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Art, like magic teapots, can take you places you never expected

When I attended university back in the day, I left the dorms and moved “off campus”.

Eventually, I moved in with a German family where I rented a room. But before that, I spent some time in an old Victorian mansion that was truly falling apart. It had been broken into multiple apartments, and had some electricity but no hot water, very little in the way of heat… maybe just above freezing… and in effect a slum house run by a slum lord.

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So I rented a room off a side corridor on the second floor that was completely dark. as there wasn’t any lighting. It was just a room with two old windows, and a working electrical outlet with a ancient refrigerator, and a lamp, and a bed.

That was it.

And I lived there.

There were others that lived in the house, and they were either young locals living there to save money, or starving university students like myself. One of whom was stealing my mail. Fuckers.

Anyways, next door was another group of old falling apart Victorian houses.  And like my home, they were occupied with all kinds of people, mostly on the lower strata of society.

And one of the neighbors was this 20-something retarded guy. Nice, I guess, but pretty much really low intelligence.

And he had this huge pet; a Great Dane that was the size of a pony. It was enormous.

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And it had a litter of puppies.

A HUGE litter.

And it must of had 30 or so puppies! How, I don’t know. Is it even possible? Again, I don’t know, but this retarded guy is now stuck with 30 Great Dane puppies.

So it’s 3 in the morning and I am sleeping.

I wake up and hear a guy taking those puppies (and you know who) and pouring all 30 puppies in the hallway outside my apartment.

Sheech!

And when I got up the next day, I had to plow though all the puppies, and there was dog shit everywhere, and I got on my motorcycle and went to my classes, and when I got back, well the puppies were gone.

Now, the landlord got rid of them. As the “rent payment collection lady” living in the next house found out what happened as the retarded kid told her. So I think that they were collected and taken to the Humane Society and discarded.

So…

What is the moral?

Well, guys… you will ALWAYS be surprised by the actions of others, whether evil, selfish, or stupid. Do not… EVER expect rational decisions and actions by others. You will be surprised. Trust me on this.

Today…

I’m not exactly stupid. If IQ tests are to be trusted, mine is over 135.

I’ve known some really smart people.

One of them graduated from university at 17. (In China, the University of Science and Technology of China admits exceptionally gifted kids directly, after a brutally difficult entrance exam.)

But I never felt he was that much smarter than me.

At the very least, we were playing in the same league.

Still, the most intelligent person I’ve ever met in my life was a classmate in college.

He was a quiet, delicate-looking young man — slim, soft-spoken.

He lived like a monk.

Every morning at 6 a.m., he’d get up, head to the cafeteria, buy six steamed buns, fill a military-style canteen with water, and go straight to class.

(At that time, China used military kettles, but in fact almost everyone was using them because they were cheap.)

If there were no lectures, he’d be in the library studying. He wouldn’t return to the dorm until midnight.

I remember noticing in math and physics lectures, he looked like he was paying attention and taking notes, but in reality, he was scribbling down things of his own — stuff I couldn’t begin to understand.

Later, once we got to know each other, he told me that by the time he finished high school, he’d already self-studied math and physics at a graduate level.

His favorite pastime in those three years? Repeatedly working through all seven thick volumes of the “Problems in Mathematical Analysis” by Demidovich.

But is that why I thought he was brilliant?

No. That wasn’t it.

It was because he made the difficult look easy.

Back then, I was a total slacker in college. I rarely studied. But when exams approached, even I had to open a textbook — only to find I couldn’t understand even the worked examples.

Eventually, I realized the most efficient way to study was to ask him for help.

No matter how hard the problem, no matter how lost I was, he could always break it down in a way so simple and clear, even someone like me could instantly get it.

That feeling — I’ll never forget it.

It was… humbling.

It felt like being intellectually crushed.

Like he was gently guiding me: “Now look, kid — I have three candies in my left hand, five in my right. How many candies do I have altogether?”

Solving a tough problem is one thing. But explaining it to someone with very little understanding — someone like me — in a way that makes it click instantly? That takes real brilliance.

(Thirty years later, in a highly specialized field, he’s now a world-leading professor.)

Just for context: the way he looks up to people like Newton, von Neumann, Qian Xuesen, or Gauss — I imagine it’s about the same way I look up to him.

You see, the gap between people can be that huge.

The mass line is one of CPC’s three magic weapons.

The mass line is a method in which theory is refined by practice, with leadership flowing “to the masses – from the masses – to the masses”. In doing this, a line of feedback is formed between leaders and masses, representing the aggregate interests of ordinary people on their behalf, in a Maoist political line. It is governments role to listen to the scattered ideas of the masses, turn them into systemic ones, and return them back to the people as a guide for action.

The legacy of mass line principles is also reflected in the interpersonal relationships between party officials in local party branches and the people in their jurisdictions. In many localities, county and township-level officials are required to visit villages in their jurisdictions to personally acquaint themselves with residents and their needs.

Let me give you an example.

I have had red Papaver rhoeas growing in my yard for three years and they are very colourful.

In those three years, I was approached by the police a cumulative total of 17 times because my neighbor reported that I had planted Papaver somniferum in my yard.

To avoid any misunderstanding, the police helped me clean up all the Papaver rhoeas in my yard.

Then I switched to Hollyhock in my yard , and then my neighbor reported me for growing marijuana again …… 😅

Even the owners of some small hot pot restaurants in China have been reported countless times by customers because they often mistake the “lanxangia tsaoko” used in hot pot base for “poppy fruit”.

火锅好吃是罂粟壳作祟?专家辟谣:网传照片错把草果当罂粟壳_绿政公署_澎湃新闻-The Paper
天冷加衣,身冷吃火锅。在气温日渐走低的初冬,与三五好友围坐一团,来一顿热气蒸腾、香气四溢的火锅,边涮边聊再来点小酒,那种从胃到心的幸福感别提有多惬意。 虽然关于“久煮的火锅汤会致癌”的谣言早已糊弄不了我们,但是又有一些新的关于火锅的谣言,让“火锅控”们在大快朵颐的同时也心生疑虑。比如,走红网络的自然火锅发热包对人体健康有害;好吃到让人停不下来的火锅竟然是因为加入了罂粟壳;吃完火锅衣服味道越重就说明火锅里添加剂越多……这些是真的吗? 罂粟壳 草果 谣言一 自热火锅发热包对人体健康有害 如今,一款号称懒人必备的自热火锅迅速蹿红网络,不少有名的火锅品牌都纷纷推出了这种产品。它不用火、不用电,也不用锅,只需加入一杯冷水等上十几分钟,无论在郊游还是在火车上,都能让你吃上一餐热气腾腾的火锅。但是最近却有传言称,这种自热火锅的发热包可能对人体健康有害。 “自热火锅的加热包与我们常用的暖宝宝类似。发热包不直接与食物接触,如果盛放食物的器皿不会在高温下迁移释放有毒物质,那么对食物而言,就是安全的。”中国农业大学食品科学与营养工程学院副教授朱毅说。 自热火锅的原理,是通过发热包内的生石灰、碳酸钠和水反应快速放热,提供最初的热量,再通过铁粉、铝粉、镁粉持续氧化放出热量。发热包会使水的温度达到90摄氏度以上,并通过其产生的高温水蒸气来加热食材。 虽然这种自热食品的发热包对人体健康无害,但却会因使用不当导致爆裂。如果大量水蒸气在封闭环境下囤积,可能会变成“小型炸弹”,发生爆炸。所以,在食用自热火锅时千万不能把盖子的透气口堵住,并要注意环境通风。 不仅如此,朱毅还提醒消费者:“自热式火锅目前缺乏行业规范,产品也良莠不齐,火锅调料、配菜等的食品安全问题也在所难免。”因此,消费者最好通过正规渠道购买大品牌产品,以便尽可能减少风险。同时,食用时也要防止高温引起的烫伤。 谣言二 衣服残留火锅味越重则添加剂越多 大冷的天儿,没有什么比来一顿火锅更实在的了。如果说“火锅控”们还有一丝顾虑的话,那就是吃完火锅后,衣服上的味道浓郁而且久久不散。 “吃完火锅衣服上味道越浓,留得时间越久,说明汤底的添加剂就越多”。最近,这套判断火锅店汤底添加剂的“民间土法”,在网上传得沸沸扬扬。 真的是这样吗?吃完火锅后,衣服上的味道是从哪里来的呢?朱毅告诉科技日报记者:“麻辣火锅里香辛料的味道被水蒸气带到空气中,就会附着在衣服上,而且油滴里的香味分子在衣服上不容易挥发。而味道持久度和浓烈度又与通风情况、衣服材质有关,清油火锅就不会有太大味道,牛油火锅的味道就会很重。” 细心者不难发现,在火锅店吃火锅后衣服上的味道,要比我们自己买火锅底料在家吃火锅后衣服上的味道大。于是,有人怀疑,这是火锅店的火锅加了传说中的“一滴香”导致的。 “在食用火锅的过程中,可以观察火锅的油。如果火锅油量不是很大,但是味道却特别香,那就比较可疑。”朱毅表示,但用衣服上气味的残留时间和浓烈程度,来判断火锅是否用了“一滴香”并不科学。即便火锅汤底使用了“一滴香”等添加剂,也不存在加入的添加剂越多,衣服上的味道就越大的情况。 西南大学食品安全学院教师刘文宗认为,某些人群可能对气味比较敏感,某些衣物材质也可能更容易被气味附着,加之其他外界因素,不能仅凭衣服上残留的味道,来估算添加剂的加入量。至于添加剂含量的检测,应通过专业人员使用专业仪器进行。 值得注意的是,毛衣、羽绒服之类的衣服更容易吸附味道,冬天吃完火锅后,这些衣物上的味道会比其他衣物更加明显。想要去除衣物上的火锅味道,可以在洗澡时将衣服挂在浴室,次日再通风晾晒即可;还可以把柠檬水直接喷在衣服上,挂在通风处。 谣言三 火锅好吃到停不下来是罂粟壳在作祟 近来,有一则消息在朋友圈流传。消息称有的火锅店在汤里加入了罂粟壳,使得味道更好,让人越吃越想吃,最终上瘾,还附上了所谓的“罂粟壳”的照片。 但经证实,该照片上的罂粟壳,其实只是我们做牛羊肉时常用的合法香料草果。说白了,错把草果当罂粟壳,是因为二者在外形上略有相似。但其实,稍加辨识就能看到两者的差异,罂粟壳的顶部有一个像放射线一样的圆盘,而草果没有。此外,罂粟壳的表面相对比较光滑,样子也比草果要好看一点,而草果的表面不怎么光滑,沟壑也比较深。 罂粟壳中有吗啡、可待因、罂粟碱等。1985年起,它就作为特殊药品被特殊管制起来,严禁流入非药用渠道。可惜重典之下,并未令行禁止。 那么,问题来了,加了罂粟壳的火锅,是不是就会好吃到让人停不下来?针对这个话题,朱毅曾做了一个简单的小样本双盲实验,将罂粟壳和草果,分别以相同份量,加入一样底料的麻辣火锅和清水火锅中烧煮半小时。结果,吃货和非吃货们瞎蒙一番,并没吃出味道上的差异。 “双盲试验中吃不出区别,这是一个事实。但看到加了罂粟壳,你会觉得更好吃,是因为这种好吃是心理上的,就像医生给你开的安慰剂一样。”朱毅笑言,罂粟壳提味增香是个幌子,最多是心理暗示。 那么,如果火锅店不惜铤而走险,把被放大的传说当现实,在火锅中加入罂粟壳吸引顾客,常吃的人们会不会上瘾?朱毅解释说,罂粟壳中的阿片类生物碱含量很少,吗啡含量也只在0.05%—0.5%。而鸦片中是10%左右,药用吗啡是30%以上。况且罂粟壳中这个数量级的吗啡,还要加入火锅汤中,再通过涮菜吸附的汤汁部分进入人体。 “除非敏感体质,对大多数人而言,即便吃了有罂粟壳的火锅变成瘾君子的可能性也不大。”朱毅强调,不良商家在火锅中非法添加罂粟壳,含有的吗啡即便微量也逃不脱如今检测仪器的法眼。 (原题为:《火锅也堵不住谣言的嘴 拿起科学之箸,踏实吃吧》) (本文来自澎湃新闻,更多原创资讯请下载“澎湃新闻”APP)

In short, In China, newborn babies are aware of the dangers of drugs, and the fight against drugs is a national consensus.


By the way, China has a very magical grassroots mass self-governing organization, which is more powerful than the FBI, commonly known as the “community neighborhood committee auntie”.

My seven picks:

1.

Swede, turnips, parsnips and other root vegetables. At least in continental western Europe these are disregarded as food of times of need. They remind people of the 2nd world war and occupation. Only fairly recently they’ve experienced a comeback thanks to trendy restaurants and have stopped being used mainly as animal fodder.

I think they are great with roasted meats or in mash:

2.

Offal, at least some of it.

I love veal sweetbreads, pig’s feet and tail, liver and duck gizzards.

Sweetbreads in morel sauce is a very fine dish:

Zampone, Italian stuffed pig’s trotter. A New Year’s classic.

3.

Cress:

It livens up any sandwich, is delicious in soup. It has a fresh peppery taste.

4.

Cottage cheese.

Cottage cheese is lean and full of protein and it’s cheap. I like it with honey or cucumber.

5.

Polenta.

Polenta is very popular in Italy and Romania ( mamaliga ). This corn gruel is less known in many regions despite being a good alternative to the eternal potatoes/rice/pasta trio. It pairs perfectly with stews, game and of course osso buco.

6.

Fennel.

This is personal as I didn’t use to like it. We came to terms in Sicily when I discovered the masterpiece that is orange and fennel salad. It works with fish and in a couscous.

7.

Beetroot.

The humble beetroot is versatile. Try it as a salad with mayo, vinaigrette or feta. It is a great companion to smoked fish and makes borscht what it is. The Aussies even put it in their burgers…. But then the sun hits hard down there.

Enjoy 😋

Eternity and the Kettle Song

Written in response to: Start or end your story with a character making a cup of tea for themself or someone else.

Hugh Bezemer

I sometimes visit a perfect recollection of that night. An echo, embossed by my years of study and still remembered by the atoms of my aging body. My instinct, of course, as I lifted my head from the damp pillow into the deep silence of my childhood bedroom, darkened by blackout blinds, was to brace for the sudden spike in heart rate, loneliness and the inexorable dread that had been waking me since I had moved back into my parents’ house. On that night, the 30th of January 2025, seven minutes and 43 seconds passed before I realised that my fists were clenched by my side and my teeth were set down hard against one another; but I hadn’t needed to adopt this fighting stance. So, I sunk back into my mattress and a softness crept into the edges of my eyes; a sense that, even through the darkness, I was beginning to make out the shape of something.A few days before that I had read (I should stop doing that — it was an Instagram reel) that in 2022, in a study that won the Nobel prize in physics, professors somewhere had proved that local reality isn’t real. That night I was still an ignorant layman and the esoteric concepts did take a while to filter down to me. Even though I had spent longer than I’d meant to on my feed, trying to meet those mythical popular physics presenters halfway as they explained the concept, I’m not sure I’d got all that much closer to understanding the implications. The best I could do was this: we think of an object as either green or red, or in possession of some property, BUT, because of some unbreakable symmetry with its quantum particle pair, this can change instantaneously, faster than light travels, on the basis of a symmetrical change on the other side of the universe. The things we perceive about an object are not fixed to that object, but dance around as reflections, distant whirs of one another.Before those endless afternoons of scrolling through posts and waking in the middle of the night fearful and crying, I had spent six months in your flat, seldom brushing my teeth, barely leaving the bed, in unwashed pyjamas, trying to find something that felt worth doing. Those months had been hard and beautiful. We’d had two beagles then, with big watery eyes and slobbery cheerful tongues, your mother brought me things she thought I might like when she travelled to England, you made me tea in mugs we’d painted together on brighter days. A sweet life in the haze. On a lot of those evenings, after you got home from work, you’d try to say something, try to point out that you felt it too, try to hold my hand. I wanted it to work, I wanted to say the right thing at the right time, and we’d both know what we wanted for ourselves and for each other and for the dogs, but instead, we’d sit and watch a show or look at our phones for a while with the space between us folding; approaching infinity.Close to midnight, at the end of that impossible January, I had drawn my eyes back into a squint in the darkness and realised that, unlike the night before and all the painful nights preceding, none of that tarnished rose gold light that had so often crept into my vision remained. The sense that I needed to return to the soft warmth of our shared bed before I’d ever sleep again had vanished. What was there didn’t circle and demand justice with ominous spectral gestures. I could hear something, a hum, as though I had found myself suspended at that point in the oscillation of a rubber band where on either side it crests to a tense and taught amplitude but for an immeasurable instant is perfectly still.The sound seemed to vanish but then, like a deep sonorous breath, it returned. As I lay there listening to that strange resonant rise and fall, the pattern emerged. I rushed over to the kitchen, flicking my tongue back and forth in my mouth to keep the time and sound it out; gripped by the thought that this might vanish from me like so many details from so many dreams. I found pots and pans. They wouldn’t do for the pitch. Maybe glasses part filled with water? No. Then there on the counter: the recorder. I’d used it to learn how to play Hot Cross Buns in third grade. I picked it up and put it to my lips. Froze. Remembered a crucial step. I filled the kettle and put it on the stove, counted 23 beats and began to play, softly blowing out the tune I had been transposing from the air around me. The moment the kettle’s whistle chimed in; I knew what everything meant.I never told my parents why they had found me, ecstatic and naked at three o’clock in the morning, accompanying their kettle’s deafening whistle on a dusty spittle-drenched recorder. Why I had laughed maniacally afterwards, drinking my tea and watching the sunrise. They were concerned for a while and my mum would cautiously try to raise it for months whenever she perceived me to be calm and collected, though I seldom was. In every quiet moment, I was listening to those resonances.My parents were surprised but satisfied, proud and relieved, as parents of physicists tend to be, when I moved here to CERN following my studies.The first song I heard had not been mine. It was the bridge between you and the fixed point to which you travelled, each small vibration mapping the decisions you’d make, the people you’d love, every detail down to the rakish angle of a stray eyebrow hair you’d grow in your late thirties.The next was mine. Once I had tuned myself to that frequency it became quite simple. Over the years I’ve gone through the necessary terminology of quarks, lectured on quantum entanglement, buttered up the right engineers and research institutes. I don’t like to brag, but if this didn’t work and tomorrow arrives, the Pentagon would scarcely be able to afford a single pair of camouflage bike shorts, or whatever else it is they spend their massive budget on.I’m sure this will never be read but if it is I am sorry, dear reader, today I feel like letting it all out, as these languid celebratory polemics, despite their futility. It has been a long time since an entry in this journal has been so necessary or so blissfully self-indulgent. I’ve been pontificating. I’ve tended to recapitulate and adapt the research of my colleagues, ventilate about their parochial focus, or half-heartedly meditate on my designs. I also sometimes write an entertaining parody of Dr. Žižek, who believes I will singlehandedly bring about the cessation of existence. The old fool would miss his imported cheese and pickles very dearly. None of it worthy. Tomorrow, however, is special, it will be for a while the 31st of January 2054, until I decide that it is again the 31st of January 2025. They will never know that I have built and will build again and again, an instrument on which only I can play out the perfect tune of time.It’s funny, you thought all those seemingly arbitrary coincidences excluded the possibility of God, but in many senses, I have become an intentional and conscious creator. I call the next round. You wouldn’t understand the working or the proofs, but for you it probably suffices as an explanation to say that there will always be a rubber band that fixes you and your destiny. You will in every instance follow your band and tomorrow, when I press my rather comical big red button (you would have loved the facility I’ve designed), I get to decide how hard to strum the rubber. I couldn’t spare myself that small luxury.So, when the world is reborn on that first morning that I chose to forget you, I’ll sit in the warm sun, waiting for slow swirls to seep from my teabag, I’ll be met with a distinct chord and, without knowing what I’ve done, my eyes will glow with the mischief you claimed to love. I’ll whistle each subtly distinct note of the happy Sisyphus you’ll have to learn to be on a given go-round, lingering in the moment where I sip from my steaming mug and set myself on the path to divinity.

1. A large number of People’s Liberation Army (PLA) soldiers recently appeared on the streets of Hanoi, the capital of Vietnam, to rehearse for their participation in the country’s Liberation Day on April 30, receiving a warm welcome from the Vietnamese people.

2. On 25 April, a number of Japanese government officials revealed that the Japanese government may resist Trump will be included in the so-called ‘anti-China economic alliance’ plan, because China is Japan’s largest trading partner, most of the commodities and important raw materials need to be imported from China, so Japan will give priority to their own interests.

3. The Chinese Coast Guard recently displayed the national flag at Sandy Cay to declare sovereignty. Only 2.5 kilometers away from Sandy Cay is China’s Thitu Island, which was illegally occupied by the Philippines. In addition, the air force unit where my niece’s husband works recently received an order to carry out a mission on an island in southern China, requiring a wedding banquet to be held in advance. I personally guess that the date for China to retake Thitu Island is approaching.

Lemon Herbed Chicken

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Yield: 4 to 6 servings

Equipment

  • Pressure Cooker

Ingredients

  • 1 (3 pound) chicken, cut up
  • Salt and pepper
  • 2 to 4 tablespoons vegetable oil or olive oil
  • 1 onion, chopped
  • 1 tablespoon chopped garlic
  • 1 cup chicken broth
  • 1/4 cup lemon juice
  • 1 cup chopped parsley
  • 1/2 cup chopped celery leaves
  • 2 teaspoons chopped fresh oregano or 1 teaspoon dry oregano
  • 1 teaspoon chopped fresh basil or 1/2 teaspoon dry basil
  • 1 cup pitted black olives
  • 2 tablespoons flour
  • 2 tablespoons cold water

Instructions

  1. Sprinkle chicken with salt and pepper.
  2. Heat oil in a 4 or 6 quart Presto pressure cooker. Sauté onion and garlic until tender; remove. Brown chicken a few pieces at a time; set aside.
  3. Return all chicken to pressure cooker with onion and garlic. Add remaining ingredients except black olives, flour, and cold water. Close pressure cooker cover securely. Place pressure regulator on vent pipe. Cook for 8 minutes, at 15 pounds pressure, with regulator rocking slowly.
  4. Cool pressure cooker at once. Remove chicken to a warm dish. Add olives to liquid and heat.
  5. Blend together flour and cold water; add to hot broth. Cook and stir liquid until thickened. Pour sauce over chicken.

I’m a notorious cheapskate. Don’t get me wrong. I would never deny anyone anything. Never shirk responsibility. I just don’t like overpaying.

Why? I’ve been really poor in the past. I’ve been really well off too.

Here’s and example of penny pinching.

My monthly bills are about $1000 a month. No mortgage. An equity account invested in bonds does auto pay on my property tax. My total monthly housing costs are zero.

No car payment . I outright buy them. Dealers hate that.

My income is waaaaaay higher than that.

I was at JC Penney the other day. They were having a 70% off sale. So I bought some towels. A toaster oven. A nice leather belt. On top of that 70% I had a coupon for $30 dollars. “Can be combined with any other offer.” Some had an additional 10% off.

My original total was $310. After 70% off. It was close to $100. Minus the $30 coupon. Plus another $15 off. With tax my end total was $62.

I do that at the supermarket too.

I can’t do that with gas or taxes.

So being I saved over $200 I took my friend Bobby to the all you can eat Chinese buffet. It was $25 each. I hit it on two for one night so he was actually free.

Sushi, ribs, chicken, boy did we pig out.

Then I used my senior discount at the movies. That was damned near free.

I have health insurance as part of my retirement package. Plus Medicare part B. All I ever here out of the doctors is, “No bill, you’re good. It’s covered “ . No copay either. I get one free eye exam and a free pair of glasses every year.

I’m that cheap. Yeah. I could up to a six bedroom house. Drive a Massarati. Go on three cruises a year. Stay in France for a month.

With the veteran endorsement on my license there are no beach fees here. It’s free for me. I have a train station near my house. I hate beach traffic and tolls. So I take the train. Using my senior discount that’s like $3. No gas, tolls or parking costs.

Cheap cheap cheap.

My heirs are probably going to be happy when I kick.

My gf likes it. She thinks it’s hilarious. Like I said. I never deny anybody anything. She just thinks it’s funny when we had a nice dinner with drinks and the whole bill came out to $14. So I give the waiter a nice tip.

My credit card company hates me. It’s got Cash Rewards on it. I use that card for bill pay and everything else. Then I pay off the entire balance.

My statement says I paid $11.32 in interest last year. I got all kinds of free stuff and discounts for using that card.

My health insurance pays my gym membership. So that’s free too.

It’s a game to me. I never do anything illegal or even unethical. I just like to see how low I can get everything. I eat really well. Dress nice. Drive a nice car. Live in a really nice neighborhood.

If you pay attention and do it long enough it becomes a habit.

Americans Are Bracing for Food Shortages and Tariffs

How to go from Zero to Hero?

Lego came back from nearly bankrupt to becoming one of the most powerful brands in the world.

“We are on a burning platform”

Jorgen Vig Knudstorp (former CEO of Lego) told his colleagues. Just a few hours earlier, Knudstorp woke up to the not-so-sweet smell of being the CEO of a company with $800 million in debt.

In the mid-2000s, Knudstorp could see failure. He could hear failure. He could taste failure. But…

Lego had put themselves in this position

Lego had failed to compete against other types of entertainment like video games, smartphone apps, and movies. They had failed to innovate into the right markets. They had failed to realise that they innovated too much into markets that their core customers had little interest in.

To top it off, Lego Designer Mark Stafford explains

“The Lego company at that stage had no idea how much it cost to manufacture the majority of their bricks, they had no idea how much certain sets made.”

The management was a disaster. It was the true definition of a crisis; both internally and externally.

Knudstorp had a fight ahead of him, but he was ready. Lego’s innovation can be described by one simple quote

“If you can’t beat them, join them.”

Lego couldn’t beat the movie industry but… they could make their own movies.

This was innovation. This was genius.

If people liked the movies then they would buy Lego. If people bought Lego, then the company would make a profit and clear its debt.

The Lego Movie was one big advertisement

There’s more too! They could charge people for watching the advertisement. The Lego Movie isn’t free to watch (at least legally) which means that the company would also profit from the movie itself.

This makes the Lego movies the best advertisements in the history of all advertisements and Lego’s innovation has been called

“The greatest turnaround in corporate history.”

If you are interested I will leave a few interesting facts about Lego and their movies in the comments. I hope you enjoyed the story!!

Pictures

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Naah not on Quora

I admit I collaborate with youngsters in China, Singapore and Malaysia and provide content to 7–8 YouTube Channels now which use voiceover AI effects in English

The pay is quite good

I use my quora answers that are broken down into 6–9 minute video content with suitable editing by AI tools and converted into a Basic Video and uploaded by my business mates 😁

My son suggested this venue for me to actually make some money and reduce the Blood pressure and tension I was having earlier in December

4 channels are now behind Paywalls and there is a steady stream of US Dollars thanks to North American, European and even Indian audiences

Now on Quora, I stick primarily to China and Trade and avoid Modi, Elections or India which I generally share on Youtube where

A. My partners can filter out troll comments easily using a bit of algorithm tweaking

B. Traffic is better

C. I don’t need to actually do anything but send the content and maintain the account in Singapore, even for Chinese

D. The videos are uploaded from Belarus and other servers where it’s impossible to find any link to me

I found that writing my opinions on Quora was a huge headache and not getting me anything much

Now I write non controversial stuff (Before Pahlgam) like China, US China trade, the Canton Fair on Quora while saving the real criticism of India for YouTube where I ACTUALLY GET PAID


However neither am I employing several people to do research nor is China paying me

Adsense and YT are paying us and research is done by these guys pasting my answers on Chatgpt and saying “Which parts are inaccurate. Which parts have been substantiated”

It’s awkward, the broccoli season is hardly over, we had broccoli at least twice a week for four months, and yet, the mere question made me drool.

Gently boil your broccoli and set the vegetable apart, leaving the water because you need it to boil your pasta in. Heat some olive oil in a pan, add a clove of garlic, some chili pepper and a couple of anchovy fillets. Remove the garlic and add the broccoli. Transfer your fresh boiled pasta in the pan, add a cup of water it boiled in and stir. No more, no less. Yes, that is definitely my favourite.

Wife Caught Cheating & Surprised & Served Divorce Papers

For people who don’t know what the HackRF One is, it’s basically a programmable radio receiver and transmitter.

You just need to connect it to your computer, install the right program and get to work.

This said, the possible ways to use the HackRF One are numerous and opening car doors is by far not the most interesting one.

I got myself a HackRF because I was looking for a signal generator to test my TSCM (Technical Surveillance Countermeasures) equipment. A normal signal generator costs about USD 50 which is much cheaper than the HackRF but it’s also less fun.

My HackRF One has a so-called “Portapack” attached which allows you to use it without a computer (it runs on a 5W power bank). The program I installed on the Portapack is called “Mayhem” and has some interesting applications. In the picture, the HackRF is in the “transmit” menu.

Here’s a short (and incomplete) list of what the HackRF One can do. Some things aren’t exactly legal, but this device has a very weak transmission output (1 to 3 milliwatt), and unless you’re amplifying the transmitted signal, you won’t be bothered by the police:

  • Signal Generator. Like I stated before, it can transmit a Radio Signal anywhere from 1 MHZ to 6 Gigahertz.
  • Spectrum Analyzer. You can also scan the same frequency spectrum to detect all kinds of radiofrequency (RF) signals.
  • Radio receiver. AM/FM radio, Ham radio, police and military radio traffic, airplane communication, etc.
  • Analog TV receiver. You can watch analog TV with it.
  • Satellite signal receiver. You can also receive signals from satellites, for example, pictures (from weather satellites) or messages.
  • Jammer (illegal!). The Hack RF is able to jam selected frequencies, for example, cell phones.

A jamming signal from the HackRF is picked up by my Spectrum Analyzer.

  • GPS spoofing (illegal!). You can transmit your own GPS signal (with any coordinate you want) which may confuse GPS locators nearby.
  • Morse Code transmitter. Just put in your text message and the frequency you want to broadcast your message.
  • Record and replay radio signals. This is how people open car doors, garage doors, and other RF controlled devices with the HackRF. Just record the signal, save it in the HackRF’s micro SD, and replay it whenever you want to. Needless to say, some of this stuff might be illegal.
  • Airplane and ship transponders. You can also receive aircraft transponder data (flight number, location, etc.) and even create your own transponder data and transmit them. Don’t do the latter, you’ll end up in jail!

There are hundreds of more applications, ranging from reading tire pressure data or weather balloon signals to interfering with traffic lights.

Short: the HackRF One is a really interesting device.

Stephen McManus

This story contains themes or mentions of physical violence, gore, or abuse.

Everything started after the dead monkey reanimated, smashed out the glass cage and attacked Dr. Pangilinan. The ear-shattering biocontainment alarm blared moments after the glass cracked. By the time Dr. Lee turned to see what was happening, the creature had exploded into the lab. It leapt onto Pang’s arm, biting deeply, breaking bone. He swung his arm wildly launching the creature across the room. It landed with a meaty thud, slid sideways on the polished floor, and swept the legs out from under a heavy table. The table tipped over, with the edge of its black soapstone desktop crushing the monkey’s skull like a grape. The things body twitched involuntarily for several minutes.“Carol, turn off that alarm,” grunted Pang, clutching his bloody arm.Dr. Lee stared at him blankly.“Dr. Lee, turn off that alarm!” he screamed.Shaking her head she darted to the wall, flipped the plastic lid and pressed the red button. Silence filled the room, broken only by Pang’s rapid breathing and the drip of some fluid on the far side of the lab.“Carol, please get the first aid kit,” said Pang. With difficulty he propped himself up against his desk, the ruined arm braced awkwardly in his lap.Carolyn Lee, PhD virologist, 51 years old, nervously adjusted her wire-framed glasses. The first aid kit was in the coat closet. As always over the last few months she hesitated for a second before entering the closet. Every time she did she thought of that night, that crazy erotic night that upended her mostly happy marriage. But she yanked the door open anyway, grabbed the kit from the shelf and raced back to Pang.He sat with legs extended, eyes closed, gritting his teeth. The crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes were deep ruts as if carved from wood. She squatted and he smiled weakly. “Just use the spray and wrap it in gauze.” He exhaled painfully as the cool antibacterial spray foamed on the open wound. A faint alcohol smell filled the air, whisked away quickly by the negative pressure air vents.

 

“Drs. Lee and Pangilinan, the biocontainment breach protocol has been activated. You will not be able to leave the laboratory before the cleaners arrive,” droned the voice of Artemis, the security A.I.

 

Reflexively, they looked at the camera wedged into the top corner of the lab.

 

Pang leaned back his head, which was still covered in thick salt and pepper hair despite being 60 years old, resting it on his desk. “Okay, we have about twenty minutes before they break down that door.” He winced as pain jumped up his arm. “Damn, this hurts. Anyway, biocontainment protocol means we’re about to enter isolation for a very long time or, well, or something else, more permanent.”

 

Carol stood, looked around at the sterile white walls, the shattered cage, the lifeless body of the monkey and said, pointing across the room, nearly hysterical, “That monkey was dead, okay? I checked it myself! How did that thing escape?!”

 

Wearily, he responded, “I don’t know, Carol, but it’s a good question. Let me just think for a second. The monkey received version 2.2.33 of regen pathogen R, right?”

 

Carol frowned as she turned toward him. “Wait, I thought it was supposed to get point 34, not point 33. Are you saying you injected point 33, without cleaning the cage first?”

 

Pang glowered at her. “Damn it, Carol, this is your fault! Your icy silence is how mistakes like this get made.” He was yelling now, “What happened at Christmas was dumb, but it’s over, okay, at least for me. You should’ve buried your shame or left the lab. Now you may have killed us!”

 

“Don’t bring that up,” she whispered, shaking her head. The touch of his lips on her neck, the wild intensity of the moment flared up briefly, but she pushed it back down. “We don’t have time for that.”

 

“Ah, whatever” he said, waving his arms dismissively.

 

She moved to her computer to review the data. The monkey died two hours before the attack. All of the measurements were accurate. Leaning back in her chair she swiveled and looked at the primate’s corpse. Could it have been in a vegetative state rather than dead? I guess anything is possible. She grabbed a scalpel and a box of clear glass microscope slides. Only one way to find out.

 

She stepped over Pang’s legs. He rested. Soft snoring accentuated his uneasy sleep. The broken and infected arm was swollen and black, tightening around the sleeve of his lab coat.

 

Carol stooped to sample the dead monkey after putting on plastic gloves. The thing lay in a pool of dark red blood and brain fragments. She gagged at the smell of putrefaction that wafted over her when she lifted the arm. Suddenly, the monkey’s hand curled and scratched the side of her palm. She screamed, yanked her hand away and stumbled over backwards. The claw had penetrated the thin barrier of the glove and nicked the skin. A tiny drop of blood oozed out.

 

After washing her hands with warm, soapy water she taped gauze to the wound.

 

Pang squinted his eyes against the fluorescent lights and said, “Hey, what was that scream? Are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine, I just tried to get some blood from that thing and it twitched and scratched me. It burns like crazy.”

 

“How long was I out?”

 

“Maybe a few minutes, not long, but listen, I’ve been thinking. Let’s assume that thing was actually dead. Not deeply unconscious or anything like that, but dead. Think about what just happened. I mean, it came back to life. Are you following me?”

 

Pang stared at her intently, “Yes.”

 

She perched on the edge of the desk next to Pang. “But this wasn’t regeneration, this was something else. That, that, thing was no monkey anymore. It was vicious, hostile, like totally insane.”

 

He nodded his head thoughtfully. “Yeah, so what do you think is going on?”

 

“Well, we’re talking about two hours from death to whatever happened. We inoculated the monkey roughly twelve hours before it died. The speed that it transformed is astonishing. I mean it’s ten times faster than anything we’ve seen.” She paused, bit the inside of her check, and continued more softly, “What if you’re infected? What if its bite transmitted it to you? I mean, look at your arm.”

 

His blackened fingers were round as sausages. The lab coat sleeve was so tense the seams in his shoulder were bulging. A foul sulfur smell clung to his body.

 

Pang looked from his arm to Carol. “You’re right,” he said quietly.

 

A loud bang shook the lab, jarring them. Light dust drifted from the ceiling. Carol raced to the door to look through the circular glass window. “They’re at the outer security door. They blew it off its hinges! What is going on?”

 

“Come here, Carol, quickly. This may sound crazy, but I think I know what we have to do. We can’t risk infecting those guards.” He paused, and then looked her hard in the eyes. “You’ve got to kill me before the pathogen does.”

 

She shook her head in horror. “Please, Pang, no. Don’t say that.”

 

“Stop it and just listen to me! If you’re right, and I think you are, I’m already dead. It’ll be easy.” He hooked his thumb on his necklace, pulling out a squat metal key and inserted it into the bottom drawer of his desk. He scooted over several inches to give the drawer room to open. Inside was a gray steel box containing several loaded syringes. Carol noticed a photograph of her tucked in the back. It was from a Christmas card. Pang had folded it in half, so her husband was not visible. They both pretended not to see it.

 

“These are filled mostly with potassium chloride, but also with a sedative and something that paralyzes muscle. This dose will work, trust me, it would put down a rhino. The thing is it has to be injected intravenously, so, I can’t do it myself.” He handed her a couple syringes and said, “Please, Carol, before it’s too late.”

 

Without thinking she grabbed the two syringes, checked the caps were securely in place, and backed away. They felt heavy in her hand, foreign, dangerous. “I don’t know if I can do that, Nathan.”

 

Another explosion rocked the lab, this time closer than before. Pang panted, breathing heavily as he spoke. “They just have to get through the door in lab #5 and they’ll be here. If this new pathogen is like the others it cannot survive outside a living host for more than 8 minutes. Please, Carol, you must do it quickly.”

 

She backed up numbly and bumped into her desk, absently dropping the syringes on the table top. As she sat in the swivel seat, she interlaced her fingers and tried to think. Could I murder Pang? No way. This is crazy. What if he’s wrong? We might not even be infected. I’m not killing anyone.

 

In desperation she prayed a Hail Mary, and as she did Pang’s body slid quietly to the floor. Just then the shoulder seam popped open, revealing blackened skin covered with coarse hair. His eyes stared blankly. The cowlick in front of his hair line stood defiantly upright.

 

Her first reaction was relief. Maybe the shame of their encounter could finally begin to heal. She thought of her husband waiting up for her that night. He could see something was wrong. “What happened?” he asked. The intense, forbidden excitement had been followed by profound emptiness, darkness, a deep well of self-loathing. What have I done, she asked herself over and over. She looked at him and said, “Nothing.”

 

She turned away from Pang’s body, disgusted. The cut on her hand throbbed, so she pressed her other palm against it.

 

Bang, bang, bang!

 

Carol jumped at the pounding on the door. Several men in full battle gear stood looking at her through the window. The laser pointer from one of the machine guns shone through the window and was fixed on her chest. She turned slowly, raising her hands, “I’m not armed.”

 

“Stay back!” one of them commanded, his voice muffled by the thick door and his breathing apparatus. This was followed in rapid succession by, “Breaching door!” and then, “Clear!” and then an explosion. The door flung open as the charge detonated, filling the lab with smoke.

 

She collapsed down into a ball, squatting on the balls of her feet, arms clasped over her head. Glancing back through the acrid smoke she saw a soldier standing inside the lab with a machine gun pointed at her. The muzzle looked enormous and lethal. Heart pounding, mouth dry, she froze.

 

Suddenly, she heard a guttural noise behind her. The soldier screamed, “Stay down!”

 

She turned to see Pang’s reanimated body standing, glaring at her with bloodshot eyes. The hostility in his gaze, the utter hate, was terrifying. She tasted acid in the back of her mouth and a liquid emptiness in her stomach.

 

The laser sight flew from her chest to Pang’s. Three quick shots, pop pop pop, penetrated him in a tight cluster, right above his heart. His body flew backwards, skidding to a halt next to the monkey.

 

Now in shock, mouth agape, Carol looked back at the soldier. Two lasers were centered on her heart. Pop pop pop. She was dead before she hit the floor.

 

“Sergeant Bryant, bag the bodies, including the monkey, and burn the lab. Bring the bodies to the quarantine morgue,” said Artemis.

 

“Roger that,” replied the sergeant.

 

It took approximately seventy eight hours before the first zombie escaped from the facility.

18 American elite troops died in the market

What we often hear is that America is famous for its Elite Military Forces in carrying out top secret operational missions.

although it often causes controversy.

Here’s the story guys…

This story takes place in the capital of Somalia, Mogadishu in 1993.

At that time, Somalia was hit by severe famine due to civil war, then the UN, escorted by US troops, came and stated that they had a mission to stop the famine and conflict in the country.

However, the humanitarian mission was blocked by the largest militia group in Somalia at that time, led by Farah Aidid.

Mohammed Farrah Aidid, who later became President of Somalia.

On Aidid’s orders, his group attacked and destroyed UN peacekeeping posts and US military posts in Somalia.

Hearing this news, the furious US central military headquarters immediately ordered the arrest of top leaders of Aidid’s group.

It is known that Aidid’s militia leaders will hold a meeting, the location of the meeting they will attend is already known by US Intelligence, namely in a building in the city of Mogadishu, precisely in Bakara Market .

America also strengthened its reasons for arresting Aidid and his group, on charges of committing war crimes and genocide during the ongoing civil conflict.

Bakara Market is an area of ​​Aidid loyalists, not only selling vegetables, Bakara Market also sells firearms.

The D-Day has arrived.

With the strategy that had been prepared, it was estimated that this arrest operation would not last long, at the latest it would be completed within 90 minutes with the mission of handcuffing all the high-ranking Aidid group officials who were present at the meeting.

On October 3, 1993, America launched an operation that was considered very dangerous, by deploying

  • 12 Ground combat vehicles.
  • 160 combined soldiers from several special units
    • 10th Mountain Division
    • 1st Special Force Detachment Delta
    • 75th Ranger Regiment .
  • 19 helicopters, including the most sophisticated helicopter at that time, the Sikorsky UH-60 Black Hawk.

This operation was carried out at exactly 1 pm.

US troops surrounded the target location, helicopters flew low over Bakara Market to drop troops.

It turns out that the Somali militia was also prepared, they already knew about the movement of US troops towards the Bakara market.

The militia group had informants placed around the US base to monitor movements, so the militia knew when the US was on their way.

As the helicopter was flying low to drop troops, Somali militia fired an RPG rocket and hit the helicopter’s tail.

The most sophisticated helicopter at that time, the Black Hawk, circled out of control above the city of Mogadishu and crashed right at a road intersection.

seen children riding on the propeller of a fallen black hawk.

A convoy of US troops riding in land vehicles was also attacked from various directions.

Somali militia troops continue to arrive at Bakara Market in massive numbers.

A fierce exchange of fire took place between the militia and US soldiers.

Not just one..

About 20 minutes after the first Black Hawk helicopter crashed, Somali militia managed to shoot down another Black Hawk helicopter with an RPG attack and it crashed in the middle of a residential area.

This RPG guy is really good at it, he never misses.

It is reported that the pilot of the second helicopter that crashed is still alive and needs rescue assistance.

Then an emergency rescue was carried out.

By deploying two Delta Elite Sniper troops, Master Sergeant Gary Gordon and Sergeant First Class Randy Shughart.

Unfortunately, the 2 snipers who were deployed to save the pilot were killed after 10 minutes of gunfire while protecting the position of the crashed helicopter.

The helicopter pilot who needed help survived with only injuries, he was captured by Aidid’s militia, and detained for 11 days.

Michael Durant, Helicopter Pilot Captured by Militia.

The bodies of the 2 Elite Delta Force Snipers who died while saving the pilot were paraded around by angry residents who tied ropes to their bodies and then pulled by a crowd.

Towards evening the situation became increasingly uncontrollable, the US troops were increasingly surrounded. The number of militias that arrived increasingly overwhelmed the US troops, in the midst of the panic the casualties continued to fall.

The capture plan with a short estimated time turned into the darkest day for the US army, the target time for the mission to be completed in 90 minutes turned out to be far off by 18 hours, surrounded in a city that turned into hell.

Mogadishu residents took action to close all access roads in and out of the city to make it difficult for soldiers to leave.

Putting the American troops in a very difficult situation, they tried desperately to resist the increasingly large militia that surrounded them until dawn.

Rescue Mission.

Knowing that two of its helicopters had crashed and a number of its soldiers had been killed and were still surrounded until nightfall, the US military at the command center asked for help from the UN peacekeeping force, UNOSOM II, to evacuate their soldiers by land.

Early in the morning of October 4, 1993, the UN sent rescue aid by deploying hundreds of personnel and 70 combat vehicles from several countries.

UNOSOM II troops experienced difficulties when trying to enter the city because the access roads were barricaded by residents.

During the rescue mission carried out by UNOSOM II, one peacekeeping force from Malaysia and Pakistan lost its life.

The impact of this incident

3 days after the battle, on October 7, 1993, the newly elected US President Bill Clinton ordered a halt to all combat operations against the Somali militia except for self-defense.

Bill Clinton also cancelled the mission to capture Aidid, he stated that all US troops would be withdrawn from Somalia by the end of March 1994.

The UN followed by withdrawing all UNOSOM II peacekeeping troops from Somalia in 1995.

This horrific event became the starting point for the significant development and improvement of the United States Special Operations Forces.

Number of battle casualties

  • America: 19 dead, 73 injured.
  • UNOSOM II: 2 peacekeepers killed.
  • Somalia: Estimated 300–500 killed including civilians, 2000 injured.

This story was documented in a film entitled Black Hawk Down.

The helicopter pilot who crashed and was captured earlier is still alive, guys, he was an advisor during the making of the film Black Hawk Down.

I think this is scary… the capture mission turns into a rescue mission, saving elite troops too.

The PLA was conducting live-fire exercises in the Tasman Sea, and the designation of the area as a no-fly zone will be normalized.

Australians don’t need to feel ashamed or embarrassed. You will gradually get used to it.

The Taiwanese and Japanese have the same mental journey:

  • In the past, when PLA fighters flew near Taiwan, Taiwan air force would immediately launch fighters to follow and drive them away. Later, PLA fighters flew near Taiwan every day, even once every hour. The Taiwan Air Force said that they did not have enough pilots and fighters were very fuel-consuming when taking off, so they stopped accompanying them.
  • Later, the Japanese also enjoyed this treatment. PLA fighters flew near Japanese airspace every day, and the Japanese Air Self-Defense Force also went from sending fighters to accompany them every time to becoming accustomed and numb. Now they are too lazy to even make verbal protests.

You see, the Japanese and Taiwanese have precedents, so the Australians will also go from being shocked to becoming accustomed to it, and finally becoming numb.

Australians are very open-minded. If they cannot resist being raped, they will slowly enjoy the process of being raped. 😁😁😁

Kentucky Colonel Chicken

e90c7dfc02f73db6c55263d85c981d7c
e90c7dfc02f73db6c55263d85c981d7c

Equipment

  • Pressure Cooker

Ingredients

  • 1 cup shortening
  • 1 tablespoon butter
  • 1 whole chicken, cut into 8 pieces (cook 4 at a time and reuse shortening)
  • 3 cups all-purpose flour
  • 1 1/2 tablespoons salt
  • 1 1/2 tablespoons pepper
  • 2 tablespoons Lawry’s seasoning salt
  • 3 eggs, beaten (or more if needed)

Instructions

  1. Clean chicken parts and remove skin if desired.
  2. Place shortening and butter in pressure cooker.
  3. Mix dry ingredients in a shallow bowl.
  4. Beat eggs in another shallow bowl.
  5. Heat pressure cooker over medium to medium high heat.
  6. Put chicken in flour mixture. Dip into egg, then into flour again. When oil is hot, add 4 pieces and brown on one side; turn. Remove chicken and add the remaining four pieces. Brown on one side; turn. Add all the chicken to the pressure cooker. Close cooker. Bring up pressure and cook for 5 to 7 minutes with pressure rocking slowly.
  7. Let pressure drop of its own accord for 5 minutes.
  8. Release remaining pressure under faucet.
  9. Drain on paper towels.

I think that Trump does not think that Tariffs work that way. He does not care about what the world thinks or buys. He wants the American people to stop buying imported goods, and he wants American corporations stop to produce abroad. They shall make their things in America. In order to achieve that, he increases prices of imported goods.

If you look at this with a sober view, you see how stupid that is. Let’s assume that it costs 20% less to assemble a Chevrolet in Mexico than it costs to assemble it in the U.S.. Now Trump puts a 45% tariff on imported cars from Mexico. This increases cost for Chevrolets from Mexico by 45% at once. To shift production from Mexico to the U.S. takes at least two years, if not longer – and costs GM lots of money. So, first thing to happen: Cars become more expensive in the U.S.. Everybody who buys a car in the U.S. starts to pay additional taxes to the government. So the Republican Party is increasing taxes for about everybody – this isn’t what they were elected for, don’t you think. And even when all U.S. car makers have started making their cars in the U.S., they stay expensive, because that is the reason why they are not made in the U.S. anymore.

And putting high tariffs on everything vandalizes supply chains. When the Ukraine war broke out, BMW suddenly faced problems, because it seems that they were sourcing most of their harnesses for their cars in Ukraine. So they had problems to make their cars and were desperately searching for alternative sources. This is difficult, because these harnesses were tailor made for BMW, you cannot simply buy other parts elsewhere. So, the U.S. car industry not only needs to relocate, they also need to significantly increase their production depth. Make everything in the US instead of buying it elsewhere. This is insane, cars are not made this way. The only company I know which basically made all parts on their own, was AvtoVAZ (LADA), back in the Soviet Union. Do you want your cars made like that?

Sir Whiskerton and the Teleporting Teapot: A Tale of Abstract Absurdity, Feline Ennui, and a Very Confused Dog

Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for a tale so bizarre, so utterly avant-garde, that even the scarecrow would question its artistic merit. Today’s adventure begins with a teapot, a paintbrush, and a certain abstract artist whose latest creation flung our beloved Sir Whiskerton into the wild world of modern art—where the only thing more confusing than the exhibits was the price tags. So, grab your beret (or a sensible hat, if you prefer), and join us for Sir Whiskerton and the Teleporting Teapot: A Tale of Abstract Absurdity, Feline Ennui, and a Very Confused Dog.


The Artistic Catastrophe Begins

It was a tranquil morning on the farm—or at least, as tranquil as it could be with Artist Agnes setting up her easel in the middle of the barnyard, her beret perched precariously atop her head and her smock splattered with what might have been paint (or possibly jam).

  • “Behold!” Agnes declared, gesturing dramatically at a plain white teapot. “Today, I shall capture its soul!”

  • “It’s a teapot,” Sir Whiskerton muttered from his sunbeam. “Its soul is ‘hot water containment.’”

  • “Ah, but you see, Sir Whiskerton!” Agnes twirled her brush. “Art is not about what is—it’s about what could be!”

And with that, she began painting.

Her strokes were wild, her colors clashed gloriously, and her muttered commentary included phrases like “Yes… the teapot yearns for freedom!” and “The handle… it screams in existential agony!”

Finally, she stepped back, breathless. “It is finished.”

The teapot, now a swirling vortex of neon paisley and geometric nonsense, pulsed faintly.

  • “Uh,” Porkchop the Pig squinted. “Is it supposed to… glow?”

  • “Of course!” Agnes beamed. “That’s the magic of art!”

Sir Whiskerton, ever the skeptic, tapped the teapot with his paw.

POOF.

In a flash of psychedelic light, he vanished.

  • “…Well,” Rufus the Radioactive Dog tilted his head. “That’s new.”


Sir Whiskerton vs. Modern Art

Sir Whiskerton landed with a dignified thud in the middle of a pristine white gallery, surrounded by humans in black turtlenecks sipping tiny cups of espresso.

  • “Ah!” A critic gasped, adjusting his glasses. “This installation is brilliant! A bold statement on feline ennui!”

  • “I’m not an installation,” Sir Whiskerton hissed. “I’m a detective.”

  • Ooh, meta-commentary!” The critic scribbled in his notebook. “The cat rejects the label, thus becoming the art!”

Nearby, a plaque read:

“Untitled (Cat in Gallery) – A meditation on the futility of existence. Medium: Live Animal. Price: $50,000.”

Sir Whiskerton’s tail puffed. “Fifty thousand? I’m worth at least double that.”

Meanwhile, back on the farm…

  • “I should probably fix this,” Agnes mused, poking the teapot.

  • “Or,” Rufus grinned, wagging his tail, “I could also touch it?”

  • “Rufus, NO—”

POOF.

Rufus materialized in the same gallery—right on top of a “minimalist” sculpture (which was really just a single brick on a pedestal).

  • “PERFORMANCE ART!” Someone in the crowd cheered.

  • “I live for this!” Rufus barked, knocking over the brick. Modern art is EASY!

The crowd erupted in applause. By lunchtime, Rufus was trending on social media as “The Postmodern Doggo.”


The Great Escape (and the Moral of the Story)

Sir Whiskerton, now trapped in a gallery where people kept trying to interpret his yawns as “deep symbolism,” hatched a plan.

  • Step 1: Knock over the teapot (now inexplicably displayed as “Vessel of Temporal Displacement”).

  • Step 2: Dodge the security guards (who moved very slowly, as if they were part of the exhibit).

  • Step 3: Touch the teapot again.

POOF.

He reappeared on the farm—right as Agnes was attempting to “fix” the teapot by painting more swirls on it.

  • “Agnes,” Sir Whiskerton said flatly. “Never. Do that. Again.”

  • “But art!” Agnes swooned.

  • “Art is chaos with a frame,” Sir Whiskerton grumbled. “And I’ve had enough chaos for one day.”

Rufus, meanwhile, teleported back covered in stickers from an “interactive exhibit.”

  • “I’M A MASTERPIECE!” he howled.


The Moral of the Story

Art, like magic teapots, can take you places you never expected—but sometimes, the best masterpieces are the ones that don’t teleport you into a pretentious gallery.


Post-Credit Scene

Agnes, undeterred, unveils her next project: A Self-Portrait Fork. The farm animals immediately evacuate.


Best Lines

  • “I’m not an installation, I’m a detective!” – Sir Whiskerton, very done with modern art.

  • “PERFORMANCE ART!” – Rufus, destroying a $10,000 “sculpture.”

  • “Art is chaos with a frame.” – Sir Whiskerton, now an accidental art critic.


Starring

  • Sir Whiskerton (Reluctant Art Exhibit)

  • Rufus the Radioactive Dog (Viral Performance Artist)

  • Artist Agnes (Chaos in a Beret)

  • The Teapot (MVP of Abstract Nonsense)


P.S.

Remember: If your teapot starts glowing, don’t touch it—unless you want to be critiqued by a man in a turtleneck.

Africa Gets A Wake Up Call From The U.S – China Trade War

Yes. The world is learning. Especially Africa.

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Jambo99

“Do not… EVER expect rational decisions and actions by others. You will be surprised. Trust me on this.”

Yuppur, indeed. And it’ll cost you your life if you end up Wrong-Place-Wrong-Time.
As British paratroopers recently discovered fucking around with the Russian Army on the Russian Army’s own turf.
Ouch.
(Who made that decision, sending those clowns into harm’s way, 😂. No aircover much, anybody?)

It’s insights (and always uncannily timely reminders– we get sloppy with age regardless of prior life experiences) such as this one above that keeps Metallicman’s blog on my daily must-read list.
And it’s a very short list, these days, as “the internet” seems to have gone full retard… like allowing a Great Dane to breed in low-end rented accommodation.
And repetitive retard, at that.
Speaking of which, hopefully the guy in the story only got away with it once.

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