I think that I have related this story elsewhere, but when I was around 5 years old, my father gave me a dollar to buy a couple of hamburgers at the local diner. This was in Bridgeport Conn. And it was a typical 1950’s establishment. Lots of big floor to ceiling windows, lots of chrome, and a big open dining room.
So I went in and placed an order and the waitress brought it out to me. Two burgers on a plate. No sides. My father only allowed me to get hamburgers.
Then a local boy came in and sat down against me, and reached in and took my hamburger and started to eat it, and I was incredulous and yelled at him, and the waitress came over.
This became a trend, as soon as I would go in the place, the local kids would come in and sit across from me trying to mooch off me for free. It got so bad that my dad had a talk with the waitress and made sure that she would shoo away the other boys in the future, and my day sat inside the car watching me. Just making sure that I wasn’t going to give away my food.
Oh some battles I won.
Some battles I lost.
But I will never forget that moment.
Little children don’t know when they are being bad or rude. And if their parents weren’t around to teach them, they would grow up to thinking that they deserved everything that they wanted.
Fast forward a bunch of decades later.
My five year old daughter is riding in one of those mechanical rocket ships, when this boy (obviously from a poor family (being taken there to the mall by his grandmother for free air conditioning. ) When he climbed in and starts taking control of the controls and pushing my daughter aside.
But I was there.
So I yelled at him, and I was about to pull him out by his arm, when he jumped out in terror. I can look pretty menacing to a little kid being a foreigner and all.
And his grandmother came over and I got right up to her face, maybe a thumbs distance away and glared at her yelling at her in English, and she turned around and got the fuck out of there.
Que the “Three Stooges” skiddale sounds…
It’s not my proudest moment, but her kid’s actions reawakened a latent fury that I had kept buried for decades.
*Fuckin’ sliders…*
Today…
I have a new Sir Whiskerton video featuring Jazzpurr
Please take a few minutes to visit it and share some love. I hope you all like it!
Have software engineers seen a single line of code that accidentally took down an entire system?
I’ve got a good example that a friend of mine did that is also easy to understand both why it repeatedly took down a system, and why he never realized why it would be a problem.
Back in my university days, we logged into Unix systems from home via dialup to do our course work. The machine which was accessible to the phone lines of the outside world (called “bode”) was slower than another of the machines we had access to (“nyquist”), though both shared the same file system with NFS, so it didn’t really matter which machine we connected to… just that one was faster.
So our normal process was to dial in to “bode” and then use “rlogin” to connect from that machine over the University network to “nyquist” when we were in (this was pre-ssh days – rlogin worked about the same, but with much less security). Worked like a charm until my friend decided to make it easier.
Since it was something that he always did every time he logged in, he thought he would automate the process. In Unix, a “.login” file is executed when the user logs in. So he simply added “rlogin nyquist” to his .login file. Seemed like a straightforward thing to do.
Except when he signed out and signed back into his account, after logging in to “bode” everything just seemed to hang. And when he tried again, it still didn’t work, so he got me to try to sign in and it didn’t work for me either. We figured the system was just down for maintenance or something. Sure enough, a half hour later or so, I was able to get back in and did the work I had to do.
The next day, when he went to sign in, the same thing happened. And again. Every time he tried to sign in, the system was unresponsive…. but he didn’t clue in that he might be the one causing the crashing, since our accounts were just general user accounts (not root accounts) that had pretty minimal privileges. He just thought he was unlucky – every time he tried to sign in, it seemed that the system was down.
After a few days of this, we talked to the system operator about what might be happening (called a sysop in those days). He had no clue either, except periodically the system just crashed and he had to restart it. Eventually we figured it out.
Since the home filesystem was shared by NFS, his .login file command to “rlogin nyquist” worked exactly as intended. It would connect from bode to nyquist. But then, on logging into nyquist, it saw the same .login file because of the NFS share, and also executed the “rlogin nyquist”, logging into itself again. And so on…until it exhausted the memory and process space, by recursively logging him in over and over (which happened really quickly).
One single line added to a .login file that repeatedly brought down what was (at the time) a large Unix system used by teachers and students at our university.. and done with regular user (ie: non-root) privileges.
How does the United States view China’s increase in tariffs?
I don’t know how the US view the tariffs retaliation by China..
The country has so many other things to worry about. It is too busy worrying about the crash in Wall Street, the falling value of the dollar, and whether the rush to the Treasury market can be sustained when the fiscal deficit get wider and wider.
These are the immediate economic issues. Time is catching up for consumers for the impact of higher prices and less goods.
But Trump will not relent and be seen to lose face. He claims China has panicked, did the one thing it could not afford, and will regret it. Such is the level of his delusion.
Then there are also political issues.
Protests are everywhere across the country, a repeat of BLM, but this time there are large number of issues, against Trump, against Musk, against Doge, and more. And there are no quick fixes. Many Americans are angry. We don’t know what will become of these protests.
How does China’s Fujian aircraft carrier compare to the USS Gerald Ford in terms of its turning and steering capabilities?
You know as well as I do that if it’s Chinese, then it’s going to be the best. The USS Gerald Ford is new but based on the Nimitz hull, so it’s going to have similar but better performance.
The Chinese aircraft carrier, known as “the largest and most advanced aircraft carrier ever built by the Chinese,” is not a joke. It’s also one of a kind because this is the first and last of its kind. It’s clear that it’s going to have a few issues that the Chinese are not sharing.
The Fujian launched in 2022 and is still undergoing sea trials. It just requires time to install amazing Chinese technology that is yet to be invented. We don’t have the performance Figures of either vessel since one is not fully operational and the details of the other is classified. We do know that the Chinese will have the better numbers because it’s Chinese and they would never lie.
Fujian specifications is similar to the USS
Tis still an upgrade because China two operational aircraft carriers are based on the Russian aircraft carrier that nobody can detect due to the mysterious cloud of smoke that emits from it.
they say sonar can detect the Russian aircraft carrier…
Man Discovers His Wife Was Planning To Divorce Him And Take EVERYTHING, So He Outsmarted Her
How did you deal with a psycho sitting in your next seat in flight travel?
We were on a crowded international flight from Germany to the US. We were in boarding group 4, so we got to our seats and put one bag a piece in the overhead. The plane started filling up, yet no one was in the window seat next to us. All the overheads filled up. At the last minute, a rather rough-looking woman came down the aisle She opened the overhead bin over my head took my small backpack out, and placed it on the floor. She then kicks my bag back a row or two down the aisle. I start to stand up to ask her WTH, then she sees me and says- “ Can I have your seat? I prefer that one.” I say no and ask her to return my bag to the overhead. We call the flight attendant, and everyone around us is commenting, Oh no, A crazy lady, etc. The FA comes to our seat, and we explain what is happening. The women just said- I put my bag in and he wants to remove it and out his in. All of the surrounding seats chime in. Then, the guy behind me leans over and tells me, “I have room in the bin over my head; you can put your bag in there.” That diffused the situation. Her assigned seat was the window seat next to us, so we got to fly across the Atlantic next to the crazy lady. The whole way she kept ringing the FA and insisting I give her my seat. The FA finally got a cockpit crewmember to come out and tell the woman that if she did not stop, they would have her arrested when we arrived. That finally worked and she shut up for the rest of the flight.
Chicago Hot Dogs
These “dogs” bring back wonderful memories of wandering around Maxwell Street in Chicago in the 60s and 70s. It was never difficult to find a street vender hawking these Chicago Dogs. I can remember the smells just looking at the picture of a Chicago Dog. Never leave the celery salt off the Chicago Dogs! They won’t be the same. I guarantee it.
Yield: 6 hot dogs
The “dragged through the garden” style is heavily promoted by Vienna Beef and Red Hot Chicago, the two most prominent Chicago hot dog manufacturers, but exceptions are common, with vendors adding cucumber slices or lettuce, omitting poppy seeds or celery salt.
Ingredients
- 6 split hot dog buns
- 3 tablespoons melted unsalted butter
- 1 tablespoon + 1 teaspoon poppy seeds
- 6 all-beef hot dogs
- 6 dill pickle spears
- 12 tomato wedges or 18 slices tomato
- Yellow mustard
- Sweet relish
- 1 small white onion, finely chopped
- 6 pepperoncini or sport peppers (optional)
- Celery salt
Instructions
- Brush outsides of buns with butter; sprinkle with poppy seeds.
- Bake, split sides down, at 350 degrees F until warm, about 5 minutes.
- Warm hot dogs in boiling water for 5 minutes; transfer to buns.
- Arrange a pickle on one side of each hot dog and 2 tomato wedges or 3 tomato slices (more, if desired) on the other side.
- Squirt mustard over each in a zigzag; top with a dollop of relish.
- Divide onion among hot dogs.
- Top each with a pepperoncino or sport pepper, if desired.
- Sprinkle with celery salt.
Notes
When I make these I always use kosher hot dogs.
Never use ketchup on Chicago Dogs!
Birds of a Feather
Written in response to: “Start or end your story with someone being soothed by a hug or words of comfort.“
Jes Oakheart
“I’m getting suited up,” she said with a long-suffering sigh. “Paola, I want an escort of no less than ten. Jenkins, I want every gun trained on that ship.”
“Aye,” Paola and Jenkins said in unison. Fletch knew they did not approve of this plan. Yet they’d stood by her through many years of back-and-forth battles with Quill and accepted that being part of her crew meant obliging the captain’s thirst for victory.
Fletch retreated to her private quarters to don her spacesuit. She needed a moment alone. On the off chance that this wasn’t a trap and that her war with Quill had reached its end, she tried to imagine what life would be like without her mortal enemy lingering in the shadows, waiting for her to misstep. What would she do if she wasn’t exacting revenge on the woman who’d wiped out half the colony on Everron 7 where she’d grown up? Though that was the most grievous of Quill’s offenses, their war didn’t start there.
It started in flight school, not the one on the central planets, but the one on Jupiter’s moon Europa. Though the star system that contained the First Earth had largely been abandoned, a few older outposts remained. The Europa flight school cost much less than the one on Haversol, a draw for both Fletch and Quill who grew up on newly colonized frontier planets. Both girls were smart, oversaturated with aptitude and an insatiable desire for success. They fought fiercely against one another for the best grades, placements with the top instructors, and internships on the biggest battlecruisers.
What began as an academic rivalry became much higher stakes when the pair of them graduated with honors and immediately found work on opposing sides of a squabble in the Hyperion Galaxy. They rose through the ranks until they were able to afford their own spaceships and free themselves from fighting other people’s wars. Across their time on Europa and in Hyperion, they’d become obsessed with outdoing the other. It became their purpose, their life’s mission. They chased each other through the cosmos firing their guns at one another, blowing up sentimental places the other cherished, and taunting each other endlessly through the comms.
And now, a decade later, it might be coming to an end.
Fletch bundled her curly hair at the nape of her neck and tucked it into the collar of her spacesuit. She glanced at herself in the mirror, noticing the bags under her eyes and the wrinkles on her forehead. She was only in her thirties, but she looked much older. The war with Quill had exhausted her.
She put two fresh charge packs into her pistol and holstered the weapon at her side. She pressed the button to extend the spacesuit’s helmet over her head. The dome clicked into place with a hiss of air and she was ready.
Leaving her quarters, Fletch met her ten armed crew members at the airlock. Their orders were simple– the crew would secure the Bittern while Fletch went to the bridge to find Quill. Shoot on sight. Take no prisoners. This was a war, after all.
Fletch opened the airlock and a gust of wind flushed from the Starling into the Bittern. She wondered how long the crew of the Bittern had been shivering without life support, waiting for the trap to be sprung.
The automated voice of the Bittern echoed through the tunnel connecting the two ships: “Life support failure.” Fletch heard the repeating warning faintly in the background during her comm call with Quill, but she didn’t expect to feel so unnerved when they finally boarded the ship. The warning was one no star-farer ever wanted to hear, even if it was a farce.
They stepped through the opening and onto the Bittern’s main deck. The emergency lights were flickering and everything was quiet aside from the repeating message that life support was down. Fletch examined the monitor at her wrist, checking the oxygen levels and determining them to still be habitable, particularly with an open connection to the Starling.
“Keep your wits about you,” she said as the crew dispersed.
It was surreal to be on Quill’s turf. Their battles always took place in the vacuum of space or on various planets or moons. They never boarded one another’s vessel. It was more intimate than Fletch thought it would be. How many times had Quill walked these hallways? What conversations had she entertained in these rooms? She passed through the mess hall, noticing dirty dishes still lingering on the tables. She glanced at one of the plates, wondering what Quill and her crew ate when they weren’t planet-side. Spaghetti and meatballs by the looks of it. An old comfort dish from the First Earth. So simple, so plain. So human.
Fletch’s earbud crackled as one of her crew checked in. “The cargo hull is clear.” Then not long after, another message came through. “The engine room is clear. Confirming a missing antimatter synthesizer.” Fletch’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Maybe it wasn’t a trap after all. Maybe Quill had told them the truth. She’d find out soon enough.
Fletch tightened her grip on her pistol as she opened the door to the bridge. It was empty save for the captain’s seat at the helm. All she could see of Quill was the high bun she coiled her hair into, just peeking up from the back of the chair. There was a puddle of blood on the floor below her.
“The crew quarters and med bay are clear,” her crew reported through the earbud.
“So you really did come to see me one last time,” Quill said, her back to Fletch. “At least look me in the eye when you do it. Shooting me in the back of the head is hardly worth the effort of coming over here. Make it a good story at least.”
Fletch saw that the med kit by the door had been opened and a trail of blood led back to the captain’s chair. The emergency spacesuit on the rack against one of the walls had bloody handprints on it. Quill had tried to don the spacesuit but was too injured to do so. A pistol lay abandoned on the floor, indicating that Quill was unarmed.
Fletch’s earbud chirped again. “The ship is clear. No crew aboard. Both escape pods deployed. Your orders, Captain?”
“By now I’m sure your people have informed you that this isn’t a trap,” Quill said, as if she’d been able to sense the communication Fletch had just received.
Fletch was speechless, both to her crew asking for orders and to her rival bleeding out. She gripped her pistol and approached Quill’s chair, wondering what it would be like to finally meet her face-to-face again after all these years. She noticed a hand-knit blanket lying on the floor and a heavily worn copy of The Hobbit next to it. Print books were rare and difficult to find, especially ones originating from the First Earth. She passed around the side of Quill’s seat and faced her.
Quill was wearing gray sweatpants and a black tank top, her hair thrown up into the messiest topknot Fletch had ever seen. She clutched a wad of gauze to her belly, blood dripping from it and onto her sweats. She was shivering, her gooseflesh skin sallow where it wasn’t crimson.
Quill started down the barrel of Fletch’s gun defiantly. Yet, Fletch did not shoot. The voice on the other end of Fletch’s earbud once again asked for orders. She ignored it. Then, of all things, she lowered her gun and tapped the button to retract the helmet of her spacesuit. It had been years since she’d seen Quill through anything but a comm display and she felt she owed her rival one last look at her face.
“Do you remember the atmospheric physics class we took in our second year?” Quill asked. “The one taught by Professor Walen?”
“Yes. What about it?”
“Do you remember when she promised a letter of commendation to the student who could earn the highest mark and our whole study group turned on one another?”
Fletch stifled a laugh. “I remember Arne dumping a protein shake onto my keyboard. They just gave me a new one.”
“It was so dumb,” Quill bantered. Then she shifted uncomfortably in her chair and shivered.
Fletch wondered why Quill wasn’t wrapped in the blanket lying on the floor. She thought for a moment about picking it up and handing it to her, but then realized it was pointless given the circumstances.
“Do you regret it? Any of this?” Quill asked. Fletch wasn’t sure how to answer. “I do,” Quill continued in the silence. “How embarrassing to have made it as far as I have, only to have my crew mutiny and abandon me. I guess that’s what happens when you put all your focus onto an end goal with no consideration for how to get there.”
“You didn’t pay your crew, what did you expect would happen?” Fletch scoffed.
“I know. I flew too close to the sun.”
“That’s a terrible metaphor given that you’re freezing on a ship that can’t fly.”
“If you could get a do-over, one do-over, what would you fix?” Quill asked, ignoring the jab. Fletch shrugged. Quill gazed at her and then sighed. “It doesn’t matter now. Thank you, I suppose, for visiting me one last time and giving me the dignity of seeing your face before you kill me. It’s been an honor, Captain Fletch.” She sat up as best she could and saluted her rival. “Good war. I am ready for it to be done.”
“Captain, your orders?” Fletch’s earbud buzzed for a third time.
Fletch was uneasy, a pain in her stomach filling her with dread and sour bile. There was something so wrong about all of this. This wasn’t the victory she wanted. This was just sad. But beyond that, as she pictured a life going forward, one in which Quill was not there, it felt surprisingly empty. What would she do without someone to chase through the galaxies? Her entire life revolved around Quill and she wasn’t sure what she’d do without her. Her purpose had been to destroy Quill, but now that the moment had arrived, she didn’t want it.
Fletch tapped her computer cuff, finally responding to her crew’s inquiries. “Return to the Starling. Prep the OR for surgery and notify Dr. Hammond. Plasma gun wound to the abdomen, major blood loss.”
“Are you injured, Captain?” somebody asked through the earbud. “Shall we send a stretcher?”
“No and no. I’ll bring her myself.”
“Excuse me?” Paola interjected. “Are you bringing Captain Quill onboard?”
“Yes,” Fletch replied, taking a deep breath and studying Quill’s face. “This war is over.”
“No, no,” Quill protested as Fletch holstered her gun and walked over to the knit blanket on the floor. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do,” Fletch retorted. She picked up the blanket and approached Quill. “Can you stand?”
“No,” Quill whispered.
Fletch nodded, her eyes soft and face calm. She bundled Quill in the blanket and then lifted her up and cradled the woman in her arms. Quill gave up the fight and accepted rescue.
“Wait,” Quill mumbled as they began to leave the bridge. “My book. It’s rare, I spent forever trying to find it.”
Fletch understood. This was the last time Quill would see her ship. Once they were evacuated, it would be scavenged and scrapped by brigands. A ship without its captain or crew was easy pickings. Fletch lowered Quill just enough for the injured woman to grab The Hobbit off the floor. Quill clutched the book to her chest.
Then Fletch carried Quill out of the Bittern. They moved through the passageways and the mess hall, Quill peering around at her ship for the last time. Fletch looked down at the woman in her arms. It was perhaps the closest they’d been to each other since that one night back in the dorms on Europa. Quill rested her head against her rescuer’s collarbone. How had their rivalry begun? They had been friends before they were enemies. It was more than just competitive classwork that ruined their connection. Then Fletch remembered, gazing at Quill’s face so close that she could lean down and kiss her.
Fletch had broken Quill’s heart, rejected her after they’d shared one single night of intimacy. She wasn’t ready for a relationship with another woman. She cared a great deal for Quill, but she was scared. Quill had been in love and did not take the rejection well, seeking out revenge in its wake. That’s where it all started. And though Fletch thought she hated Quill, she reminded herself that hate and love often feel the same.
The opposite of love is indifference. Even a galaxy away, she bolted to the Bittern the moment Quill’s distress call went out. She was the only one to come to Quill’s aid. And here she was, personally carrying Quill to safety. They’d been obsessed with each other for a decade and Fletch’s world revolved around Quill. Wasn’t it obvious why? Sometimes it’s easier to hate than it is to love.
Fletch squeezed Quill in her arms as they crossed back onto her ship, the nearest thing to a hug either had shared in quite some time. She felt Quill’s body relax, comforted by the closeness. Though Quill’s time with the Bittern had come to an end, a fresh beginning was blossoming on the Starling. Fletch was finally ready to try something new.
“You’re going to be okay,” Fletch whispered. “We’re going to be okay.”
“I know,” Quill breathed, her expression of pain melting away. “I know.”
Tesla and China are battling to electrify diesel trucks. Climate funds and Wall Street want in.
As China exports only about 10 to 15% of its exports to the USA, will Trump’s tariffs have much effect on China?
US- China Trade
Total Exports – $ 576 Billion
- $ 439 Billion (From Mainland China)
- $ 40.62 Billion (From Chinese companies operating from Vietnam)
- $ 78 Billion (From Chinese companies operating in Mexico)
- $ 19 Billion (From Chinese companies operating in Cambodia ,Thailand & Vietnam)
Value Addition (Exports, China) :- $ 217.33 Billion (+)
- $ 156 Billion (Mainland China) (+)
- $ 61.33 Billion (Others) +
Employment (Exports, USA) – 2.153 Million
Total Exports (Manufacturing by Mainland Owned Companies) :- $ 169 Billion
Total Exports (Manufacturing & Assembly by Non Mainland Owned Companies) :- $ 407 Billion (Including $ 256 Billion of Exports on behalf of US Owned Corporations & $ 67 Billion of Exports on behalf of G7 owned corporations)
Employment (Based on Exports from Mainland owned companies) – 725,000
Employment (Based on Exports from Non Mainland owned companies) – 1,428,000
- Includes 337,000 (Apple Ecosystem) [113,000 Direct plus 224,000 Indirect]
Value Addition (Chinese Imports, USA) – $ 2.47 Trillion (+)
Employment (Chinese Imports, USA) – 868,000
Total (%) Exports to US by China as a percentage of its total exports – $ 576 Billion / $ 3.513 Billion = 16.40%
Total (%) Exports to US by Mainland Chinese companies as percentage of its total exports – $ 169 Billion /$ 3.513 Trillion = 4.81%
Total (%) Exports to US by Non Mainland Chinese companies as percentage of its total exports – $ 407 Billion / $ 3.513 Trillion = 11.60%
- Including 77% of all Iphones shipped to USA
- Including 68% of all Samsung Electronic Items
- Including 55% of all US Branded Lawnmowers
- Including 79% of all Laptops of HP, Dell & IBM & Others
As you can see
US and China are deeply integrated by trade
Chinese Exports create $ 218 Billion value to the Chinese economy but a whopping $ 2.50 Trillion to the US Economy
Chinese Exports also create 850,000 Jobs a year in US and these are direct jobs. Add another 1–1.5 Million informal jobs
Also 12% of US Exports to China are Non Chinese owned companies including $ 220 Billion of US company manufactured goods which help these Companies finance their advanced high grade processes in USA and build and employ factories
So US will be hit much more brutally than Chinese companies
Its what allows Xi to confidently go for a trade war with US rather than playing cautiously
China will suffer a few scratches and will make up in 6–18 months but US will suffer a crippling blow and a fracture that may take 6–9 years to be made up
Pictures
China defeating Japan – Is it true that, in the war of 1937-1945, China defeated Japan without any help from any other country?
China received assistance from the international anti-fascist alliance, which accelerated Japan’s defeat. However, even without any assistance, Japan would still be defeated, and this would be a protracted war.
If we only say that Japan is a powerful imperialist country and China is a small country, we will be in danger of falling into the theory of national destruction.
However, China is a vast country, and even if Japan should succeed in occupying a section of China with as many as 100 to 200 million people, China would still be far from defeated.
The Chinese peasants have very great latent power; properly organized and directed, they can keep the Japanese army busy twenty-four hours a day and worry it to death.
Japan is a small country with a small territory, few resources, a small population and a limited number of soldiers, China is a big country with vast territory, rich resources, a large population and plenty of soldiers. In a protracted war, the Japanese Imperial Army will be infinitely weakened until it is completely destroyed.
In the eyes of the subjugationists the enemy are supermen and we Chinese are worthless, while in the eyes of the theorists of quick victory we Chinese are supermen and the enemy are worthless. Both are wrong.
We take a different view; the War of Resistance Against Japan is a protracted war, and the final victory will be China’s. These are our conclusions.
China is not all plains like Europe or the United States. China is mostly hilly and mountainous.
Plains are suitable for mechanized troops to fight, but hilly and mountainous areas are a nightmare for mechanized troops.
No matter how good the driving skills are, the tanks, motorcycles and trucks of mechanized troops are completely useless in this terrain.
If this is not intuitive enough, you can take a look at these pictures.
Chicago-Style Breaded Steak Sandwich
This is a much loved Chicago sandwich. The Italians in Chicago really know how to make yummy sandwiches. You won’t be disappointed!
Prep: 10 min | Cook: 30 min | Yield: 6 sandwiches
Ingredients
- 1/2 cup vegetable oil
- 6 sandwich steak or round steak cutlets, pounded to 1/8 inch thick
- Salt and pepper, to season
- 1 cup all-purpose flour
- 3 eggs, whipped with 2 tablespoons water
- 1 cup Italian seasoned bread crumbs
- 2 tablespoons fresh rosemary, chopped (added to bread crumbs)
- 1 1/2 to 2 cups tomato basil spaghetti sauce
- 6 French rolls
- 1 cup shredded mozzarella cheese
- 6 ounces hot or mild Giardiniera
Instructions
- Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
- Heat oil in a 12 inch skillet over medium heat.
- Warm tomato basil sauce over medium heat in a skillet.
- Season steaks with salt and pepper, then lightly coat in flour, shaking off excess.
- Coat steaks in egg wash, again shaking off the excess egg, then press steaks into breadcrumbs, coating completely.
- Fry 2 or 3 steaks at a time in the oil for about 2 minutes per side, or until deep golden brown.
- Dip the steaks one by one into tomato basil sauce to coat, then transfer to French rolls, folding them into a v shape.
- Sprinkle cheese and giardiniera into the fold of the steaks or over the top of the steaks, as desired, then wrap each sandwich in foil.
- Place wrapped sandwiches in the oven. Bake for 3 to 5 minutes.
Sir Whiskerton and the Curse of the Great Moo
A Tale of Canine Choirs, Mystical Flatulence, and the Night the Dogs Said “Moo”
Chapter 1: A Most Unusual Evening
The first Moo echoed across the farm at precisely 7:03 PM.
Sir Whiskerton, who had been mid-monologue about the “aesthetic superiority of sunbeam napping,” froze.
- “Ditto,” he said slowly. “Did that… dog just moo?”
- “Moo! Moo!” Ditto agreed, nodding furiously.
They peered out the barn window to see Rufus the Dog perched atop the chicken coop, head thrown back, unleashing a soulful, resonant “MOOOOOOOOO” at the full moon.
Not to be outdone, Bingo the Dog joined in from the pumpkin patch: “Moo-oo-oo!”
Then Big Red.
Then every other dog on the farm.
Soon, the night air trembled with a haunting, bovine chorus.
Bessie the Tie-Dye Cow, for once, was speechless.
- “Like… whoa,” she finally managed. “I feel seen.”
Chapter 2: The Investigation Begins
Sir Whiskerton, ever the detective, assembled the usual suspects:
- The Farmer, who admitted he might have mixed up the dog feed with the “Extra Moo-Tastic Barn Blend.”
- “It did seem weird they were so into corn silage,” he mused.
- Zephyr the Genie, who was coincidentally practicing the kazoo inside his lava lamp while suffering “cosmic indigestion” from eating Chef Remy’s “experimental glow-in-the-dark chili.”
- “The vibrations, man… they align with my chakras,” Zephyr groaned, as his lamp bubbled ominously.
- Count Catula, who insisted it was “clearly a vampiric curse” (though he’d also once claimed the same about Porkchop’s snoring).
- “This is nonsense,” Sir Whiskerton declared. “Dogs don’t moo. It’s biologically preposterous.”
As if on cue, Rufus howled (moowled?) directly at him:
“MOO YOURSELF, FELINE!”
Chapter 3: The Science (Or Lack Thereof)
Chef Remy, summoned for “expertise,” examined the contaminated dog feed.
- “Ah! Zey have consumed ze Essence of Bovine!” he announced, as if this explained anything.
- “The what?” Sir Whiskerton hissed.
- “Cow… flavored… things,” Chef Remy clarified, waving a hoof-shaped cookie cutter.
Meanwhile, Zephyr’s gastrointestinal distress reached critical levels. Each kazoo toot now carried a mystical backfire, warping sound waves in a five-foot radius.
- “I may have slightly altered the fabric of reality,” Zephyr admitted between kazoo farts. “But hey, free jazz, right?”
Ditto, fascinated, tried to echo a moo—but only managed “Muh?” before Sir Whiskerton stuffed a paw in his mouth.
Chapter 4: The Bovine Conspiracy
As the night wore on, the mooing grew more organized.
- Rufus led the pack in “Who Let the Cows Out?”
- Bingo attempted “Moon Moo Serenade” (with Ferdinand the Duck providing accidental quack-up vocals).
- Big Red, ever the overachiever, mooed the entirety of “Old MacDonald”—backwards.
Bessie, now convinced this was a spiritual awakening, tried to teach them “advanced hoof placement” for “proper moo-vement.”
It was Doris the Hen who finally snapped.
- “STOP THIS MADNESS!” she shrieked, flapping at Rufus. “You’re dogs! Dogs howl! Cows moo! This is basic biology!”
Rufus blinked.
“MOO.”
Doris fainted.
Chapter 5: The Resolution (And One Last Kazoo)
Sir Whiskerton, at his wit’s end, devised a two-pronged solution:
- Step One: Confiscate the tainted feed (replaced with Porkchop’s emergency “Not-Cow” snack stash).
- Step Two: Silence Zephyr’s kazoo by “accidentally” knocking his lava lamp into Buckley the Goat’s water trough.
As the mystical flatulence dissipated, the dogs’ voices cracked back to normal mid-moo:
“MOO— A-WOOOOOOOO!“*
Silence.
Then—
“…Did we just moo?” Rufus whispered, horrified.
Bessie patted his head.
“Like, welcome to the herd, dude.”
Moral: Nature has rules—and breaking them leads to chaos, confused dogs, and genies with kazoo-related shame.
The End.
Key Jokes:
- “Moo Yourself, Feline!”
- Zephyr’s kazoo flatulence altering reality
- Big Red mooing Old MacDonald backwards
- Doris’ existential poultry meltdown
Starring: Sir Whiskerton (long-suffering), Ditto (confused echo), Zephyr (gassy genie), Rufus (reluctant cow-dog).
P.S. Chef Remy did bottle the “Essence of Bovine” as cologne. Sales were low. 🐄🎷
What is the worst single line of code you’ve ever written?
Ugh, that was not a good day.
It was the early nineties. I was brand new in the corporate world, doing maintenance work in C, SQL, and Unix shell. For no particularly good reason (not my decision!), the shell scripts were being run in root.
C and SQL both use “/*” to indicate the start of a comment. So I got into the habit.
So when I tried to be a good corporate citizen and put comments in my shell script, it looked something like this:
rm -f file 1 file 2 /* This will make sure program is ready to run next time */
For those of you who have not yet gasped in horror, in Unix, “/” means the root directory, where they keep a bunch of really important files. “*” means everything. So I just told the system, using my root privileges, to remove everything in root.
The whole environment stopped working. Fortunately, I quickly figured out the problem, sprinted down the hall, and was able to convince a friendly SysOp to quickly do a restore.
A couple hours later, my manger came by and asked me what had happend. He then asked me to hold out my hand. He lightly slapped me on the wrist, said “Don’t do that again” and walked out.
I got off light, but aged 10 years that day.
Cheating Ex Girlfriend Suffers the Consequences
How long will it take for new companies to build in the US creating good jobs and bringing America back from foreign dependent markets after the tariffs take effect?
A handful will come to the U.S. right away.
Some will look at setting up plants in the U.S. for the American market only. But that doesn’t mean they’ll export those products. Volkswagen and BMW might just make cars for Americans here, and that’s all. It doesn’t automatically mean they’ll be exported to Germany.
I think most companies will just wait this out. Fully relocating all their operations to the U.S. could take a decade, potentially costing them more money than just paying the tariff (which will be passed off to consumers, anyway.) Trump could die of a heart attack next week. Vance defends the tariffs but he isn’t as stubborn as his boss.
Trump himself could call these tariffs off at any time. Few companies are going to risk the expense of relocating their plants based only on tariffs that could be changed or completely dropped on a whim. The Democrats could easily win the 2026 midterms, which means Congress will likely snatch the power to set tariffs away from Trump. Democrats might, however, choose not to do this, which would allow the catastrophic tariffs to destroy Trump’s credibility before 2028, when he’s likely to wipe his backside with the Constitution and run for a third time, or at least one of his sons will. Or Vance. Unfettered tariffs stand a high chance of doing this.
Wall Street and the big CEO’s really hate Trump this week. Anxiety there is running deeper than it’s run since the Dot Com bubble, probably deeper. CEOs may well refuse to cooperate with him and even want to discredit or dispose of him. He’s no longer running the business-friendly environment they were so enthusiastic about a few months ago. Trump certainly hasn’t won any new supporters, while rapidly losing many of them.
Any dispassionate businessman knows that Trump’s reading of trade imbalances is bogus and illiterate, and that even where trade deals could and maybe should be renegotiated, blunt tariffs aren’t the best way to do that. At best, they’re one tool in the box. (Biden used tariffs, but he didn’t use them as a sledgehammer.) Trump thinks they’re a sledgehammer, and a lot of people are starting to abandon him over this.
Of course, if he’s successful, he’ll be king forever. But the U.S. will have no friends left except maybe Israel. The American brand will suffer badly. With Trump openly and proudly scuttling safety and food regulations “to save taxpayers money,” American products might well be considered shoddy, unsafe, even toxic. They’re unlikely to be cheap. And once you’ve destroyed the growing prosperity of countries like Malaysia or Vietnam by snatching their factories, many people abroad won’t be able to buy American. They’ll be out of work, their economies wrecked to enrich Americans. This is horrible optics for the United States, and for our products.
There’s also the big question of whether these “good jobs” coming to America will be union jobs. In the past, good factory jobs were almost always union jobs. It was the unions that made them so, and it was partly to crush the unions that many of the corporations took those plants out of the U.S. when the Midwest, especially, underwent a huge and depressing period of de-industrialization. What makes you think the same companies are now friendly to unions?
Some major American companies are adamantly anti-union. Walmart is an example. Suppose industries flock back to this country. Will Walmart be willing to do business with a unionized shoe factory? It’s an interesting question.
But I think most Americans will agree that a “good” job will be a union job. This makes the difference between working for UPS — an excellent company, being a driver for them is a good job, indeed — versus FedEx, a horrible company to work for because it’s non-unionized. Will companies relocating to the U.S. just hire “independent contractors” (like Walmart’s drivers), a euphemism for “disposable” and “we get them to compete against each other to lower the wages?” If so, then this is potentially a much bigger ripoff for workers than what American consumers are allegedly experiencing right now.
While there are some benefits to tariffs, there are so many pitfalls, Trump is really dragging us out to sea here. Ultimately, re-rigging the global trade network is far more serious than Covid. While changes can certainly be made, if an epic re-wiring of it backfires, the U.S. could become uninvestable. We could go the way of Argentina 100 years ago. Argentina was once a very wealthy country, then its politicians destroyed it.
Death Refuses a Bride
Written in response to: “Center your story around someone who’s boiling over with anger, frustration, or jealousy.“
CC Haycraft
Then came new memories, memories of him coming to her for brief moments, to return things she’d lost, to watch over her when she walked alone at night in the big city (Some nights as the glint of the ivory moon bore holes into the ground and through the trees threw strange shapes along the ground, it was unsettling to know this angel lay out in the darkness watching her; some nights she thought back to her childhood wish that he might embrace her and not the young girl set to die in front of her).
She saw in her mind as her teeth ground finer and finer even as she listened; the bone sifted away like delicate sand by her Mulling Masseter. Her blood boiled like flowing veins of liquid rock and molten metal as she could see the faint layer of the deepest eyes she’d ever looked into.
“And?” The man finally spoke with a big and empty voice that you could feel in your soul and that would make your heart drop into your knees.
“And, I’ve wanted you for so long! I’ve wanted you for nearly 10 years! Every time my parents fought when I was a kid and I could hear their screams down the hall, the clattering of plates on the floor. Then in college, when I couldn’t find reason to be a part of the land of the living anymore; I’d cry in my bed at night, praying for the moment I could embrace you, you’d take me in and cradle me in your cloak of everlasting twilight so that nothing could ever hurt me again…and now, today, today you take my sister who still had so much life ahead of her when you were supposed to take me!”
“Your sister was very sick, it was time for her to rest.”
“My sister needed a chance, a chance to make something of herself like I never got to. I never wanted this marriage…”
“What do you want?” The man queried.
“I want you…I’m in love with you!”
Their eyes met and for one brief moment Blaise could feel a warmth in those empty eye sockets that she had never felt staring into the soul of any other. One chased kiss as cold as ice was placed between the angel of death and this beacon of life. He caressed her cheek ever so gently, his cold hand reminding me of the frigid February night when they’d met. She looked again deeply into his eyes and saw there a look of passion, of regret and of restraint.
“Take me with you, I was already there and I can be again. Bring her back, we shared so many happy moments inspite of everything and you’ve showed me so much. I love you, please take me, not her!
“What is done has not been undone. You have brought me so much joy, you truly blaze, just as your namesake. You blaze with fire and passion and for the time we’ve spent together, you have been the Persephone to my Hades and you’ve shown me the most of life I’ve ever known. You made me find new love for the living that I had long forgotten, you make, you love, you fight, you hope and in time, you die.”
“Please…”She whimpered.
There was a subtle glow that suddenly emanated from deep within the skull of this lovely death that began to shine ever brighter, illuminating the crypt and basking Blaze in the frantic, fluttering glow that stuttered now like her heart. As the flame crept ever higher, lighting up darkened beams of stone that cradled the roof of the mausoleum and brought a slight smile to Blaise’s tear-stained face. She had seen this light only 3 other times. As her breath startled and caught in her marvel of the flames; she saw him now the night she’d crashed her mother’s car her junior year of college…The first time she ever saw his face (I’ll be it, she saw but a glimpse of fleshless face and the soft glow of something lit up like a jack-o-lantern through the she sheen of blood and the haze of the concussion that should have killed her…and should have killed her, he had came to her, meant to take her, but at the final moment, he could not bring himself to end something so gentle.
“Not now, it is because I love you that-,” whispered the man resolutely when he could again breath, “You must live, for yourself and your sister. You must find meaning.” and with that the figure was gone…
How shocked were British people at the cost of healthcare in the US?
I made friends with a cleaner at our hotel in San Diego. A lovely Mexican lady who was so nice to my family. She worked long hours because she had a young son, and a husband with diabetes. He had gone blind because they couldn’t afford treatment. This lovely woman was working 18 hours days to fund her husband staying alive, and child care for her son whose childhood years she was missing. It broke my heart to see this lovely lady putting on a brave face. Over here in the U.K. this would have been trivial and life would have continued as normal for her. Over there it was pretty much a death sentence for her husband and her son was growing up with out his mum. awful
What is India’s response to the ASEAN decision to include China in RCEP and exclude India from the negotiations?
The RCEP turned out to be the biggest boost for the member countries except Myanmar
Manufacturing output (%) rose from 3.9% for Brunei to 86% for Vietnam in the past 3 years alone
Cost of Raw materials is roughly 26% cheaper and that makes exports extremely competitive
However India opted out of RCEP
It was a huge mistake for India in my opinion
So did it help us?
Nopes
Our manufacturing declined from 17% to 13% of our GDP and output fell by 4%
Instead of $ 343 Billion of Imports from RCEP countries from 2021–2024, we imported $ 452 Billion of imports with $ 109 Billion paid in Tariffs that was imposed on the Indian customers
So we Indians paid $ 109 Billion that could have been disposable income to us
RCEP, BRI are both the reason why Trump Tariffs may not destroy certain economies completely
Why Vietnam can still sell a Nike Shoes for $ 118 retail instead of $ 185 retail and can somehow breathe through Trumps 46% reciprocal tariffs
This news is pretty old though on India making the stupid decision to not join the RCEP
It would have been a win had India seen manufacturing rise and cost of production fall
Nopes!!!
So as usual a bunch of Egotistical decisions by a group of unqualified fools
Not to worry
My bet is Piyush Goyal will talk about this also pretty soon
KBs Gyaan takes 5 years to perpetuate to the Average Indian 😁😁😁😁😁