Every now and then we come across something (typically useless) that is too beautiful to throw away. So we keep it in a box, or a (junk) drawer, or maybe put it on a mantle or shelf.

Like a key.

Who knows what it opens, but it’s big and massive and feels good in your hand…

Other things might include such things as a old lead metal figurine…

Or perhaps some beautiful arms from a long lost doll…

Or maybe a old telephone insulator…

Or perhaps just some old trivial item…

Here’s to the junk and stuff that has no logical use, but which we personally treasure.

Today…

Will Thailand face any consequences for violating its “obligations under domestic and international laws” if it does nothing to help the deported Uighurs?

“How many ‘roads’ must a man walk down before you call him a man?”—Do you remember the 60s-70s song’s lyrics?

What about the consequences of deported (40 ethnic) Uyghurs back to China for Thailand? Who- Who are Uyghurs? – 90% of my countrymen don’t even read such news let alone know the history of these people.

We walked and survived many ‘ Roads” as a nation from scratch. Thailand bravely walked through the roads of European colonial masters, and Superpowers in both WWs including the Vietnam War in my time – till today… As we know who’s the boss…

I think the Thai authorities are too busy with our internal affairs — can’t be bothered with any international laws. Let the outside world do what they want.

We cooperate with no one else, and will look up to ‘who’s the boss.’ and gives us less headache in international issues only if it happens in the kingdom of Thailand.

A couple of years ago, Singapore’s bank was robbed in a cool 60 seconds and the robber fled the country the same day.

The RTP was tipped off that the robber’s hiding place was in one of the hostels, in downtown Bangkok. The Thai ‘top detective team’ surrounded the hostel, as they imagined the bank heist scenes in the movies. But it turned out to be a ‘broke Canadian tourist’ who was sleeping soundly.

Singapore was furious and wanted this guy in their custody as it was the first successful bank heist in more than a decade that dented Singapore’s reputation of being the safest place on earth — Singapore is one of Thailand’s best friends and is also an ASEAN member.

But the British came from behind with a ‘deal’ with the Thai government, so Scotland Yard escorted that ‘Canadian robber’ to the UK in safe hand instead, thus stunning Singapore.

The best showdown that Thailand did was a crackdown on multi-billion-baht call scams busted which operated by a gang of ‘crime bosses from Mainland China’ with a large network in a small town in Myanmar and Thai borders – Which the Thai authorities from the top down know all along ‘ who’s who’ behind the scene for years.

Only now, after the meeting with the Rep. from the Chinese government, with China’s blessing the Thai A-team took swift action to shut down power, water, and internet to the township that we supplied to them decades ago.

Thailand’s swift action was like superheroes busting the gang almost completely with the help of Myanmar’s security forces. All Chinese national crooks were arrested and deported to China and were able to free hundreds of ‘ slave workers’ back to various countries.

What does this tell you? Does Thailand kowtow to China or the British, if not, the US?

The answer, my friend, is “blowin’ in the wind” and we will survive!

When the boss didn’t even bother about that why must Thailand bother? – ( My undertone thought only)

When I Rejected My Young Coworker’s Advances She Lied To Get Me Fired, Instead She Got The Pink Slip

What is an experience you had with a retail worker you’ll never forget?

I once bought an onion. Usually I buy a 1 kg bag of onions, but on this day I just decided to buy one. I had many other groceries also.

When the supermarket attendant weighed the onion, the weight was found to be 1.2 kg and the onion was about $5. I said “um, that can’t be right; your scales are wrong”. She said – “I’ll check the price”

“Price check fruit and veg”…waiting… eventually she said “no it’s correct – onions are $4.20 per kg, so it’s scanning correctly”. I said “yes that’s not the problem, the problem is one onion does not weigh 1.2 kg”. She was utterly confused… “no, it does, and then the price is $4.20 a kg, so that’s why it’s $5”. I asked her if she ever had to pay $5 for an onion, and surely she could see that an onion couldn’t weigh that much?

She really didn’t get it. I had to go back into the store and find a 1 kg bag of onions to explain it to her. Then she said “since it’s cheaper to get a bag of them, why don’t you just buy a bag?” (Face palm).

I said, “yes I could, but that won’t fix your scales, you’ve weighed this onion three times now and every time it weighs 1.2kg, so you’ll need to get the scales checked no matter what I buy. ”

She said “it’s fine don’t worry about it” – suddenly it occurred to me… I asked “hang on, how much were the bananas I just bought?”

She answered “$78.30 – oh shoot – the scales must be wrong.”

“Yes…they are” I muttered.

Never been at the register for so long.

Apple Raisin Stuffed Chicken Breasts

Prep: 20 min | Cook: 25 min | Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

• 2 cups College Inn® Chicken Broth 99% Fat Free
• 1/3 cup butter
• 1 cup herb-seasoned stuffing mix
• 1/3 cup apples chopped
• 1/4 cup raisins seedless
• 4 boneless, skinless chicken breast
• 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon tarragon leaf

Instructions

1. In a saucepan, over medium high heat, heat 1/3 cup chicken broth and 2 tablespoons butter until butter melts.
2. Stir in stuffing mix, apple and raisins.
3. With meat mallet or rolling pin, flatten chicken breasts to about 1/4 inch.
4. Place 1/4 of stuffing mixture on each breast half; roll, enclosing stuffing.
5. Secure with wooden picks.
6. In skillet, over medium-high heat, melt remaining butter.
7. Brown chicken on all sides; remove.
8. Blend flour and tarragon into butter in skillet.
9. Gradually add remaining broth, stirring constantly until mixture thickens and boils.
10. Return chicken to skillet; reduce heat.
11. Cover; simmer 20 minutes or until chicken is cooked through.

“United States is pressuring the Netherlands to block the sale of EUV equipment to SMIC by Dutch company ASML is ultimately affecting China’s dream in technology”. How long US can resist China’s development?

Did you see how USA & allies sanction Huawei? USA even kidnapped Huawei’s CFO who happens to be the daughter of the founder of Huawei.

As of 2024, Huawei surpassed iPhone. Huawei has its own operating system etc. Huawei spreads to non-western countries.

That is, USA has failed.

Then comes DeepSeek AI a while ago. USA hysterically hacked DeepSeek but gave up after 83 hours. … again USA has failed.

Then OpenAI, Amazon AI & Nividia all accepted DeepSeek & download it for themselves too.

Now somebody in France is inviting the CEO of DeepSeek to a meeting … looks like somebody is plotting to kidnap DeepSeek CEO like USA did to Huawei’s CFO.

How far will USA go? So far & so ugly that is beyond the imagination of ordinary people like you & I.

When China first launched its own space station, thru SpaceX, USA sent a satellite to collide into China’s space station, endangering the life of the Chinese astronauts. But failed. … really, USA can go really ugly.

American Tiktok refugees emotionally sharing their best experience on Rednote App

What was the most unusual AWOL case you handled during your military career?

I was sitting in my office when the phone rang. It was a call from an old college friend, someone I hadn’t heard from in a while. He worked for the senator from my home state, and he said the senator wanted to speak with me. It was unusual for a senator to directly call a constituent out of the blue, so I was immediately curious.

When I got on the line, the senator asked if I had a particular young man in my platoon. I recognized the name right away, though this young man had been AWOL (absent without leave) for almost enough time to be transferred to deserter status. I told the senator as much.

Then, the senator told me that this young man was sitting in his office at that very moment. According to him, the young man had claimed he was AWOL because he had been denied medical care — specifically psychiatric appointments. I explained that, to my knowledge, this young man had missed the last five appointments we had set up for him.

The senator mentioned that my friend, who vouched for my integrity, had recommended he reach out to me directly. It turned out both the missing man and I were constituents of the senator. The senator asked if there was any way I could ensure this young man received the medical care he needed, should he return.

I assured the senator that I would personally pick him up from the airport and transport him to the doctor.

That was decades ago, and I’m still waiting for our young hero to return.

Why do poor countries like Canada think their tariffs will do anything to the US?

Er, by February 21 there will be retaliatory tariffs on $151,000,000,000 of American goods. That will, without a doubt, affect your bottom line. It’s a dollar for dollar response to your tariffs against us. You fucking started it, we’re just responding. Most of it is, so far, aimed specifically at red states. Hell, your bourbon sales here are gone. That alone is going to have Tennessee crying like babies. Do you have any idea how adept we are at drinking?

Since a massive, “Buy anyone but American” campaign started kind of spontaneously among Canadian consumers yesterday, your bottom line is going to be hit even worse. We don’t have a number on that, but it will hurt your sales. Let’s round it up to $200,000,000,000.

At the same time, Trump’s tariffs are going to push your prices up and cost you American jobs.

Want cheap gasoline? We are your biggest oil supplier and your refineries are tuned to process our oil…it will cost you millions to retool to other oil. So your prices will rise and your workers will get laid off.

Want cheap electricity for your manufacturing and your houses? Well, we sell you a whack of that too. People are saying we should cut electricity for the Superbowl. I support that because it shows we still have a sense of humour, but where higher priced electricity will really hurt you is in power-hungry manufacturing. Oops…more higher prices, more lay offs.

Your ag sector…from equipment down to the jism of holstein bulls…is going to feel it. Yes, those prices will hurt your consumers in the end. Do you have any idea how much jism from a prized bull is worth? White gold, man. White gold.

Aluminum. Funny thing…the US leads the world in producing aluminum. It’s mostly the stuff beer cans are made of though. A lot of the high-grade stuff that goes into air planes and Teslas is from Quebec. Quebec, my friend, is in Canada. You’ve just taxed yourselves on that.

Oh, I know…you’ll just make your own aluminum. Well, that requires a lot of electricity. Which you get from Canada. Does your ass hurt yet?

Were you ever wrongly accused of harassment and did the truth come out in the end?

My soon to be ex-wife decided to run a scorched earth policy, while I was prepared to walk away.

Amongst several small lies she filed a complaint against me in an attempt to get a payout or lose my guns.

The complaint was that one particular week, I was repeatedly peeking in her windows, and actually broke in and trashed the house.

So we get to court, and her a neighbor that had suspected had been having an affair swore to the court to have witnessed me doing all sort of despicable things.

They even had a photo of my truck in front of her house.

Well the judge looked like he wanted to bury me under the jail. And if they were even half true, I would have deserved it.

Then my attorney started to speak. The first thing he confirmed was the dates. And that my ex had seen me outside of her house at what date and times.

Then we produced her timesheet from work, she wasn’t even home on those dates. Then I produced a signed and notarized letter from my boss that I was half a country away during that week.

And I showed on my laptop that I was on video on two of those exact times in Texas, not Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

The judge then chastised my ex and her attorney for false statements.

The Messenger

Submitted into Contest #210 in response to: Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.… view prompt

Debra Snyder

“Aakash, this just isn’t good enough! This is your third poor evaluation in as many weeks.”

 

Ash studied the cracks on the conference room table. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“You’re going to have to re-certify to prove yourself. Re-apply for the phone position, if you want it. As of now, you are downstairs working the messenger streams. I’m sorry, Ash.”

 

Ash trudged down the stairs to the sixth floor with his shoebox of desk sundries. Another high-ceiling room with a sea of tiny computer desks, murmuring voices and clicking keyboards awaited him. A big screen TV mounted on the wall in one corner showed muted 24-hour news, close-captioned in English.

 

He’d studied hard for the call center job, but his accent betrayed him time and again. Employees were to flawlessly disguise their Indian vocal identities at all times. Westerners, especially Americans, expected their call center support to be handled from their own side of the ocean.

 

Demotion to the sixth floor meant a significant pay-cut. His mother would be very disappointed in him. Again. He could hardly stand to think about going home in the morning.

 

A manager hustled over to his new station. “I heard you were coming down. Aakash, right?” Ash nodded, shook the manager’s hand. “I’ll send someone to review the basics with you in a bit. How much do you remember from training?”

 

“I think I can manage, Sir.”

 

“OK, well poke around a bit, but don’t go live until we’re sure you know what you’re doing.” The manager suddenly looked distant and mumbled something into his headset. He gave a thumbs-up and strode off.

 

Ash set his rocket-ship shaped pencil sharpener to the right of the keyboard. He moved to place the small, framed picture of himself and Sulakshmi next to it and hesitated. Instead, he tucked it back in the box, facedown. He sat in the ergonomic deskchair and leaned back, putting his hands behind his head. A star shined in the black sky through a tiny, dingy window near the ceiling. Considering his orientation and the time of night, he guessed it was Vega.

 

He sighed heavily.

 

Goodbye.

 

A messenger box blinked on the screen.

 

Ash looked around. His system should not yet be online. However, the blinking status of the message indicated it was just received and did not simply remain from a previous session. Ash stood up, scanning the vast room for the manager who just left him. All his new colleagues were busy peering at their screens and typing. He sat back down slowly and typed a reply.

 

Thank you for choosing Bay Area Bank, have a wonderful day.

 

Giraffe. Gargle Google. Incoming.

 

Ash blinked. He’d already had a bad enough night. He didn’t have the patience for one of Samir’s jokes, sitting upstairs sending him messages to taunt him about his demotion.

 

Your heading. Moving South, how to live?

 

Now Ash was sure it was Samir. Who is this?

 

Incoming interference. Soon arriving.

 

OK, Ash thought. I’ll play along. You are coming here?

 

Yes. Contact make want.

 

He was reminded of the grammatically challenged phrases Google Translate occasionally generated. He glanced up, hoping the manager would be on his way back to catch Samir in the act.

 

You happy?

 

Ash stared at the screen. Of course, I’m not happy, he thought. Who is?

 

Fooling Americans by pretending to be one of them was stressful and subtly demeaning work. Ash resented playacting inferiority. Combined with the long hours and monotonous work, he’d begun dreading his daily life. But he was the only one left to take care of his mother as she aged, and call center jobs paid well. Then there was Sulakshmi, his childhood sweetheart who moved eight hours north the previous summer to prepare for her arranged marriage.

 

The truth was that something vital and alive inside him withered a bit more every day.

 

But he could say none of this to the messenger, even if it was Samir.

 

Especially if it was Samir.

 

Yes, I am happy. Are you?

 

No. traveling forward I besides. Again contact soon.

 

Ash waited a moment and then typed, Are you still there?

 

There was no response.

 

***

“I can’t believe you’ve done this! Demoted at your job and lying about it! To your own mother!”

 

Ash closed his eyes. He hadn’t lied to her about his demotion. But he hadn’t exactly told her, either. Most likely, someone (Samir) told someone else (his own mother) who then told her.

 

He’d recently learned the American-English term “frenemy.” Samir resided firmly in that category.

 

“Am’ma, it’s OK. I’ll recertify. Work harder. This sort of thing happens all the time and…”

 

“I’m so ashamed! After all I’ve done for you, that you would lie to me!” she cried, tears rolling down her face.

 

Perfect, Ash thought. There wasn’t much he could do to calm her at this point. Anyway, it was nearly 10pm. He needed to leave if he was going to catch the bus to work. An image on the television in the corner caught his eye.

 

“…Human Space Flight Center in Bangaluru falls under the Indian Space Research Organization and is responsible for training the Gaganyaan crew. Preparations for the flight in December are so far on schedule…”

 

Ash felt a surge of mixed emotions – anticipation, envy, wonder, regret. His mother never understood his fascination with the space program, his passion for astronomy. Over and over, she’d reminded him that he was a silly dreamer, losing his mind over a fantasy.

 

“My dear husband gone, and my only son is lying to me! There is no one left I can trust!” She wailed.

 

Ash’s shoulders sagged. He loved his mother. But she was a relic, an anachronism; trying to fit old ways into an ever-changing mold. Ash wanted to provide something better for her, so that she could find peace. But he also had to admit that sometimes she simply chose to create drama where there was none.

 

“I love you, Am’ma,” he mumbled, kissing her trembling forehead lightly as he passed. He headed out the door of their apartment into the fragrant cacophony of the Bangalore night.

 

***

Hello.

 

Ash stared at the screen. It was nearly breaktime and he could have sworn he blocked other messages from coming in for the moment, so he could finish comms with the guy from Ohio and his endless stream of redundant questions. Except here was this new one.

 

You tomorrow agreeable? Delightful?

 

Ah, it’s the joker from the other night, Ash thought. I should probably tell the manager someone is hacking into the system. If it is Samir, it will serve him right to get into trouble.

 

You home in?

 

Ohio was finally saying his farewells. Ash typed in the messenger’s box, Hello, I am here.

 

Mumtaz!

 

Ash squinted. What language was that? Arabic?

 

Speed coming. Visit soon.

 

Where are you going?

 

Going your home. Visit you. The messenger added a sad-face emoji to the text.

 

The hair on Ash’s neck prickled. “Coming to his home…” What did that mean? He didn’t know how someone hacking into the system could have discovered where he was. But then, he didn’t know how they were hacking in, either. Ash noticed the messenger’s dialog box lacked the originating location of the querying computer’s IP address. He knew a location could be inaccurate but had been under the impression it was impossible to mask it completely.

 

Great. When will you arrive? And why are you sad?

 

Happy visit <heart face emoji>! Sad I should hurt <crying face emoji>.

 

Are you hurt?

 

Not I hurt, you hurt. You happy? You love?

 

I love. I am happy.

 

It wasn’t exactly true, but anyway, Ash thought, why do I have to tell this guy anything?

 

Good. I visit. Ciao!

 

Ash stared at the messenger’s blank dialogue box for some time afterward.

 

***

The next night, Ash expected the incoming communication. And there it was, at 11:52pm.

 

Hello, Friend.

 

He’d decided the messenger had to be some kook who also happened to be a genius hacker. He highly doubted anyone was actually on their way to visit, kidnap, kill, hold for ransom, or otherwise disrupt his life. It would probably turn out to be Samir, after all. On the bus to work that evening, he’d resolved that if things got weirder on that night’s shift, he would tell his manager.

 

Hello. How are you today?

 

I am quite well, thank you. I am nearly to your home.

 

Ash’s eyes narrowed. No reason for alarm. Yet. What do you mean, ‘to my home?’

 

Your planet, of course. I wanted to see it for myself.

 

Ash sat back and blinked. Now he knew he was dealing with a kook. A kook who gained a much better grasp of the written English language overnight. Why do you want to see it?

 

I have instructions to exterminate, and I am not certain this would be wise. Ah, I am at your home now! Such a lovely world. The ones with liquid water always are.

 

A chill rippled down Ash’s back. What do you mean, ‘exterminate?’

 

My people cultivate planets, making them proper living spaces suited for our kind. Sometimes that means… The stationary cursor blinked for several seconds. …evicting some of the current inhabitants.

 

Across the room there were excited voices and a mob growing around the TV mounted in the corner. Someone unmuted the audio. Shaky camera-phone footage showed a massive, pink blob appearing as big as ten suns, hovering in a blue, daylit sky.

 

Ash rose from his chair slowly, mouth falling open, eyes on the screen. Now there was live satellite footage of the blob, floating in space above the Earth. Ash’s heart hammered and his focus sharpened. He felt as though he just woke up from a dream.

 

He swallowed. He knew beyond any doubt. This was The Messenger.

 

Once a planet has been marked for extermination it is difficult to convince my people otherwise. However, I do not always agree with their decisions, and I do hold some sway in this regard. So, I ask you, Aakash. Are you happy? Do you love?

 

Ash fell back into his chair, knees shaking. You’re pink, he typed.

 

Over the top of the monitor, he watched the blob on the TV screen suddenly swirl and burst with color, like the skin of a squid. My visual aesthetics are adjustable. Do you prefer blue? Or perhaps black? The Messenger turned a bright sky blue and then faded to darkness, a black hole appearing where its mass obstructed the starlight behind. I can display colors outside your visible spectrum, but I suspect they may simply appear gray to you. However, some lifeforms on your planet can register the appropriate…

 

Pink is fine, Ash replied. Pink, only slightly less unsettling than the black hole effect, swirled back into place.

 

The TV reporter confirmed that emergency governmental calls were being made. Satellite defense systems were already training themselves on the object.

 

My people will hurt you, Ash typed.

 

They will try. They are afraid. This is normal. They cannot hurt me, however, and I will not stay long. At this time, I am here simply as an observer. You have been kind and patient with me, Aakash. Now, do you love? Please, I must know.

 

Ash’s throat was cottony, his hands clammy. He thought of his mother, clinging to her cherished traditions in a changing world. Sulakshmi moving away from him and the only home she ever knew to fulfil her promise to her family. His uncle missing fifteen years of his kids’ lives while working in a faraway country so they could afford to attend school. The jovial food cart owner who sold him the dal he planned to eat for lunch. The blind beggar he passed on the way to the bus to whom he gave the dal instead. The client from Ohio the previous night, who could not pay his mortgage because of his daughter’s medical bills.

 

He began typing. Yes, I do. We do. We are trying. We don’t always get it right. But eventually we will overcome our primitive natures. Someday we will finally get it right and join you in the stars. Just a few thousand years ago we still lived in caves. For each terrible, primitive-minded thing we do to each other, there are a thousand small kindnesses exchanged, a thousand evolutions of thought. We are on a trajectory. We deserve the chance to see it through, ourselves.

 

Ash realized he was babbling, and his eyes were watering. He wasn’t terribly eloquent, especially in English. He wished The Messenger had chosen a poet or a speechwriter with whom to communicate instead of him.

 

I see. It is quite valuable to gain the perspective of a native. You are indeed a fragile, unlikely people. Though most are unlikely in their own way.

 

The cursor blinked on and off expectantly. Ash slumped in his chair. He threw occasional glances at the TV screen, his mind too cluttered to type any of the questions clamoring there.

 

Ah, there we are. I have completed my data collection. Aakash, I offer respectful and deep gratitude for your shared perspectives and your kindness. I hope that you will not see me, or any of my kind, again for quite some time. Oh, and one more thing. Aakash, remember that tomorrow is never guaranteed. Go in peace, my friend.

 

The Messenger disappeared from the TV screen. Ash imagined hearing a “pop” as it blinked out of existence. There was a collective gasp from the viewing crowd.

 

Ash looked up at Vega, still twinkling dimly through the dirty window. He picked up his phone, dialed his mother’s number.

 

“Am’ma. There is something we need to talk about.”

If the United States uses military means to force Canada to join them, will Canadians welcome the arrival of US troops?

Yes. With IEDs, Claymores and much more. Use of such things will not be limited to Canadian territory. They will be used in the USA as well. Are you prepared to face the possibility of IEDs every time you go out anyplace.

Canadians are very nice calm people. But if you piss us off we will calmly make your lives a living hell.

We live next door to y’all and know where you live z s exactly what to blow up to bring lufe in tne USA to a standstill.

Beware of what you ask for.

But if you people ask us nicely is the USA can have second dibs in our resources, after our modest needs, we will be happy to sell thdn ti you at normal market prices.

Trust us when we say this will be much cheaper than military conquest. Much cheaper that the hundred or si fine young American soldiers that will be going home in body bags every few days.

Imagine trying to fight angry people where over half if us can pass for Americans perfectly. Plus 2 million of us live in the USA already. Think.

Shorpy

How does the mafia get their guns to sell? How do the mafia sell them to their costumers?

Getting guns is easy. I’m not sure of the current laws but I traveled extensively for work. On the weekends I was bored. I would go to estate sales and yard sales. I did buy art work. Tools. Motorcycle parts.

I DON”T DO ILLEGAL THINGS. THIS IS FOR COMMENTARY ONLY.

In different states many people were selling everything. Guns included. I asked, “What’s the law for me to buy a gun?” The answer? “No background check on private seller to private seller. You put down your money and pick up your gun.” I was very surprised.

Now. Consider this. Lets say I was a criminal. I have wads of cash from selling drugs. I just got out of prison last month. 6 revolvers, 2 shotguns, 3 long arms. In my possession. Pretty much the same at gun shows.

I never bought a gun. Just being nosy. The correct way for me to do that would be to buy the gun. Take it to a local licensed firearms dealer. Have him send it to a local licensed firearms dealer in this state. I would have to have a valid firearms ID card here. All up and up and legal.

Criminals don’t care about any of that. They just throw them in their trunk. Drive to Brooklyn. Sell them for 5 times what they paid. That’s why they are criminals.

Then you have straw buyers. Girlfriends or friends that buy them legally and pass them off to criminals.

Then you have burglars. They are looking for jewelry, prescription meds. They come across some guns. Now those guns are on the street.

In the 80’s I was doing auto electric work in NYC. All wiring. Installing stereos, cruise control, fixing wiring problems.

I had to be in the trunk, under the dash, under the seats. I can’t tell you how many times I came across guns stashed in customer cars. Sometimes 3 or 4. All loaded. In NYC. it was about 30%.

How do they sell them? Those gangs have tons of cash. Criminals will sell anything for a profit. Plus there is all kinds of loyalties. They are trying to keep a rival gang at bay. They flood their comrades with guns. You want the Bloods out of there? Arm up the Crips.

Like I said. I don’t do illegal things. Just for conversation? I’m guessing if I decided to buy an illegal gun?

It’s 9am here right now. I’m guessing I could have a handgun, rifle, shotgun, by noon with plenty of ammo.

Gun control is a myth. It’s just like drugs. It’s all over the place, very easy to get. Wars on drugs? War on crime? Never stopped a thing.

I don’t know what the answer is. As long as there is a buyer and a seller it’s not going to stop.

BRUTAL: China Drops a Knockout BAN on U.S. Economy as Canada Threatens US LNG Exports

Is China’s real interest in capturing Taiwan the chance to seize its microchip industry?

No, it is a historical claim which westerners, especially Americans, cannot understand because Americans don’t have any understanding of geography or historical memory.

Chinese have a LOT of historical memory.

Taiwan is the last hole left in China before it can claim restoring itself to a whole state before the start of the Century of Humiliation, which began in 1840 with the First Opium War when Britain forced the Qing dynasty to allow the sale of opium from India’s East India Company in China, violating its own Chinese laws banning the use of opium.

For Chinese, bringing Taiwan under PRC control means that the CENTURY OF HUMILIATION IS OFFICIALLY AND FINALLY OVER.

Should the US adopt a strategy of “national champions” like China does with companies such as Baidu, Tencent, and Alibaba?

China does not have a strategy of national champions.

If there is one that may be called “champion”, it would be Huawei.

Huawei was subjected to the harshest sanctions by the US. China’s government was on hand to give it support. It refused to allow the company to go under in the way that the Japanese government was forced to accept the fate of Toshiba.

Huawei is admirable in its own right. It is global leader of 5G communications, being upgraded to 5.5G, and progressing to 6G, and the developments of apps and devices, as well as, the recovery of its smartphone business in 4–5 years, from every sanctions and restrictions put on by the US and the Collective West.

Huawei’s success is what earns it the ire of the US.

As for the companies you cited – Baidu, Tencent, and Alibaba – it was only several years ago that the Chinese government was accused of persecuting them.

Government took them to task for monopolistic practices and poor treatment of the gig workers. Severe fines were imposed on them. Competitions have been restored, and the gig workers are better treated, including work safety, workmen compensations, and insurances.

What is the best compliment you have ever received?

Our Employees cooperative Society was promoting a deal for building houses for Bank Employees on 2400 Square Feet Plots in or near Lonawala in Pune in 2006.

The Houses were to be built on Cheap Land and each house would cost at least 30% cheaper than a Normal House.

You had to pay a Booking Fee of Rs. 5 Lakhs for a 75 Lakh Rupee House and Rs. 3.5 Lakhs for a 55 Lakh Rupee House

Now i had my own house so i really didnt care much but it looked like a decent investment – so i called up the Cooperative Society and asked them “Where do i pay the money???”

They said “Mahajan Builders” (Name is purely arbitrary – i forgot the real name)

Promptly i said “Isnt this a Cooperative Society Venture????Why shouldnt i pay you”

They said “Sir…we are facilitators”

So i asked “Tomorrow if the Builder disappears with the money , you are not liable????”

They said “Sir…Dont be so negative”

I then called friends in Vijaya Bank & SBI and both confirmed that the Societies would be taking the payment and paying the builders as a whole for their staff projects in Bangalore and Chennai

So i promptly told my colleagues in Chennai & TN – Dont Touch this with a Bargepole.

---

So far so normal

A Few weeks later came the Greatest Compliment

Our General manager in Mumbai did not invest in the Deal

He called me personally and asked me if I was investing and i replied No way

I had worked with him for 4 Years

So promptly he refused to invest saying “If Balasubramaniam doesnt invest – then defintely something doesnt feel right”

And slowly more and more people refused to invest asking the Society – Why are you not accepting the money??? why is this going to the builder?

Finally – Project was Scrapped

And in 2011 – I got a call from a relieved officer in Mumbai because the BUILDER had vamoosed with the funds without either transfering the Divided Share or building even 10 houses.

And BAnk of Maharastra staff in Pune got the axe with over 800 of them filing angry complaints

They lost an average of 6 – 10 Lakhs on this !!!!!

---

So when someone says “If Bala doesnt invest – I wont invest” – It is a great compliment.

Why is the US upset that Chinese low cost artificial intelligence startup ‘DeepSeek’ took over rival OpenAI’s coveted spot as the most-downloaded free app in the U.S.?

Sir Whiskerton and the Great Frog Uprising: A Ribbiting Tale of Power and Ponds

Ah, dear reader, gather ’round for another uproarious adventure from the farm, where the stakes are high, the jokes are low, and the puns are so bad they’ll make you croak with laughter. Today’s tale involves Leonardo the Bullfrog, a beaver with a dam complex, and a plan so audacious it could only come from a frog with delusions of grandeur. So, grab your waders and prepare for The Great Frog Uprising.

Leonardo’s Big Idea

It all began on a sunny morning when Leonardo the Bullfrog called an emergency meeting in the barnyard. The animals gathered, curious but wary. Leonardo was known for his booming voice and even bigger ideas, but this time, he had outdone himself.

“My fellow farm dwellers,” Leonardo began, puffing out his chest. “I come to you today with a vision. A vision of growth, prosperity, and… frogs.”

The animals exchanged confused glances. Sir Whiskerton, lounging on a hay bale, raised an eyebrow. “Frogs, you say? Do go on.”

“Yes, frogs!” Leonardo croaked. “I propose we expand the farm’s population by enlarging the nearby pond. Barry the Beaver has agreed to help me build a massive frog nursery. Once my thousands of tadpoles are born, they will follow my guidance, and together, we shall create a new era of frog-led prosperity!”

The barnyard erupted into murmurs of concern.

• Bessie the Tie-Dye Cow mooed, “Thousands of frogs? That’s a lot of ribbits. Like, way too many vibes for one pond.”
• Doris the Hen clucked, “Thousands? That’s more than my egg count! This is an outrage!”
• Humper the Rabbit twitched his nose nervously. “Thousands of frogs? I already have 47 kids hopping around. I can’t handle thousands more!”
• Porkchop the Pig snorted, “Sounds like a lot of work. Can I just nap through this?”

Sir Whiskerton, sensing the growing unease, turned to Leonardo. “And what, pray tell, do you plan to do with this… frog army?”

Leonardo grinned. “Why, lead them, of course! Together, we shall build a utopia where frogs rule and all others… well, they’ll just have to deal with it.”

Humper’s Plea

Later that day, Humper the Rabbit approached Sir Whiskerton, his ears drooping with worry. “Sir Whiskerton, you have to do something! If Leonardo’s plan goes through, my 47 kids won’t stand a chance against thousands of frogs. They’ll take over the farm!”

Sir Whiskerton stroked his whiskers thoughtfully. “Fear not, Humper. I have a plan. But it will require the help of someone… unconventional.”

“Who?” Humper asked.

“Count Catula,” Sir Whiskerton replied with a sly grin.

Count Catula’s Cunning Plan

That evening, Sir Whiskerton met with Count Catula in the shadow of the barn. The self-proclaimed vampire cat was lounging dramatically on a haystack, his cape fluttering in the breeze.

“Count Catula,” Sir Whiskerton began, “I need your help to stop Leonardo’s frog uprising.”

Count Catula raised a paw to his forehead in a dramatic flourish. “Ah, the frog who dreams of conquest. A worthy adversary. What is your plan, Sir Whiskerton?”

“Simple,” Sir Whiskerton said. “We convince Leonardo that his pond expansion will attract… vampire bats.”

Count Catula’s eyes gleamed. “Brilliant! I shall play the part of the vampire bat overlord, striking fear into his amphibious heart.”

The Night of the Fake Bat Invasion

Under the cover of darkness, Count Catula donned a makeshift bat costume (courtesy of Doris’s feather collection) and flew—well, more like awkwardly glided—over Leonardo’s pond. Sir Whiskerton watched from the shadows, trying not to laugh.

“Beware, Leonardo!” Count Catula hissed in his most dramatic voice. “I am the Lord of the Night, and this pond is now under my dominion! Your tadpoles shall be my midnight snacks!”

Leonardo, who had been happily croaking about his future frog empire, froze in terror. “Vampire bats?! But… but this is my pond!”

“Not anymore,” Count Catula cackled. “Unless, of course, you abandon your plans for expansion.”

Leonardo gulped. “Fine! No expansion! Just please, don’t eat my future children!”

A Happy Ending

The next morning, Leonardo announced that he was canceling his pond expansion plans. The barnyard erupted into cheers, and Humper thanked Sir Whiskerton profusely.

“You did it!” Humper said. “You saved the farm from a frog takeover!”

Sir Whiskerton smirked. “All in a day’s work for a genius detective. Besides, I couldn’t let Leonardo’s plan tadpole the farm’s harmony.”

The moral of the story, dear reader, is this: Ambition is fine, but when it starts to leap out of control, it’s important to remember that cooperation and balance are what keep the barnyard—and life—running smoothly. And as for Leonardo? He’s now content to croak his songs by the pond, dreaming of a smaller, more manageable future.

Until next time, my friends. Stay ribbiting.

The End.

It has to do with the site being badly engineered, to the point of being unable to handle flash crowds, such as would happen if it were lined from a news story with some claims that were interesting enough that huge numbers of people clicked on the link.

Very few sites not engineered for it can handle 10,000 users per hour — 2.8 connections a second, with each connection lasting indefinitely, as people attempted to engage the site.

After initial news reports, I would be surprised if they were not fielding a million connections a second.

Which is difficult for a single machine, given that each single machine can only handle a littl over 64K (decimal) connections, per IP address.

Handling one connection and maintaining a “chat” likely requires a substantial number of back end servers, and the hosting sservers out front were almost certainly overwhelmed.

The should have built at least a shunt server on the front end to throw up an static page of “our servers are currently experiencing higher than expected load; please try again later”.

Jon Stewart DEFENDS Trump From Hysterical Democratic Critics!

Pay attenti

This little place was an anomaly. The owner, Bobby, was the drummer of a local pop-punk cover band and he and his bandmates, roadies, and techs opened the place up about a year ago. It was an altar to the times, paying homage to everyone from AFI to Yellowcard. The walls were plastered with tour posters and framed tour shirts. Lacquered into the bar were printed tickets from venues all around the world. There were signed photos of Bobby with Green Day, Panic! At The Disco, Social Distortion, and even one of him on stage with the guys from Rancid.

Bobby was older now, but he used to be a sessions musician. He would play on the albums but not go out and tour with bands. He knew a lot of people and got to play music, but it also left time for him to pursue his passion, which was cooking. And so it was, that when he opened his little taco stand here on Main Street it became a ready hang-out for folks of a certain age who enjoyed music of a certain type.

I ordered my Mezcal Mule, a delightful cocktail of mezcal and birch beer in a chilled and sweating copper mug with a sprig of mint on the top, and was presented with my gratis basket of chips and salsa. That’s when I saw the news flash.

“Bobby! What the hell is that, man?” I asked, pointing at the television screen.

“I don’t know?” He shrugged and called to Stacy behind the bar. “Turn it up!”

“This is Charlotte Good from News 41 coming to you live with an exclusive story! Only moments ago we received reports of an unidentified flying object landing at Public Airport. You can see it here behind us.”

The reporter was standing in front of a black SUV emblazoned with the News 41 lightning bolt logo across the side. She and the airstrip were separated by a chain link fence and her face glowed with that mix of summer perspiration and makeup. As usual, the sound was crap and every couple of seconds it would glitch or lag. She kept talking and we could make out at least seven out of every ten words.

The shape behind her was not so different from what we might expect. Any fan of modern science fiction wouldn’t be particularly surprised by the design. It was nothing like War of the Worlds. Sleek, black, pointed nose, looking like a triangular prism with an angled back. Just then the side of the ship slid open, a telescoping ramp extending to the ground.

Down that ramp they strolled. They didn’t look so very different from us, aside from the blue skin and frilled ears, their faces looked like a face should look but their eyes were super big and their noses were fairly small. They had arms and legs, although the knees were hinged in the opposite direction from ours. They wore what looked like wet suits with a rigid oversized hood that framed their faces and joined at their shoulders. It was kind of a letdown. It looked pretty much like all those pictures you see of aliens everywhere.

“We are awaiting confirmation from local authorities that it is OK to enter the premises.” The reporter continued.

One creature noticed her, pointed to its buddy, and they ran over to the fence, lacing their fingers through the chain links. She continued to talk, the cameraman tried to get her attention but her camera-ready smile and professional composure only allowed for her to communicate her annoyance with a subtle lift of her eyebrows. The one on the left waved, which was awesome. The one on the right opened its mouth and began to talk.

On the first word, Charlotte Good screamed, spun on her heels, and promptly fainted straight away. The aliens looked at each other, and then at the cameraman, which is to say into the camera. They smiled and waved again, the one who spoke motioning to the mic which lay on the ground beside the prone Ms. Good. The camera moved awkwardly as the man bent, retrieved the mic, and tossed it to the alien over the fence.

Its words were completely incomprehensible, but it smiled as it said them. It seemed enthusiastic and friendly although impossible to understand. Its buddy said something, tapping it on the shoulder, and gesturing expansively. Raising one of its spindly fingers it motioned from its friend to the camera and back again. It raised its wrist and what looked like a predictably ordinary watch projected a perfectly cliche hologram.

It wasn’t a picture. They were symbols. The symbols were grouped in cycles of 4 sequences. There were fourteen of those cycles. Those were followed immediately by 33 additional cycles.

In the distance, great dust clouds could be seen rising off the ground as government vehicles raced across the tarmac. A human hand pointed into the view of the camera, we assumed it belonged to the cameraman, who was warning the aliens of the danger closing in. They looked at each other, one pointed to the other, they looked back into the camera and leaped the fence in one bound. One pointed to poor Charlotte, the other scooped her up.

“Put her in the car!” The cameraman shouted. “We gotta get out of here!”

The two aliens looked at each other and shrugged. The cameraman opened the door to the news van and motioned for them to place her gently into the passenger seat. He handed the camera to one of them, showing it how to keep the feed live, and then ran around the car and hopped into the driver’s seat.

“Seatbelts!” He turned, modeling for them the over-the-shoulder straps and how to buckle themselves in. They each did the same.

“That’s Dougie!” Bobby laughed, pointing to the screen.

“Classic Dougie!” Stacy laughed, her hand going to her forehead.

Dougie was their guitarist. His day job was working as a cameraman for the local news. He also ran all of their video and sound. The band’s. Not News 41’s. As previously discussed, News 41’s sound sucks. You had to be versatile when you were in a band. It paid to know how to do these things. With screeching tires, the government vehicles came skidding to a halt as they reached the fence. The camera panned to the other alien, who open mouth smiled in mock surprise as the News 41 van took off, leaving the Feds behind.

For many hours, experts of all kinds were stumped by what the strange symbols could mean. Cryptographers from all over the world provided their take on what might be the contents of that first message imparted unto humanity from these visitors from the stars. We sat there, all afternoon, watching those screens.

Dougie and aliens at the beach. Dougie and aliens at the Super Mart, getting slushies. Dougie and aliens winning twelve bucks on a scratcher at the corner store. The corner store? We ran out and saw Dougie, alien, Ash the clerk from the corner store, and a few other locals running down the street. At the end was the cameraalien who kept the live feed rolling.

“What is happening right now, Dougie?” Bobby demanded, reaching out a hand and pulling him in for a hug.

“I couldn’t leave these aliens with the Feds. I didn’t want it to end up like a Spielberg movie!” Dougie said. “They’re cool.”

“Cool?” Stacy asked. “What?” She flinched as the one behind the camera motioned to the other to get in close and he swung his long arm around her shoulders and pulled Bobby in on the other side. Once again, he vamped for the camera and they joined in.

Dougie ran towards the restrooms. There on the wall between them was a guitar signed by the great Billy Joe Armstrong. He took it down, plugged it into the amp below, strummed it once, and began to retune.

For their part, the aliens immediately responded. Apparently, air guitar is universal. Ash played along with them as Dougie finished up.

“I know what they’re saying!” He said excitedly. “Those symbols! They’re not words! They’re tablature! These dudes are here to rock!”

With the guitar tuned to his liking he motioned to the alien wristwatch. His blue-skinned friend once again raised it and activated the interface. As the patterns scrolled by, Dougie played that Billy Joe signed guitar for all it was worth. The minute it started everyone knew the words and sang along.

“They came all this way for punk!” Dougie shouted.

“All the Small Things?” I asked.

“Is that weird?” Stacy asked.

“Not at all,” Bobby replied with a shrug.

Dougie reached out and high-fived Bobby, turned and hit me, then Ash, and then the aliens joined in.

They called the band, set the stage, and played into the night. Everyone was skanking and drinking and having a blast. When Charlotte came to, she wandered in and I took the camera at her request. Not to put on heirs, but I had some experience myself.

“This is Charlotte Good from News 41 coming to you live with an exclusive story! Taco Tuesday will never be the same!”

That was the best night. Bobby, Stacy, Dougie, Ash, the locals, the band, the aliens, Charlotte Good, and me.

Tacos, mules, and punk.

In my opinion, I think so. I’ve worked for multiple US companies and I’ve worked for two German companies and one Danish company. I would say that US companies are less interested in their employees when it comes to providing benefits that come with a cost.

In Germany, for example, the heavy industrial companies I worked for had very strong employee councils. It’s kind of like a union, but it is viewed very favorably by the company. I’ve seen this council initiate changes that the company embraced specifically to enhance the work environment. In my opinion, as an American executive, I wouldn’t have expected a US company to do such a thing.

I believe the “at will” laws in the US, which were put in place by corporate lobbyists, is another example. In Germany every employee has an employment contract. It typically specifies a three-month notice period on both sides if the employer intends to lay off an employee or if the employee intends to resign. I’ve seen notice periods in Germany of up to a year. This is definitely a protection for the employee more so than for the company. The At Will laws in the US are specifically intended to protect corporate interests at the expense of the employee.

I’ve sat in board meetings in US companies where employee benefits were considered. My feeling is that “earnings per share” will always outweigh the employees.

Chicken and Artichokes with Pasta

Combine three shades of green in this healthy pasta dish. It’s so good and so good for you that it will quickly become a staple meal!

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

• 1/4 of 16 ounce (455g) package dry whole-grain spaghetti noodles, broken in half
• 2 tablespoons canola oil, divided 30mL
• 3 to 4 pounds boneless, skinless chicken breasts, rinsed, patted dry, and cut into bite size pieces 350g
• 1/2 can (13.75 ounces/390g) quartered artichoke hearts, drained
• 3 medium cloves garlic, minced
• 1 cup (about 1 ounce/28g) packed baby spinach 250mL
• 1/2 cup chopped fresh basil leaves 125mL
• 1/4 teaspoon salt 1 mL
• 1/4 cup (1 ounce/28g) grated Parmesan cheese 60mL

Instructions

1. Cook pasta according to package directions, omitting any salt or fat.
2. Meanwhile, heat 1 teaspoon canola oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium heat, tilting to coat bottom.
3. Add chicken and cook 4 minutes or until slightly browned, stirring frequently.
4. Add artichokes and cook, stirring constantly, 2 minutes or until chicken is no longer pink in the center and juices run clear.
5. Transfer to a plate and set aside.
6. Add remaining canola oil and garlic to skillet, and cook 15 seconds over medium heat.
7. Remove from heat; add drained pasta, chicken mixture, spinach, basil, and salt. Toss gently, yet thoroughly, to blend.
8. Sprinkle with Parmesan.

Notes

Fresh tip: Adding the spinach leaves and basil at the very end allows the leaves to wilt slightly while retaining their vibrant color and flavor.

What made you think, “You’ve got to be kidding me,” when someone sat next to you on an airplane?

I was on a flight from San Francisco to New York, in a window seat, and a man in a business suit sat down in the aisle seat and then put his 3 year old son in the middle seat. As soon as we took off and we’re allowed to put our tray tables down, the man took out his laptop and told the little boy to keep quiet and not bother him or me. I said it was okay if he talked to me. The poor child had no games or toys to distract him not even any snack. It was before smart phones and before we could select individual movies. What was he supposed to do on a 4 hour flight? I played games with him, talking very softly to avoid annoying mean Dad. The man didn’t tell me to stop, so I had fun with the little guy until we deplaned. I shared a snack I’d brought with him, and I drew pictures for him on my legal pad (I was on a business trip). His father never said another word to his son. Nor did he thank me, but the sweet little boy did and gave me a hug. Some people don’t deserve children!

Desperate For A Ring, GF Turns BF’s Birthday Into A Proposal For Herself, Has MELTDOWN When He Walks