ksnip 20250109 194153

Life is about balance, not endless repetition

Russia pays between 1900 to 2200 Rubles to extract one Barrel of Oil which costs nearly 3600 Rubles by the time it is ready for transport

This is around $ 35.16

This is the break even price for Russia

Presently Russia receives 5750 Rubles per Barrel from China (407 RMB per Barrel) and € 64.96 per Barrel from India

Additionally Russia also receives an average of € 78.90 per Barrel from the EU who buys from India

So Russia makes a lot of profits selling Oil today

To ensure Russias Oil Profits start dropping, Price of Crude must fall to below $ 55.73 per barrel which is what China is paying Russia

To reduce a lot, Crude must go to $ 45 or less per barrel

Unfortunately at this Price, the Americans will lose more money

Americans pay $ 27.50 on an average for a barrel of Oil (West Texas) to $ 36.50 for Shale Oil

So US Oil companies will need at least $ 47 a barrel to break even

So Price cuts of Crude to hurt Russia will hurt the US even more

Sir Whiskerton and the Circles of Circumlocution

Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for a tale of dizzying circles, mischievous gnomes, and one very confused farmer. When Echo the Kitten starts following Pistachio the Ostrich in endless loops around Bartholomew the Piñata, chaos ensues. Add Gnomeo the Wandering Gnome into the mix, and you’ve got a recipe for a farmyard fiasco that only Sir Whiskerton and his pals can untangle. So, grab your sense of humor and prepare for a story filled with puns, peculiarities, and a moral that will leave you smiling like a cat who’s just discovered a sunbeam.


The Endless Circles Begin

It all started on a sunny morning when Echo the Kitten, ever the curious little shadow, decided to follow Pistachio the Ostrich. Pistachio, known for her absent-minded wandering, was pacing in circles around Bartholomew the Piñata, muttering to herself.

“This farm is so big,” Pistachio said, her long neck bobbing as she walked. “I never seem to get anywhere!”

Echo, delighted by the repetitive motion, trotted after her, mimicking her every step. “Get anywhere! Get anywhere!” she chirped, her tiny paws pattering in perfect sync with Pistachio’s larger strides.

Soon, the two were locked in an endless loop, circling Bartholomew like a pair of feathered and furry satellites. The farmer, passing by with a bucket of feed, stopped to watch.

“What in tarnation…?” the farmer muttered, scratching his head. He tried to follow their movements with his eyes but quickly grew dizzy. “Whoa, nelly!” he exclaimed, stumbling backward and dropping the bucket. “I need to sit down.”


Gnomeo’s Mischief

Just as the farmer was recovering from his dizziness, Gnomeo the Wandering Gnome appeared, his pointy hat tilted at a mischievous angle. Gnomeo, known for his love of pranks, saw the circling duo and grinned.

“Ah, what a perfect opportunity for some fun!” Gnomeo said, rubbing his tiny hands together. He pulled out a bag of glitter and sprinkled it in the path of Pistachio and Echo. As they walked through it, their feathers and fur sparkled like a disco ball.

“Ooh, shiny!” Echo said, pausing to admire herself. “Shiny! Shiny!”

Pistachio, however, was less impressed. “What is this? Am I… glowing? Oh dear, I hope I haven’t turned into a firework!”

Gnomeo cackled and moved on to his next trick. He tied a string of bells to Bartholomew the Piñata, so every time Pistachio and Echo passed by, the piñata jingled loudly.

“Jingle-jangle! Jingle-jangle!” Echo repeated, her tiny voice blending with the bells.

The farmer, now thoroughly confused, tried to intervene. “Alright, that’s enough! Stop this nonsense!” But as he stepped forward, he tripped over Gnomeo’s outstretched foot and landed in a pile of hay.


Sir Whiskerton Steps In

Sir Whiskerton, observing the chaos from his perch on the barn roof, sighed dramatically. “It seems I must once again save the day,” he said, leaping down with the grace of a feline superhero. “Ditto! Porkchop! Rufus! To me!”

Ditto the Kitten, ever the eager apprentice, bounded over. “To me! To me!” he echoed.

Porkchop the Pig waddled up, munching on a carrot. “What’s the plan, Whiskerton? Are we breaking up a dance party?”

Sir Whiskerton rolled his eyes. “No, Porkchop. We’re putting an end to this ridiculous circling before the farmer loses his mind—or his lunch.”


The Plan Unfolds

Sir Whiskerton devised a simple yet effective plan. Rufus the Dog would distract Pistachio with a squeaky toy, while Porkchop would lure Echo with a trail of cat treats. Ditto, of course, would follow Sir Whiskerton’s every move, echoing his instructions.

“Alright, team,” Sir Whiskerton said. “Let’s break this loop!”

Rufus dashed in front of Pistachio, squeaking the toy furiously. “Hey, Pistachio! Look what I’ve got!”

Pistachio stopped mid-step, her head tilting. “A squeaky toy? For me? How delightful!” She abandoned her circling to chase after Rufus.

Meanwhile, Porkchop laid out a trail of treats, leading Echo away from Bartholomew. “Come on, little one,” Porkchop said. “Follow the treats!”

Echo, unable to resist, trotted after the treats, her tiny nose twitching. “Follow the treats! Follow the treats!”

With the circling duo finally stopped, Sir Whiskerton turned his attention to Gnomeo. “Alright, Gnomeo,” he said, his tail flicking. “Your mischief ends here.”

Gnomeo, realizing he was outnumbered, held up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright! I was just having a bit of fun. No harm done, right?”

“No harm done?” Sir Whiskerton said, raising an eyebrow. “Tell that to the farmer.”


The Moral of the Story

As the dust settled, Sir Whiskerton addressed the gathered animals. “Today’s chaos teaches us an important lesson: sometimes, we get so caught up in our own little loops—whether it’s wandering in circles or causing mischief—that we forget to look at the bigger picture. Life is about balance, not endless repetition.”

The animals nodded, their heads bobbing in agreement. Even Gnomeo looked thoughtful. “I suppose I could tone down the pranks,” he admitted. “But only a little!”


A Happy Ending

With order restored, the farmer thanked Sir Whiskerton and his team. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Whiskerton,” he said, patting the cat on the head.

Sir Whiskerton smirked. “Neither do I, farmer. Neither do I.”

As for Echo and Pistachio, they found a new activity: napping in the sun. And Bartholomew the Piñata? He remained in the barnyard, silently watching over the farm, as enigmatic as ever.

The End.

Cabbage and Cheese Soup

This Cabbage and Cheese Soup was created by Chef Roberto Donna.

d6a83d2e1fdd1e0e689c47ae2defdd71
d6a83d2e1fdd1e0e689c47ae2defdd71

Yield: 6 servings

Ingredients

  • 1 pound savoy cabbage
  • 1 quart beef stock
  • 2 mild Italian sausages (1/2 pound)
  • 8 ounces aged Cheddar cheese
  • 6 tablespoons butter
  • 6 slices country bread (about 1/2 inch thick), cut in half

Instructions

  1. Heat the oven to 325 degrees F (160 degrees C).
  2. Clean and wash the cabbage leaves. Cook in boiling water 5 minutes or until limp. Drain well and julienne the leaves. Set aside.
  3. In a 2 quart saucepan, bring the beef stock to a boil with the sausages. Simmer for 8 to 10 minutes until thoroughly cooked. Remove from the stock and cut into thin slices. Set aside.
  4. Cut the Cheddar cheese into thin slices. Set aside.
  5. Melt the butter over low heat.
  6. In an ovenproof casserole (preferably terracotta), arrange 3 of the bread slices. Layer with the cabbage, sausage, cheese, and remaining bread. Drizzle the top layer of the bread with melted butter. Gently pour the boiled stock over the top.
  7. Bake for about 30 minutes, until the top bread layer is crisp and the soup is thoroughly heated.
  8. Spoon into soup bowls. Season to taste.

香酥鸭 , 简史 xiāng sū yā , jiǎn shǐ

/

History of Aromatic Crispy Duck

A classic dish of British-Chinese cuisine, based on the traditional and iconic Chinese dish 北京烤鸭 Běijīng kǎoyā or “Běijīng Roast Duck”

Běijīng Roast Duck is a high-end and high-status dish that was once the preserve of Emperors, and is now served in some of the finest restaurants in China

It requires extreme care and dedication to prepare over many days as it requires various repeated steps of, air-drying, marinating and finally slow roasting in specialist ovens to prepare these succulent ducks with a crisp skin

Běijīng Roast Duck being hand-carved by the chef at 全聚德 Quánjùdé , a duck restaurant in Běijīng

Aromatic Crispy Duck or 香酥鸭 xiāng sū yā was invented by the Chinese immigrant community in London’s Chinatown in the early 20thC

Chinese restaurant owners needed an affordable way to serve a dish that had the taste and impact of Běijīng Roast Duck or 北京烤鸭 Běijīng kǎoyā without the need for days and days of preparation, marinating, air-drying, and specialist roasting ovens

Běijīng Roast Duck being hung and air-dried

The solution was a central processing factory which would prepare ducks for the restaurant industry by first marinating them in Chinese spices, and slowly steam cooking them until soft and tender

These pre-steamed ducks were then delivered around the London restaurants, who rather than roast the ducks in the oven, would deep-fry each duck to order, to emulate that iconic crispy texture of Běijīng Roast Duck

An example of deep-fried Aromatic Crispy Duck

This marinated, steamed and deep-fried duck became known as Aromatic Crispy Duck or 香酥鸭 xiāng sū yā and became a beloved and popular dish on British-Chinese restaurant menus

The dish became so popular that it crossed borders and oceans, gracing Chinese restaurant menus as far afield as the USA, Canada and Australia

This small group of entrepreneurial restaurant owners in London’s Chinatown managed to influence Chinese cuisine around the world, introducing millions of people around the world to an affordable and easy to prepare version of Běijīng-style duck that could be made by small-scale family-run restaurants

Gerrard St, Chinatown, London c.1970

/

Half Aromatic Crispy Duck

Served on the bone with traditional accompaniments:

  • 春饼 chūn bǐng or Spring Pancakes
  • 甜面酱 tiánmiànjiàng or Sweet Bean/Flour Sauce
  • 韭菜 jiǔ cài or Chives
  • 黄瓜 huáng guā or Cucumber

My early life was spent in the Jim Crow south where I was called N… Boy so much I thought that was my name. My mother had graduated high school (separate but equal), but my dad had to drop out of middle school to help with the farm. During the time in the south, we were taught not to trust and dislike white people, which was easy to understand after seeing the way we were treated when we went into town(separate bathrooms, water fountains, not being able to stand up to a white person, I think you get the point). When I was ten years old, tragedy struck. My uncle was murdered by the KKK, and our farm was lost due to a bank loan with a DOD (due on demand) clause. Now I must state that in the justice system in the Jim Crow south, no matter what evidence you had, a white person’s word was law, so there was no way to get the farm back.

After that in the mid sixties we relocate to southeastern Michigan in 1966, this was a dangerous time as the civil rights movement was gaining steam. To me that was a culture shock, moving from a small farm to a big city. Since I was eight years old, I was used to getting up at dawn to help work on the farm, coming back to the house for breakfast, off to school then coming home working the farm some more. After that was my time, I would play in the fields, go swimming in the pond and play with friends who lived about a quarter to half a mile (houses were that far apart) away.

In the city we moved to, we were on the edge of the segregated part of the city. The houses were so close together, I would guess the lots were 50 x 100, there were no fields, parks and the only playground was at the school. Some of the other black kids didn’t like me because of my dialect which led to me getting into a lot of fights. I won all the fights, a farm boy against city boys, I was much stronger. Well, one day three of the black kids decided to jump me we they saw me going to the store, I knew I was not going to win, but they were going to know that had been in a fight. I heard someone say, “hey three on one is not fair, so it’s going to be the three of you against the three of us” I was relieved because I recognized a drawl when I heard the voice. I looked and it was a white boy (I’ll call him Carl) and his sister (I’ll call her Mary). Well three black boys changed their mind and left. Carl asked me why the wanted to jump me like that and I told him because I talked funny, Carl stated, “yeah, we do, don’t we”? Carl and his family had moved north from the deep south also, so his dad could work in the auto plant. That was the first time in my life were my ass had been saved by someone white from my on kind. I still did not realize the significance of what had happened.

Now, even living in a major city, I still saw the racism that existed in the schools and everywhere else in daily life. I never even knew black policemen existed until I was fifteen when I saw a black policeman.

The next awakening happened when I went to college on an academic scholarship. I was helped by my guidance counselor (who was white) at school who was forced by the principal (who was also white). The guidance counselor had told me I should prepare myself for a factory job or some kind of trade school. Now I have a white person standing up for me against another white person.

While in college some of the us black students formed a group and made a vow to always help each other to succeed because in the early seventies, you still had outright racism, even at college. Well, one of the black guys in our group deliberately gave me some bad information (intent unknown), whereas a white student I didn’t even know asked me if I was going to take a certain class next semester and I said yes. He gave me all the test papers, quizzes and homework assignments for this class.

It was at this point that I began to realize that all white people were bad and all black people where my friend. I learned to look at the character of the person and not the color of their skin. Friends and enemies come in all colors, shapes and forms. Even with me realizing that currently, racism still exists, so civil rights are very important me. Without the help of white people, the civil rights movement would have not gotten as far as it has. With that said I realize that there are some who wish that we were still living in those days of the past. The next four years are really going to be scary because the powers to be are trying to turn the clock backwards.

As for Carl and Mary, we have remained the best of friends through the years. Carl and I were the Best Men at each other’s weddings. This is a friendship that has lasted over 55 years.

Sean McDonnell

  Inside his belly, he could hear the screams of a thousand men and women. He laughed, and a city fell. On his morning jog, oceans sloshed and spilled over coastlines, drowning the praying tourists and locals; indiscriminating destruction, done without malice—without emotion.

He belched, and with it came a collective cry for mercy. He shrugged. What was he to do about it? He had tried everything that he could think of, including but not limited to ingesting Ipecac, punching himself in the stomach, getting black-out drunk, eating ghost peppers, etc., etc. It only made him feel sick, and maybe some of them were vacated in the violent discharging of various bodily fluids, but these things were resilient.

On occasion, when he was feeling particularly sympathetic to their situation, he would hold a speaker up to his belly and play his favorite concerto. The chaos in his gut would calm, and he’d feel an overwhelming sense of belonging. In those moments, he felt unified with these things within him. He pictured them sitting beneath grand oak trees, sunbathing upon rooftops, enjoying wine during a sunset (was there a sun within his belly?), and sleeping; what did these things dream of?

Other times he would consider drinking the liquid plumber or throwing himself down the stairs. The coroner, the man thought, would certainly have a story to tell around a poker table after that autopsy.

“And when I cut the man’s stomach open,” the coroner would say, “there were a million dead beings. It was like Pompei; women and men huddled together moments before death, cities preserved by the copious amount of processed foods that this guy must have been consuming. I guess there are anthropological excuses for eating foods with preservatives. Right, fellas?”

Feeling rather dubious about his post-life experience, the man decided to see a doctor.

 

An expression of repressed doubt lingered on the doctor’s face long after the man had told him about them.

“What about the constant smell of exhaust?” he said to the doctor.

“We’ll know in about a week when the labs come back, but as far as I can tell, you are the picture of a healthy forty-year-old man,” said the doctor. He leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling. “When did you say that this started happening?”

“The feeling of—them?” said the man.

“Yes, that feeling.”

“Well, I think it’s been about three weeks now. It started as an unpleasant taste in my mouth then one morning I woke up to the sounds of hammering. The windows were shut—double-paned—and I don’t live above or below anyone. I’m in a single-family home. And this hammering wouldn’t stop.”

The doctor approached the man and looked into his ear with the otoscope.

“Can you follow my finger?—just your eyes. Thank you, very good,” said the doctor. “Can you lay down for me? Well, you are a little bloated.” The doctor pressed lightly on the man’s pelvis, then stopped suddenly. “Hmm, I do feel something here. It’s hard but seems to break up when I push on it.”

The man winced.

“I think you just killed some of them.”

“It may feel like things are living in your stomach, but that would be a first,” the doctor said with a wink. “Why don’t we do a quick ultrasound? We have the machine here, it shouldn’t take much time, and we’d be able to spot anything obvious. Sound ok to you?”

“I am willing to do and try anything. More than this feeling, it’s the thought that I’m responsible for these things. If I wanted that responsibility, I’d get a dog. Doctor, can I ask you a personal question?”

“Depends. Why don’t you ask it, and we’ll see if I can give you an answer?”

The doctor folded his arms and removed his glasses.

“Do you have children?”

“Yes, I have three kids, all in college now.”

“Do you like them?” The doctor raised an eyebrow. “What I mean is, do you ever wish you’d chosen the other path? The path where you ended up not having any kids.”

“It’s natural to think about what could have been, but I wouldn’t change a thing. I love my kids. You don’t have children, correct? Unless I’m missing that in my notes,” said the doctor.

“I’m only asking because, well, I wonder if this was a decision I made and not just a virus. It’s a little embarrassing, but I did something a few weeks ago that I’m not entirely proud of,” said the man.

“What did you do?”

“You know those silica packs that come with food sometimes to keep it fresh?”

The man said in a whisper. The doctor leaned in to better hear him.

“I accidentally cooked a pizza with one of those packs on top of it.”

“Did you eat the silica pack?” said the doctor.

“No, God no, I would probably be dead. Right? I took it off but was so hungry that I ate the pizza anyway.” The doctor smiled and patted the man’s knee.

“I don’t think that’s it. Let’s wait to see what the ultrasound shows.”

 

The room was cold, but the gel the nurse applied to the man’s chest was warm. He pushed back the feelings of arousal that began to nag him. He thought about the things inside his stomach; was he being selfish for wanting to cut them out? For wanting to poison them? Then he thought, maybe I don’t want that. Instead, perhaps I want to protect them, to support and nourish them.

He considered his life. A single man with no partner on the horizon, no unique abilities or hobbies—no ambition.

“This shouldn’t take long; we just need to grab a few images from—” the nurse stopped short. On the screen, there lived a breathing world; cities with high-rises, factories, rolling hills, and jutting mountains. The man beamed with joy. “I don’t understand.”

The nurse was dumbfounded.

“We’re not alone,” said the man, cradling his belly.

Well, yes and no. When his irresponsible, wrong-headed, nonsensical trade war crashed the stock market, Trump backed down. So what though? He gave us a month. And now he’s whining because he’s too fucking stupid to understand the the sovereign nation of Canada has its own banking system. That’s likely going to be his excuse in 30 days when he attacks us again.

Fuck that though. The trust is gone. I’m not buying anything from the US. Not in the next 30 days, not in the forseeable future. They have nothing I need. I have been promoting other international trade with my elected representatives, making it clear that there are many advantages for Canada in being closer to the EU and further from the US.

We should have gone that route in the 1980s instead of entering into the FTA with the US anyway. Europe has better labour laws, better wages, better healthcare, better social programs, better environmental regulations, better education, and a higher standard of living overall than the US does. Instead we chose to tie ourselves to a failing giant just because they happened to live next door. Now, predictably, we have this fucking mess.

So fuck the USA. I’ve had more than enough of their crap.

US has hundreds of military bases around the world. It thinks itself the world’s strongest power. Trump swaggers, boasts, and threatens, such as the obnoxious clean out of Gaza, and his tariffs, and more tariffs, if his conditions are not met. He thinks US can tariff at will because it has a wonderful economy and the mighty dollar.

These are self-claimed. China couldn’t care less. It is certainly not intimidated. Nor is Russia, which withstood everything threw at it by US and NATO in Ukraine. Maybe not even Iran. Most countries take them as they come. None is shivering.

Columbia refused landing right to US military planes ferrying “illegal” immigrants. It demands prior notice to ascertain they are indeed Columbians, and are returned not accompanied by military personnel but by civilian officers, and without handcuffs in civilian planes.

US international influence has been on the wane and took a plunge, all on its own doing.

At the UN, It was thrashed in the anti-poverty, and anti-racialism bills, lost every attempt to condemn China with regard to Xinjiang and Hong Kong, failed to gain support for its sanctions of Russia vis Ukraine, and was universally condemned for its vetoes of the ceasefire resolutions in the UNSC. It lost is moral standing in its unlimited support of Israel.

Trump’s swagger hardly endears the US to the world.

In matters of economics, it has nothing to offer, only words, like freedom, human rights, democracy, rule-based order, all of them empty words, because US itself breaches them without a second thought. When it tried to offer something concrete like B3W and PGII, they died at birth. Instead of market access, it is into tariffs and tariffs.

China’s influence has risen and rising. It is peace-maker, such as the Saudi Arabia-Iran rapprochement. It may yet be called upon to play the significant role in the Russia-Ukraine peace process. It is the biggest supplier of Covid-19 vaccines to the developing countries. In Iraq, it is building schools on places bombed out by the US. In Afghanistan, it is building infrastructures, and help to plant crops to replace the poppy that US troops encouraged.

Its BRI project is the single largest factor in the industrial developments in the developing countries. BRI covers 150 countries. China is the only foreign country sincerely and willingly helping the development of Africa, through BRI and FOCAC. It is the only country to grant full tariff exemptions for all product lines from over 40 least developed countries, 33 of them from Africa. It is thick into the infrastructural and connectivity developments in Latin American countries, 19 out of 24 of them, are BRI members.

China in the centre and the driver of global economic growth, offering trade, investments, and market access. Its rise has raised all boats, especially the boats in the developing countries.

Why more foreigners want to go to live in CHINA?

(Visited 137 times, 1 visits today)
5 1 vote
Article Rating
Subscribe
Notify of
guest

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

0 Comments
Oldest
Newest Most Voted
Inline Feedbacks
View all comments
0
Would love your thoughts, please comment.x
()
x