Chew Your Cud, Not Your Worries

·

Maybe here and there but as far as my knowledge no not in any real capacity. The SKS kind of got cucked by the AK47 and the AKM. Which ended up being the better gun in the end and ended up being the weapon that would go on to be the icon weapon of Russian military forever more.

The SKS is a fine rifle… all be it, a bit lacking in some ways. The SKS is basically the AK in hunters clothes. It is good, but a lack of capacity made the AK favorable, also the lack of a full auto fire mode. As the SKS was always meant to be a semi auto weapon.

Now you CAN buy modern magazines and mod your SKS to accept 30 round SKS magazines, BUT it makes the gun way more unreliable. SKS’s can be very weird about magazines when you mod it out to accept the removable mags. It was designed with the fixed 10 round magazine. Th SKS is just way more reliable with the 10 round fixed magazine. Sure you can try your luck. And some mags might work fine. But even when they are the same brand. One mag might work flawlessly, the other might cause a ton of problems. So that is enough to make people just buy an AK. The SKS by all means got cucked out of glory.

Star Trek Voyager – Harry Kim Wormhole | Clip

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Many years ago, we had a Christmas Eve party with family at our house. Two nephews were about 9 and 10. Their parents were indulging in holiday cheer so they began to run wild. I attempted to keep an eye on them but was busy in the kitchen. After 5 minutes passed, I didn’t hear the boys in the house. I started to tell my husband to go look for them when a CRASH came from the front yard. Car alarms were just becoming popular and the relative that owned the car surely had one. It was a up and down siren sound – really loud. Guests spilled out the front door. After a moment we heard the boys father shout “what did you do!” Where a window used to be in his car was now a gaping hole. The boys had found some landscaping bricks by our front door. They were competing to see which one could throw a brick further. The 10 y/o broke the front drivers window of his parents car. He won the contest but ultimately his parents lost.

The question was about a mess in our house and what did we do about it. The disaster was confined to the front yard and most of the broken glass was in the car but there were some glass shards on the ground. We gave the boys father a broom and dustpan and he cleaned most of it up. We still found glass days and weeks later.

Indiana Woman Had Sex with Dog on Video: Police

Since the recent Bondi Beach Shooting in Australia, I’ve seen a huge number of people (mostly Americans) insisting that gun bans don’t work.

The reasoning is either that mass shootings occur even with gun bans or that you need a good guy with a gun to stop a bad guy with a gun.

We should care about all gun deaths equally and not value mass shootings more. In 2023, Australia had 25 homicides by firearm. In the same year, there were more than 15,000 in the USA. At Bondi Beach, 15 people were killed. It’s a tragedy without a doubt, but it pales in comparison to the number of firearm deaths in the USA on a normal day.

One man single-handedly proved you don’t need a good guy with a gun to stop a bad guy with a gun.

Ahmed Al Ahmed.

An absolute hero, whose name is rightly known worldwide. His life will never be the same again, hopefully in a positive way. He’s still recovering, but a fundraiser for him raised $2.5 million, and once he’s out, he’ll surely be celebrated everywhere he goes.

It’s one thing to have guns for hunting, farming or sport, but owning guns because it’s your right is insane. If you want to prevent tragedies like Sandy Hook, the Las Vegas shooting, and the Uvalde school shooting, the Second Amendment needs some serious updating. There’s no reason the average citizen needs to own a gun. The rest of the developed world, including the UK, thinks it’s insane.

Wife Suspects Cheating & Finds Her Husband’s Sick Secret Instead

Actually, a lot of the stuff about meat going bad is cultural, and/or misinformation.

People rarely eat fresh meat. It’s hard to do, because it takes a while to get the meat from butchering to shops to the table, and also, fresh meat just is not very good.

Ever heard of dry-aged steak? It’s a delicacy. People pay a premium for that.

It’s basically meat that’s been left to sit around for a long time.

It smells and tastes a bit funky, and the outer layer is often discarded.

It’s really good, despite how it may look.


My grandmother told me that during the war, they ate everything.

Including stuff like badgers, which apparently is very tough meat. The idea here was to kill it and empty it, and then nail the carcass to a beam in the attic.
After a couple of weeks, the meat had become tender enough for the carcass to fall off the nail, and then it was ready to be prepared.

Letting venison get tenderized is a normal practice.


Maggots look bad to our eyes, but you can actually eat them. And they produce an antibiotic film, that protects the meat from bacteria, and they eat up the most rotten bits. They are actually used in medicine to treat wounds by eating dead parts, and coating the wound in their antibiotic mucus.

It might sound strange, but keep in mind that casu marzu (maggot infected cheese) is considered a delicacy.

Many cultures waited until there were a couple of maggots to start eating the meat: it was not considered a big deal like it would be now.


Now, don’t get me wrong here:

Meat can, and does spoil in certain circumstances. And can be dangerous to consume, even when cooked, because of toxins that build up.

So you can’t just go around eating any old meat.

That’s why most cultures err on the side of “better safe than sorry”, and stick to whatever preparation methods they know are safe. And you should do that too.

However, know that there are also many things that leave the meat looking or smelling different, and that does not mean it has gone bad.


Adding this here, because it seems that a lot of people seem to find this very controversial.

We eat a LOT of rotten food.

It’s super tasty.

Cheese, wine, beer, yogurt, kimchi, sauerkraut, traditional bread, pickles, vinegar, kefir, buttermilk, chocolate, miso, natto, fish sauce, stinky tofu, tempeh, …

Fermenting stuff is not new.

You set up the conditions for certain microorganisms to be the ones most likely to develop, and then you let things rot for a while. Sometimes you want to make sure to pre-contaminate the food.

It’s called food preservation, but really, it’s just letting the food continue to be decomposed in a way that makes it easy for us to digest.

Pictures

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  • Prove them wrong

I’ve had a chip on my shoulder for as long as I can remember because in school, people insulted me by calling me dopey and other names.

Being called names hurts, and in some ways, they still do, but I use these insults as fuel to drive me forward to be the best person I can be and prove to all the people who doubted me that they were wrong.

  • When someone tries to destroy you, see it as a compliment

When someone attacks your character and tries to destroy you personally, it’s most often because they envy you. Those people want something you’ve got, and they don’t like that you have it and not them, so they petulantly attack your character.

  • Laugh at them

These people who are trying to destroy you want to affect you; they want to get under your skin, so you stop pursuing your goals.

Don’t give them the satisfaction. Laugh at them and think, “I’m on the right track, and I’m capable of rousing envy in others.”

Rousing envy in others means you have qualities that other people seem to value and want. How can that be bad?

  • You need to break a few eggs to make an omelette

If you’re pursuing anything worthwhile, you’re going to naturally p*ss off a few people in the process.

Not everyone will agree with you or want you to succeed. We can’t go through life being people pleasers. If we try to please everyone, we please no one.

Above all, please yourself.

  • Lessons from smear campaigns

I’ve been reading Nassim Taleb’s books recently, and he writes about smear campaigns.

Nassim has many detractors (enemies) who hold views different from his, and a certain number of people go after him.

His experience was that it didn’t matter whether he was praised or reprimanded, even on a large scale, because any publicity is good publicity. His books sold more when people tried to destroy his character, drawing more attention to him.

But the key is you need to survive the smear campaign and not let it get to you.

If you can suffer the detractors, you’ll be unstoppable.

  • Eventually, you become immune to these detractors

Many people insult me and my content when I write online (many are also very grateful and enjoy my writing). Eventually, you realise that all these insults amount to noise.

Rarely do some detractors have anything valuable to say, and I’m open to changing my mind, but most of the time their messages consist of petulant insults.

  • Feel sorry for them

Whoever tries to destroy me, and there have been a few, I tend to feel sorry for. I think “If they were good upright people, they’d know the difference between right and wrong, what did they really hope to achieve by insulting me and trying to destroy my character?”

When you look at the true nature of these people who try to destroy you, I’d be surprised if you don’t feel sorry for them. They don’t know the difference between right and wrong.

  • If it’s getting out of hand, call the police

In certain jobs I’ve worked in, I’ve dealt with people who are, unfortunately, victims of domestic abuse. If it goes as far as emotional and physical abuse, you need to cut ties with this person and get the police involved right away.

  • Don’t let anyone destroy your life

I used to be a personal trainer, and many so-called “friends” and colleagues made fun of me for trying to establish my personal training business. This hurt, and I gave up.

I had only myself to blame for giving up. In hindsight, I let my friends’ opinions get to me and thus gave up. I should never have listened to them, or at least dropped the negative feelings I felt after hearing their insults.

  • Dealing with people who try to destroy your life/ stop you from achieving your goals is inevitable

Life is full of naysayers, and most of the time, people try to stop you from achieving your goals because they don’t want you to fail. Other times, it’s because they can’t bear to see you succeed.

As long as you maintain your belief in yourself, you don’t have to listen to the noise from anyone else.

I’ll finish this post with a quote from Arnold Schwarzenegger:

“Ignore the naysayers.”

To all my enemies, are you not entertained?

Cops Found a Tunnel Connecting Multiple Homes — Then Things Got Worse

What the Hell? This is incredible.

Samuel Knight

Contemporary Fiction Mystery

“Time to sweep,” I said and sighed. And no one answered. No one ever answers. No one but the wind. It speaks. It spoke. But it couldn’t have been the wind. The windows were closed—the blinds were drawn—they’re always closed—always drawn—it’s always dark at dawn in here—it stinks in here—that’s because there’s no wind. Outside, while I work, the wind might talk, might hush or mock or play its twister games, but not in here. Never in here. So maybe it was me. Was me that answered, I mean. I never answer, but maybe I did this time.

Anyway, it answered—whoever answered—whatever? Ah. Yes. Yes! Whatever. It was a whatever. Yes. Because it was my broom—my special besom broom, Echo—I call it Echo—that answered. That’s why the answer sounded dry and distant and repetitive. My arms are long. Yes. That makes sense. Echo often answers. Echo’s my broom. It speaks in whispers, dry and sharp, with every sweep. Shhh, it says. Shhh. With its bristly shushing sounds, with every sweep—I realise that I’m sweeping now—I’m outside now—odd—with every sweep, it sounds its shushes like a person shushing others into silence, like the world should hush and let me work.

I don’t know why Echo shushes others into silence. In this silence, there are no others. There are never any others. Only me. There was a woman once. Now, only me. Out here. Only me. Me and my street. The street and its leaves. Me and the leaves that I sweep. They’re all I sweep. Leaves. But I’m not a leaf-raker. I am not a raker! I have Echo. Echo’s my broom. I am a sweeper! I sweep! That’s what I do. That’s what I am. A street-sweeper! Who sweeps. I’m alone. Once the wind called me a raker. A rakist! The audacity! I’d never rake. But Echo’s right. The world should hush and let me work. The wind that I can now faintly feel should hush. Today I have to work. I have to sweep up Fifth Street. Fifth Street is mine. It’s mine. It’s mine to clean, to keep—to maintain! That’s the word! Maintain! I maintain the streets. It’s mine to maintain. Fifth Street is maintained by me, and no one else. Or, it was. I’m forgetful now. I wasn’t once. I am now. Time twists.

But back to the street. It’s never clean. Fifth Street, I mean. It’s never clean. Leaves fall on it every day: curling, golden-brown. And every day, they seem a little darker. They fall from no trees—there are no trees here—not anymore—but they fall all the same. A little gift from nowhere. A little challenge by no one. “Clean Fifth Street!” my challenger decrees. But that’s not true. My challenger wouldn’t call it Fifth Street. I call it Fifth Street. I don’t know what street it is or what it’s called. I think it’s the only street, but one time when I had swept four-fifths of the street I saw that there was a fifth of the street left, so, naturally, I called that fifth of the street the Fifth Street, fifth of five that I’d had to sweep, but then I realised that since that street, the Fifth Street, was actually the same street as the rest of the street that I’d already swept, the whole thing was the same street as the Fifth Street and thus should have the same name as the Fifth Street and thus should be the Fifth Street, but since most place names drop the the I just call it all Fifth Street. Anyway, I have to work.

As day draws on, dull light dawns, and it starts. Gold leaves fall. Slow drifts. I mutter, starting my work, brushing Echo forward. Echo protests, bristles rasping on the broken paving. But it moves. I’m strong, arms long—Echo always moves for me. And now too, the wind is watching. I feel it on my back and on the back of my neck. I feel it soft and sharp. It’s both at once. Sometimes it helps, pushing piles into place. Sometimes it laughs, loosing them before I’m done. It’s so fickle. Always playing games. Makes me laugh. But it isn’t just a breeze. Don’t call it a breeze! It’s a voice, a hand, a thing with thoughts—and feelings too, don’t forget! Do not insult it! That didn’t go well last time. I feel it watching when I sweep. I feel its fingers tugging, teasing, testing, always testing. It knows me well, knows how to rile me up and calm me down. It toys with me. I’m fine with that. Sometimes, when it quiets, when it stills or shifts to something soft, I wonder what it’s doing. Honestly, my work is made quite hard by its distractions. But that’s fine. Anyway, I have to work.

A softing morning. Soundless. Still. I’m working well. No wind. No word. No sound. Save me. That’s weird. There’s not much left for me to do. I’ve gotten faster. Well, actually, I’m older. I’ve gotten slower. But I’ve gotten more efficient. I’m almost done. Almost. Fifth Street’s stretch is clean behind me for the first time in a long time. No leaves. No dust. Just clean. Grey pavement, rough and clean.

“I guess I’m done,” I say, somewhat surprised. “No more today.”

And just as I begin to bring my Echo over the last of this day’s leaves, I hear a sound. A strange sound. A high-pitched clink. And there, by me, at the end of the street, I saw it. A leaf. I thought for sure it was a leaf. The last leaf—perhaps made brittle by the early cold. But no. It was no leaf. It was something else. It shone. A sliver of a silver something, shining palely in the light—not gold at all—a sliver that should not be there—could not be there—must not be there!—yet was there. It was there for a reason. I—my fingers—itched to hold it, claim it, clean the floor of it, but my mind lagged, spinning leaflike in a wind of worry. What did it want?

My arms are long—just long enough to stretch to where the silver lay. Echo clattered to the ground just as my hand had found the thing it sought to hold. A key. No, not a key. A key-like thing. I turned it over in my hand and felt its edges sharp against my skin. Cold, smooth, and heavy in a weird way, heavier than its size should have allowed. It was a key-like thing. Its sharpness shivered, humming faintly on my skin, whispering—or was that the wind? It seemed to nudge. Nudge me, I mean. I’m me. Echo’s my broom.

Behind, the wind arose. It carried up my well-piled leaves—the piles I’d worked so hard to pile together!—and swept them down the street like a gilded tide. I jumped, shocked, raged, and shouted after it—but I can’t shout—and I ran after it—but I can’t run—so I hobbled, mumbling, behind my leaving leaves, dragging Echo with me. They moved so fast. They all moved. All. Every leaf.

“Swept away,” I muttered and growled. “Swept away. I was almost done. I was done! A little is fine. Sweeping some is fun. But all! You swept away all my work! All!” The leaves tumbled onward, flowing with the wind, increasing with its speed. “You… I just swept that!” And faster and faster they blew on, and I followed, until they, with dully rasping smacks, collided with a gate. I’d not known that that gate was there.

I approached it. It was old. I’d never seen this gate before. Its iron bars were black and bent and chains were wrapped around it, thick and tight, and rust made flakes upon their skins, and over and under those chains were strips of fabric, fluttering in the wind, leaves tasselled on them, written over with the words “KEEP OUT” and “DO NOT ENTER” alternating repetitively in bold.

I stood there, staring. The wind decayed, and leaves began to drop and gather up behind my feet like children huddled up behind their mother’s skirts. And when the leaves had fully fallen, there I saw a small, black lock. Black, but warm. I felt its heat. I sought out that silver key thing—I’d pocketed it—and it too was warm now, buzzing faintly in my grip. The wind gusted, hard, impatient, tugging at my shirt, my arms, my legs, my hair—no—I had no hair—but it tugged at where I should have had hair—pushing me forward. The key now quivered in my hand—or my hand now quivered on the key—as I brought it, the key, and my hand, them both really, closer up to the lock. It felt quite warm now, like it had come to life. I slid the key into the lock. There was no resistance, no awkward insertion, just a soft click, like an exhale. And then the wind blew hard, and a door part of the gate creaked open.

I stepped back for a moment, the gate yawning open, black and not. The key now burned within my palm, no longer cold, no longer heavy, only hot and weightless like its light—it was shining now—I think I mentioned that. I think. Anyway, the wind pushed me forward. Pushed! Insistent. Swirling with sounds I could not comprehend—sounds, echoes, of laughter, of weeping, shouting—tangled sounds, together rushing up much like a tide about to break.

I put a nervous foot out through the gate, then hunched myself and went through with my foot.

Light hit me like a slap. Too bright. Too full. It flooded in. I stumbled forward, clutching Echo, clutching hard like how a drowning man might clasp a drift of wood. The wind was heavy here, different, loud. It didn’t just play. It howled. It carried things.

I blinked. The world sharpened, focused. And I saw. Beyond the gate, I saw a street. A street not like Fifth Street with its silence and its emptiness, its golden barrenness. This street was alive. Cars honked. Drills knocked. Shoes stepped. And voices shouted. Voices! My God, voices! Voices shout! I’d forgotten the sound—I’m forgetful now. But as I stood, my senses stabilising, the wind rushed past me, wild and free, carrying the smells of food and the smells of people—people!—and the smells of puddles, and oil, and dirt, and something else—something electric in my nose. Rubbish. Actual rubbish. Filth! The street was filthy. Leaves. Wrappers. Cups. Papers. Mud. Spit. Muck. Trash. Everywhere, piles and drifts and smears of filth. Different filth. Filth alive, breeding, multiplying. Not like the leaves, orderly in their disobedience, but anarchic, defiant, irredeemable filth: a mess in need of me. It needed to be cleaned. It never would be clean. Never. But that didn’t matter. It needed me. I need someone. Fifth Street had been mine. Now this street would be mine. I had a lot of work to do. Start with the leaves before they rot.

I took a further step out through the gate, feet crossing the threshold. “There’s always more to do.” I said. The wind whirled with noise, triumphant in its sounds. I knew it was laughing. I was laughing. “There’s more mess than just mine.” I cried. “Alright!” I said through teary laughs. “Alright! Alright! I’ll clean it up. I’ll clean it all.”

I began by brushing Echo on the ground, its bristles hissing shushes at the crowds. The people tried to ignore us, tried not to look. They tried to walk around me, stepping over the piles I’d swept together. That was fine. It didn’t matter. This was my street now. It would appreciate my work one day.

One woman saw me. “Hey,” she said, sidestepping my well-swept piles. “What are you doing?” She had a uniform on.

I looked up, Echo poised mid-sweep, eyes wide, surprised—she looked angry.

“Sweeping.” I said. “Cleaning what needs cleaning.”

The woman frowned, anger deeper. “Cleaning? Why are you raking…”

“Sweeping!” I cut her off, yelling. “I am not a raker! I’ve raked nothing!”

She frowned. “Okay…” She said, on guard. “Look. You’re not meant to be here. What are you trying to clean? The gutter? And… and how did you get my—please give it back!” She snatched the keylike thing from me.

I smiled faintly, tilting my head. “I’m just cleaning, ma’am. I’m always cleaning,” I smiled deeper. “Got to get on with my work… Lots to do today… Always cleaning.”

She sighed deeply then put on a fake face, a fake smile, her eyes flicking to Echo like it was a weapon. “Come on,” she said, voice clipped and pretending caring. “Give me the branch. You can’t clean anything with this.”

“Echo’s my broom!”

“That’s a branch… Come. We’ll get you something at the station. Come. Let’s take you somewhere that will help.”

Help me!

“No. No.” I said. “I don’t need help. The streets need help. The leaves need help! Can you not see? They’re dying. They need to be swept away before they rot! I have to sweep. If I don’t…” I trailed off and swept away, the wind about us twirling, like in play, on over to the end of the street where there stood a great Autumn tree, shining with the sun, its leaves falling one by one, gold and in decay. I’d leaned upon some limbs like its sometime before this day. Or maybe I didn’t. I forget these things.

Loaded Barbecue Baked Potato Casserole

Barbecue sauce provides a flavorful addition to this delicious potato casserole that’s made using Old El Paso® green chiles – perfect for dinner.

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Loaded Barbecue Baked Potato Casserole

Prep: 25 min | Total Time: 1 hr 20 min | Yield: 10 servings

Ingredients

  • 6 slices bacon
  • 1 (24 ounce) bag frozen mashed potatoes
  • 2/3 cup milk
  • 1 cup (4 ounces) shredded pepper Jack cheese
  • 4 ounces (half of 8 ounce package) 1/3-less-fat cream cheese (Neufchâtel), cut into cubes
  • 1/2 teaspoon pepper
  • 3 cups shredded Cheddar cheese (12 ounces)
  • 1 (8 ounce) container reduced-fat sour cream
  • 1 (4.5 ounce) can Old El Paso® chopped green chiles, drained
  • 3 cups shredded barbecue pork or beef
  • 3/4 cup barbecue sauce
  • Chopped fresh parsley, if desired

Instructions

  1. Heat oven to 350 degrees F. Spray a 13 x 9 x 2 inch (3 quart) glass baking dish with cooking spray.
  2. In a 10 inch skillet, cook bacon over medium high heat for 8 to 10 minutes or until crisp; drain on paper towels, reserving 2 tablespoons drippings. Crumble bacon; set aside.
  3. In large microwavable bowl, stir together mashed potatoes, reserved bacon drippings, the milk, pepper Jack cheese, cream cheese, pepper and 2 cups of the Cheddar cheese.
  4. Microwave uncovered on HIGH for 4 minutes.
  5. Stir in sour cream and chiles until well blended.
  6. Spoon potato mixture into baking dish.
  7. Sprinkle with bacon and remaining 1 cup Cheddar cheese.
  8. Spoon pork evenly over cheese.
  9. Drizzle barbecue sauce over pork.
  10. Bake uncovered for 45 minutes or until bubbly.
  11. Let stand for 10 minutes before serving.
  12. Garnish with parsley.

Nutrition

Per serving: Calories 550, Total Fat 31g (Saturated Fat 17g), Sodium 1230mg Total Carbohydrate 33g (Dietary Fiber 2 1/2g), Protein 34g

% Daily Value*: Vitamin A 0%; Vitamin C 0%; Calcium 0%; Iron 0%

Exchanges: 1 Starch; 1 Other Carbohydrate; 2 High-Fat Meat; 1 Fat; Carbohydrate Choices: 2

* Percent Daily Values are based on a 2,000 calorie diet.

Professional assassins, of the Léon variety, are almost entirely a myth. There isn’t some secret vocation of hyper-intelligent, disciplined hitmen walking among us, assassinating high-profile targets and using ingenious tactics to avoid detection. It’s a fictional archetype that makes for entertaining movies and video games.

Most assassins are low-level gang members who simply roll up on the target, unleash a hail of gunfire, and drive away. They operate in jurisdictions where police are understaffed and corrupt. They don’t get away with it because they’re forensic experts — they get away with it because police look the other way, or don’t have the resources and manpower to investigate vigorously. The victims are often criminals themselves, so there is little public pressure to solve the case.

There are rare examples of organized crime syndicates or intelligence agencies employing dedicated assassins — but even then, their targets are usually people who exist outside the purview of the law: gangsters and enemies of the state. They could shoot a target on his front porch, and it would draw little sustained scrutiny.

Now let’s talk higher-stakes assassinations. Let’s assume, hypothetically of course, that Epstein was assassinated by someone in a position of power. If that were the case… they didn’t do much to disguise it, did they? Epstein’s body had ligature marks, cameras were turned off, guards were mysteriously absent. Whoever (allegedly) organized the hit didn’t particularly care whether it was airtight, because they knew there’d be no real investigation.

Assassins aren’t evading investigatory tactics; they’re acting as if those tactics are irrelevant, because they are. They operate under conditions where investigations are deliberately bungled, or simply never performed in the first place.

All Men NEED To See This | 40 Year Olds Are FINALLY Breaking Down…

(Repost) Law 5 of the 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene; So much depends on reputation, guard it with your life (Full Text) (duplicate)

The photo above reminds me so very much of the old Doc Savage paperbacks that I used to read when I was in Middle School. This is a promo image of Dwayne Johnson in one of his Jumanji movies.

Dwayne is an interesting person, but the thing is that few people hate him. He’s a kind soul, or at least tries to portray that image. And without that image, he’s just another smuck that went from weight-lifting to movies.

It’s difficult to keep your reputation. Certainly no one knows that better than myself who now has the ugly reputation of being a nasty filthy child predator now living inside the filthy evil communist Hell-hole.

And that’s the way it works, you know.

To destroy a person completely, you need only destroy his reputation so that no one wants to associate with him, employ him, listen to him, or be friends with him. Then alone, shunned, starving, and destitute he can die inside the hole you made for him to crawl into.

This is a great chapter by Robert Greene. Read it and learn from it.

LAW 5

SO MUCH DEPENDS ON REPUTATION—GUARD IT WITH YOUR LIFE

JUDGMENT

Reputation is the cornerstone of power. Through reputation alone you can intimidate and win; once it slips, however, you are vulnerable, and will be attacked on all sides. Make your reputation unassailable. Always be alert to potential attacks and thwart them before they happen. Meanwhile, learn to destroy your enemies by opening holes in their own reputations. Then stand aside and let public opinion hang them.

OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW I

During China’s War of the Three Kingdoms (A.D. 207-265), the great general Chuko Liang, leading the forces of the Shu Kingdom, dispatched his vast army to a distant camp while he rested in a small town with a handful of soldiers.

Suddenly sentinels hurried in with the alarming news that an enemy force of over 150,000 troops under Sima Yi was approaching.

With only a hundred men to defend him, Chuko Liang’s situation was hopeless.

The enemy would finally capture this renowned leader.

Without lamenting his fate, or wasting time trying to figure out how he had been caught, Liang ordered his troops to take down their flags, throw open the city gates, and hide.

He himself then took a seat on the most visible part of the city’s wall, wearing a Taoist robe.

He lit some incense, strummed his lute, and began to chant.

Minutes later he could see the vast enemy army approaching, an endless phalanx of soldiers.

Pretending not to notice them, he continued to sing and play the lute.

Soon the army stood at the town gates.

At its head was Sima Yi, who instantly recognized the man on the wall.

Even so, as his soldiers itched to enter the unguarded town through its open gates, Sima Yi hesitated, held them back, and studied Liang on the wall.

Then, he ordered an immediate and speedy retreat.

THE ANIMALS STRICKEN WITH THE PLAGUE

A frightful epidemic sent To earth by Heaven intent to vent Its fury on a sinful world, to call It by its rightful name, the pestilence, That Acheron- filling vial of virulence Had fallen on every animal. 

Not all were dead, but all lay near to dying, And none was any longer trying To find new fuel to feed life’s flickering fires.

No foods excited their desires; No more did wolves and foxes rove In search of harmless, helpless prey; And dove would not consort with dove, For love and joy had flown away.

The Lion assumed the chair to say: “Dear friends, I doubt not it’s for heaven’s high ends That on us sinners woe must fall. Let him of us who’s sinned the most Fall victim to the avenging heavenly host, And may he win salvation for us all; For history teaches us that in these crises We must make sacrifices. Undeceived and stern-eyed, let’s inspect Our conscience. As I recollect, To put my greedy appetite to sleep, I’ve banqueted on many a sheep Who’d injured me in no respect, And even in my time been known to try Shepherd pie. If need be, then. I’ll die. Yet I suspect That others also ought to own their sins. It’s only fair that all should do their best To single out the guiltiest.


“Sire, you’re too good a king,“the Fox begins; ”Such scruples are too delicate. My word, To eat sheep, that profane and vulgar herd. That’s sin? Nay. Sire, enough for such a crew To be devoured by such as you; While of the shepherds we may say That they deserved the worst they got. Theirs being the lot that over us beasts plot A flimsy dream-begotten sway.”

Thus spake the Fox, and toady cheers rose high, While none dared cast too cold an eye On Tiger‘s, Bear’s, and other eminences Most unpardonable offences.

Each, of never mind what currish breed, Was really a saint, they all agreed.

Then came the Ass, to say: ”I do recall How once I crossed an abbey-mead Where hunger, grass in plenty, and withal, I have no doubt, some imp of
greed. Assailed me, and I shaved a tongue’s-breadth wide Where frankly I’d no right to any grass.”

All forthwith fell full cry upon the Ass: A Wolf of some book-learning testified That that curst beast must suffer their despite, That gallskinned author of their piteous plight.

They judged him fit for nought but gallows-bait: How vile, another’s grass to sequestrate! His death alone could expiate A crime so heinous, as full well he learns. The court, as you’re of great or poor estate, Will paint you either white or black by turns.


THE BEST FABLES OF LA FONTAINE, JEAN DE LA FONTAINE, 1621- 1695

Interpretation

Chuko Liang was commonly known as the “Sleeping Dragon.”

His exploits in the War of the Three Kingdoms were legendary.

Once a man claiming to be a disaffected enemy lieutenant came to his camp, offering help and information. Liang instantly recognized the situation as a setup; this man was a false deserter, and should be beheaded.

At the last minute, though, as the ax was about to fall, Liang stopped the execution and offered to spare the man’s life if he agreed to become a double agent.

Grateful and terrified, the man agreed, and began supplying false information to the enemy. Liang won battle after battle.

On another occasion Liang stole a military seal and created false documents dispatching his enemy’s troops to distant locations.

Once the troops had dispersed, he was able to capture three cities, so that he controlled an entire corridor of the enemy’s kingdom.

He also once tricked the enemy into believing one of its best generals was a traitor, forcing the man to escape and join forces with Liang.

The Sleeping Dragon carefully cultivated his reputation of being the cleverest man in China, one who always had a trick up his sleeve.

As powerful as any weapon, this reputation struck fear into his enemy.

Sima Yi had fought against Chuko Liang dozens of times and knew him well.

When he came on the empty city, with Liang praying on the wall, he was stunned.

The Taoist robes, the chanting, the incense—this had to be a game of intimidation.

The man was obviously taunting him, daring him to walk into a trap.

The game was so obvious that for one moment it crossed Yi’s mind that Liang actually was alone, and desperate.

But so great was his fear of Liang that he dared not risk finding out.

Such is the power of reputation.

It can put a vast army on the defensive, even force them into retreat, without a single arrow being fired.

For, as Cicero says, even those who argue against fame still want the books they write against it to bear their name in the title and hope to become famous for despising it. Everything else is subject to barter: we will let our friends have our goods and our lives if need be; but a case of sharing our fame and making someone else the gift of our reputation is hardly to be found. 

Montaigne, 1533-1592

OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW II

In 1841 the young P. T. Barnum, trying to establish his reputation as America’s premier showman, decided to purchase the American Museum in Manhattan and turn it into a collection of curiosities that would secure his fame.

The problem was that he had no money.

The museum’s asking price was $15,000, but Barnum was able to put together a proposal that appealed to the institution’s owners even though it replaced cash up front with dozens of guarantees and references.

The owners came to a verbal agreement with Barnum, but at the last minute, the principal partner changed his mind, and the museum and its collection were sold to the directors of Peale’s Museum.

Barnum was infuriated, but the partner explained that business was business —the museum had been sold to Peale’s because Peale’s had a reputation and Barnum had none.

Barnum immediately decided that if he had no reputation to bank on, his only recourse was to ruin the reputation of Peale’s.

Accordingly he launched a letter-writing campaign in the newspapers, calling the owners a bunch of “broken-down bank directors” who had no idea how to run a museum or entertain people.

He warned the public against buying Peale’s stock, since the business’s purchase of another museum would invariably spread its resources thin.

The campaign was effective, the stock plummeted, and with no more confidence in Peale’s track record and reputation, the owners of the American Museum reneged on their deal and sold the whole thing to Barnum.

It took years for Peale’s to recover, and they never forgot what Barnum had done.

Mr. Peale himself decided to attack Barnum by building a reputation for “high-brow entertainment,” promoting his museum’s programs as more scientific than those of his vulgar competitor.

Mesmerism (hypnotism) was one of Peale’s “scientific” attractions, and for a while it drew big crowds and was quite successful. To fight back, Barnum decided to attack Peale’s reputation yet again.

Barnum organized a rival mesmeric performance in which he himself apparently put a little girl into a trance.

Once she seemed to have fallen deeply under, he tried to hypnotize members of the audience—but no matter how hard he tried, none of the spectators fell under his spell, and many of them began to laugh.

A frustrated Barnum finally announced that to prove the little girl’s trance was real, he would cut off one of her fingers without her noticing.

But as he sharpened the knife, the little girl’s eyes popped open and she ran away, to the audience’s delight.

He repeated this and other parodies for several weeks.

Soon no one could take Peale’s show seriously, and attendance went way down.

Within a few weeks, the show closed.

Over the next few years Barnum established a reputation for audacity and consummate showmanship that lasted his whole life.

Peale’s reputation, on the other hand, never recovered.

Interpretation

Barnum used two different tactics to ruin Peale’s reputation.

The first was simple: He sowed doubts about the museum’s stability and solvency. Doubt is a powerful weapon: Once you let it out of the bag with insidious rumors, your opponents are in a horrible dilemma. On the one hand they can deny the rumors, even prove that you have slandered them. But a layer of suspicion will remain: Why are they defending themselves so desperately?

Maybe the rumor has some truth to it? If, on the other hand, they take the high road and ignore you, the doubts, unrefuted, will be even stronger. If done correctly, the sowing of rumors can so infuriate and unsettle your rivals that in defending themselves they will make numerous mistakes. This is the perfect weapon for those who have no reputation of their own to work from.

Once Barnum did have a reputation of his own, he used the second, gentler tactic, the fake hypnotism demonstration: He ridiculed his rivals’ reputation.

This too was extremely successful.

Once you have a solid base of respect, ridiculing your opponent both puts him on the defensive and draws more attention to you, enhancing your own reputation.

Outright slander and insult are too strong at this point; they are ugly, and may hurt you more than help you.

But gentle barbs and mockery suggest that you have a strong enough sense of your own worth to enjoy a good laugh at your rival’s expense.

A humorous front can make you out as a harmless entertainer while poking holes in the reputation of your rival.

It is easier to cope with a bad conscience than with a bad reputation.

Friedrich Nietzsche, 1844-1900

KEYS TO POWER

The people around us, even our closest friends, will always to some extent remain mysterious and unfathomable.

Their characters have secret recesses that they never reveal.

The unknowableness of other people could prove disturbing if we thought about it long enough, since it would make it impossible for us really to judge other people.

So we prefer to ignore this fact, and to judge people on their appearances, on what is most visible to our eyes—clothes, gestures, words, actions. In the social realm, appearances are the barometer of almost all of our judgments, and you must never be mis led into believing otherwise.

One false slip, one awkward or sudden change in your appearance, can prove disastrous.

This is the reason for the supreme importance of making and maintaining a reputation that is of your own creation.

That reputation will protect you in the dangerous game of appearances, distracting the probing eyes of others from knowing what you are really like, and giving you a degree of control over how the world judges you—a powerful position to be in.

Reputation has a power like magic: With one stroke of its wand, it can double your strength.

It can also send people scurrying away from you.

Whether the exact same deeds appear brilliant or dreadful can depend entirely on the reputation of the doer.

In the ancient Chinese court of the Wei kingdom there was a man named Mi Tzu-hsia who had a reputation for supreme civility and graciousness.

He became the ruler’s favorite.

It was a law in Wei that “whoever rides secretly in the ruler’s coach shall have his feet cut off,” but when Mi Tzu-hsia’s mother fell ill, he used the royal coach to visit her, pretending that the ruler had given him permission.

When the ruler found out, he said, “How dutiful is Mi Tzu-hsia!

For his mother’s sake he even forgot that he was committing a crime making him liable to lose his feet!”

Another time the two of them took a stroll in an orchard.

Mi Tzu-hsia began eating a peach that he could not finish, and he gave the ruler the other half to eat.

The ruler remarked, “You love me so much that you would even forget your own saliva taste and let me eat the rest of the peach!”

Later, however, envious fellow courtiers, spreading word that Mi Tzu- hsia was actually devious and arrogant, succeeded in damaging his reputation; the ruler came to see his actions in a new light.

“This fellow once rode in my coach under pretense of my order,” he told the courtiers angrily, “and another time he gave me a half-eaten peach.”

For the same actions that had charmed the ruler when he was the favorite, Mi Tzu-hsia now had to suffer the penalties.

The fate of his feet depended solely on the strength of his reputation.

In the beginning, you must work to establish a reputation for one outstanding quality, whether generosity or honesty or cunning.

This quality sets you apart and gets other people to talk about you.

You then make your reputation known to as many people as possible (subtly, though; take care to build slowly, and with a firm foundation), and watch as it spreads like wildfire.

A solid reputation increases your presence and exaggerates your strengths without your having to spend much energy.

It can also create an aura around you that will instill respect, even fear. In the fighting in the North African desert during World War II, the German general Erwin Rommel had a reputation for cunning and for deceptive maneuvering that struck terror into everyone who faced him.

Even when his forces were depleted, and when British tanks outnumbered his by five to one, entire cities would be evacuated at the news of his approach.

As they say, your reputation inevitably precedes you, and if it inspires respect, a lot of your work is done for you before you arrive on the scene, or utter a single word.

Your success seems destined by your past triumphs.

Much of the success of Henry Kissinger’s shuttle diplomacy rested on his reputation for ironing out differences; no one wanted to be seen as so unreasonable that Kissinger could not sway him.

A peace treaty seemed a fait accompli as soon as Kissinger’s name became involved in the negotiations.

Make your reputation simple and base it on one sterling quality.

This single quality—efficiency, say, or seductiveness—becomes a kind of calling card that announces your presence and places others under a spell.

A reputation for honesty will allow you to practice all manner of deception.

Casanova used his reputation as a great seducer to pave the way for his future conquests; women who had heard of his powers became immensely curious, and wanted to discover for themselves what had made him so romantically successful.

Perhaps you have already stained your reputation, so that you are prevented from establishing a new one.

In such cases it is wise to associate with someone whose image counteracts your own, using their good name to whitewash and elevate yours.

It is hard, for example, to erase a reputation for dishonesty by yourself; but a paragon of honesty can help. When P. T. Barnum wanted to clean up a reputation for promoting vulgar entertainment, he brought the singer Jenny Lind over from Europe.

She had a stellar, high-class reputation, and the American tour Barnum sponsored for her greatly enhanced his own image.

Similarly the great robber barons of nineteenth-century America were long unable to rid themselves of a reputation for cruelty and mean-spiritedness.

Only when they began collecting art, so that the names of Morgan and Frick became permanently associated with those of da Vinci and Rembrandt, were they able to soften their unpleasant image.

Reputation is a treasure to be carefully collected and hoarded.

Especially when you are first establishing it, you must protect it strictly, anticipating all attacks on it.

Once it is solid, do not let yourself get angry or defensive at the slanderous comments of your enemies—that reveals insecurity, not confidence in your reputation.

Take the high road instead, and never appear desperate in your self-defense.

On the other hand, an attack on another man’s reputation is a potent weapon, particularly when you have less power than he does.

He has much more to lose in such a battle, and your own thus- far-small reputation gives him a small target when he tries to return your fire.

Barnum used such campaigns to great effect in his early career. But this tactic must be practiced with skill; you must not seem to engage in petty vengeance.

If you do not break your enemy’s reputation cleverly, you will inadvertently ruin your own.

Thomas Edison, considered the inventor who harnessed electricity, believed that a workable system would have to be based on direct current (DC).

When the Serbian scientist Nikola Tesla appeared to have succeeded in creating a system based on alternating current (AC), Edison was furious.

He determined to ruin Tesla’s reputation, by making the public believe that the AC system was inherently unsafe, and Tesla irresponsible in promoting it.

To this end he captured all kinds of household pets and electrocuted them to death with an AC current.

When this wasn’t enough, in 1890 he got New York State prison authorities to organize the world’s first execution by electrocution, using an AC current.

But Edison’s electrocution experiments had all been with small creatures; the charge was too weak, and the man was only half killed.

In perhaps the country’s cruelest state-authorized execution, the procedure had to be repeated. It was an awful spectacle.

Although, in the long run, it is Edison’s name that has survived, at the time his campaign damaged his own reputation more than Tesla’s.

He backed off.

The lesson is simple—never go too far in attacks like these, for that will draw more attention to your own vengefulness than to the person you are slandering.

When your own reputation is solid, use subtler tactics, such as satire and ridicule, to weaken your opponent while making you out as a charming rogue.

The mighty lion toys with the mouse that crosses his path—any other reaction would mar his fearsome reputation.

Image:

A Mine Full of Diamonds and Rubies.

You dug for it, you found it, and your wealth is now assured.

Guard it with your life. Robbers and thieves will appear from all sides. Never take your wealth

for granted, and constantly renew it—time will diminish the jewels’ luster,

and bury them from sight.

Authority:

Therefore I should wish our courtier to bolster up his inherent worth with skill and cunning, and ensure that whenever he has to go where he is a stranger, he is preceded by a good reputation.... For the fame which appears to rest on the opinions of many fosters a certain unshakable belief in a man’s worth which is then easily strengthened in minds already thus disposed and prepared. 

(Baldassare Castiglione, 1478-1529)

REVERSAL

There is no possible Reversal.

Reputation is critical; there are no exceptions to this law.

Perhaps, not caring what others think of you, you gain a reputation for insolence and arrogance, but that can be a valuable image in itself—Oscar Wilde used it to great advantage.

Since we must live in society and must depend on the opinions of others, there is nothing to be gained by neglecting your reputation.

By not caring how you are perceived, you let others decide this for you.

Be the master of your fate, and also of your reputation.

Conclusion

Let Dwayne Johnson tell you himself.

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