When I lived in the ‘States, one of my favorite family pastimes was going to “Flea Markets” and “Garage Sales”. I was always on the hunt for cheap and unusual things. And you most certainly would find them on this visits.
Now, those of you in the ‘States know what these things are. Youse guys in China, not so much.
It’s a great way to get out and about, visit different sites and places in town, and rummage. Rummage for the sake of rummaging.
You can find all sorts of unknown, unappreciated, and otherwise “treasures” at these places. You just have to sort out from the garbage.
My parents got almost all of our early childhood furniture from these venues.
But you gotta get past the out-right junk. Like a cozy Lazy Boy chair without an arm. Or a coffee maker with a non functional warming plate. Or, a pair of jeans with a big hole in the seat of the pants.
You also have to be on the look out for trouble. Generally, these places are great to find those large mega-puzzles that the entire family can work on over a holiday; like Christmas or Thanksgiving for example. You don’t want to go though the entire puzzle and find out at the end that a piece was missing. Ugh!
But there are treasures like an unused box of Craftsman tools that the widow was throwing away at one dollar. Or, a 1960 barbie in an unopened box for fifty cents. I have found limited edition Bic Pens for women’s tiny purses, and a stamp collectors album with zillions of stamps. I have also found war memorabilia (in the 1960s) to include Japanese, and German “captures”.
Often the weekend would begin over coffee and scouring the “yard Sale” listings. We would then select a few and map out a route. Spend the bulk of the afternoon doing that after church, and then go and get an ice cream or light lunch. (Provided that we didn’t join other church-goers for a meal at Dennys or Shoneys.)
Something I used to do back in the day.
Now I don’t.
It’s about change. Life has to change. And, you know, we accept the good mixed with the bad and refer to it as our new experiences.
Today…
What would happen if male and female prisoners were not separated in prison?
Well, amazingly, I actually worked in a coed correctional facility for a while. The inmates mixed at mainline, the yard and gym, programming, functions and religious activities. they had separate quarters and of course, they tried to get around that.
What amused me is how dang much the male inmates I knew changed. The males were largely better groomed than I’d ever seen them before and most were better behaved. I saw the opposite once, an inmate who’d always been mild mannered, courteous to everyone, especially female staff members went off like a psycho when a female inmate asked him to please hand him a ladle while cooking. He had a problem with women who weren’t authorities which I’d never seen.
They’d write notes, act coy, etc., and try to slip off together. I don’t remember a high rate of pregnancy. The women inmates worked out a lot more and tried to lose weight. More jeans than sweats were worn, except for when they wanted to hook up. It’s incredibly fast how some people can drop sweats and get it on and go right back to concealing their activities.
Most of the males were longer term, a mixed group of offenders. A rumor was some of the girls would give oral sex for a Snicker’s bar, but during the time I was there, it was an old rumor that never surfaced as a real charge. One interesting thing, if a female was attractive, and due to a developmental disability, very vulnerable, Mother Hen offenders protected and watched that girl for her safety and male offenders kept their predators in check.
When the males departed and it went all female, the hygiene deteriorated, as did the make-up wearing and more sweats than shirts and jeans.
Even then, I was stunned at how well behaved the MAJORITY of offenders were when it was coed, how much cleaner, how much better they behaved.
My Ex-Wife Wanted an Open Marriage, So I Divorce Her!
The Colonisation of Hetra – (Part 1)
Submitted into Contest #245 in response to: Set your story in a world where astrology and the movements of celestial bodies deeply impact the lives of inhabitants.… view prompt
Khadija S. Mohammad
She swam with the others along the corridor, clutching her notebook close to her. It was hugely outdated, the pages made from thinly-sliced molt-rock, but she’d been too scared to try a more modern way of taking notes. She had been offered a thought-to-text processor after gaining her chemistry-physics degree, but she’d quickly given it back after testing it once and finding only singular letters appear. She couldn’t risk trying again, since the scientist she’d asked for an explanation from had hinted at the reason for the malfunction being her race. No-one would employ a Common when Cocos were available.
Finally, they entered the first room through the door at the end of the corridor. Coco jostled with the other candidates to get the first glimpse of what was inside.
It was a small room, almost entirely empty, with the same dull white paint as the corridor. When everyone was gathered inside, squashing together, the guide floated upwards so they could all see her, and gestured to the only objects in the room – two circular, inch-tick slices of metal facing each other so the applicants could see the meter-long, seemingly empty space between them.
“This is a sample of the engine that will be used.” The voice came clearly through Coco’s monitors in her own language. She inspected the engine, and realised the empty space was vibrating slightly, shifting.
The guide spoke again. “Can anyone tell me what’s powering this engine?” she asked as if they were school children.
When no-one else attempted to answer, Coco raised a tentative arm. The guide looked at her and nodded.
She cleared her throat. “Hydrated electro-turbulence?” She blushed, painfully aware of her accent. That, if nothing else, would surely give the game away. A pang of guilt for her deceit hit her, but she shoved it away. What she was doing now was the surest way to get her family on board the spaceship when the inhabitants of the city migrated.
The guide smiled. “Correct.” She swam around the engine a few times, describing and explaining features to the candidates before continuing to the next room.
This continued for another hour. Thankfully, Coco managed to hide her monitors and cover her accent enough to avoid detection – or at least, she supposed no-one had discovered her. She hadn’t been picked out of the group, for good or for bad reasons.
Eventually, they separated the candidates, taking them into separate rooms. Coco was shown into a plain room with nothing but a desk with a simple green plant in a plant-pot, and a soft chair on either side. Coco sat down in the nearest chair and stared at the plant, willing it to grow, out of sheer boredom.
Twenty minutes later, an important-looking person in a suit jetted through the door and sat in the other chair. Coco hastily adjusted her colour, and sat up.
The man addressed her without a hint of emotion. “Miss Coco?”
Coco shifted in her seat. “That’s me. Sir,” she added quickly, just in case.
“As you probably know, you are one of twenty young scientists who volunteered to help with our Project.” Coco nodded, unsure what else she should do. “It is my duty to inform you that the time for departure is, according to our astrologists, only three days away. There is minimal work left to be done before the final check. I have been given the task of asking if you still wish to join our Project, given the minor amount of work you will have to do.”
Coco opened her mouth, then closed it quickly. She didn’t have anything to say; to open her mouth in that state would be pure employment suicide.
“But–,” she managed, before shutting herself up. What was she thinking, with the words But I’m a Common on her lips? She’d spent so long trying to cover it up.
The manager – as she had labelled him – smiled, and she relaxed a little. Emotion made him more relatable, which made him less scary. It was ridiculous, with her job, but she had a constant fear as well as awed respect for the unknown.
“I’ll be completely honest with you. The public relations department is aiming for a new angle for publicity, and they’ve decided to admit to their ‘abominable acts’ and become ‘more diverse and inclusive’, as the message from the press will doubtless say. We’ve decided to open the Project to Commons, if they are intelligent enough. As little as that will help us, in these late days.”
Coco’s mouth fell. How did they know? Maybe it was her name? Don’t Cocos name their children after the city?
The manager laughed gently. “It’s not that we don’t name our children after our city. We don’t name them after our race. It’s the same thing, but there’s a difference.”
Coco’s mouth opened wider. Can he read my mind?
“No, but you seem to have a habit of thinking out loud when your mouth is open.”
Coco blushed.
Will there be another Democrat president after what they have done to the country?
In case you haven’t been paying attention. There is a real pattern going on.
You get someone like Nixon/Ford. Everything a mess people thoroughly disgusted. Then a peanut farmer nob ody ever heard of becomes president.
Then you elect Reagan/Bush. Inflation. Iran Contra. Black Monday. More cabinet level people arrested than any other administration. Finally the economy is shot. We’re in a deep recession.
So we get a guy from Arkansas nobody ever heard of. Fixes everything too. Greatest economic expansion in US history. Yeah . Monica. Let’s crucify him. Balanced budget. Debt going down.
So you elect W. He inherits a smoking hot economy. World at peace. Within eight years we are fighting two endless wars. The 2008 financial crisis. People losing jobs and houses like crazy. Total shit show.
So we get another guy nobody ever heard of. OMG! A black man in the White House. Everything gets fixed again.
So you elect Trump. Everything turns to shit. A major pandemic. Inflation. 2020 was horrible.
So we get Biden. Inflation under control. No recession. Two years of 25% returns on the SP500. Things nice and calm . Great job market.
You know where we are now.
Every single time this country gets back to a good place you guys elect someone who wrecks everything.
It’s relentless with you guys. Over and over.
So yeah! We’re 100% going to get another Democrat president. He will fix everything you guys broke again. The housing market. The job market. Banking.
Then you’ll get mad about eggs or bathrooms and put another maniac in office to wreck it again.
Chicken and Dressing Casserole
Ingredients
- 1 cup thinly chopped celery
- 1 large onion, thinly chopped
- 1/2 stick butter
- 1 can cream of chicken soup
- 1 can cream of celery soup
- 1 can chicken broth
- 4 chicken breasts
- 2 to 3 teaspoons sage
- Salt and pepper
Instructions
- Make one 8 inch square pan of cornbread the day before.
- Cook chicken pieces in water with salt and pepper until done. Cool, then cut into small pieces.
- Cook celery and onion in butter until tender. Crumble cornbread into large bowl.
- Mix celery and onion and chicken pieces all together with cornbread.
- Mix all 3 soups into the mixture.
- Add up to 3 teaspoons sage, salt and pepper to taste. Pour into large baking dish.
- Bake at 350 degrees F until done, about 30 minutes, until lightly browned on top.
- Serve with chicken gravy ladled over servings, with cranberry sauce on the side.
When in your career as a military officer did you know you would never get promoted again?
Haha, this is a good question. I was in the Army, enlisted for 9 years then moved on to being an officer.
The promotions up to Captain ( 2nd Lieutenant, 1st Lieutenant, then Captain), we’re pretty much guaranteed if you didn’t do anything stupid.. ie steal, sexual harassment, kill someone etc. So i made Captain, no issue.
As for promotion to Major though, you have 3 chances overall. Below the zone, in your zone and above the zone, which basically translates to windows of time.
Now, what you need to understand is there are specific things that must occur for your annual evaluations to contain the necessary statements that will get you promoted. This includes brown nosing, AKA, being liked by your rater and senior rater.
I wasn’t known for being the political type. My first officer job was infantry platoon leader in Iraq, and there wasn’t anything that I wouldn’t do, to protect my guys from dumb shi*. I would yell at my superiors when i felt they were talking some BS. I didn’t care. I was always being yelled at by my BN CDR for not doing exactly what he wanted me to do when on mission. Matter of fact, the last day I saw him, he literally said “You know, I never liked you” and my immediate response was, “I wasn’t here to be liked, Sir.
Long story short, i never received top marks in my evaluations so when my below the zone “look” came, I knew I wouldn’t be picked up. The next year, my “In the zone” look, came and went. At this point mentally, I was fully preparing to retire as a Captain. Well, I was picked up on my last look, above the zone so I took the promotion.
Immediately following my promotion, Covid 19 hit and what a shi* show that was. Everything closed down on the Army post I was at and we were 35 miles from anything off post. We were given a curfew while on post. You know, because covid was more active after 1030 PM.
Also, while on this post, I had investigated a couple deaths which happened during training. I am extremely thorough with these investigations and once complete, I had to brief the Post Commander, in this case, a 2 Star GENERAL. I briefed the facts of the accidents, how it was handled immediately after, and what was/may have led up to the incident, and lastly make recommendations to prevent future similar incidents.
While the GENERAL received my brief quite well, nothing was implemented to any degree of future prevention.
The fact that it was more important to implement curfew AND enforce it with harsh punishments, than to improve training procedures to prevent future deaths is what broke the camels back for me. While there are other factors in this decision, the lack of care shown for Soldiers lives was it.
22 years, retired MAJOR.
Sir Whiskerton and the Great Shoe Debacle
Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for another whisker-twitching adventure in the life of Sir Whiskerton, the farm’s most brilliant (and modest) detective. Today’s tale involves a chipmunk with delusions of grandeur, an ill-fated shoe experiment, and a moral that will leave you grinning like a cat who just discovered the can opener. So grab your sense of humor and let’s trot into The Great Shoe Debacle .
Lucifer’s Lofty Plan
It all began on a sunny morning when Lucifer the Chipmunk, ever the dramatic creature, decided it was time to revolutionize the farm. Perched proudly on the farmer’s shoulder, he whispered conspiratorially into the man’s ear.
“Listen closely, my good human,” Lucifer said, his tiny voice dripping with theatrical flair. “Your animals are unhappy. Why? Because they lack shoes! Imagine the efficiency if every hoof, paw, claw, and webbed foot were properly shod. It’s genius!”
The farmer scratched his head, clearly confused but intrigued by Lucifer’s enthusiasm. After all, the farmer wasn’t one to question odd ideas—he once tried planting carrots under the full moon, claiming they’d taste like stardust. Spoiler alert: they didn’t.
And so, without consulting anyone else, the farmer ordered custom-made shoes for every animal on the farm. Shoes of all shapes and sizes arrived within days, delivered in boxes labeled with names like “Porkchop the Pig” and “Doris the Hen.” The chaos was about to begin.
Shoe Fitting Shenanigans
When the first box was opened, the animals gathered around curiously. But curiosity quickly turned to outrage as the absurdity of the situation became clear.
Porkchop the Pig
Porkchop was fitted with shiny black loafers. He waddled awkwardly across the mud puddle, slipping and sliding like a piggy ballerina. “These things pinch!” he squealed. “How am I supposed to roll in the mud now?”
Ferdinand the Duck
Ferdinand squawked indignantly as someone attempted to strap tiny tap shoes onto his webbed feet. “Tap shoes? Do I look like Fred Astaire?” he quacked, flapping wildly and nearly knocking over the shoe rack.
Doris the Hen
Poor Doris nearly fainted when she saw her new footwear: tiny high heels designed for clucking divas. She teetered precariously before collapsing into a pile of hay. “High heels? For chickens? This is poultry in motion!” Harriet squawked helpfully, while Lillian promptly fainted.
Rufus the Dog
Even Rufus, usually eager to please, balked at his neon-green sneakers. “What am I, radioactive AND fashionable now?” he barked, tripping over himself as he tried to chase his tail.
Bessie the Tie-Dye Cow
Bessie stared at her rainbow-colored boots with wide eyes. “Man, these vibes are way too mainstream for me,” she mooed, shaking her head. “I’m more of a barefoot hippie cow.”
Count Catula
The vampire cat hissed dramatically when presented with tiny patent-leather dress shoes. “These are an affront to my nocturnal dignity!” he declared, attempting to remove them with his teeth.
By the time shoes were forced onto the geese, goats, and even Longwei the dragon, the barnyard had descended into utter pandemonium. Feathers flew, hooves stomped, and protests echoed through the air. Only Lucifer seemed pleased, perched smugly on the fence post as though he’d solved world hunger.
Sir Whiskerton Steps In
Amidst the uproar, Sir Whiskerton emerged from his sunbeam, monocle firmly in place. “Enough!” he shouted, his commanding voice cutting through the noise. “This madness must end.”
He turned to the farmer, who stood holding a clipboard and nodding approvingly at the chaos. “Farmer,” Sir Whiskerton said, flicking his tail, “perhaps we should consult Bartholomew the Piñata. As our resident philosopher—or possibly village idiot—he may have insights into this… peculiar predicament.”
Bartholomew, still hanging limply in the middle of the barnyard, blinked slowly. “Because I’m the only one who listens,” he rasped in his papery voice.
“Well, listen carefully,” Sir Whiskerton replied. “Efficiency isn’t about forcing unnatural solutions. Perhaps what makes this farm thrive is the freedom to be ourselves—including going barefoot.”
The farmer tilted his head thoughtfully. “Barefoot, you say?” he murmured. Then, with sudden determination, he removed his own boots and socks, tossing them aside.
The Farmer Goes Barefoot
At first, the animals cheered. Surely, this meant the end of the shoe fiasco. But alas, the farmer’s decision to go barefoot led to yet another problem: misplaced rakes. Without shoes to protect his feet, the farmer developed a phobia of stepping on sharp objects. He began scattering rakes everywhere—on rooftops, in haystacks, and even dangling from tree branches.
“This is ridiculous!” Porkchop grumbled, narrowly avoiding a rake hidden in his mud puddle. “Now we’re trading pinched toes for impaled hooves!”
Sir Whiskerton sighed. “Clearly, the farmer needs guidance. Bartholomew, any wisdom to share?”
Bartholomew swayed gently in the breeze. “Sometimes, balance is key,” he croaked cryptically. “Too much or too little of anything leads to trouble.”
Inspired, Sir Whiskerton approached the farmer again. “Perhaps,” he suggested smoothly, “the secret to efficiency lies not in shoes or bare feet—but in finding harmony between the two. Let the animals choose for themselves.”
The farmer nodded sagely, finally understanding. He gathered up the shoes and stored them away, declaring, “From now on, everyone does as they please!”
A Happy Ending
With the shoe ordeal resolved, peace returned to the farm. Most animals happily went back to their natural state, though Ferdinand kept his tap shoes for special performances. (“Art knows no bounds!” he proclaimed.)
The farmer, meanwhile, resumed wearing his boots but took care to organize his tools better. And Lucifer? Well, he retreated to his perch atop the scarecrow, muttering something about starting a sock subscription service instead.
As for Sir Whiskerton, he settled back into his sunbeam, content in the knowledge that he’d saved the day once again.
The Moral of the Story
The moral of the story, dear reader, is this: Sometimes, the best solutions aren’t about imposing change but embracing individuality and balance. Whether you wear shoes or go barefoot, true happiness comes from being comfortable in your own skin—or fur, feathers, or scales.
Until next time, my friends.
The End.
What is a “red flag” on the first day of the job that tells you, you might not like the job?
At my firm, on my team, the partners hired a new associate to replace the associate who left. After being hired at my firm (a civil law and litigation firm), you spend the first two days (Monday and Tuesday) in orientation to be acclimated with various aspects of the firm: computer system, billing system, out-sourced on-site services for printing, copying, etc. This is the practice whether you are a new attorney, a new paralegal, or a new legal assistant.
On this particular Monday morning, one of the partners dropped a file folder containing a new case into the chair of this new associate’s office with a note attached. (For those who do not know, all associate attorneys get their cases assigned to them by the partners. It’s the partners who actually have the clients.) The note was to let this new attorney know that the Answer to a Complaint was due to be filed in court that Wednesday. According to Georgia law, a defendant must file an answer to a complaint within thirty days of being served with said Complaint and its summons. So the partner just dumped this new case onto this new associate who somehow had to get up to speed and prepare an Answer to the Complaint and she’s not even in her office yet. The partner did not care.
This new associate worked there for about three weeks before making a departure. But that file-dump should have been a red flag to this new associate that maybe things would not be going smoothly in the future.
Kevin Samuels WARNED Women About THIS & Now It’s HAPPENING !!
What was your last day in prison before release like?
I found out I was leaving prison on a Friday. The case manager told me I was leaving on Monday. It was surreal! I felt light-headed.
I did everything I normally do on the weekend. Worked-out, made food to eat… Sunday was my last full day, because I left Monday morning. Each day that weekend, I got out the shower and threw the prison clothes I was wearing in the trash.
We made a bunch of food on Sunday to celebrate my release. Burritos and pizzas made from scratch! I also made my famous cheesecakes. Word of my cheesecakes, literally preceded me whenever I entered a new prison.
The last thing I did, was give all my stuff away: sweats, bowls, coffee cups, radios, pens, books — anything of value, which is everything!
I went to bed early. Woke up the next morning and took a super long shower. Then I put on brand new boxers, sweats, and shoes I had purchased from the commissary that Friday. I had a gym bag with important papers. Then I just kind of made the rounds saying bye to everyone.
Once they called my name, a C.O. pulled up to my unit in a golf cart to take me to R&D(Receiving and Departures). That’s when everything went into slow motion. I wanted to enjoy EVERY moment of being released! I’m getting choked-up just writing about it.
Staff in R&D, try to share in my joy of being released. I wasn’t having it. I still looked at them as the people that kidnapped me from society. No Stockholm Syndrome over here!
They asked me a ton of questions to make sure I was who I am. I mean, literally 30–40 questions! After that, I sat in a holding cell, watching people come into prison for their first time. Smh…
Once the driver to the Greyhound station was ready, they opened the door to the lobby where visitors come in. I walked out and hopped in the front seat of the car and watched the prison get smaller and smaller in the mirror.
Wizards
Mississippi Delta Tamales
Yield: 7 to 8 dozen
Ingredients
Filling
- 6 to 8 pounds boneless meat (pork shoulder, chuck roast or chicken)
- 3/4 cup vegetable oil
- 1/4 cup chili powder
- 2 tablespoons paprika
- 2 tablespoons salt
- 2 teaspoons black pepper
- 1 teaspoon ground cayenne pepper
- 1 tablespoon onion powder
- 1 tablespoon garlic powder
- 1 teaspoon ground cumin
Wrappers
- Corn husks
Corn Meal Dough
- 8 cups yellow cornmeal or masa mix (available in most grocery stores)
- 4 teaspoons baking powder
- 2 teaspoons salt
- 1 2/3 cups lard or vegetable shortening
- 6 to 8 cups warm meat broth (from cooking the meat)
Instructions
Filling
- Cut meat into large chunks and place in a large, heavy pot. Cover with cold water. Bring to a boil over high heat. Cover, reduce heat to medium-low and simmer until meat is very tender, 2 to 2 1/2 hours. Remove meat and reserve cooking liquid.
- When meat is cool enough to handle, remove and discard any skin and large chunks of fat. Shred or dice meat into small pieces. There should be about 14 to 16 cups of meat.
- Heat the vegetable oil in a large, heavy pot over medium heat. Stir in chili powder, paprika, salt, pepper, cayenne, onion powder, garlic powder and cumin. Add meat and stir to coat with oil and spices. Cook, stirring often, until meat is thoroughly heated, 7 to 10 minutes. Set aside.
- Wrappers: While meat is cooking, soak husks in a large bowl of very warm water, until softened and pliable, about 2 hours. Gently separate husks into single leaves, trying not to tear them. Wash off any dust and discard any corn silks. Keep any shucks that split to the side, since two small pieces can be overlapped and used as one.
Corn Meal Dough
- Stir cornmeal, baking powder, salt and lard together in a large bowl until well blended. Gradually stir in enough warm meat broth to make soft, spongy dough the consistency of thick mashed potatoes. The dough should be quite moist, but not wet. Cover with a damp cloth.
- To assemble the tamales, remove a corn husk from water and pat it dry. Lay husk on a work surface. Spread about 1/4 cup of the dough in an even layer across the wide end of husk to within 1 inch of edges. Spoon about 1 tablespoon of meat mixture in a line down the center of dough. Roll husk so that dough surrounds filling and forms a cylinder or package. Fold bottom under to close. Place tamales in a single layer on a baking sheet. Repeat until all dough and filling is used.
- Stand tamales upright, closed side down, in a large pot. Place enough tamales in the pot so that they do not fall over or unroll. Carefully fill pot with enough water to come just to the top of the tamales, trying not to pour water directly into the tamales. Bring to a boil over high heat. Cover, reduce heat to medium-low and simmer until dough is firm and pulls away from the husk easily and cleanly, about 1 hour.
- If you prefer to steam tamales, stand tamales upright, closed side down, in a large steamer basket. Cover with a damp towel or additional husks. Steam tamales over simmering water until dough is firm and pulls away from the husk easily and cleanly, 1 to 1 1/4 hours.
- Serve tamales warm, in their husks. Remove husks to eat.
Should we be worried about the genuinely serious increase in rampant anti-Americanism in Canada, who have been our closest and most valuable partner, but now Trump’s aim seems set?
Yes, you should. Anti-Americanism is real this time and I am onboard for the first time in my life.
I cannot speak for Canada, but in Denmark we are quite upset. Most of Europe (the countries that really matter) are quite upset. The general sentiment about the United States in Europe these days is at its lowest point in generations, but it has brought us closer together. Thanks for that, it was needed.
Only one NATO member has ever called for assistance … guess who? And who got the assistance from close allies in yet another war the United States shamefully lost … you guessed it, the United States. And now we are being scolded by a blatantly incompetent VP and called bad allies. Yes, we are angry and getting angrier by the day. My husband served in both Iraq and Afghanistan, twice in both countries.
Now 47 is conducting so-called peace negotiations about Ukraine with Putin, without Ukrainian presence. Let us not forget who is the aggressor here, let us not forget that Putin wants parts of Ukraine handed over to him, just because he wants it, and the United States is now onboard with that. So, is this because 47 wants Russia to look the other way, if 47 occupies Greenland? Are those two thugs reaching an agreement about dividing the world between them one fascist to another? Yes, we now see you as in the same category.
If I were one of the other 4 eyes, I would immediately stop sharing intelligence with the United States, now that they are best buddies with Putin. Remember the Huawei debacle? That info came from Australia. It should be over with the favours.
I was a devoted Foreign Service National back when Clinton was in office and was proud of it. But I am done. I will never ever set foot on US soil again. I will do my utmost to never buy American goods again and I will start to practice a British accent. I don’t want to ever again be mistaken for an American.
I wouldn’t recommend any US citizen go to Europe on vacation in the foreseeable future. You are not welcome here.
Sorry, rather “rantish”. But I am quite upset.
Trump’s Big Gamble on Putin! Plan to ISOLATE China
You live in America and you’re flying the flag of America in your yard. Your neighbor tells you to take down your flag because it offends them or they will call the police. What is your response?
69 -70 combat Marine
I owned a vacation property in Maine on the beach in a new development, I was the first to build and it took 3 years to complete the project of 33 townhouses. When all the townhouses were completed, there was a condo association formed – as we all know condos are like the Gestapo. (Do as we say or you’ll be fined)
I hung my flags on one pole in the center of my garage a USA flag on the top and my Marine flag on the bottom-
one day one of the board members was walking around development all pissed off for whatever reason and told me that I had to take my flags down it’s a violation of the bylaws- I never took them down.
The association put a lien on my property because I didn’t pay the fines. I took them to court. By the way , There was nothing in the bylaws stating anything about hanging any flags, I already looked up the laws to cover myself.
we went to court and I represented myself- the condo association hired an attorney, the association was suing me for the fines and legal damages” up to $8000.
we stand before the judge in Superior Court not distric Court – the plaintiff attorney presents the case and then it was my turn to defend myself.
The judge asked: what branch and where I served – I tell the judge and he stands up and says simplify and salutes me, I served two years before you and your unit replaced my unit in Vietnam.
Bottom line, the judge looks at the attorney and the 4 board members and says: how dear you tell any homeowner they can not hang an American flag , there are laws in this country that protect American citizens, especially veterans – it’s called the first amendment of our great Constitution.
The judge ordered the attorney to remove the lien after court and the defendant does not have to pay the fines and condo fee for one year and I’m ordering the association to pay the defendant $8000.
Of course the association was pissed off and they tried to have an assessment on all the owners of 385.00.
The owners got together and refused to pay any assessments- the association had condo insurance and they had to use the insurance to pay.
A month after other condo owners were hanging their American flag.
3 years later I sold my unit and got away from the Gestapo and will never buy a condo again.
At my home- I have a 30ft pole and hang my American flag and Marine flag 24 -7 ,
on my porch, I hang the state flag, and on the side of my garage door, I hang my purple hat flag.
I have great neighbors that drive by and say thank you for your service.
God bless America.🇺🇸🇺🇸
I Met My Nemesis In Retrograde
Submitted into Contest #245 in response to: Set your story in a world where astrology and the movements of celestial bodies deeply impact the lives of inhabitants.… view prompt
C.B. Chribby
For those who aren’t practicing Outlanders, you probably don’t keep up with our sacred texts. This message fundamentally means, the person who spots you out in a crowd today is going to be a major player in the rest of your life.
As the ancient texts prophesied, Those who are to enter one’s life during the season of your opposite star sign are those who may be called upon by the moon. When the sign comes, and yes, it will come– the players will come into contact now and forever until their souls dance together in the heavens.
Thing is, I checked my calendar and I know that the combination of retrograde and Aquarius, the opposite season of my star sign, make this a very bad time for me. My eyes grow wide there on the sidewalk. I am careful not to look anyone in the eye and my vision is cast downward. I look to the shoes of the people around me and think to myself that any one of these people could be a potential lover or… the alternative.
We were told when we were young about great stories in which heroes and villains are constantly at war with one another for the sake of destiny. It wasn’t stories of Good and Evil but rather of star signs and their rivals. Like ancient gods, and that’s exactly what they are to us Outlanders, the stars pick champions and rivals. During the time of your star sign, luck is on your side. I have lived my whole life with that knowledge, as has everyone else.
One can only hope that when the moon chooses them, it will be when the moon would be in prograde and their star-sign would bask brilliantly down upon them: when you are at your strongest and best.
But this was all wrong. All wrong indeed. I shuffled through the crowded streets of Bortland and took note of every pair of shoes that passed me. A pair of sports shoes with clean, white leather; a pair of boat shoes with a hole in the left front; skate shoes pair with sparkling moons and stars; some sneakers with rust-colored dirt from a base-bat field.
Please no one look, please no one look.
I made it this way to work, five minutes late. I rushed into the back room and finally lifted my eyes from the floor. My coworkers were safe because we had all already met. If there was a chance that sparks would fly today it wouldn’t be with Travis from the bakery section.
Here, at Tomorrow’s Nobles, I have the sneaking suspicion that everyone is still waiting for their sign from the Moon. I don’t know the demographic of all of us employees but I can say for sure that we’re majorly Outlanders. I wear my sign of the crossed suns over my chest. Make no mistake, that’s covered up this time of year. I don’t want to risk the extra back luck I have by tempting fate with skin cancer from the sun or some lurker’s hungry eyes on my train ride home.
Either way, my emblem is tucked away beneath my apron as I position myself behind the register at the front of the store. Travis from the bakery gives a dull wave from across the foyer. I wave meekly back, still reminding myself not to draw too much attention.
That’s when Cassandra sneaks up behind me.
“Heya, Grace,” she says to me. I practically jump out of my skin as a little squeak escapes my lips.
I whirl around toward her.
She laughs, “Whoa, what’s up with you?”
“Hi! Nothing! Shush!” I sputter. Cassandra and I aren’t exactly best buds but I’d like to think that we might be one day. She has one of those cool wolf-cuts all the cool girls wear and I just look like a plain-Jane.
I glance around for customers and see that we’re virtually alone on this side of the store. I pull her in conspiratorially by the elbow. “It fucking happened.”
“What fucking happened?”
“The moon, dude. The Moon happened.”
She raises an eyebrow and it’s now that I realized I’ve never asked her if she’s an Outlander too. “Oh god, sorry. I forgot to tell you. I’m an Outlander and something really significant happened.”
“Well,” she scoffed, “It can’t be that significant. I read tomorrow’s news and there’s nothing out of the ordinary, although I was sad to see that Brooklands is closing down due to crappy sales–”
“No, no, I meant to me.”
“Meant as in ‘it already happened’?”
“Huh?” I ask.
She blinks, “What?”
I scrunch my eyes closed, “Damn, sorry, let me start over. I opened a fortune cookie and–”
“Dude! Seriously? While the moon is in retrograde??”
“Listen, I know, I know, I–”
“And weren’t you born in, like, August? Dude that’s extra bad luck–”
“I KNOW!” I whisper-shout.
Just then someone clears their throat. We both jump as there’s a man standing there, hot as the fires of Venus, a black leather and canvas jacket tightly wrapped around a muscular, toned frame. His dark eyes make traces over myself and Cassandra.
“Excuse me,” he says in the smokiest, deepest voice I’ve ever heard from a guy.
“Yes, hi!” says Cassandra like a schoolgirl. She glances between me and him. I feel my face melting off already.
“I needed some help and that, uh, ‘help desk–’” he actually makes the motions with his fingers “–was empty.”
“Oh!” says Cassandra, coming down a little from the shock of this striking man’s appearance from nowhere. “Yeah, what can I help you with?” I admire her ability to roll with the punches like that.
“Well, I was hoping if either of you could show me to the summoning section?”
“Cultural Mythos or Practicing?” asks Cassandra.
“You guys don’t have them together?” he snaps back. I’m starting to not like his tone.
“Well, one would be in our history section while the other is in spells and incantations,” I say, backing up my friend.
“Right,” he says. “Okay, well can one of you show me the way?”
“Sure! I–” Cassandra glances at me and back to him. “Actually, I need to be up here at the cash registers, maybe my friend here can help you!” I can tell she’s trying to be helpful, but I don’t want to spend more time with this guy. Something about his attitude doesn’t sit right with me, like he’s hiding something.
“Yeah, okay, it’ll be this way,” I say, rounding the register counter. I turn my head back to Cassandra and stick my tongue out at her. She just winks back.
This guy’s walk is about as cocky as his words. He walks as if leaning backward, swaying his arms in stride.
“So, how do you like your job here?” he asks.
“I couldn’t live without it,” I say dryly.
“Hm, so would you say you like working here?”
“I can’t imagine working anywhere else, honestly. Here we are! The history section, subsection, summoning!”
“Oh, I was hoping to see the Practice section, actually. Never specified, sorry.”
“Oh, um. Yeah, it’s gonna be this way.” I pass through a few book-bays and we finally come to a decorated group of shelves filled with crystals, books, grimoires, tarot decks, chalk sets, toy daggers, and a select few YA books featuring witches.
“This is perfect! You seem to know your way around this place pretty well, good for you.”
I shrug, “I’m just glad I could be of help.”
“I look forward to it,” he says as I turn to walk away.
A chill catches in my spine. “Sorry?”
“Oh,” he crouches to get a book on a bottom shelf. “I’m the new-hire. I’ll be replacing Debby soon.”
‘Debby’ who strictly goes by ‘Debra’ to employees is our manager we begrudgingly respect.
“Wait, you’re our new manager?” I sort of laugh in disbelief.
He picks out a thick, purple grimoire. “Yeah. My name’s David.”
I shake his hand. His shake is a little too firm with me.
“Grace.”
“Pleasure. Well, I’ll be seeing you around.” We part ways and I practically sprint back to the register to fill Cassandra in.
“He’s our new WHAT?”
“Yeah, I don’t know how to feel about it,” I say. “He kinda gives me bad vibes.”
“Girl, what? He’s cute.”
“Yeah, but I don’t like the way he judged you for not being at the help desk.”
She rolls her eyes, “That could’ve been anyone else’s job.”
I glance at Travis in the bakery. He’s overwhelmed with customers, scrambling to write down orders as he goes. A trickle of white smoke is coming from the toaster behind him as it begins to beep.
“We’re the only ones in the store, dude. Also it looks like Travis could use a hand.”
Cassandra sees the drama as it unfolds, “Holy shit!” She runs off.
I steep in misery for the next half-hour. I think back to the fortune and the crappy luck I’ve been having lately. But then I remember that this is just a phase. Things will get better but only in a certain amount of time. August is only six months away, after all.
When I see David again, he’s wearing an apron, like me. “Okay! Since we’ve already had the pleasure of introductions out of the way, let’s talk about some new store policies.”
“What new store policies?” I ask.
“The ones I brought over from the other store. You know, with me.” Our eyes lock and suddenly the stars make it as clear as day. His irises constrict and I can feel the room darken as mine do too. A wave of nausea blasts at me from his direction as a cold sweat begins to form on my forehead and down my neck. Every follicle of hair on my body raises. My nemesis. This is he.
“Whoa, did you feel that?” he feigns a dizzy spell. “Was there an earthquake or something? Weird.” Without another word, he walks off.
I stand there, dazed.
Cassandra returns, burn marks on her apron. A little fleck of her well-textured hair smokes. “Well we got the line down, thank the stars.”
“Cass,” I mumble. “The new manager…”
“David?”
“Yeah, David…” his name makes me suddenly want to vomit. I gag. “Dude, he’s my nemesis.”
Cassandra blinks. I can see the gears turning in her head as she processes. Finally, her eyes half-close. “Yeah, I can see it.”
I’m still rigid. “Do I…? Do I go home or something? Like do I find a new job?”
Cassandra leans on the register. “Nah, dude. People work with people they hate all the time. Check your star map and I bet it looks pretty much the same.”
“I don’t have– oh, right, the app.” I pull out my phone and direct it upwards, as if waiting for a good signal. My little patch of stars, the ones I was born under, pass peacefully in space. When I zoom in for a better look I see a nebula I hadn’t noticed before: an explosion of greens, blues, and purples. “Shit,” I say, passing the phone to Cassandra. She whistles softly.
“Looks like there’s gonna be some major changes coming soon.” She rests her hand on my shoulder. “But hey, change isn’t always bad, you know?”
I frown at her. “During retrograde? During Aquarius?”
She chuckles. “I didn’t say it had to happen right this minute… But hey, sometimes you come across a diamond in the rough.” She lifts her hand from my shoulder and I suddenly feel cold and alone. “Besides, Aquarius isn’t all that bad for me. Maybe some of my decent luck will rub off on you.”
I sigh. “Imma head home early, I think.”
Cassandra finally brushes the soot out of her hair. “You do you, boo.”
★ ★ ★
I sit on the metro on the way home. I didn’t spend very long at work today, but I somehow feel completely drained. I check my phone. It’s still locked in on the image of the nebula from earlier. The beautiful bespeckled cloud will somehow form new worlds and maybe give life to some new stars. Destinies in the making, I think to myself.
A waft of warm air enters through one of the metro’s open doors. Funny, I think to myself as the most pleasant smell hits me. Usually it’s so cold on the metro at night. I suddenly remember I left work early and I’m just not used to afternoons. But the smell still lingers before me, like fresh rain on old wood.
Suddenly, a glimmer of light catches my eye: a pair of skate shoes with moons and stars. When I look up from my phone, someone is standing in front of me, holding a book down by their thigh. Diamonds And Forever the title reads, its little cover adorned with a glossy blue diamond.
I look up and lock eyes with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. She notices me and our eyes lock. Suddenly the world feels right-side up after a long delay of upside-downs. The metro light behind her illuminates her curly brown hair like a halo around her face. I smile and she does too.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi!” she says back.
I suddenly realize I have nothing to say to her, much less think about.
“Mind if I sit?” she asks, mercifully.”
“Oh, yeah, of course,” I say before making room. She sits right beside me and I swear gravity shifts in her direction.
“I’m Grace, by the way.”
“Nebula,” she says, taking my hand in hers. “You can call me Lua, though.”
“That’s amazing.”
“Yeah?” she laughs. I realize I must be smiling like an idiot.
I shift gears, “Whatcha reading?”
“Ah, some book about destiny theory.”
“Oh cool! I work in a bookstore and I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before.”
“You work in a bookstore? That’s so cool!” We can’t stop talking from there as the rest of the world vanishes around us. The pains of the day dissipate behind me and the universe becomes just a little brighter.
★ ★ ★
Needless to say, I miss my stop.
What is the general sentiment of Indians towards Chinese people compared to their feelings towards Japanese, Korean, etc.?
I had several Indian customers, among them was Mr. X, let’s call him X, who shared his thoughts about the Chinese, and the Koreans.
Mr. X is an Apple enthusiast. He confessed he is addicted to Apple devices and owns everything from an iPhone, iPad, MacBook, to an Apple Watch.
During a casual chat over beer, I asked why he hadn’t tried Samsung, which I know is a leading supplier of electronic devices in India. He replied that he once owned some Samsung devices but switched to Apple, not because Apple has better devices but due to his bad experience dealing with Samsung. In his early years, he was purchasing electronic components from Samsung and got fed up with their arrogance and was quite upset.
“I swear I would never buy anything from Samsung. At that time, Samsung was dominant in some fields and very difficult to deal with. These Koreans just didn’t treat us like decent customers,” he explained.
Curious, I asked, “How do you think of us Chinese? Have we behaved well?”
“Oh, you are my friends…” he replied, and we both laughed.
“But you know we Indians are hard bargainers, so always give us your best price,” he added, more relaxed after some beer. He was genuinely a nice person.
I still remember the days when he came to us with big luggage in the hot summer, sweating a lot. We respected the way he came such a long way to us for business and, in general, we respect our guests.
Of all the Chinese food, he loves Kung Pao Chicken.
What is the most ridiculous utility bill you’ve ever received and how did you respond, etc.?
Long ago we had lived in our starter home for about 7 years and one month we got a water bill that was $2500. A normal water bill was like $25–50. I called and they said the meter read showed we had used 50000 gallons of water. They wanted to know if we maybe had a leak or were filling a swimming pool? A leak like that would’ve been a waterfall and we didn’t have a pool so they looked into it. After some searching they found the notes from the last read and it was noted as “estimated” due to the meter being blocked. Our meter was in the house near the shutoff in the utility room and I assumed they had some electronic way of reading the meter as no-one had ever come into the house to take a reading. I explained that our meter was indoors and as far as I knew no one had ever come in to read it. They noted there was a meter on the outside of the back of the house on the western corner. The location they noted had a massive thorny bush that had been there as long as we owned the house, it grew very tight to the house and I had never messed with it, it proved to be nearly impossible to get behind. I put the phone down and went out, put on a heavy Carhartt jacket and leather gloves and shoved my way behind the bush to find, sure enough, in the very center behind the bush, a water meter. There was zero chance anyone had ever easily read that meter the entire time I lived at the house. So I went back inside noted what I found to the lady and promised to take care of the bush, I gave her the number off the meter there. She said she would adjust our account accordingly and to make the normal payment this month and they would take an official read the next cycle. A days worth of chainsaw and hatchet work later and the outdoor water meter was entirely visible. I never even knew it was there before we got that massive bill. I guess the meter reader got tired of fighting with it and just decided to get our attention. I can’t blame them.
What would happen if an outlaw Motorcycle gang like the Hell’s Angels messed with someone who was tough and pulled a gun on them and shot or threatened the gang instead of being intimidated by them?
Well I don’t know that pulling out a gun and shooting someone is very tough.
I can only go by my experience.
A good friend of my family (let’s call him Ben) moved from New Zealand to WA (Western Australia, not Washington) and was working in Kalgoorlie (imagine the Wild West only in modern times).
He was at a pub, stood up for something (but didn’t leave his table) when some body stole his stool.
Ben asked nicely for it to be returned, the bloke responded with profanity and he and his mate threatened violence.
Ben, being a farmhand from rural NZ is not scared of much but decided it wasn’t worth it and told them to keep the stool.
They decided they wanted a fight anyway, he pretty much one shotted the stool thief (or so witnesses claim) and moved onto the mate. The fight was eventually broken up.
Next he’s being told the mate was ‘sergeant of arms’ of a local bikie gang chapter (what we call outlaws) and that he should be worried about his safety as they’ll probably try and get him.
Ben, being who he is and aware of the danger but still wanting a beer, decided he’d keep attending the pub, but keep an eye out.
First time back there he’s at the bar and gets a hand on his shoulder – it’s the alleged sergeant.
‘Sorry about the other day mate, that bloke was being a dickhead but you know how it is, you have to back your mates, let me buy you a beer’.
My opinion is that these gangs are just groups of people, like any group of people you’ll get dicks and good people – just because they’re all outlaws doesn’t mean they’re all always looking for trouble