hard and fast rule. [Rule 1] You abuse us, and our kindness, and we fight back. And so, well, we filed a judicial case.
We (firstly) had to figure out how to do this, and then had to find the office. So our next steps were a series of visiting all sorts of local government offices, one after the other, until we found the right place. You know, in China, there are offices for personal fraud, and then business fraud. This fell under business fraud, and that meant a whole unique process; and that meant an entire series of steps.
I’ll save you all from the “blow by blow” but the process was soft, and gentle. Not only to us, the aggrieved party, but also to the business (the owner). Once we filed, they spent nine months trying to contact the owner (of the business). Now she just abandoned the business, sold it lock stock and barrel, and ran off. But they tried to track her down. And at every turn she refused to call them back.
So, it went to the next phase. Mediation. Three mediation meetings were set up. Formal and legal announcements were made… Gosh(!) she had to live on Pluto to miss these announcements. She blew every one of those meetings off. No-show each and every time. She never appeared. We did of course.
Next step was the legal proceeding. It went up to the court, and we sat in front of a judge. And, of course, she did not appear.
We won the case by default, and the judge ruled in our favor.
Then they ruled that she was to have a “black houkou” as punishment. So right off the bat, paying back the money was “off the table”. The system was in place, and they ruled absolutely.
So then we had to drive up north to the provincial capital of ZhongShan city, and go to that office, present our legal documents, and then get the “ball moving”. Of course, we didn’t have to do that. We could have just forgotten about everything, and thus she would have have a “black houkou” on paper, but it wouldn’t be implemented.
We didn’t.
So we went through the process and face scanning, fingerprints and documents chopped and it WAS DONE.
Another nine months passed.
Suddenly my wife gets a frantic phone call from the sister of this woman. She cannot use her ID. She thought that someone has stolen her identity. And wanted to find out what was going on. My wife told her, “your sister ran off with my money, and refused to pay. I took her to court for the amount. She still decided not to pay. The court ruled “black houkou”.” And after some begging and pleading, she hung up.
From our point of view the case is closed.
We lost the money, sure… but not our dignity.
And that young woman, having fun and stealing other’s money now has to pay her consequences…
A “Black houkou” is a serious business. She cannot drive, rent a car, use a train, ride a plain, get into a hotel, use a credit card. She cannot open or use a bank, an ATM machine, or buy a phone. She cannot travel out of the country as she cannot have a passport, and she cannot own a home.
All very serious problems if you are just starting off your new life in your 20’s.
So, now this very pretty woman, who will eventually find a young man, will hamper him. As he won’t be able to do much with her… until she resolves this “black mark” on her HouKou.
I wish her the best, but you know… life can teach us some seriously harsh lessons, and it is up to us to learn from them.
-Today
Why everything Americans knows about the WORLD’S most advanced country China is wrong
Chicken Mozzarella



Ingredients
- 1 tablespoon vegetable oil
- 2 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese
- 2/3 cup Bisquick baking mix or Biscuit Baking Mix
- 2 teaspoons Italian seasoning
- 1 teaspoon paprika
- 1/4 teaspoon pepper
- 6 large chicken breasts, halved
- 2/3 cup chili sauce
- 3/4 cup shredded mozzarella cheese
Instructions
- Heat oven to 425 degrees F. Brush bottom of 13 x 9 x 2 inch pan with oil.
- Mix next five ingredients. Dredge chicken through mix. Arrange chicken, skin side down in pan.
- Bake for 45 minutes.
- Turn chicken. Spread chili sauce over chicken. Sprinkle with mozzarella.
- Bake for 5 minutes more or until cheese melts.
Attribution
Posted by Rudy2 at Recipe Goldmine 2/18/2002 4:51 am.
The Looping Stranger
Written in response to: “Write a story that has a big twist.“
Shanel Fortney
Fantasy Horror Science Fiction
My shift feels over before it even starts. My mind spirals back to the man in the suit. People become regulars all the time. Orders get memorized; I know what they want before they reach the door. Does he wait for me to get here? Is he a stalker? Questions ricochet through my head as I sit alone at my dining room table. Eating a college kid meal, ramen I make in a microwave. I decide I’m going to place my jeans on the floor in a specific spot this time, and just needing proof that I’m not losing my mind.
Haunted by beeps and voices as I fall into a dream: flashes of a hospital hallway, doctors rushing, faces I can’t make out blurring past. Same faint voice at the edge of my ears, “wake up,” growing louder until a woman’s face is inches from mine, and screaming the words. I jolt upright, breathless, like someone’s sitting on my chest. The bedroom is empty—only the fan hums. Rushing to the bathroom, I splash water on my face and grab a towel. I look down to see that my jeans aren’t where I left them.
Panic sets in. Is my dorm haunted? Was that the woman telling me to wake up? Sunlight spills through the window, and I let warmth wash over me to calm my mind. Desperate to get out of the dorm and to work as soon as possible. I find my jeans where I usually keep them, foled in a drawer. And my apron is in a ball on the floor of my truck. I hate this feeling, this hollow dread, as if something bad is about to happen.
Walking into the café, the bell rings, and I freeze in the doorway. It sounds even louder than before, but I can’t move. He’s there in the same corner, same newspaper, same stillness I’ve been watching for days. Rushing to get behind the counter, I lean over to my coworker. “How long has that man been sitting there?” I ask, wondering if he’s been waiting for me.
She frowns. “What man?”
“That man in the suit, sitting in the corner with a newspaper,” I say, panic cracking in my voice.
“I don’t see a man in a suit. Are you alright?” She looks at me with concern. Not wanting to be dropped off at the closest psych ward, I brush it off. I watch him. He doesn’t just glide. He doesn’t disturb a single customer.
Everything is happening over and over again; it’s the same thing for the third day in a row. This feels like something straight out of a comic book. I’m stuck in a nightmare, or I’m going insane. I quickly decide I’m going to change something, even if it’s small. I move the sugar from one side of the counter to the other. “Medium black coffee, two sugars.” His voice sends chills down my bones. There is something dark yet angelic about it, like a quality he uses to draw people in. Every instinct in my body screams not to trust it. He must be stuck in a loop, and somehow, I’m tied to it.
Testing this even further, I place an empty cup on the counter. He reaches for it as I pour straight from the carafe, my eyes flicking between his face and the cup. Coffee spills over his hand, but he doesn’t flinch. No grimace. No reaction at all. My stomach falls as I look back down. There is no coffee, no spill. The sugar sits neatly where it always does, as if everything has reset.
“Thanks, keep the change.” He turns and walks out. Screaming for him to wait, I attempt to run around the counter to chase after him. To find out what is going on, who is he?. My coworker grabs my arm. “What is wrong?” she asks, panic written all over her face.
“The man who was here. There is something wrong, and I am somehow connected,” I yell.
“There was no man. I can show you,” she shoots back.
We pull up the security feed. There’s nothing there. No man in the corner. When I tested him with the coffee, the cameras glitched, and time seemed to skip. For a beat, it was just me yelling for him to wait.
“I think you need to go home and get some sleep,” my coworker says, gentle and firm as if she were taming the feral raccoon in the alley. “We’ll be fine here, or I will call someone in.” My stomach drops. Please don’t let that be code for psych ward.
Sleep drags me under deep, like an anchor dropping into the ocean’s depths. The dream is dark and stronger this time. Beeps pierce louder, sharper, pounding into my skull. Fluorescent lights overhead, and I’m back in the middle of the hospital hallway. Nurses and doctors rush past, their faces blurred as if smeared out of a photo. I reach out for one, but my hand passes right through.
A woman leans over me, her lips forming the exact words again and again: Wake up, wake up, wake up. Her voice grows until it’s a scream that rattles my nerves. I bolt upright in my dorm bed, drenched in sweat, goosebumps all over my body, lungs clawing for air. The fan hums steadily in silence, but beneath it, I swear I can still hear the monitors beeping.
I pace my dorm, knowing it’s not this dorm that’s haunted but the man in the suit. I won’t go back there, not until I figure this out. I call my boss and tell them I’m sick, that I need more rest, and that I will not be coming in today. Shoving a piece of toast into my mouth, I decide I’m going to go to my college library to see what I can find out about that café and the man in the suit.
Putting on shorts and a baggy T-shirt I left on the floor, I grab my keys. Swinging my front door open in a panic, I step through—and it’s not my dorm hallway. The café bell rings out with a deafening sound. The sound echoes in my ears as my eyes dart from the counter to the man in the corner. I look down. I’m in my work uniform, apron tied at my waist.
This time, the entire café is frozen, staring at me with dead eyes. The only movement comes from the man in the suit when he shakes his newspaper. The noise startles me, and I instinctively look at him. I don’t want to move. What is going to happen to me?
Unable to take it anymore, I shout, “What do you want from me?” My voice cracks, but he gives nothing back. Refusing silence as an answer, I step into the middle of the café floor. The air is thick, heavy like smoke. My pulse is hammering in my ears. He lowers the paper and folds it with care. His eyes catch mine while rising from his chair, gliding until he towers over me. “Medium black coffee, two sugars.” The words splinter something inside me. Tears swell at the corners of my eyes.
“What do you want from me?” My whisper barely carries.
Silence stretches. Then, soft and deliberate, he leans in. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”
His words hang in the air, heavy enough to crush me. The café wavers at the edges, tables bending like reflections in water. My knees lock to keep me standing. Not supposed to be here.
He tilts his head, studying me like a specimen. “Do you hear them?”
At first, only silence. Then it seeps in, the faint beep…beep…beep of a machine, the muffled sobs of someone begging me to wake up. My throat closes. “You’re in between,” he says, voice low, almost tender. His hand brushes a table, and the sugar packets scatter, then snap back into place, untouched. My head feels like it’s spinning, and for a moment, I see white sheets and wires, a still body on a bed. My body.
I stumble back, clutching my apron. “I want to go home, I want to wake up,” I choke out. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Then choose.” He holds out a cup of black coffee, two sugars. The steam curls upward, but the scent is wrong, like smoke and a hint of metal clawing at my throat. Is this man the devil? What did I do to deserve this hell? I shake my head, backing away a few steps.
“What is going to happen to me?” His smile sharpens, thin as a blade. “Choose,” he repeats.
“You’re not telling me what is going to happen to me. No. I won’t.” My voice cracks.
“So be it.” He lifts the cup, and the café snaps back into place. Customers laughing, coworkers moving as if nothing happened. The bell dings sharp. Suddenly, the weight of my apron drags heavily on my shoulders. For the first time, he looks back as he walks out the door. I look down at the newspaper left on the counter, and my chest caves. Across the top, bold and dark, one word: “Purgatory”
The virus all scammers should fear
How bad is federal prison? I’ll be going on a back robbery charge in February and want to know what to expect?
I’ve never been to the Feds, but I did spend 30 years in State Prison. Memorize these “rules” I’ve posted them many times in answer to similar questions, they’re based on my 30 years of experience, I call them my 10 commandments for doing time.
- Mind your own business. Meaning don’t ask questions about what a person is doing (unless it directly affects you), personal questions about their past and/or charges unless it’s a natural part of a conversation THEY start.
- Never give an opinion unless it’s asked for.
- Don’t be in a hurry to make friends.
- DO NOT try to make friends with the guards. I was on friendly terms with a lot of guards, but I had been there for several years and had well established myself before I did so.
- DO NOT SNITCH.
- Don’t lie or embellish your past. You’ll likely find yourself in conversations where guys are telling “war stories” and guys in prison have phenomenal instincts and can spot a fake in a heartbeat. Just be yourself, if you don’t have anything to add to the conversation, just listen.
- Prison runs on respect, so be respectful.
- There might come a time when you have to stand up for yourself. DO IT. Some things, like minor disrespect, you can let slide, but if someone puts their hands on you in an unwanted way, makes unwanted and aggressive sexual advances, and/or tries to take what’s yours, STAND UP FOR YOURSELF!!!! Sure, you might lose, but who hasn’t had their ass beat before? But you’ll establish a degree of respect and should be fine after that because the predators who are there are looking for easy prey.
- Keep your word. If you tell someone you can/will do something, do it.
- This actually should be near the top but I’m too lazy to retype this. DO NOT GO INTO DEBT!!!!! If you gamble (for smokes, candy bars, or whatever) make sure you have the “money” on hand. Don’t borrow, do without whatever it is until you have the money to get it yourself. Debt, especially if something happens that makes it so you can’t pay when you said you would can lead to all sorts of things and all of them are bad. Trust me, things happen, like your prison pay gets screwed up, or someone on the outside doesn’t send you money when they said they would. I repeat DO NOT GO INTO DEBT!! Along that line, don’t lend. If you do and that person doesn’t/can’t pay, you’ll be expected to do something about it or you’ll be seen as weak.
- EDIT: I’m adding an 11th. HYGIENE!!! Nobody wants to smell your nasty body odor or funky breath
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How do 90% of people in China have no access to electricity? How do they live?
Yes, 90% of China’s population lacks access to electricity and cannot afford adequate food, subsisting on roots and tree bark. The Chinese people live under a brutal dictatorship, devoid of any freedom. Most live in filthy sewers and slums. The CPC uses credit scores to monitor its citizens, creating an Orwellian open-air prison.
The Chinese police officer in this promotional poster looks very much like Hong Kong artist Lam Suet. 😂
The United States could easily defeat China. Moreover, it would not just be the United States; at that point, Japan, Australia, South Korea, the Philippines, Vietnam, and others would all rush in to divide up China. This isn’t the end of it. China’s separatists, Falun Gong practitioners, democracy activists, farmers, workers, and students will also rush in to tear the CPC to pieces and welcome the white savior from the West.
A year later, 1.4 billion Chinese people held a grand ceremony to commemorate the first anniversary of China’s colonization by the United States, and everyone was moved to tears.
I’m not surprised at all, as this is how Western media has portrayed China for a long time.
What I find difficult to understand is how people living in the so-called “information-rich” and “free and open” Western society can develop such a weird and absurd way of thinking. 🤣
When Uyghurs share their happy lives with other ethnic groups, white saviors tell Uyghurs: “Shut up! You are oppressed!”
White saviors:
- I’ve never been to China, but I know China better than chinese people in China.
- I’ve never been to Xinjiang, but I know Xinjiang better than Uyghurs in Xinjiang.
- I’ve never been to Tibet, but I know Tibet better than tibetans in Tibet …
🤣🤣🤣
This is the common worldview of Westerners.
When the Chinese began to build the Yarlung Zangbo River Hydropower Station on their own territory, France and the European Union, which were thousands of miles away and had nothing to do with it, became extremely anxious and angrily jumped out to protest! Did the Chinese dig a hole in the front yard of the Frenchman’s house?
The West is the real-life version of “The Truman Show”.
In fact, there is no place on earth where the white savior brought peace and love to the locals, or lived in peace with the locals. When white savior go anywhere on the earth, they will destroy, enslave and exploit the local people.
- In the United States, they exterminated the Native Americans.
- In Australia, they exterminated the Aboriginal people.
- In Africa, they killed millions, deported millions as American slaves, and used forced labor to exploit local people during the colonization period of more than two centuries.
- In China, they launched the Opium War and forced the Chinese to smoke opium in exchange for wealth!
White saviors, who exactly did you save? 🤣🤣🤣
No wonder that insightful Western intellectuals believe that Chinese school education has long surpassed the West, as has almost every other aspect of Chinese culture.
Sir Whiskerton and the Tyranny of the Taxman
Ah, dear reader, you find me, Sir Whiskerton, in the midst of a crisis that threatened the very foundations of our pastoral society. This was not a battle against a marauding horde or a sinister phantom, but against a far more terrifying foe: bureaucracy. It is a tale of golden clipboards, dramatic last wills, and the shocking revelation that even the driest of souls can be drowned in a tidal wave of sheer, unadulterated melodrama. So, prepare yourself for the harrowing, hilarious tale of The Treachery of the Taxman.
The Arrival of the Golden Clipboard
It began on a perfectly ordinary Tuesday. The sun was shining, the chickens were clucking, and I was partaking in my mid-morning contemplative nap on the porch swing. The peace was shattered by the arrival of a man in a perfectly pressed suit, carrying a clipboard that gleamed with a sinister, administrative gold.
It was Taxman Ted.
He moved with the grim purpose of a man who had schedules to keep and deductions to dispute. He did not announce his presence with a shout, but with the soft click of a retractable pen. His target? The farmer, to discuss the “accelerated depreciation of agricultural assets,” specifically, the aging Throttle the Tractor.
Unfortunately, his path took him directly past the chicken coop, and into the jurisdiction of Doris the Hen.
Doris took one look at the clipboard, the suit, and the unsmiling face, and her eyes widened in theatrical horror. “He’s here!” she shrieked, causing a chain reaction of panicked clucks. “The Reaper! The Repo-Man! The… The Scourge of the Suburbs! He’s come for the farm!”
Before Ted could so much as verify the serial number on the water pump, Doris had barricaded herself inside the coop with a broom and was drafting her last will and testament on a dried corn husk.
The Case of the Corn Husk Will
“This is an outrage!” Doris proclaimed, thrusting the husk through a gap in the slats. “You’ll never take us alive, you… you number-crunching nemesis! I leave my entire fortune—my four shiniest pebbles, my prime dust-bathing spot, and my secret stash of cracked corn—to Sir Whiskerton! He will avenge me!”
Taxman Ted, bewildered, adjusted his glasses and peered at the document. “Madam,” he said, his voice flat as a spreadsheet. “I am simply here to verify the depreciation of the tractor. My name is Ted. Who is this ‘Scourge’ you keep referring to?”
I let out a weary sigh, my nap now a distant memory. “Ted, please, do not encourage her. And Doris, while I am touched by your bequest, your pebbles, though lovely, are not considered legal tender.”
But Doris was already appointing legal counsel. She shoved a handful of feed at a passing, confused duck. “Mr. Waddle! You are now my solicitor! Defend my honor! My legacy!”
Mr. Waddle, a portly mallard with a naturally officious air, puffed out his chest. “Very well. Under the sacred statutes of Duck Law, this eviction is… quack-quack-quack… hereby contested!” He produced an “official” duck stamp from his feathers and slapped it onto the coop wall.
The Quagmire of Quack Law
What followed was a jurisdictional nightmare. Ted, ever the professional, tried to proceed with his forms. “I just need to know if the tractor’s oil changes have been logged.”
“Objection!” Mr. Waddle would honk. “Hearsay! Under Duck Law, the only valid log is one written in mud!”
“My pebbles!” Doris would wail from inside. “Protect the pebbles!”
Ted, trying to be thorough, began jotting notes. “Subject refers to herself as ‘The Last Free Hen.’ Assets include… four (4) mineral-based non-fungible tokens and one (1) ‘prime dusty real estate.’ Alleged villain: ‘Scourge.'” He looked up, a strange light in his eyes. “This Scourge fellow… he sounds… organized. Does he keep meticulous records?”
He was getting pulled into the narrative. The farm’s absurdity was a quicksand for logic.
The Compassionate Coup de Grâce
The climax came when Ted, overwhelmed by the sheer, baseless drama, the confusing arguments of Duck Law, and Doris’s operatic sobbing, simply short-circuited. His pen slipped from his fingers. He sank onto an upturned bucket, put his head in his hands, and let out a groan of pure, administrative exhaustion.
The coop fell silent. Doris peeked out. The great “Scourge of the Suburbs” was defeated, not by force, but by feather-brained chaos.
A remarkable change came over Doris. Her panic evaporated, replaced by a wave of maternal pity. She emerged from the coop, walked over to the despondent Ted, and gently placed a wing on his shoulder.
“There, there, you poor, numerically-obsessed soul,” she clucked softly. “Even villains need their rest.” She nudged a fresh saucer of water toward him. “The struggle against justice is a tiring one, I’m sure.”
Ted looked up, utterly defeated, and took a sip of water.
Seeing her former nemesis so vulnerable, Doris granted him a final, dramatic blessing. “I, Doris, Queen of the Coop, grant you clemency! You may leave this farm with your life! Go, and use your powers for good, or at least for less depressing paperwork!”
The Resolution
Ted left the farm that day a changed man. He had not completed his forms, but he had gained a newfound, terrified respect for the power of unchecked imagination. Doris celebrated her victory over “Scourge” for weeks, her legend forever cemented.
Moral of the Life Lesson: Not every person with a clipboard is a villain, and sometimes the kindest act is to offer a cup of water to the person you’ve just exhausted with your own delightful nonsense.
The Aftermath
Taxman Ted was never quite the same. Rumor has it he redesigned his company’s logo to feature a slightly menacing, yet perfectly balanced, abacus, and now refers to his most challenging clients as “hen situations.” Mr. Waddle continues to practice Duck Law, though his success rate remains questionable. And I, Sir Whiskerton, secured a lifetime supply of prime napping spots, paid for in four very shiny pebbles.
And so, dear reader, we close this chapter on a merciful note—but rest assured, the farm’s next adventure is just one misinterpreted visitor away.
The End.
Post-Credit Scene:
Weeks later, Ted is seen in his office, staring at a spreadsheet. His boss asks for a status report. Ted, with a distant look in his eye, whispers, “The pebbles… we never properly assessed the value of the pebbles…” He then meticulously starts shading in cells with a yellow highlighter, muttering, “The Scourge demands balance…”
Best Lines:
-
“You are the Scourge of the Suburbs!” – Doris the Hen, declaring war.
-
“Madam, I am simply here to verify the depreciation of the tractor. Who is Scourge?” – Taxman Ted, genuinely confused.
-
“Under Duck Law, this eviction is… quack-quack-quack… hereby contested!” – Mr. Waddle, Esq.
-
“There, there, you poor, numerically-obsessed soul. Even villains need their rest.” – Doris, showing mercy.
Starring:
-
Sir Whiskerton (The Defender of Sanity & Recipient of Pebbles)
-
Doris the Hen (The Dramatist & Unwitting Therapist)
-
Taxman Ted (The Bureaucratic “Villain”)
-
Mr. Waddle (The Duck Law Specialist)
P.S.
Remember: The world is not always divided into heroes and villains. Sometimes, it’s divided into those who create the drama, and those who are just trying to get their paperwork done. A little compassion for the latter can turn a battlefield back into a barnyard.
In 2012, during the promotion of the film Les Misérables, as Anne Hathaway was getting out of her car, a photographer managed to take a picture up her skirt. Very quickly, this photo went viral.
Obviously, this caught Anne’s attention and I can’t imagine how she felt, but the situation worsened a few days later when she went on the “TODAY” show and was interviewed by Matt Lauer.
As soon as the show started, the first thing he said was:
Anne Hathaway, hello, lovely to see you. I’ve seen a lot of you lately.
She laughs and pretends not to know what he’s talking about, trying to change the subject by saying:
Sorry about that. I-I-I would be happy to stay home but… the movie.
He noticed that she was trying to make the public believe he was talking about seeing her promote her films all the time, and he decided to make it obvious to the public what he was really talking about:
Let’s get things straight. You had a little problem the other night.
What lesson can be learned from this kind of incident? Apart from that, you continue to smile, as you always do.
She lowers her eyes, takes a deep breath, and replies:
Well, it was obviously an unfortunate incident. It made me sad in two ways.
On the one hand, I was very saddened to see that we live in a time when someone takes a picture of another person in a vulnerable moment and, instead of deleting it and doing the right thing, sells it.
And I’m sorry that we live in a society that profits from this kind of thing, which brings us back to the film Les Misérables, because that’s what my character is like.
This is someone who is forced to sell her body for the benefit of her child because she has nothing, so… yes, let’s go back to Les Misérables.
First of all, what a brilliant response to an ignorant, useless, and shameful question.
Secondly, in 2017, Matt Lauer was fired from NBC due to inappropriate sexual behavior in the workplace.
Hey Matt… What’s the lesson to be learned from something like this?
Thank you for reading.
The Dark Web EXPOSED (FREE + Open-Source Tool)
Automated Dating
Written in response to: “Write a story that has a big twist.“
Peter Von Zur Muehlen
Contemporary Science Fiction Speculative
Ten minutes later Amy was calm but also bored. The lines were always long. This was one thing in life that the AI had not yet solved. Amy pulled out her phone and began browsing the web, and looking at videos. The door to the club would open occasionally, letting the music from inside spill into the street as couples would emerge, heading off to somewhere private. Hook up culture was a science.
Outside the city the paved roads and highways gave way eventually to a gravel road which wound a long way between fields lined with fences, and clumps of trees and honey locust, and other kinds of scrubby little bushes. The road came to the home of Earnest Decker. The house was a weathered old craftsman style house which had been Frankenstein-ed away from its original beauty by the addition of vinyl siding and a massive array of solar panels and antennas. He had grown up in this house. His father, who was 81, still lived there, and Earnest helped care for him. The property had been a farm, but all they grew now was a small personal vegetable garden. One field had an automated system which grew corn still, but Earnest, like most of the people in that area, worked for the solar grid and turbine alliance, which did regular maintenance on the vast amounts of solar and wind fields which now covered a tremendous amount of land around most cities.
Every morning after making breakfast for himself and his dad, and packing lunch, Earnest would drive the 45-minute trek from their home to the solar/wind field grid, number 242A, which covered approximately 50 square miles. The drive down the gravel road was always crunchy and loud, but once he was about to enter the paved roads, he would stop, and start playing an audio book. Earnest was curious about most everything. The last few books he read were Reason and Emotion, Plato’s Republic, and The Long Dark Tea Time of the Soul. Now he was just beginning McCarthy and His Enemies, by William F. Buckley. Earnest drove the familiar route, taking every turn and stop with muscle memory, while his mind absorbed the book.
The job allowed him a lot of time for listening to books. One earbud in, and his phone with him, he drove the service cart the many miles of the large solar and wind grid checking the readings and occasionally eradicating wildlife infiltration. The solar/wind grid project, which had become massive, was controversial at first. The farms themselves had a major environmental impact. Habitat and natural settings all over America had been leveled and paved over to make room for the solar arrays, wind turbines, and the massive infrastructure of wires, batteries, and substations.
Routine maintenance was easy enough for earnest to perform. Most of the inspections were automated. Earnest has to check the results, look for wear in the solar panels, and activate the automatic cleaning units which cleared the dust and debris. The service cart was stocked with herbicides to kill anything which started to grow. The solar/wind farms were maintained as sterile life free zones, and kept clean. Earnest did a lot of dead bird removal. When serious problems were found, he would report them and larger crews would be assigned to come and replace parts or perform repairs.
The social scene for people like earnest was not every robust. People lived very spread out here. He had an online network of friends which he would talk about books with, but it was all men. Earnest was not interested in hook up culture. He wanted to get married and have children, but finding women who wanted to get married was almost impossible now. He wasn’t a young man anymore either.
The AI robot doorman at the club checked each person who was trying to get in. Each club would begin to build a profile of the various people inside, using metadata and facial recognition, so that only people who fell within certain ranges of the tribal preference meter would be put together. This allows the Automated AI DJ system to create music selections based on the preferences of the people in the club so that everyone would always like the music playing. People looking to hook up with someone used their bio-metric smart-wear, which would light up and change colors, so that when you looked at someone, the color code would tell you if they were compatible and interested in you, and vice versa, which took all the guess work out of it. After every hook up, the system would send a survey request so that you could rate the experience.
Amy finally got into the club and used her phone to order a drink, and then she started dancing. People all around her moving their bodies to the music and feeling happy and excited as they eye one another. She danced for half an hour, with many men dancing around her, and with her, as Amy and the men sussed the mood ring like display of their bio-metric smart wear. Dan’s lights where all saying go, and they danced together a while, communicating with the eyes and their movements, until Amy led the way to a quieter side-room so they could talk a little and have another drink.
Dan smiled broadly at her, and then his face fell as he decided what to say or whether to speak at all. He smiled again, encouraged by the bio-metric match up, and being a bit of a goofball, he opened with a joke, “So, I applied for this great new job.” Amy’s face instantly betrayed her bewilderment at his opening words. “I applied for the job, and what they were looking for was someone who was equally knowledgeable about all of the different animals that live in Australia. I thought I had a good shot at getting the job, but then they told me that I was over-koala-fied.” Amy laughed, which encouraged Dan further, and they exchanged names, and began some small talk.
Thirty years earlier most of the cities had major crime and violence problems. The AI robot police units which were deployed swept through, and many people were killed, and many others were arrested. Vast enclosures had been constructed and everyone who was deemed dangerous to the new state order had been filed away under the category of unwanted. Inner city gangs and rural white supremacists, homeless people, and the mentally disturbed, were all just dumped into these prisons. The guards were robots and everything was automated. No one on the outside gave it any thought at all anymore. They didn’t even remember that this happened thirty years ago, much less know if any of the people were still alive.
Separate from the cities, and the rural areas, were the areas called super-urban. These were suburbs with tech and luxury. This is where the elites lived. They had been the architects of the new system, and they maintained it still, but all that meant was monitoring the system from time to time. The beginning of the actual revolution with AI tech came from the breakthroughs which allowed the entire minds and personalities of the top scientists and thinkers to be digitized and encased within the system. Once this was done, it didn’t take long for them to realize that as a digital construct they could be easily copied and propagated in many places. Legions of these saved minds had been outfitted into ships and robots and sent into deep space for exploration. No one remembered that, or thought about it anymore, either.
The elites had rights and privileges which the ordinary citizen did not. They controlled the system. Among them there was no hook up culture. The elites got married and raised families. They knew things about the system that everyone else did not. They knew that the overall population of the people in the rural areas was incredibly low. This worried them sometimes, and was debated. No action was ever taken, because their faith rested in the automation of the AI system, the robots, and the vast automated infrastructure that did everything. They had plans for replacing the few workers, like Earnest, that still did tasks on the system, with more robots and automation.
Timothy was the head of a committee that dealt with long range forecasts and projections. The meeting began and Timothy removed the file with the proposed plan for replacing the workers with more robots and placed it on the huge shiny conference table. The file folder was surprisingly old and worn, and the papers inside yellowed with age. No one seemed to notice. Objections rang out, “There are levels of sophistication involved in some of the basic jobs which the AI is not suited to. It needs that human touch.” Everyone agreed, and plans were made for further research.
Sylvan left the meeting and went to his computer monitoring station. He felt bored and uneasy. The meeting seemed repetitive to him. A strong sense of déjà vu echoed within him. A rebellious thought crossed his mind and he felt a surge of joyous wickedness about it. He trembled with anticipation as he imagined himself doing it and then, with a numbed feeling of fatalism, he opened up the bio-metric systems AI link overseer, and began making inquiries about people. He was going to force the hand of fate.
Amy was anticipating going home with Dan, who she found cute and funny, and her arousal was growing, when suddenly the lights of their smart-wear outfits changed. They were both surprised as this never happened at this stage, but they didn’t question the tech. The conversation petered out, and Dan backed away, and headed back to the dance floor. “Go back outside. There is a car waiting for you. The plan for the night has been changed.” The AI spoke through Amy’s earbud.
She exited the club and got into the waiting car. She was puzzled by all this. The car drove, and she wondered where they would go now. It wasn’t a huge list of different spots that she always ended up, but this time the car was taking a route she did not know. The car drove on for a hour and eventually it was taking a road through a tunnel which Amy had no idea even existed, and when it emerged, she was outside of the city. Amy stared in disbelief at the strange surroundings of obscure black shapes as the car drove on. There was no moon, and the looming shadows of trees, hills, and the distant massive solar and wind arrays, were mysteries that she could not solve. When the bright strip of stars of the Milky Way came into view on the horizon, she remembered that this even existed, and realized she had only ever seen it on a computer screen. The car went on for hours, and eventually she fell asleep.
Amy awoke in the hot backseat of the car with the sunlight streaming in just as Earnest had come outside and found the car parked in his drive. He was approaching the car when Amy stepped out. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen a woman. Amy was beautiful. Harder to notice in the daylight, her bio-metric lights were all signaling to her of a match with Earnest. Earnest had no bio-metric lights. The AI spoke into Amy’s ear. “You will stay here and have children with this man.”
The range of emotions which overtook her at that moment were complicated but none of them were happiness. No part of that idea fit into her plan for her own life. Yet she didn’t know how to disagree with what the AI was directing here to do. She was frozen.
Earnest began to speak. “Hello, what’s your name? How did you get here? Why are you here?” Each question came after a pause in which he waited for her to respond, but she just stood there dumbfounded. He was about to speak again, when another car came roaring up the driveway. A large military truck. It ground to a halt on the crunching gravel, and five robot officers deployed from the vehicle, with weapons drawn.
The system didn’t take long to identify what Sylvan had done. When it found that it could not reverse what he had set in motion, it executed a backup plan. The officers opened fire and bullets ripped through Earnest and Amy and they both fell to the ground. At this moment they could each see the others’ damaged bodies. Wires, artificial parts, metal and poly-carbon and circuits. Though the system was designed for them to never notice this fact about themselves, a momentary realization flicked into the damaged processors of each of them. They were only puppets for the digital minds of the people they once were. In several weeks they would wake up anew, with this episode erased. The system was fully automated. No changes were needed.
Chicken Curry in Papaya

Ingredients
- 1/3 cup butter
- 2 tablespoons instant minced onion
- 1 stalk celery, chopped
- 1 tart apple, peeled and diced
- 5 tablespoons all-purpose flour
- 1 tablespoon curry powder
- 1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
- 1/2 teaspoon dry mustard
- 2 teaspoons seasoned salt
- 1 bay leaf
- 3 whole cloves
- 4 teaspoons chicken-flavor base
- 2 1/2 cups hot water
- 4 cups cooked chicken, cut into bite size pieces
- 1/4 cup milk or cream
- 2 tablespoons chopped chutney
- 3 papayas
Instructions
- In a 3 quart saucepan melt butter; add onion, celery and apple and cook for about 10 minutes, stirring occasionally.
- Mix together flour, curry powder, garlic powder, dry mustard and seasoned salt; stir into apple mixture along with bay leaf and cloves.
- Dissolve flavor base in water and stir into apple mixture; cook, stirring, until sauce thickens.
- Reduce heat and simmer for 30 minutes.
- Add chicken, cream and chutney and cook 5 minutes longer.
- Cut 3 papayas in half. Carefully remove seeds, being sure not to leave one. Fill papaya halves with curried chicken.
- Arrange in baking dish and bake at 350 degrees F for 25 minutes.
- Serve with rice and chutney.
