Today, I want to chat a little bit about “Junk”.
When I was a boy I was fascinated with Junk. These little bits and pieces of day to day life was all mysterious to me. And when I went through the “Junk”, it was an adventure.
It could be anything.
I was enraptured about these “little finds”, these items of discovery. I loved their shapes, colors and textures. I wondered what their history was and how I could use them. These little pieces of “junk”.
I know, I’m strange.
But this is the truth.
So today we will dedicate this post to junk.
Today…
“Mushroom Cloud” in Tehran
Very Very VERY many people are emailing me about a “Mushroom Cloud” in Tehran, Iran. Video from the actual explosion shows a flash that lasts better than ten seconds!
VIDEO:
I’m not sure what to make of this, but I am being told the explosion(s) took place at Iran Nuclear Program facilities in Parchin and again in Kojir.
Chinese Rednote app Destroying Years Of USA Propaganda – Americans Left Shocked!
Why are Koreans so unpopular, not only among Chinese but also among Japanese?
It’s true that certain South Koreans are annoying, mainly because they are hypocritical, thin-skinned, selfish and arrogant. But the crux of the problem lies in China.
South Korea has been a principality highly subordinate to China since ancient times. Their historical heritage cannot cope with or support the diverse cultural impact of their highly developed economy.
In the past, Koreans could proudly hold up their heads and say that they were subjects of the Great Ming.
But the China of the last 100 years has not been able to give them the strength to face up to their own history. As a result, South Korea has become a country that is neither fish nor fowl. It uses Chinese chopsticks, bows like the Japanese, and fears power like the Anglo-Saxons but does not respect virtue.
But no matter what, as Chinese people, no matter how much you hate South Korea, we still need to thank the Koreans for one thing — that is, to let the remains of the Chinese People’s Volunteer Army soldiers who died in South Korea return to their hometown.
Although Japan, South Korea, Vietnam and other countries are anti-China, saying that they do not belong to China, that they have been invaded by China in history, and so on and so forth, they have written a lot of such nonsense in the history textbooks they give to their students, but as soon as China splits up, they will immediately jump out to claim that they are the “real China” and “the sole legitimate successor of China”.
Do you believe they will do so? 🤣🤣🤣
This is their very strange mentality.
Insider REVEALS: Australia Prepares War With China To Rescue US Hegemony | Prof. Hugh White
If you live in China and publicly say something negative about the government, President Xi, or CCP, what will happen to you and your family?
Most of the time, nothing.
Let me bring the reader back to the Hu era. Back then, China’s growth was so dizzy that everyone was willing to overlook the huge injustice and imbalance appearing all over China, so long wealth creation kept rolling along.
People were aggrieved, and they took it out on officials, some who fought back with equally fierce rhetoric. If you know where to look, plenty of accounts exist, and they often retain wild details about past excesses and the lengths common folk went to right wrongs and pursue justice.
In fact, there were cases that escalated all the way to Beijing, with petitions climbing up the government ladder, traversing thousands of kilometers over multiple years.
Now, do you think aggrieved and desperate citizens have good things to say about the system that was responsible for their suffering?
Organized protest is a legal tactic to get heard in china. If there is a valid complaint, the police generally allow peaceful protest.
In today’s smartphone dominated world, a fair bit of complaints and protests have gone online. Quite a number go viral each year, because technology propel local developments into trending topics nationwide. Chinese social media is littered with examples, and there are posts curating top-xx scandals of the decade.
In the Xi era, as long as the story is true and not a threat to national security, it is allowed to develop. Topics deemed too sensitive are not covered up per se, but accounts, especially detailed official ones, are released with significant delay. This was the treatment given to Galwan, and the spate of terrorist attacks in Xinjiang 15 years ago.
There is however, one group that has to be very careful with their words: the influential.
Influence is seen as a form of political power in china. Influential people can include leaders in society, party members, highly visible stars, and in the 21st century, social media influencers/livestreamers. Their network reach is effective at mobilizing masses, so what they say take on significance, and they are closely monitored. It is this group that face censorship erring on the conservative, and discipline can drop like a ton of bricks even for inadvertent or unfortunate errors. For example, a stand-up comedian’s joke with military undertones was picked up by the media, and invited swift censure from authorities. The program was forced off-air and the company fined, with the boss resigning to take responsibility. All because of a slip of tongue captured within several seconds of airtime.
Fortunately, 90+% of the population do not command influence and celebrate the mundane freedom of anonymity with loose, and sometimes irresponsible speech.
Mexican Style Short Ribs
Yield: 6 to 8 servings
Ingredients
- 4 pounds beef short ribs
- 1 (10 1/2 ounce) can beef consommé
- 1 (1/4 ounce) package taco seasoning mix
- 1/4 cup green bell pepper, chopped
Instructions
- In large skillet brown ribs; pour off excess fat. Place in slow cooker.
- Mix beef consommé with dry taco mix; add green pepper. Pour sauce over ribs.
- Cover and cook on LOW for 6 to 8 hours.
A Tree Always Hears Itself Fall
Submitted into Contest #210 in response to: Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.… view prompt
A.R. Eakle
Post-it notes filled to the brim with words but lacking any real information line the bottom of my monitor, but really what in life can be summed up in a way to fit on a post-It note? Or is it just the opposite? That everything in life is meant to fit on a single note and that we often make life too complicated? Maybe everything can be summed up into something even smaller, say a word, or a single letter, or a single thought that never makes its way into the chasm of reality.
Sunsets, movie stars, disposable cutlery, and quantum physics. There can’t be that much difference in them if they’re all part of the same universe, the same realm. Maybe there isn’t more than one universe, that this is all we have. That dinosaurs and Facebook live on the same plane with the same timeline and that there isn’t anything more or less to it than that.
I rip off one of the notes, an old one with a bunch of information on it that doesn’t mean anything to me now but was important enough to write down at one point. I crumble it up and throw it in the trash. I do the same with the one next to it, then the other, then the other, until they’re all in the trash and my monitor is once again clear. Bits of my memory thrown into the trash to be forgotten. Or will they be? Will some part of me remember everything that was written on them? Stored away in an area of the brain that I won’t have access to later? What if we remember everything that we have ever seen or done, and in the vastness of our minds we just can’t access it. Thinking about the universe and how big it is, surely something got lost out there that will never be found again, but that doesn’t mean that it’s gone. As if a tree falling in the woods doesn’t make a sound if nobody is around to hear it. The tree itself is there to hear itself fall.
I step out of my office, look down the hall both ways, as if crossing a busy road of traffic, and stroll toward reception at a leisurely pace. Names label plaques down the hall with a bunch of other lawyers that dedicated more time to school and fulfilling the wishes of professors than they did satisfying their own desires. Nobody desires to be in school, they desire money and a life of luxury. But in order to get to that part we have to satisfy everybody else first. Even people who work for themselves, the ones that never went to college and have never had a boss in their life still answer to everybody else before themselves. If their product doesn’t fit the design of society or their target market, then they’d be flat broke. Even those that inherited money and have never worked a day in their lives are still at the mercy of everybody around them. If there wasn’t nothing for them to buy or to have dinners with, then they’d surely go mad of richness.
I tell the receptionist, Jen, I tell her, “I’m heading out for the day. If Davis asks, tell him I wasn’t feeling good. But don’t tell anybody else I’m out. Say I’m in a conference or something, okay?” She nods, and I lean with my forearms onto the counter, and I say, “Thanks. Hey, I’ll see you all tomorrow. Have a good evening, okay?” They say they will and smile and wave goodbye and I wave back at them as I walk through the door.
Business cards, Microsoft Excel, the Mona Lisa, and Virgos. There’s something that I missed, something that nobody can tell me that I missed because nobody knows that it’s missing. At least that I’m missing it. Maybe they found it and didn’t know that they found it to tell me what it is that I should be looking for. If I drive a toy Tonka truck into a Barnes and Noble and ask for a double cheeseburger from Dunkin’ Donuts, would they give me one? Why wouldn’t they?
I sit in my car and call my mom. “Hey,” I answer.
“Is everything okay?” she asks.
“Can we talk about what happened yet?”
She hangs up, but doesn’t hang up because she never answered the phone because she died ten years ago. And to this day I can still hear her voice when I pick up my phone and dial her number and get nothing in return. That’s how I know that I’m missing something. I can often hear her voice, as if she’s right next to me, and she can still tell me things and I call her back and she says, “Is everything okay?” And I say, “Has anybody in our family ever had schizophrenia?” And she says, “Of course not. Don’t be silly like that, our family isn’t crazy.” I hang up.
Super Nintendo Entertainment Systems, chickens, the Ohio River, and Erwin Schrodinger’s cat have as much in common with each other as I have in common with my own skeleton. It isn’t about the stock markets and girl scout cookies, because if it were then I would have some type of answer. As I’m walking down Main Street I loosen my tie and unbutton the top button of my shirt so that my neck can breathe and I feel as though there’s another part of me, a part that knows something that I don’t, and I can hear that part of me calling out for my current self. He’s beautiful, my voice calling out to me. I can tell in the pitch, the melody, the soft way that I can hear it but it allows me to ignore it. I’m not beautiful, not in that way, and neither is anything else.
I left my car in the garage. I leave the busy streets and opt for a side street around a few blocks. I’m completely lost, but at the same time not lost at all because I’m in the same place that I’ve always been. I’ve never been anywhere else. I walk, and eventually my shoes cause blisters on my feet. A pair of black leather shoes that cost an infinite amount of money. I keep walking, feeling my heels bleeding. I walk as far as I can until I there is no more pavement, only dirt and grass. There’s a mountain in the distance, though I’m not sure of which peak it is or which range it’s a part of. It’s only a mountain, nothing more and nothing less. I walk toward it.
Giraffes, Alaska, airplanes, and pontoon boats aren’t what worry me by any means. It’s this walk and the way it’s making me feel. The way I can hear myself breathing, the way I feel my heart pumping and pounding through my chest so much that I can almost see my shirt move. The way my heels are raw and my thighs are chaffing. The walk terrifies me, but it isn’t because of the distance or the fear that I might die, it’s because of what I might discover when I reach the top. It’s getting darker but my path is clear, continue straight. Slopes and hills and trees aren’t obstacles, neither are the bits of streams and cliffs. It’s the AM radio stations, carpet, and HB #2 pencils.
It could have been hours, it could have been days, it could have been thirty-eight seconds, it could have been no time at all, but I reach a point that I know is not the top of the mountain but is no different than the top, nor is it any different than a public bathroom in Burlington, Vermont. There’s a river, not one that is an obstacle, nor one that I cannot pass, but it is a river, the same as if it were a pigeon. I take off my shoes, then my socks, then my tie, then my button-up shirt, then my undershirt, then my pants, then my underwear, until I am left standing on the side of the flowing river as naked as the day I was born. In a pile of mess, I leave it all there and walk into the water. It’s cold and painful.
Igneous rocks, car keys, tweezers, and aglets know the same amount of information as I do, they know the exact things that I know. If they didn’t then they wouldn’t exist, and neither would I. The water is coming up to my knees and I can feel the smooth and jagged rocks beneath my feet. The moon is almost full and there isn’t any type of noise except the flow of water and the chirping critters on the sides of the river. I sit down, my feet stretched out in front of me, the water running into my back. I am no obstacle to the river nor am I an obstacle to radio towers, Ray-Ban sunglasses, or sundials. I call my mom and I say, “Hey.” She says, “Is everything okay?” I tell her it is, and she hangs up and I lay down in the river on my back and feel the cold water rushing over me. I feel the entirety of the universe swirling around me, through me, into me, out of me.
Back in my office, I scroll through my emails. There’s traffic outside, so much that I can hear it. It’s a hot day with a cool wind. I am taking the post-It notes out of the trash can, uncurling them, flattening them, and placing them back on my monitor. I want to think it was the cleaners that threw them away, but I know it wasn’t. I’ve learned to live with myself the way that I am, even if the way that I am is somebody that I don’t yet know.
Do the Trump supporters get laughed at and made fun of in Europe?
I worked as a flight attendant during his 1st term regularly traveling to Europe and Asia. I currently still travel frequently to Europe.
The Europeans, Japanese, and Chinese I interact with do not laugh at Trump supporters – they laugh at Trump himself and they are appalled by him. To say they do not like him is an understatement.
British writer, Nate White, explains why his country does not like Trump in a scathing description of the man. His description should make patently clear how Trump is viewed in the UK.
👇🏽
“A few things spring to mind. Trump lacks certain qualities which the British traditionally esteem. For instance, he has no class, no charm, no coolness, no credibility, no compassion, no wit, no warmth, no wisdom, no subtlety, no sensitivity, no self-awareness, no humility, no honour and no grace – all qualities, funnily enough, with which his predecessor Mr. Obama was generously blessed. So for us, the stark contrast does rather throw Trump’s limitations into embarrassingly sharp relief.
Plus, we like a laugh. And while Trump may be laughable, he has never once said anything wry, witty or even faintly amusing – not once, ever. I don’t say that rhetorically, I mean it quite literally: not once, not ever. And that fact is particularly disturbing to the British sensibility – for us, to lack humour is almost inhuman. But with Trump, it’s a fact. He doesn’t even seem to understand what a joke is – his idea of a joke is a crass comment, an illiterate insult, a casual act of cruelty.
Trump is a troll. And like all trolls, he is never funny and he never laughs; he only crows or jeers. And scarily, he doesn’t just talk in crude, witless insults – he actually thinks in them. His mind is a simple bot-like algorithm of petty prejudices and knee-jerk nastiness.
There is never any under-layer of irony, complexity, nuance or depth. It’s all surface. Some Americans might see this as refreshingly upfront. Well, we don’t. We see it as having no inner world, no soul. And in Britain we traditionally side with David, not Goliath. All our heroes are plucky underdogs: Robin Hood, Dick Whittington, Oliver Twist. Trump is neither plucky, nor an underdog. He is the exact opposite of that. He’s not even a spoiled rich-boy, or a greedy fat-cat. He’s more a fat white slug. A Jabba the Hutt of privilege.
And worse, he is that most unforgivable of all things to the British: a bully. That is, except when he is among bullies; then he suddenly transforms into a snivelling sidekick instead. There are unspoken rules to this stuff – the Queensberry rules of basic decency – and he breaks them all. He punches downwards – which a gentleman should, would, could never do – and every blow he aims is below the belt. He particularly likes to kick the vulnerable or voiceless – and he kicks them when they are down.
So the fact that a significant minority – perhaps a third – of Americans look at what he does, listen to what he says, and then think ‘Yeah, he seems like my kind of guy’ is a matter of some confusion and no little distress to British people, given that:
• Americans are supposed to be nicer than us, and mostly are.
• You don’t need a particularly keen eye for detail to spot a few flaws in the man.
This last point is what especially confuses and dismays British people, and many other people too; his faults seem pretty bloody hard to miss. After all, it’s impossible to read a single tweet, or hear him speak a sentence or two, without staring deep into the abyss. He turns being artless into an art form; he is a Picasso of pettiness; a Shakespeare of shit. His faults are fractal: even his flaws have flaws, and so on ad infinitum. God knows there have always been stupid people in the world, and plenty of nasty people too. But rarely has stupidity been so nasty, or nastiness so stupid. He makes Nixon look trustworthy and George W look smart. In fact, if Frankenstein decided to make a monster assembled entirely from human flaws – he would make a Trump.
And a remorseful Doctor Frankenstein would clutch out big clumpfuls of hair and scream in anguish: ‘My God… what… have… I… created?’ If being a twat was a TV show, Trump would be the boxed set.”
Enough said.
In what ways has your business been affected by President Trump’s trade policies, specifically if you are in the manufacturing industry?
My company is a major player in our field, and my bosses have been scrambling to Trump proof our workforce and supply chain as much as possible. We use a lot of aluminum and steel, and Trump’s policies are expected to send prices through the roof. Also American doesn’t have much aluminum recycling infrastructure anymore and production standards are inferior to those in China, so we might lose access to the quality we’re used to.
The worst thing is Trump’s ethnic cleansing raids. Most of our factory workforce is Spanish speaking, as there aren’t many white skilled laborers. I don’t know or care about their immigration status, they’re human and therefore have the right to be here in my book. One raid would probably cripple us since Nazi goons are rounding up anyone brown.
The Disappearance of Peter Williamson | Lightning Pants from Another Dimension
WTF Is this shit its chain of thought is like a human
So I was messing with Deepseek, and asking some twisted clinical scenarios.
Unlike Chatgpt online version where I couldn’t see CoT (chain of thought) here i can see and its Chain of thought is quite accurate, not there but pretty much a like a Dr.
Quite impressive it kinda co-related thoracic aortic aneurysm, though I was asking about abdominal, but it somehow corelated symptoms with that
compared to chat gpt, it gave a more focused and less generalized response.
While chat gpt response was more broad.
But I was more impressed by chain of thought of deepseek, i do not know how chatgpt does tht, coz its chain of thoughts are not shown.
Have you ever walked out of an interview?
Yes.
Before the interview, where they’d approached me via a head hunter not the other way round, I’d made my salary expectations very clear and that the figure I’d given was the MINIMUM I’d expect for the role plus some other bits and pieces.
At the interview the company rep was agreeable to all of it, they really wanted me to work there. Then we got onto salary.
Me – So as discussed, I’d be expecting £X as a minimum. Are you still happy with that?
CR – Yes, that figure would fall within your OTE
Needle scrapes across the record, the agency rep looks sideways at the company rep with a WTAF look on his face as he’s clearly not heard about this either.
Me – I’m sorry, OTE?
CR – Yes… OTE – On Target Earnings…
Me – Yes, I’m aware of what OTE stands for. I’m a little confused as to why it applies to me in this role.
CR – Well, we pay an annual bonus to employees dependent on company performance and the employee achieving his KPIs. The bonus would bring your pay in line with your request.
Me – You seem to have misunderstood me. That figure is the very minimum I will accept as BASE salary for this role. At no point has anyone mentioned bonuses or OTE.
CR – Well it’s quite a standard model for pay.
Me – Yes, I’m aware of that, however it doesn’t address the fact that you’re including a bonus, which, by it’s very nature, is not guaranteed as part of my basic pay requirements. My minimum pay is precisely that, the lowest amount I will accept. The company bonus will be on top of that.
CR – Well that’s how we pay…
Me – I’m sorry, but if you’re not prepared to be honest about the pay structure and not meet my minimum pay then there’s very little point in continuing this.
I got up and left, followed by the agency rep who was apologising profusely as he’d been kept in the dark as well.
Shorpy
As the defender of free speech and information, why doesn’t Musk open up Starlink over China, and break the Great Chinese Firewall?
Simply put, in China, no one will use Starlink.
In China, there are 4G or 5G mobile phone signals wherever people live. Even if you live in the mountains or on the top of Mount Everest,
In China, once you settle down, you have the right to ask the national telecommunications to build a mobile phone signal for you. Even if your monthly mobile phone bill is $1, you have the right to ask the country to spend $1 million to build a signal tower for you.
In addition, you can climb over the Great Firewall for $1 a month.
So, why should I use Starlink, which costs hundreds of dollars a month?
Sir Whiskerton and the Case of the Purloined Feed
Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for another rollicking adventure on Sir Whiskerton’s farm, where the animals are as eccentric as ever, and the mischief is always just a whisker away. Today’s tale involves Bigcat, Catnip, a bag of feed, and Jazzpurr the Beatnik Cat. So, grab your sense of humor and let’s dive into The Case of the Purloined Feed.
The Plot Thickens
It all began on a sunny morning when Sir Whiskerton was enjoying his usual sunbeam on the barn roof. The peace was shattered by the sound of clucking, honking, and the unmistakable twang of a bongo drum. Sir Whiskerton opened one eye to see Jazzpurr the Beatnik Cat sitting in the middle of the barnyard, strumming his bongo and reciting a poem about the existential crisis of a turnip.
“Jazzpurr,” Sir Whiskerton called down, his tail flicking in mild annoyance. “Must you always be so… beatnik?”
Jazzpurr looked up, his beret tilted at a jaunty angle. “Hey, man, life’s a groove, and I’m just riding the wave. You dig?”
Before Sir Whiskerton could respond, Rufus the Dog came bounding over, his tail wagging furiously. “Whiskerton! You’ve got to see this! Bigcat’s in the barn, and he’s got a bag of feed!”
Sir Whiskerton’s ears perked up. “Bigcat? The ‘I-ate-all-the-pies-and-then-ate-the-baker’ Bigcat? What’s he doing with our feed?”
“I don’t know,” Rufus said, panting. “But it doesn’t look good. He’s got Catnip with him, and they’re up to something.”
Sir Whiskerton sighed. “Of course they are. Very well, let’s investigate.”
The Barnyard Brouhaha
As Sir Whiskerton, Rufus, and Jazzpurr approached the barn, they could hear the unmistakable sound of Bigcat’s booming voice. “Alright, Catnip, this is the plan. We take the feed, sell it to the highest bidder, and use the profits to fund my empire. Simple, right?”
Catnip, ever the smooth talker, nodded eagerly. “Simple as stealing milk from a kitten. But what about Sir Whiskerton? He’s not going to like this.”
Bigcat chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that made the barn walls shake. “Sir Whiskerton? That pompous puss? He’s no match for me. I’m Bigcat, the biggest, baddest feline in the county!”
From his hiding spot outside the barn, Sir Whiskerton rolled his eyes. “Biggest, baddest feline? Please. He’s just a glorified housecat with an overinflated ego.”
Jazzpurr, ever the philosopher, added, “Man, like, size isn’t everything, you know? It’s all about the vibes.”
Rufus tilted his head. “What’s a vibe?”
Before Jazzpurr could explain, Sir Whiskerton interrupted. “Enough chit-chat. We need a plan.”
The Plan Unfolds
Sir Whiskerton’s plan was simple yet brilliant. Jazzpurr would distract Bigcat and Catnip with his bongo drumming and poetry, while Rufus and Sir Whiskerton would sneak in and reclaim the feed.
As Jazzpurr began his performance, Bigcat and Catnip were momentarily stunned. “What in the name of catnip is this?” Bigcat growled.
“It’s, like, the sound of the universe, man,” Jazzpurr said, his bongo beats growing more intense. “Can’t you feel it? The rhythm of life?”
Catnip, ever the opportunist, tried to take advantage of the distraction. “Uh, Bigcat, maybe we should just take the feed and go.”
But Bigcat was too entranced by Jazzpurr’s performance. “No, no, this is… fascinating. I’ve never heard anything like it.”
While Bigcat and Catnip were distracted, Sir Whiskerton and Rufus slipped into the barn. With a few well-placed nudges and tugs, they managed to free the bag of feed and drag it back to safety.
The Moral of the Story
As the sun set and the barnyard returned to its usual peaceful state, Sir Whiskerton addressed the gathered animals. “Well, my friends, it seems we’ve once again thwarted Bigcat’s nefarious plans.”
Rufus wagged his tail. “And we got the feed back! That’s a win in my book.”
Jazzpurr strummed his bongo. “Like, it’s all about harmony, man. When we work together, we can overcome anything.”
Sir Whiskerton nodded. “Indeed. The moral of the story is this: No matter how big or bad someone may seem, teamwork and a little creativity can always save the day.”
Ditto, who had been watching from the sidelines, echoed, “Save the day! Save the day!”
Echo, not to be outdone, added, “Save the day! Save the day!”
And with that, the animals returned to their usual routines, content in the knowledge that once again, Sir Whiskerton had saved the farm from chaos.
The End.
Who was the most ignorant American you have ever met?
Casting my mind back to 1999, I recently had my first transatlantic trip landing in Minneapolis St Pauls, travelled up to Canada & my hostess advised me you could always tell an American in a restaurant “because you could hear them” little did I know I was about to experience this very shortly after my return home…….
Usual disclaimers I know & have met lots of Americans over the last 30 years & they are all great people, but hold onto your hats there’s just this one…..
So a few weeks later, I’m in a Electrical goods store & leaving it just as the biggest loudest American strides in, overweight, the shirt, the shorts, the sandals, the hat & most importantly the deep southern drawl .
All in all the very epitome of this guy.
No hello’s or anything like that…….straight in!
The entire conversation is pretty much engraved in my brain word for word.
“Hey You…. Where can I find The Maritime Museum!”
Well, I can tell you where it was!
“Whaddya mean WAS!”
Well it closed down about 18 months ago, ran out of funding!
“WHAT! Nobody told me!”
Biting down the urge to make a comment about doing some research before travelling 5,000 miles, I followed up with a comment that some of the Exhibits could be seen still moored at the Quayside if he still wanted directions, adding in that the Quayside itself would still be a desirable place to visit & even have lunch.
“What else can I find here!”
Well there’s the castle & gardens that have been around since William The Conqueror possibly older, the Roman walls are still standing in places, there’s the medieval underground passages no similar system of passages can be explored by the public elsewhere in Britain, there’s the cathedral & buildings from the Tudor period.
“THE HELL WITH THAT! Where do I find Plymouth”
Leaving the car park, turn right, then left at the second lights then follow the signs, (sotto) & they’re welcome to you.
This is a sample of what he passed on (The Boat Shed is the museum he desperately sought)
https://www.tripadvisor.ca/Attractions-g186254-Activities-oa0-Exeter_Devon_England.html
Why NOBODY Wants To Marry American Women Anymore
The “one-two” punch of [1] American migration to XHS followed by [2] DeepSeek AI unveiling; falling on CNY (Year of the Snake) has great Geo-Political Implications. What are the Geo-political influences / changes or adaptations that this suggest?
- Christmas gift: Sixth generation fighter jet
- Chinese New Year Gift: Deepseek
American tech people wailed on Facebook: Can the Chinese take a week off?
Despite their jealousy, Americans had to accept the fact of America’s decline.
In fact, in 2025, shocking news from China will continue to come.
I originally said that once Trump’s four-year term ends, there will be a winner between China and the United States.
It no longer makes sense for the United States to contain China.
The most iconic event in China’s science and technology community is the manned moon landing in 2030, with the entire process broadcast live, around the time of Trump’s retirement.
Since then, China has become the only true beacon of science and technology in the world. From now on, Hollywood will never make science fiction movies again, because all the science fiction movies they make will be realized in China. 🤣🤣🤣
Missive in a Photograph
Submitted into Contest #210 in response to: Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.… view prompt
Jonathan Page
“Smell my finger,” he giggled mischievously.
Brendan obliged without suspecting what lay ahead. As he took a whiff, an unpleasant odor invaded his senses. “It smells like poop!” he exclaimed in disgust.
Brady burst into laughter before confessing that he had placed his finger in his bottom – an act that would make any parent cringe at its grossness. Brendan scolded him gently and asked where he had learned such an unsavory trick.
To his astonishment, Brady replied innocently yet eerily: “Grandpa told me.”
Brady’s heart skipped a beat as he realized the chilling truth – Brady’s grandfather had passed away six long years ago. How could his son have learned this forbidden secret from someone he had never met?
The room grew colder as unease settled upon them like a heavy fog. Whispers of ghostly presence echoed through their thoughts as they pondered the inexplicable connection between Brady and his long-lost grandfather.
Who was this spectral figure guiding young Brady’s actions from beyond the grave? What secrets did he carry from another time? And what twisted fate awaited them all?
* * *
Brendan was laying on the couch with his son Brady, relaxing. Brady turned to his father with mischief sparkling in his eyes.
“Smell my finger,” he giggled mischievously.
Brendan obliged without suspecting what lay ahead. As he took a whiff, an unpleasant odor invaded his senses. “It smells like poop!” he exclaimed in disgust.
Brady burst into laughter before confessing that he had placed his finger in his bottom – an act that would make any parent cringe at its grossness. Brendan scolded him gently and asked where he had learned such an unsavory trick.
To his astonishment, Brady replied innocently yet eerily: “Grandpa told me.”
Brady’s heart skipped a beat as he realized the chilling truth – Brady’s grandfather had passed away six long years ago. How could his son have learned this forbidden secret from someone he had never met?
The room grew colder as unease settled upon them like a heavy fog. Whispers of ghostly presence echoed through their thoughts as they pondered the inexplicable connection between Brady and his long-lost grandfather.
Who was this spectral figure guiding young Brady’s actions from beyond the grave? What secrets did he carry from another time? And what twisted fate awaited them all?
* * *
Brendan was laying on the couch with his son Brady, relaxing. Brady turned to his father with mischief sparkling in his eyes.
“Smell my finger,” he giggled mischievously.
Brendan obliged without suspecting what lay ahead. As he took a whiff, an unpleasant odor invaded his senses. “It smells like poop!” he exclaimed in disgust.
Brady burst into laughter before confessing that he had placed his finger in his bottom – an act that would make any parent cringe at its grossness. Brendan scolded him gently and asked where he had learned such an unsavory trick.
To his astonishment, Brady replied innocently yet eerily: “Grandpa told me.”
Brady’s heart skipped a beat as he realized the chilling truth – Brady’s grandfather had passed away six long years ago. How could his son have learned this forbidden secret from someone he had never met?
The room grew colder as unease settled upon them like a heavy fog. Whispers of ghostly presence echoed through their thoughts as they pondered the inexplicable connection between Brady and his long-lost grandfather.
Who was this spectral figure guiding young Brady’s actions from beyond the grave? What secrets did he carry from another time? And what twisted fate awaited them all?
Brendan was laying on the couch with his son Brady, relaxing. Brady turned to his father with mischief sparkling in his eyes.
“Smell my finger,” he giggled mischievously.
Brendan obliged without suspecting what lay ahead. As he took a whiff, an unpleasant odor invaded his senses. “It smells like poop!” he exclaimed in disgust.
Brady burst into laughter before confessing that he had placed his finger in his bottom – an act that would make any parent cringe at its grossness. Brendan scolded him gently and asked where he had learned such an unsavory trick.
To his astonishment, Brady replied innocently yet eerily: “Grandpa told me.”
Brady’s heart skipped a beat as he realized the chilling truth – Brady’s grandfather had passed away six long years ago. How could his son have learned this forbidden secret from someone he had never met?
The room grew colder as unease settled upon them like a heavy fog. Whispers of ghostly presence echoed through their thoughts as they pondered the inexplicable connection between Brady and his long-lost grandfather.
Who was this spectral figure guiding young Brady’s actions from beyond the grave? What secrets did he carry from another time? And what twisted fate awaited them all?
Brendan was laying on the couch with his son Brady, relaxing. Brady turned to his father with mischief sparkling in his eyes.
“Smell my finger,” he giggled mischievously.
Brendan obliged without suspecting what lay ahead. As he took a whiff, an unpleasant odor invaded his senses. “It smells like poop!” he exclaimed in disgust.
Brady burst into laughter before confessing that he had placed his finger in his bottom – an act that would make any parent cringe at its grossness. Brendan scolded him gently and asked where he had learned such an unsavory trick.
To his astonishment, Brady replied innocently yet eerily: “Grandpa told me.”
Brady’s heart skipped a beat as he realized the chilling truth – Brady’s grandfather had passed away six long years ago. How could his son have learned this forbidden secret from someone he had never met?
The room grew colder as unease settled upon them like a heavy fog. Whispers of ghostly presence echoed through their thoughts as they pondered the inexplicable connection between Brady and his long-lost grandfather.
Who was this spectral figure guiding young Brady’s actions from beyond the grave? What secrets did he carry from another time? And what twisted fate awaited them all?
When did you realize you “dodged a bullet”?
In the early 1990s, I took on a contract as a tech writer that involved a long ride by commuter train (nearly an hour). On these rides, I almost always sat in the lead car because that meant a shorter walk at the destination station. One Friday, instead of going to lunch, I stayed at my desk making a series of to-do lists for myself that had nothing to do with the work I had been contracted to do. A nosy employee, who didn’t realize that I was on my own downtime, reported me for doing personal business on copmpany time. I was told not to come back. I didn’t really mind, because I was tired of the long commutes, not getting enough sleep and working in a bad neighborhood (even the local McDonald’s had bulletproof glass separating the staff from the customers).
The following Monday, the train I usually took got switched onto the wrong track. There was a head-on collision with another train. The lead car, in which I always rode, was reduced to half its length by the impact, and there were no survivors in that compartment.
Pizza Meatballs
Yield: 14 servings
Ingredients
- 2 pounds ground beef
- 2 cups bread crumbs
- 1 cup milk
- 1/4 cup chopped onion
- 2 teaspoons garlic salt
- Pepper to taste
- 1/2 pound mozzarella cheese, cut into small cubes
- 6 tablespoons all-purpose flour
- 1/4 cup vegetable oil
- 2 (12 ounce) cans pizza sauce
Instructions
- Mix beef, bread crumbs, milk, onions, garlic salt and pepper together.
- Form mixture around cheese cubes to make balls.
- Dip balls into flour and brown in oil.
- Place balls in slow cooker and pour pizza sauce over them.
- Cook on LOW for 4 to 5 hours or until meatballs are done.
The Case of Zulfarhan Osman Zulkarnain
A cadet from the National Defense University of Malaysia (UPNM) was tortured to death by his fellow students who had a hot steam iron pressed and rubbed all over his body until his skin was burned.
Zulfarhan Osman Zulkarnain is a teenager born in November 1996 from Malaysia with big dreams. He had long dreamed of becoming a ship captain.
To achieve his dream, he took education at the National Defense University of Malaysia (UNPM) as a navy cadet majoring in Electrical Engineering. His dream was fully supported by his parents, Zulkarnain and Hawa.
But on June 1, 2017, his family at home received news that Zulfarhan had died at Serdang Regional Hospital. According to the campus that called, Zulfarhan died from burns without explaining the chronology of how he got the injuries.
Zulfarhan’s family then immediately traveled to the hospital where Zulfarhan’s body was and were detained for 6 hours by the hospital when they asked to be shown their child’s body.
When they were finally allowed to see, they found Zulfarhan’s body badly burned and disfigured by horrific torture.
Found 90 burn marks from the steam iron that was attached, pressed and rubbed on Zulfarhan’s body including on his genitals. In addition, several parts of his bones were broken due to impact and torture.
The police investigation, assisted by the campus and fellow cadet witnesses, finally produced the names of the alleged suspects.
Zulfarhan was reportedly tortured by fellow university cadets in a room of Jebat Dormitory in the early hours of May 21-22, 2017 several times. The reason was because Zulfarhan was accused of stealing a laptop and he was tortured to confess.
Zulfarhan, who was weak and complained of pain after the torture, had been taken by his colleagues to the clinic on May 27 and had gone home. Then he was taken back to the hospital on May 31 because his condition had worsened until he was finally declared dead.
The investigation of this case resulted in 32 UNPM cadets being detained for questioning. Among the 32 cadets, most were sentenced to prison for conspiracy with a prison term of 3 years, some of them were also released.
However, there are 6 names who became executors and received a special trial because the articles that ensnared them were different. The six are in the name of:
Mr. Akmal Zuhairi Azmal,
M. Azamuddin Mad Sofi,
Mr. Najib Mohd Razi,
Mr. Afif Najmudin Azahat,
M. Shobirin Sabri, and
Abdul Hakeem Mohd Ali.
The trial for the perpetrators took quite a long time. Previously, the perpetrators were “only” threatened with 18 years in prison. But good news has finally arrived.
On July 23, 2024, the Malaysian High Court finally sentenced the six to death by hanging. This verdict was greeted with prostrations of gratitude from Zulfahran’s family who had been waiting for justice for their late son for 7 years.
Even Zulfahran’s father had experienced trauma when using the iron because he remembered what his son felt before his death. Several articles mentioned that in the steam iron that was evidence there were still skin and blood from the victim.
Deep Seek R1: The Chinese AI That Shook the World
The AI world was turned upside down on January 28th, 2025. A trillion-dollar bloodbath in the US stock market signaled the arrival of a new player: Deep Seek R1, a Chinese AI model that’s not just as capable as its US counterparts, but also free, open-source, more efficient, and shockingly cheap to develop.
This “Sputnik moment of AI” has ignited a global AI race, with the US scrambling to respond with its half-a-trillion-dollar Stargate project. But how did Deep Seek, a seemingly unknown company, pull this off? And what does it mean for the future of AI?
Deep Seek R1: The Game Changer
Deep Seek R1 boasts impressive performance in language reasoning, mathematics, and coding, rivaling OpenAI’s ChatGPT, Anthropic’s Claude, and Google’s Gemini. But what sets it apart is its efficiency and cost-effectiveness. Built in just two months with a reported cost of less than $5.6 million, it challenges the conventional wisdom that developing a powerful AI requires billions of dollars.
The Secret Sauce: Mixture of Experts and Distillation
Deep Seek R1’s efficiency stems from its unique architecture: a “mixture of experts” approach. Instead of a single monolithic model, it’s organized into specialized modules, activating only the necessary parts for a given task. This, combined with a process called distillation (using larger models to train smaller, specialized ones), allows it to achieve comparable performance with significantly less computing power.
Open Source and Chain of Thought Reasoning
Unlike OpenAI’s closed approach, Deep Seek R1 is open source, allowing anyone to use, modify, and study its code. It also employs Chain of Thought reasoning, a technique pioneered by OpenAI but kept under wraps. Deep Seek R1, however, makes this process completely transparent, further contributing to its appeal among developers.
The Impact: A Global AI Race and Beyond
Deep Seek R1 has sent shockwaves through the AI industry, forcing competitors to slash prices and rethink their strategies. Its open-source nature and efficiency could democratize access to powerful AI, accelerating its adoption across various sectors.
However, concerns remain about data privacy, as Deep Seek R1 sends user data to servers in China. The US government is also investigating potential IP theft, alleging that Deep Seek may have used ChatGPT’s output to train its model.
The Future of AI: Efficiency, Innovation, and Geopolitics
Deep Seek R1’s emergence signals a new era in AI development, where efficiency and accessibility are paramount. It challenges the dominance of US companies and highlights the growing role of China in the global AI landscape.
This intensified competition could lead to rapid advancements in AI, with potential benefits in various fields, from medicine and materials science to mathematics and physics. However, it also raises concerns about ethical use, geopolitical implications, and the impact on human jobs.
The Deep Seek story is far from over. With its open-source model and ambitious vision, the company is poised to play a significant role in shaping the future of AI. As the global AI race heats up, one thing is certain: we’re in for an exciting and transformative ride.
Why do retired construction professionals choose to work at Home Depot?
I am literally living in this question right now. I just turned 60. I hurt. Double carpal tunnel surgery and a beat up spine. I have spent my life learning and growing in landscape construction. When I walk onto a job site everything changes. I always know what to do. I belong there. I am so proud of my knowledge, it was so hard earned. 40 years of study and application. Now I can hardly perform the work. So- try to start a business? At 60, I have a 4 year old girl and don’t want to miss her life. American business is too cut throat for me anyway. I focused on quality, and true professionalism at a frugal price. I loved gaining loyalty from customers, never advertised. American business? I did 2 start up construction companies with Christian men, we made a pact on morality and business, how we were going to treat employees and our customers. They turned into devils when the money came in, honestly looked confused when I brought up our pact. I just don’t have the heart for it, couldn’t sleep, migraine’s daily. Or, try to get on at a big company and pull my hair out a project manager, 80 hour weeks? Probably no medical. Or- Depot. Can spend my days helping people, my knowledge isn’t wasted , probably medical insurance, can plan events with my family. Only question is can I live on a Home Depot salary? Home Depot is one of the last great brick and mortar stores. I would like to support that. I always felt Gods presence working in the dirt, training guys, working on someone’s home. I know that Depot isn’t going to be that. But life just isn’t about winning anymore. Home Depot is a real blessing. With Amazon putting everyone out of business, and no value is put on seniors, what is a tradesman to do.
The Lifestyle of Ritchie Blackmore in 2025 [Deep Purple]
Let’s delve into the enigmatic world of Ritchie Blackmore, the legendary guitarist who co-founded Deep Purple and later formed Rainbow, mesmerizing audiences with his fusion of hard rock and classical influences. His innovative riffs and solos have earned him a place among the greatest guitarists of all time. Today, Blackmore leads a tranquil life in Long Island, New York, immersing himself in Renaissance-inspired music with his band, Blackmore’s Night, alongside his wife, Candice Night. Known for his eccentricity, he often indulges in medieval-themed gatherings, complete with period costumes and décor. Stay tuned as we uncover more about this fascinating musician.
Not even a week into the new war, and there are already mushroom clouds in Iran? Israel has been aching to do this for a long time, and it shows by how fast things have escalated in such short time. Massive amounts of the IRGC’s leadership has been sniped, all of the nuclear facilities have been hit, and an attempt has been made on Khameni, and this was all BEFORE the US brought their ships and planes over to join in (and I am certain they will).
I do not see any off-ramps here. The wacky West is gung-ho on trying to do to Iran what they did to Iraq, but Russia and China cannot and will not allow that Things are gonna ramp up to full-blown WTF soon.
I think it’s a minor event and will blow over soon. They needed to get oil prices up for the summer driving season, and this did the trick. Just like the tariff event, Trump will come out at the last minute and make a statement that Iran leadership has accepted a cease fire. Baseball season will be in full swing and most people will forget it happened.
Well, there has been a lot of talk about Iranian nuclear programs here, uranium enrichment there; that regime change there, this collapsing government here; betrayals, backstabbing and escalation this, de-escalation that… and of course good old Hal’s ever-impending WW3 planet busting Holocaust; stock up on booze, candles and ammunition while you still can!!
Shreeeeeek!!!
But rather what I’m seeing, and especially after skimming through some of my old reliable online sources (rarely inaccurate) is a very carefully orchestrated geopolitical symphony designed to draw the Western legacy powers into an inescapable bear-trap. And The Donald is the tailor made Talisman to own it. The baiters really couldn’t have asked for more; he’s perfect in every way– a comic touch to looming catastrophe. And what’s tragedy after all, but comedy with an edgy bite.
All they need now is for the bumbling clowns of the free and democratic west rallying ’round The Donald to make precisely the same decisions as the Bears and Tigers have been gaming for… for decades.
In fact, I’d wager they’re counting on an escalation: and the results will be the stuff of historical legend.
Pivot to China, ya say?
Russia’s gonna betray Iran, hmmm?
India’s got Pakistan in hand, don’t worry….!
Heh heh, it’ll more like pushing a wheelchair off of a cliff with bad grampa cussing his arse off all the way down.
Tick, Tock…