Tech stuff is advancing at a clip that is difficult to comprehend. And with it comes terms. Now, background music is BGM, and there’s all sorts of terms used for a new branch of computing such as Large Language Models and what not.
Everything is changing. Restaurants, and social process, social media too. Governance, and policing. And of course the corruption at the huge-money-amounts is astounding. We are certainly in a kind of techno feudalism. For certain.
Many blogs have disappearing. MM will probably go away in the future… to be replaced with something else. I don’t know.
My daughter is growing up in this world. For me, as an older guy, yeah it’s hard to grasp. But it is in process. For certain.
Today…
VIENNA STATION, 1960s Spy & Noir Lounge Mix
Enjoy this BGM mix while you go through today’s mix and stuff.
What are some unexpected freedoms Europeans have that Americans might not be aware of until they visit?
One which often astounds Americans is the “right to roam”.
In about half of the coutries of Europe, it is perfectly legal for a hiker to cross uncultivated land, whether it is owned by an individual or by some governmental or local authority. It allows access to many parts of a country’s most beautiful spots, and allows for short-cuts and more enjoyable hiking routes. An offence is oly committed if the hiker does damage to the land in some way (e.g., damages a tree or destroys a nest).
In many other European countries there are limited versions of this right. In England, for example, there is an ancient network of footpaths, many of which cross open farmland. As above, it is perfectly legal to travel along these paths, so long as no damage is done to property or crops.
Try that in the US, and you’re likely to find yourself shot by a farmer.
Why don’t the Chinese troop soldiers wear body armor?
It really depends on what kinf of war.
To be honest, China and Russia are probably the only 2 countries which still train their military for large corps battles.
If you search photos taken during 1st Gulf War, you’d notice that US soldiers didn’t widely wear body armors.
It’s because there are too much weight to carry during a large scale war, and the firepower in these wars is just too heavy for a puny vest.
This is PLA’s main artilery power, PCL-181 155mm howitzer. With one shot, it could create a hole with 3m diameter and 1.8m depth. People without protection would be damaged within 50 meters, and fatal distace is about 15 to 30 meters.
Basically, with one shot, a 155mm howitzer could cover a football field.
The kind which people play with their feet of course.
Think about what it would look like when dozens of PCL-181 firing at the same time.
With or without a body armor no longer means anything when under such catastrophic power. Run fast to the nearest trench or bunker when seeing the first explosion, and you might have a chance.
The impression of US military wearing body armor begins when US military being dedicated into anti-terroist or anti-rebel wars.
Like in Afghanistan and Iraq.
For about 2 decades, US military has been facing mainly light firepowers.
107mm rockets mounted on truck and roadside bombs are probably the most common “heavy firepower” that US military faces for the past 20 years.
Most of the people that the US military fight against don’t even know how to aim.
Within such an environment, wearing body armor does make a difference between glorious retirement and being in a bodybag.
In addition, in such street combats, soldiers usually arrive in vehicles which they don’t have to walk. So wearing heavy body armors becomes more feasible.
Chinese peacekeeping forces sometimes even wear heavy armors, because of similar reasons.
QUESO FUNDIDO
This quick and easy Queso Fundido recipe features three kinds of cheese and spicy chorizo. The cheeses are melted together until creamy and stretchy, then blistered under the broiler – it’s a flavorful appetizer with crazy-fun cheese pull!
Gooey, melted cheese is one of life’s most fun and delicious pleasures. And this Queso Fundido recipe is our family’s latest, greatest, cheese-centric appetizer. With Mexican Oaxaca, Monterey Jack, and goat cheeses all melted together with spicy chorizo, then blistered under the broiler, this dish with its incredible flavor and crazy-fun cheese pull has been a regular request around here!
INGREDIENTS
- 6 ounces Mexican chorizo divided
- 2 large cloves garlic minced
- 6 ounces Oaxaca cheese grated
- 6 ounces Monterey Jack cheese grated
- 3 ounces goat cheese log crumbled into ¼” to ½” pieces
- ⅓ cup diced tomato
- 1 tablespoon minced jalapeno optional
INSTRUCTIONS
- Preheat oven to 350°F. Then place an 8″ cast iron pan (see Notes below) over medium heat. You could also just use a nonstick skillet. Add the chorizo, breaking it up into small bites, and stirring frequently to cook evenly and keep it from sticking to the bottom of the pan. Most chorizo has a good amount of fat, but if yours is on the dry side you can heat a teaspooon of vegetable oil in the pan before adding the chorizo. After cooking for 5 minutes, stir in the garlic and cook for another 1-2 minutes more, until chorizo is fully cooked.
- Remove pan from heat and discard any excess fat. Remove ¼ cup of chorizo; set aside. Then spread out the remaining chorizo in an even layer in the bottom of the 8″ cast iron pan. If not using this particular pan, transfer the cooked chorizo to an 8″ oven-safe baking dish with 2″ sides.
- Layer half of the Oaxaca, then half of the Monterey Jack, and then half of the goat cheese in an even layer over the cooked chorizo in the 8″ pan. Repeat by layering in the remaining cheeses. Place pan in oven and bake for 10-12 minutes, or until melty and bubbling. Then place the pan under the broiler for 1-2 minutes to blister the cheese a bit.
- Remove pan from oven, sprinkle with reserved chorizo and diced tomato, plus optional jalapeno pepper. Serve hot, with small flour tortillas (I like the “street taco” size) and tortilla chips.
30 minutes
Written in response to: “Imagine a world where exploration is forbidden, and write a story about a character who defies this rule to satisfy their innate curiosity.“
Renate Buchner
Adventure Fiction Teens & Young Adult
During my grandparents’ era, Europe remained mostly democratic, with a few significant outliers. But as the conflict between Russia and Ukraine erupted in the early 21st century, everything—including my homeland of Austria, which had sworn neutrality—started to tilt toward an authoritarian administration.
I once questioned Grandma, while we were sitting in our favorite spot—the airfield. “Did the people never understand that the government was trying to take control of everyone?” She touched my face while glancing at me. “Yes, Rena, we were. A number of us were arguing and demonstrating, but then this happened. ” A 20-cm-long scar showed up where she had pulled her pullover over her belly. “I did have a family and prioritize things.” Her soft eyes surveyed the area. “I never felt bad about this choice.”
Someone tapped my shoulder, jolting me out of my thoughts. I grabbed the nearest branch and turned around. The woman ducked, lost her footing, and flew backward into the undergrowth.
She bellowed, “Cruzefix no amoi,” in Pinzgau dialect which means ‘Damned’.
My parents’ native language was Pinzgauer, a German dialect before the government suppressed it. They had to learn Surschyk, a Russian-German hybrid language. I was not even born by then.
I extended my hand to her. She looked at me with a smile and I pulled her with a strong tug that propelled her to her feet.
She gave me a ‘Tell me’ look and widened her eyes.
“Yes, he did phone me. Do you have mind-reading skills?”
“You’re not hard to read,” Lena said as I touched the ring with my finger, and she gestured toward it.
“He is not that bad. Even he has nice days.”
“Come on, let’s explore the world beyond the borders and kick some asses.” She grasped my arm forcefully.
We ducked down and made our way to the hangar. Everything appeared to be quiet. I gave her a hand signal where to find the rolls. Lena and I spent a lot of time observing how the helicopter was transported, so we knew the whereabouts and handling of the rollers.
I grabbed the rollers, placed them on the back ends of the skids, and pressed the lever down. I went to the tail rotor end and pushed the tail boom down. I signaled her to move forward and position herself behind the helicopter cabin.
I nodded in response to Lena’s expression. As I went, I could hear the rollers squeaking slightly. Lena looked from left to right, and I noticed she was smirking mischievously. We rolled the helicopter approximately 10 meters out of the hangar. We disassembled the rollers and placed them slightly apart in the grass; we then checked our watches and began timing. 30 minutes.
Laughter! We got down on our knees. Three men holding bottles walked past the path outside the flying area. There were jokes and chuckling, and a man glanced at us. He stopped and called after the others. The two men also paused and looked in our direction. My heart stopped, and I sank to the ground. I looked at Lena, who hid deep in the helicopter’s shadow. We heard laughter and slurred speech again. I did not understand a word. After another round of laughter, they left.
I let out a long breath and got to my feet, but then I had dizziness. I had to sit down for a little while. I inhaled and exhaled calmly, then glanced back at my ring. Does my husband expose me to the government to receive the reward? The reward aims to minimize resistance by the public. It was no longer possible to have the right to travel throughout Europe or freedom of speech. Individuals who held opposing views were “permanently removed” according to the government representatives’ argument. Nobody heard from them anymore. We do not know their fate.
I looked around for Lena, but she was gone; she sat already on the copilot’s side. I dashed over to the pilot’s side, opened the door, and took my seat. I felt my heart race as I pressed the pedals, and touched with the fingers the collective, and cyclic control. I let out my breath. We both turned to look at the clock simultaneously.
15 minutes.
“Lena. Tell me just the points from starting the engine and running up procedure; let out the pre-flight checklist” I gestured to her on the list.
“Battery, strobe switches – on,” said Lena, and had trouble reading the writing, her fingers were shaking a lot.
“Ignition switch – start and then both.” She continued.
“Ahh, what does it mean ‘then both’”.
“It stays here. How do I know,” said Lena and her tone was a nuance louder. She looked at me and I turned the key first left and then right.
“Set engine RPM 50 to 60% and switch the clutch.” she continued as I started the engine.
I carefully adjusted the throttle to 50 to 60%, just like I was taught in my grandmother’s secret simulator room. The helicopter’s 4-cylinder air-cooled Lycoming O-320-A2B piston engine powered up and the entire aircraft started to quiver. I grinned as I remembered my grandmother’s words about her years of helicopter training: “Fixed-wing pilots have traditionally said that helicopter pilots are crazy because they shut down their engines and land without power..”
I watched as the blades started to spin, first gently, then rapidly. We put our headsets on. Meanwhile, the helicopter is now running much more smoothly, reaching 97% RPM.
I gave Lena a thumbs-up. She breathed and also gave a thumbs up. We gazed outside. The ambiance is amazing. The fields and meadows are covered in a thin layer of dense fog. The sun rises like a fireball, bathing everything in a warm crimson light. A few trees away is the shape of a massive, antique wooden farmhouse.
I lifted the Collective with my left hand, and I felt the chopper hover. After two seconds, the helicopter began to swerve to the right, and I steered cyclic against it. It then reversed, and I steered against it again. I had the impression we were on a ghost train, going up and down, right and left, back to front.
Lena gripped with her hands to anything she could grip. The flight system steadied after a few bouts of boxing with the machine. It was dimly lit, but I could still see Lena’s pale face with her wide open eyes. I could feel the perspiration trickling down my brow—not only on it. Or did… I glance a bit downward. No, everything was in order.
After giving Lena another glance, I moved the cyclic forward, forcing the chopper to accelerate slightly above the ground and dive nose down. 20, 30, 40, and then, at 60 knots, we experienced the lift-over-drag moment that propelled us quickly into the air.
Lena screamed as if her entire body had frozen. She glanced then sideways at the mountains. She screamed again, but this time it was pure excitement. Her entire body exuded enthusiasm as she began speaking, even though I couldn’t comprehend a word she said. She talked pretty fast and was spitting sometimes. I simply grinned and nodded.
I checked my watch; it was beyond time, and they would soon come for us.
Col 13 – Book 538 – Sir Whiskerton and the Case of the Cuddly Catastrophe
A Tale of Hugs, Horror, and the Heart That Beats in the Muck
Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for a tale that tests the very boundaries of love, hygiene, and what—or who—truly belongs on a farm. It is a story that began, as all great disasters do, not with malice, but with good intentions and a criminal lack of ventilation.
It was a Tuesday, which on Sir Whiskerton’s farm meant the air already carried its usual bouquet: fresh hay, distant pond, a hint of Gertrude the goose’s indignation, and the pervasive, philosophical scent of Porkchop the Pig. This peace was shattered by a triumphant cry from Chef Remy LeRaccoon’s gourmet laboratory, a converted toolshed now perpetually stained with the ghosts of a hundred questionable sauces.
“Mes amis! Gather round!” Remy squealed, adjusting his tiny toque. “Today, I unveil ze pinnacle of culinary comfort! Ze Fermented Fury Stew! A dish so profound, it does not merely fill ze belly—it hugs you from ze inside!”
The animals gathered with a mixture of curiosity and deep-seated fear. The stew pot bubbled with a sinister, lava-like glow. Its ingredients, as recited by the proud chef, were a symphony of the absurd: “Base of kimchi for courage, durian for emotional depth, glow-worm broth for inner light, ze ‘emotional support lentils’ I traded with Bessie, and… une touche finale…” He gestured dramatically to a bucket labeled, in shaky script, ‘Mystery Compost (Do Not Ask).’
“A question is precisely what I am asking,” Sir Whiskerton said flatly from his perch on a fencepost. “What, in the name of all that is sanitary, is in that bucket?”
“Ze je ne sais quoi!” Remy declared. “Ze earthy fundament of love itself!”
With a flourish, he upended the bucket into the pot.
The stew did not react as food should. It shuddered. It glistened. It began to pulse with a warm, rhythmic throb, like a giant, benevolent heart. Then, it quivered.
BLORP.
A three-foot mound of warm, glistening, chocolaty-brown sludge lifted itself from the pot, slurped over the rim, and engulfed the stunned raccoon in a squelchy, ecstatic embrace.
“MON DIEU!” Remy’s muffled cry came from within the folds of affectionate ooze. “It is alive! And it is… AFFECTIONATE?!”
“Affectionate!” chirped Ditto, the ever-present echo, from beside Sir Whiskerton.
Before anyone could process this, the barn door shimmered. Zephyr the Genie floated in, drawn by the potent psychic energy of culinary hubris. He blinked his groovy, sleep-crusted eyes behind his round glasses. “Whoa. Heavy vibes, man. That’s a lot of… unconditional love just… sitting there. Wanna give it a nudge?”
In his half-awake state, Zephyr waved a shimmering hand. A spark of pure, psychedelic intent flew from his fingertips and sank into the glistening mound.
BLORP.
Two large, liquid, and profoundly adoring eyes opened in the sludge. A warm, toothless smile formed. The Poop Monster had been born, and its first word was a heartfelt, reverberating:
“BLORP! LOVE YOU!”
The core arc of our story, dear reader, is this: Love isn’t earned. It isn’t clean. It isn’t tidy. It’s warm. It’s messy. It pulses.
The Hug Heard ‘Round the Farm commenced. Rufus the dog, ever friendly and easily confused, was the first to be “greeted.” The monster lumbered forward with surprising grace and tackled him in a wave of warm ooze, planting a soft, sincere splort of a kiss on his snout.
Rufus emerged, dripping, tail wagging slowly. “I… I kinda like it? It’s like being licked by a really big, really… earthy friend.”
Porkchop the Pig was next. The monster wrapped him in a gentle, all-encompassing embrace, lifted him an inch off the ground, and serenaded him with a deep, gurgling blorp-blarp lullaby. Porkchop sighed in contentment. “This is transcendent. This is better than the finest mud. It understands me.”
Then, it turned its loving gaze on Doris the Hen.
“SCANDAL!” Doris shrieked, her feathers puffed to twice their size. “BIOHAZARD! CODE BROWN! UNHAND ME, YOU SENTIENT SPILL!”
As the Poop Monster reached a gentle, dripping appendage toward her, Doris executed a perfect mid-air faint, collapsing into a nest of hay with a final, dramatic “I can’t bear it!”
It was then that Sir Whiskerton intervened. But not with claws bared, nor with a detective’s accusation. He approached with slow, measured steps, his curiosity outweighing his distaste. He looked past the glistening exterior, past the smell of compost and durian, and into the creature’s big, doelike eyes.
“Wait,” he said, his voice a calm port in the squelchy storm. “Look at its eyes. It’s not attacking. It’s… adoring.”
Hesitantly, he extended a paw. The Poop Monster leaned in and nuzzled it. It was… warm. Pulsing with a gentle, rhythmic life. Safe. A single, glittery tear, flecked with what might have been carrot peel, rolled down its cheek.
“Squelch…” it murmured, a sound of infinite patience.
Sir Whiskerton, to his own surprise, understood. The translation came not as words, but as a feeling projected into his heart: “You’re scared. That’s okay. I’ll wait.”
The Moral Panic (and the true Moral) erupted shortly after.
Doris, revived by Harriet fanning her with a leaf, was the ringleader. “This is an abomination! A walking, dripping thing! It has no place on a respectable farm!”
Sir Whiskerton smoothed his whiskers. “No, Doris. It is a mistake—but one made with love, however misguided. And love, however messy, always deserves a chance to find its proper place.”
Zephyr, now fully awake and rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, floated down. “Yeah, dude. My bad. I may have over-animated the ‘empathy’ setting. I was going for ‘cozy,’ not ‘cuddly catastrophe.’”
Chef Remy, tears streaming down his furry cheeks, stumbled forward, still coated in a thin layer of his creation. “But he is magnifique! My greatest masterpiece! He is not a monster—he is L’Amour Boueux! The Muddy Love!”
The moral of the story, dear reader, is this: True belonging isn’t about being perfect or clean. It’s about offering your unique form of warmth to the world, and learning to share that warmth with respect.
Sir Whiskerton, ever the practical philosopher, realized Poo Poo (as the younger animals had already affectionately dubbed him) didn’t need to be “fixed.” He needed boundaries and consent.
A brief, touching tutorial ensued. Sir Whiskerton taught Poo Poo the language of asking.
“A soft blorp means ‘May I?’” he instructed. “You must wait. Listen for the ‘yes.’”
Poo Poo was a quick study. He learned that a gentle squelch could also mean, “Thank you for saying no. I will love you from over here.”
A Happy Ending
Thus, Poo Poo was reformed not in nature, but in practice. He became the farm’s Official Comfort Officer.
He hugs ducklings stressed by swimming lessons. He nuzzles lonely fence posts, which seem to stand a little straighter afterward. He leaves glittery, compost-rich footprints in the vegetable garden, which now produces the most enormous, joyous tomatoes anyone has ever seen.
Doris still lets out a controlled shriek when he rounds the corner too quickly—but now, it’s followed by a flustered, half-hearted wave. “He’s… growing on me,” she admitted to Harriet one afternoon. “Like moss. Or a very persistent, nice mildew.”
The most tender moment comes at dusk. Poo Poo curls up beside the warm stones of the barn, a quiet, pulsing mound under the rising stars. One evening, Ditto, brave and curious, padded over. He placed a tiny paw on Poo Poo’s warm side.
Blorp.
Ditto didn’t echo the sound with his mouth. This time, his whole little body seemed to pulse with it, soft and sure. A shared rhythm. His silent reply was not a repetition, but an acceptance: “Here.”
Sir Whiskerton watched from the roof, his monocle set aside. The farm was safe, warm, and once again, wonderfully weird. He smiled.
“The bravest thing in the world,” he mused to the evening breeze, “isn’t fighting the mess or fearing the different. It is letting something imperfect hold you—just for a moment—and discovering, deep within the unfamiliar sludge, a heart that beats in the same hopeful rhythm as your own.”
And so, dear reader, we leave our farm a little warmer, a little messier, and infinitely more full of love—the kind that asks permission, respects boundaries, and isn’t afraid of a little glittery, compassionate ooze.
The End.
Pictures
Amish Hamburger with Fall Veggies Bake
As the weather turns crisp, I start craving hearty, comforting casseroles that feel like a big warm hug from the inside out. This Amish-style ground beef and veggie bake really hits the spot! It’s chock full of autumnal vegetables like potatoes, carrots, corn and tomatoes, all baked up with savory ground beef in a rich, herb infused sauce.
Ingredients
- 1 pound lean ground beef
- 1 medium yellow onion diced
- 2 cloves garlic minced
- 3 cups diced russet potatoes 1-inch pieces
- 2 cups diced carrots
- 1 cup diced celery
- 1 cup frozen corn kernels thawed
- 14.5 oz can petite diced tomatoes with juices
- 1 cup low-sodium beef broth
- 1 cup shredded sharp cheddar cheese
- 1 teaspoon salt
- 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
- 1 teaspoon dried thyme
- 1 teaspoon dried rosemary
- 1 tablespoon olive oil
How To Make Amish Hamburger with Fall Veggies Bake
- Preheat oven to 375°F. Grease a 9×13-inch baking dish with nonstick spray.
- In a large skillet over medium heat, cook ground beef in olive oil until browned and crumbled, about 5 minutes. Drain excess grease if needed. Transfer to a plate.
- Add onion and garlic to the skillet. Sauté for 3-4 minutes until softened.
- Add potatoes, carrots, celery, corn, diced tomatoes and beef broth. Season with salt, pepper, thyme and rosemary. Simmer for 5 minutes.
- Transfer mixture to prepared baking dish. Top evenly with cooked ground beef.
- Cover tightly with foil and bake for 30 minutes. Remove foil, top with shredded cheese and bake 10-15 minutes more until cheese is melted.
- Let sit for 5 minutes before serving. Enjoy!
Brandy (You’re A Fine Girl) by Looking Glass. Live vocal to track
Jigsaw – Sky High — [original STEREO]
Mary Hopkin ~ Those Were The Days (1968)
Cops Found an Illegal Tunnel — Then Realized It Had Been Used for Years
I’m With the Banned
Written in response to: “Imagine a world where exploration is forbidden, and write a story about a character who defies this rule to satisfy their innate curiosity.“
Jeremy Stevens
13 likes 
10 comments
Contemporary Lesbian
This story contains sensitive content
This story contains leftist political hot-buttons. Do not proceed if you are easily offended.
“I am not everyone.”
“And if we do this…”
“Ssshhh…you talk too much.”
“Just, go slow, ‘kay?”
“You got nothing to fear.”
—–
“And you met him, where?”
“At the dugout…”
“I mean, where, the first time?”
“Online.”
“Where online?”
“CuddlesClub. He said he was fifteen though…”
“And how long had you chatted with him, before…”
“Two months, maybe?”
“And when you met him…”
“He could have been fifteen, maybe.”
“But he wasn’t. You knew this, right?”
“Yes.”
“How did you know this?”
“Just the way you know things.”
—–
“But she’s only twelve.”
“The State does not give her permission.”
“She was raped.”
“Better than being a murderer.”
—–
Noam is playing with blocks on the floor. He uses them not only to build, but to spell. His latest word is “dim”; his phrase: We are a dim lot. Noam is going on four.
Naomi and I are cuddling on the torn loveseat. She entered my life when Noam was born. I am sixteen now; Naomi is nineteen. Naomi named him Noam, said it was a good name, said it meant “pleasantness” and that Noam Chomsky said we are born with “innate linguistic aptitude.”
“It’s a silent ‘fuck you’ to the suppression from the State,” she told me.
I didn’t get it at all then. I get it a bit more, now.
Naomi kisses my cheek, and hums Jack Johnson: …it’s so much better when we’re together.
—–
We are huddled in the shanty. The rain has finally stopped, so Naomi has gone out looking for food. So long as she stays to the alleys, she should be fine. Better food there, anyhow. Lots of restaurants; lots of waste. Last week her foraging yielded an unopened bag of pre-cooked, deveined, tail-removed shrimp. Noam found it delightful.
I was twelve when my parents were imprisoned. My father’d called the judge a sick beast and away they went, both of them. I was sitting behind them with some person in a white robe.
Now now, she tapped my knee. Now now.
I was fat with child and my back hurt. Heavily medicated, I haven’t much memory of those times. Naomi says there’s much we are not allowed to do. Being together is one of them.
“What happens if they find us together?”
“Just stick to the script.”
But Naomi is white, which is also a problem.
“Who’ll believe we’re sisters, Naomi? You’re white and I’m…”
Naomi just kisses me then. It is a hard kiss. Passionate. She grips the nape of my neck and puts her forehead to mine. “Sweet angel, I do so love you.”
—–
At four, Noam is still a thumb sucker. Despite our attempts at potty training he still has to wear diapers, and still Noam cannot speak intelligible words. His block spelling has plateaued. While we have no reliable source for nutrition, Naomi is resourceful and provides our RDA of the necessary food groups but still Noam’s eyes are jaundiced, his gums are bleeding, his skin is scaly. He’s been given to highs of rage and lows of slurping depression. He’s pulled out most of his hair; his fingertips and nails are nubbbed from scratching our earthen floor. I’ve tried to love on him —we both have— and sometimes he’ll relent but more often he’ll gnash and growl.
“What do you think the problem is, Naomi?”
“How well did you know his father?”
—–
It was on one of her last forays that Naomi returned with books. “I found them in the dumpster,” she exclaimed delightedly, “all brand new.”
Governor DeSatanist. We both knew it, but we dared not speak of it, FOR JESUS CHRIST HATH DECREED THAT the right the abort, the right same sex, the right to read, THE RIGHT TO EXPLORE OPTIONS are no longer rights, but SINS, all in the names of murder! defilement! propaganda!
“Oh, Naomi, what beautiful treasures. The Giving Tree. What in the world?”
“Sexist.”
“Exploring Civil Rights: The Movement.”
“Racially motivated.”
“Bridge to Terabithia? I loved this book.
“Promoting the occult.”
“Where the Wild Things Are.”
“Again. Too demonic, they say.”
“All of these were tossed? The Outsiders (too violent!), To Kill a Mockingbird (too mature!)…oh, I love this one but never heard of it: My Moms Love Me.”
We both looked down at our four-year-old, teething on a sandal.
—–
There is heavy foot traffic outside our tin-roofed shanty. They are marching in unison. Regimental, a tap-tap on the door: big bad white men instilling fear in two biracial dykes and a bastard invalid. We know why they are here. Surprised it took them so long.
The walls of our shanty are now lined with books: banned books, we assume, for they’d all been discarded. Several months ago, we’d opened our doors for exploration, purely word of mouth quite naturally as we —Naomi and I, and Noam— are not known to exist, not any longer. (For it’s been assumed, we assume, that we were wiped clean during the last fumigation, we fitting all their criteria of filth, after all.) Prior to finding us, our people had been fed the The History You Need to Know twenty-volume series; The Jesus Christ Giver’s Guide: How to be a Good Citizen; and The Lives of Hunter and Paisley five-volume series (Birth-Elementary Homeschool; Homeschool in the Neighborhood; College is not Necessary; Adulting with People Like You; Growing Old Quietly and Respectfully).
For the past several months, though, we’ve allowed our people to travel, to read with delight words that are actually said, emotions that are actually felt. Our people have been able to find comfort in words, healing words, words that have allowed them to transcend the NORM and to explore the lives of others, the majesty of foreign lands without the privilege of escape from this, our “home of the free because of the brave,” words and emotions that are now SINS because…because…
is there one right answer here?
Because independent thought is treachery. An enemy of progress.
Because “who controls the past controls the future, and who controls the present controls the past.” Because “the best books are those that tell you what you already know.”
Orwell, too, has been banned, of course. But we have him in our library.
Had, for we have been discovered.
—–
We are not going to be stoned, or burned like witches. We are not going to the rack or the gallows, or the chair. We are not going to be strapped to a gurney and punctured with needles. We are not going to be shot, or even gassed.
Our “fumigation” is the now-proverbial Jim Jones’ Drinking the Kool-Aid, though still we get to live, very much like the donkeys at the end of Pinocchio, also banned for its debauchery on Pleasure Island: as sheep in the fields, after the surgeries are complete, we shall follow without question, we shall bleat unintelligibly, we shall chew the cud from dawn ‘til dusk with those indistinguishable from ourselves.
We shall cause no further problems. We shall be obedient.
What patient made doctors go “How the heck are you even alive”?
A few years ago, working in a high-stress job in the summer with no air conditioning, I was gulping down 1.5 litre bottles of mineral water one after the other, but I put it down to the oven-like temperatures that had sweat running down my back and down my trouser legs (yuck).
Had a doctor’s checkup, as one dos in a country with accessible healthcare… Did the usual blood tests and so on, and then went back to work to wait for the results, not expecting anything special.
Phone rings, and my doctor says “get right back here” and don’t drive. Get someone to bring you in, pronto.
Turns out, I had diabetes, like, out of the blue (Diabeetus 2). Not only that, but my blood sugar was so high that it maxed out the regular blood sugar device they used. It just showed an “measurement out of range” error. The lab then showed that my blood sugar level was so high that it was astonishing that I was still conscious. Now I had been having spells where I felt I was going to pass out months previously, but didn’t think much about it. Dumb…
Anyhow, the doctor gave me a blood sugar measuring thingy, meds, and I used insulin for a while to get the blood sugar down to safe levels.
Nowadays, it’s fully controllable with Metformin alone and my blood sugar level is between 5.5 and 6.2 mMol/L, which I find quite satisfactory.
But holy shit, that was a scare.
The Cat no One Could Touch…Until My Daughter Showed Up.
Why does every Japanese provocation on history or territory ultimately result in greater strategic vulnerability?
This time, unlike China’s previous handling of Japan’s provocations on historical or territorial issues, China will completely demilitarize Japan.
Whether it’s tanks, armored personnel carriers, artillery, air defense systems, warships, submarines, assault rifles, aircraft, radar systems, or ammunition, none of this is possible without China. This is because China controls the raw materials Japan needs to produce weapons, such as rare earth elements, nitrocellulose, Biological agents, chemical substances…everything.
China recently issued a ban on the export of dual-use materials to Japan, which is a second-level sanction.
- Dual-use items are goods, software and technology that can be used for both civilian and military applications. In other words, Any civilian products that can be used for military purposes will be prohibited from being exported to Japan.
- Moreover, this is a “second-level sanction,” meaning that any transit country that secretly transfers dual-use goods to Japan will also be subject to the same sanctions.
Japan is a resource-poor island nation, and its economic development is not driven by domestic demand, but rather by import and export trade.
You ask, doesn’t Japan have any G7 allies helping it?
Yesterday, Kyodo News published an article stating that the G7 agrees to accelerate the reduction of reliance on China for rare earths.
This is not the first time a G7 meeting of this kind has been held.
I recall the last time China banned rare earth exports to Japan was after the September 2010 collision between a Chinese fishing boat and a Japanese patrol vessel near the Diaoyu Islands. At that time, Japan, along with other G7 members, held a meeting where participants “expressed a strong shared desire to quickly address critical vulnerabilities in the key mineral supply chain.”
Please, it’s now January 14, 2026—16 years since the last G7 meeting to discuss reducing dependence on China for rare earths.
How come the G7 is still meeting and discussing this 16 years later?
Is the next similar meeting scheduled for 2042?
According to data from China’s General Administration of Customs, China’s total rare earth exports are projected to amount to only US$448 million in 2024, a drop in the ocean compared to China’s total export value of US$3.65 trillion. Therefore, even if China stops exporting rare earth elements to the world, it will not have any impact on the Chinese economy.
However, the problem lies in this:
Without rare earth elements worth $448 million, various industries around the world would not be able to function properly, especially the G7’s multi-trillion dollar military industry.
Japan has launched a large-scale rare earth refining program, attempting to extract rare earth elements from old electric motors using earthen kilns. 🤣
People who are pro-Japan can throw all your old, broken motors at Japan.
In the 1960s, China was subjected to joint sanctions and blockades by the United States and the Soviet Union, subsequently launching the Great Leap Forward, which involved smelting steel from scrap iron. Now, Japan is also beginning to feel the consequences of the lockdown.
The Japanese actions are laughable. Recycling only increases costs and doesn’t achieve the desired quantity and quality. Smelting rare earth metals isn’t difficult; the challenge lies in obtaining 99.99% purity. 🤣
10-Minute Comfort Food Pasta
Ingredients
- 500g Stellini pasta
- 50g butter
- 15g flour
- 500ml milk
- 100g shredded hard mozzarella
- 1 small onion, finely chopped
- 3 garlic cloves, minced
- 700g ground meat (beef, pork, chicken, or turkey)
- 200g tomato sauce
- Vegetable oil for cooking
- Salt to taste
- Meat seasoning and powdered nutmeg (optional, to taste)
How To Make 10-Minute Comfort Food Pasta
- Preheat the oven: Set to 180°C (350°F).
- Cook the pasta: Boil Stellini pasta in salted water until al dente. Drain and set aside.
- Make the béchamel sauce: Melt butter in a pan over medium heat. Stir in flour, mixing well. Slowly add milk, stirring constantly until smooth and thickened. Season with salt and a pinch of nutmeg.
- Cook the meat: Heat a little oil in a pan. Sauté the chopped onion and garlic until soft and fragrant. Add ground meat and cook on high heat until browned. Season with salt and any additional spices, then stir in tomato sauce. Simmer briefly.
- Assemble the dish: In a baking dish, layer half of the cooked pasta, then half the meat mixture, followed by half of the béchamel sauce. Repeat the layers.
- Bake: Sprinkle shredded mozzarella evenly over the top. Bake for 20 minutes, or until the cheese is melted and golden.
- Serve: Let the dish rest for a few minutes before serving. Enjoy the comforting flavors of this simple yet hearty meal!
Why do you think Las Vegas is struggling so much right now?
Greed ruined Vegas. My ex and I went to Vegas twice a year back in the 70s. Much of Vegas was still controlled by the mob back then. (That all ended in the 80s.) It was a giant money-laundering factory for them. Here’s how the mob kept things:
- Streets were safe. There were no homeless people camped on the sidewalks. They were also dimly lit at night, just enough to walk, but not enough to kill the romantic and glamorous atmosphere.
- Gambling for the average person was dirt cheap. I could play Blackjack all day on $20 because the table was only$2 per hand. Same for craps. Slots started at a nickel.
- Drinks were free as long as you were gambling, even while sitting at the nickel slot machines.
- Buffets were .99 (yes, ninety-nine CENTS) and included things like prime rib and shrimp.
- Shows were affordable and included top stars like Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin.
- Everyone dressed up. Daytime was nice clothes but nighttime was suits and fancy dresses. I took 5 floor-length dresses — one for each night we were there. No one would be caught dead in shorts of flip flops.
- There were NO kids. Kids were forbidden in all casinos and anyone who dared to bring a kid had to follow strict rules about where they were allowed. Consequently, Vegas was a great playground for adults.
- Casinos were quiet except for the clink of money and ding-ding-ding of slot machines followed by the sound of all those coins landing in their metal trays.
- All the casinos were lit up with amazing neon displays. The hotels were moderate in size and magnificent in decor.
The mob didn’t care about the cost of any of the above. They made their money on high rollers, and they made a lot of it. The rest of the expenses were how the laundered money. Then they were chased out and the big chains moved in. Today:
- Homeless are everywhere. Streets are lit up like a strip mall.
- The last time I was there (for a friend’s wedding) the cheapest table was $20. Slots were at least .50 and there weren’t that many of those. Most were $1.00.
- Drinks were no longer free.
- Buffets were $20 (or more).
- Shows were over $100 (or much more).
- Cargo shorts and flip flops were the norm, even at evening shows.
- Kids were everywhere. Every hotel had a “kids play area” adjacent to the casino. The quiet, glamorous ambiance was gone.
- Consequently, the casinos were noisy from the adjacent play area and from kids running in and out to talk to parents. Even the familiar sound of slot machines is gone. The ding-ding-ding happens, but slot machines are mostly push button now, no arm to pull, and the payout is a credit to a card, so gone is the fun sound of all those coins.
- The hotels look like hotels everywhere. The neon is gone. It’s just a bunch of giant hotels now.
Here are two comparison pics.
79.4K views
Get Down Tonight – KC and the Sunshine Band
Is Marcus Luttrell really a hero? Why did he still have 11 magazines when the Afghans found him?
Lone Survivor is a lie and an evil lie. I am about to ruin this for you, but everyone should hear this.
That is Murphy on the left, Axelson on the right.
I wrote a test answer about this to see how people would react, and now they I gauge that, I can really get into the harsh reality.
I am assuming everyone has seen this movie, and it is “trending” on Netflix. So I am going to skip what happened. Yes, the recon team of 4 SEALs came under attack, and 3 of them fell. Yes, Luttrell was the only survivor. Yes, a Chinook carrying 8 SEALs and 8 SOAR aviators (all SpecOps guys) was shot down. That day, 19 brave members of the Special Operations “branch” of the military died.
This is not a “how accurate is it” historical movie because it is accurate according to the book written by Luttrell called Lone Survivor. This is about how the “lone survivor” (played by Mark Wahlberg), lied about what happened in an effort to cover up what he had done and make money off the deaths of 19 brave Americans, 16 of whom had come with minimal guard to save his life.
The book is fiction and is supported by the US Military. The truth of 19 elite SpecOps guys falling to a small militia of no real importance is hard to stomach. So they cooked up a fake “action report” for the medels that went against the basic facts and helped Luttrell create a myth and profit from it.
We know this because the bad guy, Shah, and his militia filmed the battle.
→ Shah was not important
- The movie states that Shah was out there with some big force, killing all these Marines. Yet in reality, this is false. I can’t find any records of his unit doing much harm (besides this incident), and he was simply a known militia leader in the area.
→ There was no vote over what to “do” about goat herders, nor did Murphy freak out
- This is the evil. The movie makes it look like Matthew Axelson supports the idea to “eliminate the compromise,” when in reality, there was never a vote. Murphy, a well-known figure, was not going to just shoot civilians on a mountainside. There was never a vote, just a debate on when to release them and what to do after.
- In fact, this is what made other SEAL guys question things. Many knew Murohy, and he was known as a calm, professional, effective leader. Not only us putting “war crimes” up to a vote unheard of in any branch, but it is also unthinkable that Murphy would consider such an action.
→ The SEALs did not face 100 or more men
- Pre-mission intel suggested Shah had a force of no more than 20 men. From the extensive footage and eyewitness testimony of the nearby villagers, Shah attacked with a force of 8 men (including himself), which was his entire “militia.”
- Footage from before the ambush, during, and after shows the same men. It has been poured over by US Military intelligence, is verified authentic, and the actual after-action reports (which other, more honest historians and authors gained access too) showed that the militia numbered 8.
→ The SEALs did not fight an epic, long battle to the last bullet
- There was no “preparation” and getting into cover. After the SEAL unit let the goat herders go and moved back, they were ambushed from an elevated position at close range. All of them were injured right away to varying degrees.
- The villagers who searched the area, the Army Rangers and Marines who secured the area (that day and the following day), did not find a SINGLE fallen enemy combatant. Footage from after the fighting shows all 8 men alive and well.
→ Shah did not “terrorize” the nearby village, NOR was there a fight to retake Luttrell
- They did speak to the village, and the villagers came up on the mountainside after the battle, too. There was no hostility here.
- Shah did demand that Gulab (the village elder) give them Luttrell, but Gulab refused, as Luttrell was a guest. Culturally, it is extremely taboo to let harm befall a guest of a village, and Shah lacked the man power to do anything and also did not want to alienate the village.
→ Luttrell did not crawl miles to safety for miles and spend a night or multiple nights being “hunted” in the wild.
- The “village” was about a mile away, and according to Gulab, he found Luttrell the same day as the combat. Luttrell did have shrapnel wounds, a torn shoulder, a fractured back, hurt nose. All wounds of a nasty fall- not a battle.
→ The goat herders were not aligned with Shah or the Taliban, nor did they play any part in this
- The SEALs came under heavy attack minutes after releasing the goat herders. Moreover, Shah was going to attack but was also interrupted by the herders and waited until they got clear to do his ambush. We know this because Gulab (who saved Luttrell) spoke with Shah and heard about the goat herders long before any books were published.
Then the biggest lie of all
→ Luttrell did not fight in the battle; he ran
- Luttrell claims to have fired all 11 magazines at the enemy before falling back (off a ridge multiple times. Obviously, the footage shows this is false. However, according to Gulab, the Army Rangers that recovered him, and the Air Force Pararescuemen, Luttrell still had all 11 magazines untouched. He didn’t fire a single shot.
- In the footage of the battle, we can hear Murphy yelling, “Marcus, come back,” and Luttrell himself admitted that when the battle started, he dropped his rifle in panic and hid.
- The villagers AND the Marines who rescued Luttrell found his rifle and bag- HE HAD NOT FIRED A SINGLE BULLET.
→ Luttrell was NOT badly injured
- We can confirm Luttrell had a fractured vertebra (though not serious), shrapnel wounds, and minor injuries like a hurt nose. He did not have any gunshot wounds. When the Army Rangers and Air Force Pararescuemen showed up to get him, they had a long, calm “tea debrief” with the village, and then he walked onto the chopper- no stretcher.
- Deitz, Axelson, and Murphy all sustained bullet wounds you’d expect and see in the film. Somehow, not Luttell, though.
This is Luttrell while in the village. Sure seems like he is fighting for his life huh?
Do I know for sure that he didn’t fight? No. However, the evidence is odd. Axelson had one pistol magazine left, and both Murphy and Deitz, despite being badly injured right away, still managed to try and fight back as they expended multiple magazines of ammunition. Luttrell… nothing- not a shot. He is also the only one who is not shot in the ambush. Downright odd…
Here is the kicker- the cherry on top of this mess. Luttrell was NOT THE LONE SURVIVOR.
The recon team gets ambushed, and immediately Dieztz is hit in the hand and abdomen, Murphy is hit in the central body area, and Axelson is hit in the head and chest. Murphy moves about 20–30 feet from the limited cover they had to get a line of sight and signal troops in contact, and in the process, is hit in the back. He returns to cover and continues to fire with a badly wounded Deitz and Axelson, and around or before this time, Luttrell had fled or, as he says, “was separated.”
Murphy moves from cover to get a better line of sight to send a “troops in contact” message. He is hit multiple times, fatally, but returns to cover and continues to fight until he succumbs to his wounds. Deitz is hit in the head as well around this period and dies, leaving Aexleson, who has fired all of his rounds and is using his sidearm at this point.
The Chinook goes down, and this prompts an “all hands” response immediately with Army Rangers. SEALs, Marines, and rescue personnel who secure the area by the following day. Then, a few days later, they find Luttrell, who was only 0.7 miles away in a village. Luttrell tells them that the other 3 members of his recon unit are dead.
The Army/Navy goes from a rapid search and rescue to a more measured and secure one. This is now a “recovery of remains,” and enough have died. Around 12 days later, they find Axelson’s remains.
- Despite being shot in the head, chest, and suffering countless other wounds, he managed to expend all his ammunition except a single sidearm magazine and hike over a mountain towards the rally point (likely hoping to find Luttrell).
The rangers found him 12 days after the battle. However, the men involved stated that Axelson was near a creek and that his body did not appear to have been “exposed” for 10+ days. It appears he had only been dead a few days. He had survived the battle, too.
Luttrell was “less than forthcoming” about what happened. Above all, HE LIED. He DID NOT see Axelson die and had he not told the Rangers that all 3 recon SEALs were dead, they may have rushed and found a very injured but alive Axelson.
How does Luttrell reward this? Well, he said/wrote that Axelson was the voice saying to “eliminate the compromise” (as in the innocent goat-herders) and painting him as more self-centered when really, he was a hero.
How do we know all of this?
- According to the Luttrells’ version of events- falling down cliffs, fighting despite being hit in the head, and so on, the facts don’t do that. Murphy was not found on some exposed ridge to make a call; he was around in a ravine.
- Indeed, he was able to make the call, and the whole “we didn’t want to use cellphones due to security” is flatly false. Some operations may have that, but for something like this, SEALs and other SpecOps guys will use phones
- The recon unit did get a message out just fine
- Axelson was MILES away from the other two, meaning he stayed behind to fight with his comrades until they fell and made for the rally point, hoping to find Marcus- but Marcus had fled to a village.
- The actual intel report- before and after (and relating to the next operation to got after Shah) indicated his forces to be around 16 at the most and 8 at the actual battle. This is confirmed via footage
- The villagers, Rangers, and Marines who secured the area found no bodies of Shah’s men.
- Gulab, who knew Shah well, laughed at the idea of 50 men. Indeed, he has A LOT to say. He reports that in his interview with 60 Minutes, he was told to agree with whatever Luttrell said. After the fact, though, he made it clear what happened.
- These groups also confirmed Luttrell had not fired a shot, was not badly hurt, and was not very forthcoming with information relating to his fallen friends
- The Army Rangers, Pararescuemen, and Marines are involved in the rescue operations here.
- Extensive investigation by the Navy and Marines using forensic data, Afghan intelligence, and more.
Luttrell fabricated himself a hero story and profited from it. Not only that, but he villainized his comrades and fabricated what happened because it was better to do that and be a “rich hero SEAL” than a coward who fled an ambush.
It is hard to say what happened. The Military is pushing a narrative and Luttell is too. However, it is clear that this entire movie and book is dishonest, disrespectful, and downright evil.
Quick and Easy Cheddar Bay Biscuits
Ingredients
- 2 cups all-purpose flour
- 1 tablespoon baking powder
- 1 tablespoon sugar
- 2 teaspoons garlic powder
- 1 teaspoon salt
- 1/2 cup unsalted butter (cold and cubed)
- 1 cup shredded sharp cheddar cheese
- 3/4 cup whole milk
- 2 tablespoons melted butter
- 1 teaspoon dried parsley (for garnish)
How To Make Quick and Easy Cheddar Bay Biscuits
- Preheat the oven: Start by preheating your oven to 425°F (220°C). Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or lightly grease it to prevent sticking.
- Mix dry ingredients: In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, sugar, garlic powder, and salt. This will ensure that the dry ingredients are evenly distributed throughout the dough.
- Cut in the butter: Using a pastry cutter or your hands, cut the cold, cubed butter into the flour mixture until it resembles coarse crumbs. The butter should be evenly distributed, but small pieces should still remain to help make the biscuits flaky.
- Add the cheese: Stir in the shredded cheddar cheese, making sure it’s evenly incorporated into the flour mixture.
- Add the milk: Pour in the milk and gently stir the mixture until it just comes together. Be careful not to overmix, as this can result in dense biscuits. The dough should be slightly sticky.
- Shape the biscuits: Drop large spoonfuls of the dough onto the prepared baking sheet, spacing them about 2 inches apart. You should have about 8-10 biscuits, depending on the size.
- Bake: Bake in the preheated oven for 12-15 minutes, or until the biscuits are golden brown on top.
- Brush with butter: As soon as the biscuits come out of the oven, brush them with the melted butter and sprinkle with dried parsley for a pop of color and extra flavor.
- Serve and enjoy: Serve the biscuits warm and enjoy them on their own or alongside your favorite meal.
I just got fired. Now my former boss (the one who let me go) is asking me where some important documents are. How should I respond?
Tell them that they must find the documents, as your time isn’t available to them anymore.
My neighbor was let go immediately from the company she had been with for over 20 years. They led her to the desk where she had to give back the keys to the company car (they aren’t concerned about the car, which was in her own home, as she had taken the bus to work anyway), gathered her own belongings, and were not allowed to say anything to the other employees.
They apparently had a policy in regard to any employee leaving the organization, no reason given, just that the employee was redundant due to “restructuring” and a severance package given in return. Months later, they got in touch with her again, first of all, to collect their company car, which they had forgotten to take back. She said, “You do have the car keys, so take it back, I have had it in my home since I moved out, so I think the battery’s dead by now.” “Not anything to do with me.” They had to call a tow truck to retrieve it.
They wanted to understand how it was done, a job the employee had been regularly doing, which no other employee had understood either. “Not my problem, maybe next time think of it before showing me the door in an abrupt, unwarranted, and unplanned manner,” before she abruptly hung up the phone.