My father’s side of the family came from Polish Hill in Pittsburgh. And it was an actual hill. A steep one at that, and it was a long, long roll down the hill to the flat streets of Pittsburgh.

The steps up the hill from Allegheny Avenue to Polish hill.

A huge long climb up a bout a zillion steps.

Here you go…

(The photos are of friends and loved ones mugged and killed on the steps.)

Lots and lots of steps. All up hill.

*sigh*

And all throughout the 1960s, and into the 1980s, everyone was constantly talking about the muggings on those stairs, and how the older folk were constantly being targeted.

My question.

Where was the police?

Three decades of robberies upon this thin stairway. No police.

What’s up? Corrupt from the very start.

That’s America.

Sigh.

Today…

Who has drone superiority in the Russia-Ukraine war?

It seems likely that Russia has a significant drone advantage. Of course we are not told everything, however Russia has a proven significant production of both small drones and strategic drones. Both countries are claiming approximately 1.5 million FPV drones are produced respectively in their countries.
This is possible mainly thanks to the 350 industrial 3D printers delivered to Ukraine by the west, which so far seems to allow Ukraine is more or less match Russia in low tech drones.

However, when it comes to large strategic drones, Ukraine is no match for Russia. Russia has created a large industrial complex in Alabuga, able to produce thousands of the Geran type long range heavy drones. Another drone factory just opened in Izhevsk.

A great example of the disparity in long range drones was seen today, Ukraine flew a single primitive plane type drone towards the aforementioned factory in Alabuga, which was shot down by local Pantsir systems.

In return multiple Gerans impacted 4 different locations in Kyiv and at least 2 different locations in Kharkiv, as well as hits in Poltava and Pavlohrad. Previously this week Dnipro, Odessa and Sumy strategic targets were also hit.

Ukraine’s FPV drone factory remains undiscovered but should it be discovered, Russia will demolish it immediately, probably removing Ukraine’s drone production capabilities for a time. On the other hand Russia’s multiple drone factories, are known, but Ukraine is unable to produce drones good enough to actually hit them.

Furthermore, FPV drones are not the only light drones available to Russia, the now famous Lancet drones have been performing well during the entire conflict, and serves as a high value target hitter. Other advanced kamikaze drones are also emerging from Russian industry including the Kalashnikov produced Kub. When looking through the Ukranian telegram channels AFU Stratcom and “Всевидящее ОКО: Україна” Telegram channels, I found just 1 video from the front with 5 confirmed FPV hits and 2 dubious hits from Ukrainian FPV drones. In the same time Span pro-Russian Slavyangrad posted 12 confirmed hits in 4 videos. The Russian posts were also generally significant hits, on armored vehicles, MLRS or other higher value targets, while none of the Ukrainian videos were of Russian heavy equipment.

A video from the 12th AZOV drone regiment compilations they post once in a while, also gives an indication of why that might be. Bursts of Russian electronic counter measures are extremely noticeable in Ukrainian FPV videos. Sometimes the screen flashes to this.

Russia has more and more powerful electronic warfare emitters at their disposal, additionally they Russians appear to use fiberoptic FPV drones more frequently to circumvent Ukrainian electronic warfare tools.

All of these things contribute to and overall indication that Russia indeed have drone superiority in the current conflict.

Various MM AI generations

The OLD GODS return – In the Mouth of Madness Explained

Are the YouTube videos from the China Observer channel of collapse of China’s export economy that catastrophic?

I am in Guangzhou as I write this post

The atmosphere here among some of the US exporters is definitely gloomy

They don’t seem to be as much worried about the economics as the fear of having to adapt and change after so many years

The Prospect is daunting. They especially belong to the older generation who wouldn’t be unhappy if Xi kowtowed to Trump

They were all comfortable selling stuff to US and now they have to source new markets all over again, a tough task for exporters who have spent 20–25 years cultivating clients only in the US

Some others have adapted

I met a guy selling Smart Coffee Makers. Last year they sold 55,000 Pcs to the Agent of Costco for $ 53.50 a piece , which was resold for $ 153 in US and became a very popular Christmas gift

This year Costco wanted him to cut the price to $ 26.50 but he refused

He instead sold 13,000 Pcs to an Australian importer , 18,000 Pcs to European Importers and 6,500 pcs to ASEAN Importers. That’s 68% of his US Orders

He got an average of $ 55 per piece making far more money than he would have made selling to Costco at 50% discount

I met agents buying for Jiomart ,Croma & D-Mart but they feel this product wouldn’t move in India because they have to price it as ₹13,500/- and nobody would buy at such a price

Another guy who is selling these containers sold 90,000 Pcs to Agents of Walmart last year for $ 3.00 a piece

This year he sold 36,500 in Q1 but now Walmart wanted him to sell for $ 2.20 a piece (This was when Tariffs were 20%)

Now Taobao and JD dot com offered a green channel listing his products with a “Korean War” Appeal calling the US an Enemy and talking of the Korean War

Patriotic Chinese snapped up 80,000 Orders in under 4 hours for 25.55 Yuan a piece ($ 3.50)

His entire Walmart orders have been sold within China and he has made more money than he did last year

Conclusions

A. Smart Electronics, Consumer Electronics and Home Appliances are getting booming orders from Australia, Europe, Singapore, Malaysia, Indonesia & UK. The Prices are very low for such good quality. Buying for £ 44 and selling for £ 120 is irresistible

So these products will definitely find other buyers and they aren’t that concerned about the US market

Mexican buyers are placing huge orders so my guess is these products will find their way to Walmart and Costco through Mexico after paying 10% Tariff

B. Low Cost Goods are getting heavy listing on Taobao and JD and other online platforms and livestreaming using PATRIOTISM and calling the exports “War Victims”

Many Chinese are buying them in droves out of patriotism

C. The Ne Zha Rebranding

Many products to be exported to US have been rebranded with Ne Zha stickers and have sold like Hot Cakes

These 309 Yuan ($43) small suitcases sold 7,000 under 1 Hour. 10,000 of these were destined to be shipped to Long Beach and Newark by 15/5/2025 and now 7,000 have already been sold on JD and TaoBao

Who are in trouble?

A. Suppliers of many US Clients who sold stuff on Amazon USA. These guys are too much Anglos and the Gen Z who are the biggest buyers don’t like Americanized stuff like Popeye, Garfield, Pokemon etc

Low Cost Jewelry, Plastic Moulds etc have all faced massive order losses and are panicking

There isn’t a market for such trinkets anywhere else

B. Suppliers of High Quality Clothing. Such suppliers have fiercely guarded their markets for years. European Suppliers will not allow anyone to push into their markets while Bangladesh and Vietnam have their own clothing exporters

These guys exclusively worked for US Brands and the US Markets and now they are in trouble

C. 3D Printers, Low Cost Consumer Goods

These guys haven’t found alternative markets so far

In India it’s too expensive

D. Lighting Equipment – Again fiercely protective markets. If a US Supplier has to sell $ 100,000 of light equipment in the European markets, he has to sell his stuff to a European Supplier for $ 60,000 who will then send the stuff to Rotterdam or Liverpool

E. Sports Equipment – Almost $ 70 Million cancelled orders in Yiwu alone.

Who are comfortable?

A. Smart Consumer Electronics and Low Cost Green Goods – They have a huge market in Russia. TCL and Hisense have a 60% market share in Russia and Eastern Europe and Serbia and Central Asia compared to 8% in 2021.

B. Electronics Equipment – Entire waiver by Trump administration. However even otherwise orders across the Globe will make up for them

C. EV Batteries – Huge orders from Mexico to be rerouted to US. Already being done since 2023.

D. Automobile Parts, Paints, Glass – Again Mexico is handling the orders

E. Chemicals for Pharmaceuticals – Bulk Buying and Front Loading is massive. Compared to Q1 2024 , Q1 2025 saw 34% increase and now Q2 2025 has already seen a 9% increase and it’s just been 15 days

F. Fine Tooling Components and Parts for Fine Tooling Equipment – Massive Transshipments through Europe & Mexico

G. Spectacle Frames & Lens – Vietnam is bulk buying in huge numbers for Transshipments

H. Industrial Smart Cranes – BRI Projects can absorb the extra unsold inventory easily

I. Aircraft Parts – Being Rerouted to COMAC and Airbus while Boeing is desperate. Their executive was in Shanghai yesterday

J. Artificial Diamonds (Lab Diamonds) – Huge Orders from Intermediate Countries to be rerouted to USA

Who are in trouble in US?

Every small business is in trouble

Industrial components are crucial and their tooling is superb in China

They say India simply cannot produce that class of tooling and the Indian price is only 8% lower with 60% quality ($ 190 vs $ 175)

The Big Brands like Gucci are in trouble due to IP deregulation. The Chinese factories that made these products for $ 300–400 each which sold for $ 9000 – $ 23,000 in US due to copyright is merrily tossing aside design proprietary and selling a $ 13,000 Bag for $ 1,450 including the 145% Tariff 😁

They still get $ 600 per bag, higher than the $ 300–400 a bag they would get from the distributors of Gucci

I saw a $ 3,200 hermes scarf sold as Hermiss from a factory for $ 450. Same Quality!!!!!!

So now the US Customers ARE PAYING THESE GUYS TO STOP

They are saying “Ok. Just stop selling. We will pay you whatever stock you have at full price. Just keep them with you until everything gets resolved”

Only the Big Tech is OK

---

I feel in a year or 18 months China will completely adjust without the US Market

What if we make China so angry they call our debt? We can’t possibly pay it, so what would they do?

Chinese leaders dont make emotional decisions

They are steeped and trained in Party ideology and fundamentals and they always have what they call a playbook or response

Even if something hits them suddenly like Covid 19, they still make a playbook and then proceed to implement policies

Their playbook for Trump has been in place for 6 years minimum

They would have anticipated every move from Trump and how they would respond

They would have modified their playbook after 2022 when they saw US seize Russian Assets and remove Russia from SWIFT and would have prepared for such a scenario

So they would never make a decision outside the playbook

Right now they don’t care much about the Tariffs

Their biggest and most valuable industries are entirely catering to Chinese markets and to a certain extent European and ASEAN and Russian and BRI and Middle Eastern Markets

Chinese sell less than 5% Medical Equipment,Green Energy, Solar Panels, EVs to the US

Frankly they couldn’t care if Iphone leaves China because they are all into value growth now and don’t want to be making $ 8–9 per $ 100 assembling Iphones and allowing Apple and Others to pocket $ 90

Its why they just played one lever – Reciprocal Tariffs & Rare Earths / Magnets

It hit their Toymakers, Clothing makers & Industrial Intermediate Makers

All important but not vital. They can sell locally, or find other markets.

Not critical to China because they make 7% margins for Chinese and 80% for Americans

Americans will hurt more

However it hit US Defense Industries, US Aircraft Industries, Medical Equipment makers in US, Farmers in US

A much harder blow than US dealt China

They have other levers that they can play

They can restrict APIs to India and US and cut off 65% of Patented Cancer Drugs and Neurological Drugs , leading to 70% Price rises

They can dump US Bonds and cause high yields and cause high mortgage rates and other rates or high inflation

They can insist that they won’t accept Dollars but Euros, SGD, HKD, Rubles or Yuan for their goods which could weaken the dollar by as much as 12%-15% in a month. They don’t today because it would make their exports less competitive but if they decide to, that’s a strong blow

Right now China isn’t bothered. They don’t see Trump as a threat.

Trump meanwhile is panicking

Unless he ups the ante to something really serious, China won’t pull other levers

The day some Trump official moves to Taipei and makes an Independence speech – that’s when China will get angry enough to put some real pressure

Is it true that life is easier in China?

It’s the same as everything.

Some things are easier. Some things are much more difficult.

Traveling around in China (without a car) is extremely easy.

Eating in China is easy.

Buying stuff in China is easy.

Work in China is more difficult – hours are typically longer, there’s more competition and competitors are extremely

Socialising in China is more difficult – although this may be a factor of my age, in the UK making friends seemed a whole lot easier.

Dating in China is extremely difficult as women date to marry, there’s none of this casual flings for fun stuff.

Relationships are more difficult – your parents on both sides play an active role in your life this is good and bad as they will help raise your children but they’re constantly there.

I Discovered The FEMALE Dating Strategy

What are some less than obvious monopolies in business?

How to own everything?

Be a mysterious Japanese zip company.

Tadao Yoshida had a plan.

Yoshida had lived through World War 2, having survived the bombings of Tokyo.

He owned a small zipping company that he called YKK and he had the aim of modernising the zip industry. He got to work and created some designs for a custom-made zipper machine. But…

No machine tool makers wanted to create a machine that could only produce zips. You want a machine that can do multiple things. Zips are too specific.

Yoshida was not a man to give up easily. He simply created his own machine.

This gave YKK a competitive advantage. No longer would YKK have to rely on another company’s machines. They could develop their own machine at a cheaper cost. In turn, this meant that YKK could ensure both quality and low prices.

By the 1960s, YKK owned 95% of the Japanese Zipper market. They learned something incredible

There are many faulty zippers out there, but if YKK could produce everything themselves, they would be trusted.

So that is what they did. Every part of the production company, YKK produced and owned. The LA Times reported that YKK

“Smelts its own brass, concocts its own polyester, spins and twists its own thread, weaves and color-dyes cloth for its zipper tapes, forges and molds its scooped zipper teeth”

And on top of all that, YKK manufactures the boxes that they ship the zips in.

YKK does not rely on anybody else. They own everything.

Today, YKK produce more than 50% of zips worldwide.

Zips may be easy to make; they may have not seen much innovation in the last fifty years, and they may be simple but no company can compete against the YKK Monopoly.

If you are interested I will leave a few fun facts about YKK in the comments. I hope you enjoyed the story!!

Chinese Economist propose 10 point plan to counter US containment strategy. How do they look?

How do you coat fish fillets in breadcrumbs and for them to stay on? If you just dip the fillet in bread crumbs, most of them will fall off.

Dear Michael, interesting question indeed. If you want your breadcrumbs to stick without using glue, oven baking is the best solution.

If instead you want to fry or deep fry your fillets, you can choose between various glues. Here is a quick list:

• Olive oil

Push your fillets gently in plate with olive oil before breading. The breadcrumbs will stick but don’t expect a crust. On the other hand, you won’t alternate the taste of your fish too much.

• Flour an beaten egg

And old and approved technique; flour first, beaten egg bath next followed by a dive into breadcrumbs. The breadcrumbs will stick but you’ll taste the egg.

• Light batter

Make a light batter mixing flour and water. That is an excellent glue that doesn’t interfere withe the taste of your fish

1

Chili Elegante

Equipment

• Pressure Cooker

Ingredients

• 2 tablespoons vegetable oil
• 1 pound ground beef
• 2 onions, chopped
• 1 clove garlic, minced
• 2 cups celery, cut into 1 inch diagonals
• 1 green bell pepper, cut into 1/2 inch strips
• 1 (16 ounce) can tomatoes
• 2 teaspoons salt
• Dash cayenne pepper
• 1 to 1 1/2 tablespoons chili powder
• 1/2 cup red wine
• 1 (#300) can kidney beans
• 1 (4 ounce) can button mushrooms

Instructions

1. Heat pressure cooker. Add oil and brown meat. Add onion, garlic, celery and green pepper. Sauté lightly. Add tomatoes and liquid drained from beans and mushrooms,
2. Combine salt, pepper, chili powder and wine. Mix well. Close securely. When it comes to pressure, reduce heat to medium and cook for 8 minutes. Cool cooker at once.
3. Add beans and mushrooms and reheat to boiling. Keep at low simmer for flavor development for a few minutes, if time permits.
4. Serve with warm garlic or corn bread.

What is it like to be extremely stupid?

The following is an account of a true but unusual experience (I’m not a doctor and I’m only telling my story, to the best of my understanding):

I had an undiagnosed arterial problem for a couple of years, which reduced the blood supply to my heart and probably to my brain too, and seemed to have depleted B vitamins from my nerves (probably to keep the heart in good repair). Although there is some vagueness as to the mechanisms, this made me forgetful, slow, and easily overwhelmed. In short, I felt like I was stupid compared to what I was used to, and I was. The symptoms were very atypical for what was eventually revealed to be a fairly typical heart condition.

It was frightening at first because I knew something wasn’t right but didn’t know what, and very worrying for my career because I was simply not very good any more.

However, once I got used to it and resigned myself, it was great. Even though I knew I had a worrying illness, I was happy as a pig in mud. I no longer had the arrogance of being frustrated with slow people, I abandoned many projects which reduced a lot of stress, I could enjoy films without knowing what would happen (my nickname before this used to be ‘comic book guy’ if you get the reference, on account of always knowing what would happen and being quite contemptuous of the writer’s simplicity), and I became amazingly laid back and happy go lucky. I got on with people much better. I developed much more respect for one of my friends in particular who I always considered slow – it turned out he is much deeper than I thought, I just never had the patience to notice before. You could say I had more time to look around. The world just made more sense.

The only negative, apart from struggling to perform at work, and having to write everything down, was that I no longer found sci-fi interesting – it just didn’t seem important. (I’m not joking, although it sounds like a cliché.)

Injections of B12 every other day, for a month helped a lot, but I was still not right. Cornflakes also helped a bit (due to folic acid I suspect, which I’m now on a daily dose of). The issues did not go away though, which included the cognitive issues, feeling cold all the time, numb fingers, and being prone to snoozing.

Eventually after more physical and life threatening symptoms developed I got the right tests and they found my arteries were blocked up. Two of the three main coronary arteries were completely blocked – they couldn’t work out how I was alive, and had avoided any angina or a heart attack. I later found out that I had unusually good peripheral circulation, probably from the intense cycling that I was very fond of.

I’ve since had stents to open up the arteries again and made a full recovery of all symptoms. Physically I felt like superman the first time I got back on my bike and raced up a local hill at about 30mph. And mentally, the difference was equally startling.

After a year or so I am almost as ‘clever’ as I used to be, although I tend to ignore distractions more than I used to and focus on a smaller number of projects. I’m still more laid back than I used to be though, and have more patience with people. Most people still find me more socially competent. I also enjoy sci-fi again.

So an unusual perspective, from a fairly unusual circumstance, but that’s what it feels like to be stupid when you used to consider yourself fairly bright. In some ways it was a great learning experience, although obviously in other ways it is a life changing fact I have to live with. Heart disease cannot be cured, just the consequences relieved for a while; I’ll have to live a healthy lifestyle for the rest of my life and even so, be subject to future procedures. Not many people get to walk about in other peoples shoes, and then more or less pick up where they left off. It’s also obviously nice to still be alive.

In short I would say that the frustration of dealing with slower people is worse than being one of the slower people, even if you know you are slow. I suspect most people who are relatively slow, don’t know it, but I think I’ve glimpsed how they experience the world, and actually, I quite liked it.

Update: Since I wrote this, several studies have linked memory problems and other cognitive issues to cardiovascular disease.

STP IS GREAT! 🎵 Stone Temple Pilots – PLUSH REACTION

Do people living in China really care about the Firewall and not being able to access Facebook and Twitter, or is the western media making too big a deal out of it?

I can access both FB & X using VPN

Much simpler than last time (April 2023) (Probably due to a huge influx of Visitors this time)

The fact is now Facebook isn’t really vital for China because they have far better apps in Chinese for networking like WeChat & Weibo & Xiaohongshu

Think logically, a nation that has an influx of 227,000 foreigners for the Canton fair from 178 countries is unlikely to prevent it’s citizens from accessing FB or X

These Apps attract less demand because they are in ENGLISH primarily & their mobility is better

They have integrated Deepseek into Baidu and the Manus AI here is far more accessible than for those outside China

When you connect to VPN you get a warning in English

You confirm you are NOT using VPN for illegally downloading Obscene or Pornographic materials or distributing the same

You confirm you are NOT using VPN for illegally accessing content harmful to the internal security of Mainland China, HK or Macau

You confirm you are NOT using VPN for getting information on any activities considered Criminal in Mainland China, Macau or HK

You confirm you are NOT using VPN for downloading any content that is not in accordance with Mainland China & HK & Macau Security Law

That’s it

Even Anti Chinese YT Channels like China Observer or Firstpost & Palki Sharma 😁 are watched avidly in China

The truth is Chinese don’t really want to access YT or other Western Apps because they have better equivalents

It’s why the Government is so generous with VPN

P.S:-

Another thing is if you type Taiwan in any query or search, you get a ARE YOU SURE with a repeat of the VPN warnings in English and if you just want information, you can always click Proceed and access any news you want

Dream Traveler (or Just a Cup Dear Boy)

Written in response to: “Start or end your story with someone being soothed by a hug or words of comfort.“

Patrick Huber

George wakes up next to a tree. The air is warm and the sun is bright. Not the cold winter night he left. He’s still wearing the coat for such a night. He stands and looks around. He is in a suburban area, medium coverage of trees. It’s summer or at least late spring.

Could be June, my birthday’s in June, thought George.

A car passes on the street, an old fossil fuel model George remarks.

My God it worked!, he thinks.

The car continues around the small wooded area and through an underpass by a train station. George walks towards the station. The area looks familiar, but his mind is foggy, and a lot could have changed. On the track a large sign noting, Glen Ridge. At least he was in the right town. Now he needs to get back to Alfie’s house.

He doesn’t much remember agreeing to this plan, rather he was conscripted quite forcefully. However, avenging his mother while also saving her, and becoming wealthy is more than he has ever wanted in life. What do you do when you finally get what you want? It’s scary, for now George was going along with it.

The incredible situation has been hard for George to process. No less than an hour ago, he was packing up for the night at the home office of his employer and longtime benefactor Alfie Harrington. He had settled his affairs for the evening and, out of courtesy, asked if anything was needed. Most nights the answer is a ‘No thank you, Good work today, have a pleasant evening.’

This from Mr. Alfred Harrington, his elderly, industrialist employer, whom he’d been acting as Personal Business Associate for the last 15 years. And prior to that he was an intern at Harrington, & Co. following undergrad and grad school, all paid for by The Helena Mae Foundation, the philanthropic arm of Harrington, & Co..

But this night Mr. Harrington had asked him to stay for a cup of tea.

“ Just one cup my dear boy, We have much to discuss.” said Harrington.

“Sure thing Mr. Harrington.” replied George

“Oh my dear boy, this is an informal discussion, please call me Alfie.”

Alfie invited George to have a seat in the empty wingback chair opposite his that sat in front of the large lit fireplace. A small table sat between the two chairs, a tea serving set. A cane leaned against Alfie’s chair. George took a seat and Alfie poured him a cup.

“ Might want to let this one steep a few minutes, it’s a strong herbal blend my good friend, Dr. Ferdinand D’Souza, brought it back with him on one of his trips abroad. It’s transformative but needs time” Alfie says , just as Dr. D’Souza makes his entrance. Alfie grabs his cane and gets up to welcome his longtime friend and physician. He introduces George and tells him that in addition to keeping him healthy, Dr. D’Souza has been working on a private research project for many years now.

Alfie asks George to confirm details about his childhood. That the identity of his father was unknown. How he never knew his mother, she was killed when he was a newborn, something drug related as the story goes. He was passed around different foster homes and orphanages, each one more abusive and neglectful.

Alfie then asked about the essay he wrote when applying for the scholarship. How in it he wrote that the one thing he dreamt for most in the world was to spend one day with his mother. George could only check his emotions in front of his employer and shrugged it off.

“Well, I was an idealistic and sentimental child back then.” George says.

The drudging up of painful memories made George anxious so grabbed the cup of tea, taking a big sip, ignoring the scolding heat.

This unexpected drink got Alfie and Dr. D’Souza acting, and Alfie laid out the plan. Alfie had been funding the doctor’s research into a theoretical phenomenon known as Quantum Cognitive Temporality. Whereas shifting one state of consciousness could allow them to interact with past events.

“Traveling through time through our dreams.” Alfie summed it up.

Alfie then tells him that he is offering George the chance to stop his mother’s killer. George was incredulous to this and the notion that Alfie knew the identity of his mother’s killer.

“Oh I know a lot more than that I’m afraid.” Alfie says.

Alfie’s face went dark as he begins to explain the secret he has been keeping from George all these years. He had known his mother, she worked for him at the Harrington Estate. He took a liking to her and advantage of her. It continued and she grew attached. Alfie fired her and through her out. Months later she shows up, with the picture of a newborn

“It was you George, only 2 days old. My god you were gorgeous, you had my mother’s eyes, still do.” Alfie recalled.

Alfie had been injured earlier that day and was stuck in bed. He told her he would call later and discuss an arrangement. Instead he hired men to beat and kill her, and make it look like the robbery of a drug addict. Alfie then used his family’s influences to push the investigation to the drug story George had been told.

Standing there now, forty years in the past, George was conflicted. Alfie Harrington has been the supportive father figure he always needed, and turns out that was for a reason. But he murdered his mother, robbed him of a childhood. Was that enough to kill him? He would have to decide that.

In the moment, George was speechless at Alfie’s confession. His body went numb and the room began to spin. The tea was taking control of his mind. But Alfie’s next instructions slapped him in the face.

Alfie’s plan instructed George to get back to his house, make contact with the younger Alfie and kill him before he murdered his mother.

How could Alfie want such a thing, George asked.

Alfie explains, he has led a despicable life, and he’s tried to buy back his soul by throwing money and opportunity at George, but it wasn’t enough, he owes George his mother back. And this was the only way. He was dying old man, he wished this above all else.

Alfie grabbed his cane, hobbled over to his desk and came back with an envelope. He shows George a revised a will naming his mother Amelia Carter and George Carter sole executors of his estate and all Harrington Family holdings. He instructs George to swap this for the one locked in his safe. George should already know the combination.

George’s mind detaches from reality. Dr. D’Souza straightens him up and says to him, “If you need to come back or find yourself in mortal danger, swallow this pill, it’s a concentrated dose of the tea. You will wake up back here.”

The doctor’s final instructions were the last thing George heard before the world went black.

The mental fog wore off and George made sense of his direction. He must be five or so miles from Alfie’s house, he could get a taxi. He goes for his phone before remembering there is no cellular network yet.

A red sedan sputters and revs its way around the trees.

George makes it to the corner just by the underpass. He hears a whistling coming from the other corner under the tracks. It’s a well-groomed, gentleman, middle aged, reading a magazine completely in his own world. It was Alfie.

Alfie steps off the curb into the street, magazine held high in front of his face. The red sedan hits a burst of speed at the last turn before the underpass. Alfie doesn’t notice.

George yells out for him, “ALFIE WATCH OUT!”

He puts himself between the car and his Father and takes the hit. For the second time in just so many minutes, George was unconscious.

“Hey dear boy, you gonna make it?” Says a muffled voice.

George opens his eyes to meet the younger version of his long time employer.

“You ok, that bastard came out of no where.”says Alfie. He helps George up and he sees the owner of the red sedan, a kid not more than twenty, scared at what just happened.

“Wait until the police arrive kid, then you’re really in a world of shit.” says Alfie to the open mouthed young adult.

“ No it’s ok, I’m ok, we don’t need to involve the Police.” George says, not wanting to have to answer for his existence to any form of authority. He waves the young kid off. Alfie asks if he’s had lunch yet, he’s buying.

“I could eat” says George.

“Splendid, you’re going to love Simone’s cooking.”

George had made it back to Alfie’s house, and gotten in good with Alfie all rather easily. He was feeling optimistic this could all be over soon.

Would my Mother be waiting for me when I woke up?, he thought.

George, now relieved of his winter coat, sat out on a small patio area just beyond the living room. An area he and Alfie would share many afternoon teas in good weather years from now. The feeling of ease washed over him with the thought of seeing his mother, but evaporated with the reality of what needed to be done.

“Didn’t I tell you she was a good cook.” Alfie says coming out through the glass doors. “Now my dear boy, you still look a bit woozy from the hit, I suggest you spend the rest of the day here, I called my personal doctor to come check you out.”

“Oh thats too kind of you but I don’t think I need a doctor” replies George.

“Nonsense” says Alfie “I have him on retainer. You relax here…Please excuse me though I have some business calls to make, I’ll find you when he arrives.” Alfie gives a crooked smile and heads back inside.

Could I really kill him? he thought. He’s my father, and he’s given me everything, but he’s also taken away everything. George was torn.

Yes he wanted his mother to be alive, and yes he wanted to unleash the rage that’s been building in him, but never did he think it would be because of Alfie. George hears a car on the gravel driveway out front. A moment later the doorbell. George goes into the living room and listens at the door leading to the hall. He can’t see, but he can hear someone, a female voice asking for Alfie.

That’s my mother! She’s here to tell Alfie about me? This is the day he kills her! The shadow of his reality grew around him. In the very near future he was going to have to commit murder.

The voices grew louder. His mother was yelling,” Look at him, His name is George he is your son, you have to acknowledge him, please.”

Alfie invites his mother inside.

This isn’t playing out like Alfie said. He was going to have to be careful. He hears footsteps rapidly approaching the door he’s listening behind. It opens and he’s staring into the stone face of Alfie.

“Sure gave me a startle there George, If you’re’ feeling up to, I have a guest I’d like you to meet, shes over in my office.” Alfie leads George to his office. A room he was last in, 40 years in the future. The anticipation of meeting his mother is overwhelming But he can’t shake this bad feeling, after all why was Alfie introducing a stranger, to a woman with whom he’d fathered an illegitimate child .

Could he know the truth? Does he know I’m here to kill him?

Thats nearly impossible, but something was off.

They enter the office and his mother is sitting in one of the two chairs opposite the desk.

“Amelia you must know my friend George don’t you?” Alfie says, forcing his mother to turn and look up at him.

“No I can’t say I do.” Amelia replies.

George takes the empty seat, Alfie stops at the table holding a bar and a tea set.. He arrives at the desk with three fresh cups, he places one in front of George and Amelia, and holds onto the other.

“You look like you need a cup dear boy. Well, it has been a strange day to say the least. First a stranger saves me, and then a former bedmate shows up with a baby. Oddly enough they are both named George. Hardly the workings of a conspiracy, however there is the matter of this.” Alfie says holding up the revised will George had traveled with. He had forgotten all about it, everything happened so fast, he didn’t think to check. His coat lay on the floor next to the desk.

“Now what I can’t figure out is how you two know each other. What’s your scam? A couple of lovers needing a chunk of cash to skip town.”

George looks over at my mother and their eyes meet. He can’t look away.

Alfie snaps his fingers and again demands to know their connection and their plan. He points out that both names are on this new “phony” will, as Mother and Son. Amelia is left speechless but George tries to find an explanation. He nervously takes a healthy sip of tea and fumbles for words.

“Now look I can be a reasonable man, if I get reasonable answers. We can have a reasonable cup of tea and talk this through. ” Alfie says coldly, taking a sip, George instinctively follows, while Amelia leaves hers untouched.

“What’s wrong Amelia? Don’t you like how I make it?” Alfie asks.

“I know better than to accept a drink from you.” Amelia replies

Alfie chuckles “You are wiser than your cohort here. I am a man of action, your tea has been laced with a rather effective and untraceable poison Now George my dear boy, you have less an half an hour to come clean if you hope to see tomorrow.”

George looks at this tea, then Alfie, then his mother. He is unable to speak as the truth is so incredible neither would believe him. Alfie plays another card.

“Well, I need to resort to more aggressive tactics. “ Alfie pulls out a small pistol from the desk drawer and points it at Amelia.

“Bullets take effect so much faster than poison, wouldn’t you say. Someone talk. NOW.” Alfie demands, and after a second of silence he pulls back the hammer of the gun.

“I’m from the future, I was sent back to stop you.” George blurts out.

“ I should kill you just for wasting my time. Stop me from what?” Alfie replies.

“It’s true, forty years from now, we are sitting right over there by the fireplace. You sent me back here to stop you from killing Amelia.” George says this turning to Amelia. “ Because she’s my mother, the baby is me. This was all your plan, you regretted killing her, so much so that you have been caring for me most of my life. I work for you. Your last wish was to give me back my mother. You said I had your mother’s eyes!”

Amelia can’t believe what she just heard but the harder she looks at the face of this man sitting before her, she knows its true. This is her baby boy. She puts her hand on his heart, and takes his to her chest. Forgetting the world for a moment, the two share a heartbeat.

This moment is shattered by the explosion from the revolver, Alfie had shot into the air. He has lost what little patience he maintains. He holds the gun squarely at Amelia’s head. His eyes cold and still. He pulls back the hammer. George leaps over the desk and dives at Alfie.

The two crash on the floor, the gun falls away. They struggle, George is on top of him fighting as best he can to keep him down. Alfie lands punches down on Georges back trying to force him off. Just beyond the length of Alfie’s right hand is the gun. He reaches out for it. George sees this and pulls his arm back, and they struggle more. Off to his right, is a gold letter open, George reaches and grabs hold of it. Alfie takes the advantage and shifts his weight to roll on top of George. The two roll several more times before again George lands on top. Alfie no longer fighting, the rolling forced the letter opener deep into his chest.

George shaking with fear, lets go of the opener and looks into the eyes of his father. Alfie looks back, eases, and gives a smile.

“You do have my mother’s eyes.” Alfie says with his last breath.

The combination of poison and emotion again sends his body into overdrive. He tries to stand but can’t find his balance. Amelia runs to grab her son as he falls to the ground.

“Easy my boy, my big baby boy.”Amelia says, unable to contain the emotion. She cries and wraps her arms around her son.

“Pill…in my jacket…hurry.” George gasps.

Amelia finds the pill and puts it in his mouth. He swallows it and pulls his mother in for another hug.

“What mother in the world gets to see her baby’s face grow up all in one day. You’re more handsome than I ever wished. ” Amelia cries.

“And you’re more beautiful than I could ever dream. I love you, mom. I’m not sure what’s about to happen but this isn’t goodbye…I’ll see you in the morning.”

George’s world distorts, then shuts down to black.

What is Texas-style chili?

All right, I am feeling better, this is something I can talk about a lot, and I am opinionated, so let’s go!

Now, I’m a purist when it comes to chili, but I will admit this fully. Sit down, because it might shock you.

The original Texas chili had beans.

It might even look something like this!

See, here’s the thing: chili was basically a chuckwagon dish. When you were out on a trail and riding 16 hours with nothing much to do, Cookie had his wagon. And his wagon had a lot of dried ingredients. One of the most important ingredients was beans, because they were nutritious, lightweight, and would, if kept dry, last pretty much forever. So expect beans in traditional “Texas” chuckwagon chili. The meat was also likely dried, because why would you waste fresh beef on a big pot of stuff to feed the boys?

But then we get into the “traditional” Texas competition chili. And that, well, it’s an art form. I have competed in a number of chili contests, and won an award or two (check out my flair), but competition chili is very much a standard thing.

I would consider this sort of indicative of competition chili, although I question the use of chuck. Typically sirloin is used instead.

Basically, this is a beef stew made of cubed (not ground) beef, like I said, typically sirloin, but I guess chuck is okay, with a sauce or gravy made from a number of ingredients over the course of several hours. A typical recipe will start with “After two hours, throw this in, then wait two more hours, then throw this in.”

It takes a lot of time, but not a lot of busywork. And it is delicious.

But for the actual chili that was eaten on a trail ride or whatever, beans were included.

US plan to build semiconductors has a manpower problem: China and the BRICS have all the engineers

What are the best photos of yourself that represent who you are? Why?

I am…

A foodie. Note: This is a butter beer. Non alcoholic.

A Romance Writer. This is actually my job. Photo above was when I had a book signing in a mall last February 2017.

A traveller. Angkor Wat, Cambodia 2017.

Coffee lover. Sorry, this is the only photo I was captured drinking a coffee. Hehe!

A Reader. Photo with Becca Fitzpatrick, Author of Best Selling Hush Hush Series.

A singer. Or I just feel so…

A sister. With my most handsome brother. As he is my one and only sibling.

A fur mom. I own and take care of two cute dogs.

Dreamer. One of my greatest dream is to visit India and see the stunning Taj Mahal. But for now, let me just post my photo with a replica. Huhu!

Wanna be Indian. Haha! I believe I’m Indian in my past life because of my interests. When my friend visited India, I told her to buy me a saree. I love Indian dresses! But she told me she will just buy a lady kurta. I still super adore it.

Someday… 🙂

Two Choices

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

‘It’s mint,’ Dod informed me. ‘We grow it in the gardens. We’ve herbs, and fruits and veg. Even some flowers, just to brighten the world up a bit, grey as it stays these days.’

The existence of gardens here set my mind to wondering what else this old keep contained that I had not yet discovered during my three months here. Dod handed me a mug, a cloud of minty vapour dragging after it and steaming up around my face, filling my nostrils with a warmth that cooled.

‘Did you know the grounds here were built as a military fortress?’ Dod told me. ‘So. Try not to worry about your mother and brother. They’re much safer here than in your isolated cottage.’

‘Still,’ I said. ‘You’ve seen what’s out there. They’re rabid, barely human. Something’s wrong with them.’

‘Like demons in human skin-suits, as Conor put it.’ Dod chuckled at the silliness of such an idea. ‘I don’t think it’s merely a matter of minds lost to depravity, though. Something’s done this to them, whether by nature or human intervention.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, when those cataclysmic events converged on our planet all those years ago, the world was rebalanced in the aftermath. There’re forces out there we don’t understand, something’s…fundamentally changed. You mightn’t even know what I refer to, being born in this time.’

I nodded. ‘My father spoke of something similar. But still…how will we possibly fight them if they find us? There’s so many, and they fight with no care for self-preservation.’

‘They fight mindlessly, so we must use their mindlessness to our own advantage. The complete opposite of their approach shall be ours. We will be wily and cunning, striking only the shrewdest blows to their operation while minimizing risk to ourselves.’

I sipped on the pleasant tea as I rifled through a multitude of questions that came to me. ‘How much do you know about them? How do you plan to do that? And who are they?’

‘Well, someone is surely directing these attacks. Someone who is not mindless, someone with a desired outcome. This country is still very much a free-for-all. It isn’t a bold leap of logic to assume their goal is simply to gather and hoard supplies, while eliminating those who they would otherwise have to share those resources with. They want power.’

He had sidestepped my questions. I fixed my eyes on his. ‘I asked how you know about them, not what you assumed.’

‘You’re sharp, Seamus. You don’t suffer much bullshit, do you?’

I didn’t really know what he meant, so I stayed silent, inviting him to go on talking.

‘A sharp mind and a sharp hand, too. I’m guessing you can use that knife on your belt.’

‘To skin a hide, yes. Not for much else.’

‘You’re different, Seamus. All you’ve known is this world. There’s no sense of mourning for what was with you. Sorry, that was a poor choice of words.’ The grief for my father was a dormant resident in the pit of my stomach, but it had risen up and lodged in my throat in an instant. Swallowing it was like a swallowing a jagged rock.

‘Forgive me. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that you don’t miss what you never had. The only other here born in this time is Conor, and, well, I think you understand why I wouldn’t ask him to help me in this. He’s younger than you, in age, yes, but even more so in maturity, and dare I say, intelligence.’

‘Help with…what?’

His lips curled into a surreptitious grin, his eyes aglint. ‘You understand, Seamus, that we must strike at them in our own way. I’m asking you to help me, Tom and Twitch too. I have to think tonight, refine my ideas, but tomorrow morning, meet us in the gardens by the glasshouse, and I’ll share my plans.’

I awoke refreshed, having slept more soundly than I had in some time. Dawn was still swamped in grey when I found the gardens, a series of plots separated by trellises. Some were hung with fruits, others were dense with flowers, roses I think, though their vibrant colours were muted by the pervasive fog. I didn’t have to wait long for the others to show up.

‘You found it!’ Dod said, coming down the path through the feathery vapour.

‘I did.’

Twitch, a surly bulldog of a man, strutted after him, a crooked rolled cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth like a limp appendage, hairy tobacco sprouting from the end of it, a mug of steaming black tea sloshing in his hand. His cigarette wagged as he greeted me with a sharp nod and a customary, involuntary twitch of one eye. Tom was taller and more graceful, but then anyone looked graceful next to Twitch. He was cupping a mug of green-hued tea between his hands and against his belly, like he was revering some holy chalice. ‘Mornin,’ he greeted me, though his thick accent made the word come out more as marnin’.

I nodded to them, and was saved having to engage in menial conversation by Dod’s brusqueness.

‘C’mon, into the glasshouse,’ he bid us eagerly.

At a table under hanging vines and surrounded by plant-beds, he talked to us of his plan. He went on avidly at some length, covering different outcomes and problems we might encounter at each step, and any contingencies he had thought through. Tom made some useful insights and suggestions, Twitch mostly grunted, and I remained silent. Dod assigned us various responsibilities. While he spoke, I debated and assessed the necessity of his plan. An overarching theme overrode all my concerns and negated them; I had seen the animalistic work of these half-men on the roads. Their aim was not merely to rob and threaten a beating. They sought to destroy, to ravage, to violate human life in the vilest manner. What they left in their wake, they burned. And regardless of whether they were inculcated, brainwashed, or somehow intentionally shorn of their connection to humanity, one thing was clear to me. They were evil. “Shorn”, I’d heard others refer to them, shorn of empathy and morality. The thought of them out there, in numbers, sent ice down my spine. I shuddered.

‘Are you with us, Seamus?’ It was Dod.

‘Yes.’

‘Not a bad plan, is it?’

‘No.’

‘Okay, so. Seen as I have the necessary quantity of tea already, we only need two more things; we need a boat, and we need to practice our best Saxon accents.’

Four days later I found myself on my knees on the slick deck of a boat. I swayed with the sea’s choppy motion and stared at the blood on my hands. Rain poured down relentlessly, washing the blood to streaks of pink. Twitch and Tom had brought Dod into the cabin and were treating his wound as best they could. Everything had been going smoothly, too smoothly. After a swift three-day hike across the countryside, we had come to the coastal town of Dunmore East, and there took our pick of several blue fish trawlers. All the while on our journey, Dod did his best to train us to speak with the cadence and ridiculous lilt of a Saxon. He assured me mine was good, better than the others’, even though I’d never heard the accent before. We talked only like that to each other for long stretches of each day, much of it spent mocking Tom for his attempts. We boarded our chosen vessel and set off up the coast without a hitch, never encountering another soul.

Once, my father and I had gone years without coming across other people, and we had lived in a sort of effortless flow of routine doing. He had said to me, ‘Enjoy every moment of this fine stretch of time we’ve had lad, however long it lasts. You know, before, to live as we do now was impossible. Life was a tangle of unwanted problems, and almost all of them, meaningless at their core.’ Then he had looked at me sadly. ‘But even in this world, no life so clean and orderly can go on forever. There will always be change, some disruption that will come bidden or not to our orderly little world. It’s an inevitable fact of life, in this time and the time before.’

I feared he would be right again, that our luck would change. My fears manifested less than an hour after we had set off up the coast. Another boat followed us. Then night came, and with it a thick fog set in and hovered above the sea, and the boat that followed us disappeared from sight. We had hoped ourselves saved by the darkness, but no, quite the opposite.

Men came clambering up onto our boat in the pitch of night, seawater slewing off them. They weren’t the shorn men we knew, and they spoke in a language I’d never heard. Not that I needed to in order to understand their intentions. They came at us wielding slick gleaming knives, yet in the end we defeated them much more easily than I thought we would, even after one of them stuck Dod with a knife. For they were fatigued from a long and freezing swim, and Twitch was not.

He went at them a safe distance from their knives with a length of rusted chain, the metal links in it each bigger than a man’s fist, lashing it at their legs to knock them down and then unleashing relentless repetitions of arcing whips on them. I had managed to extricate Dod from that furious onslaught, dragging him to safety. The last man had struggled to his feet, his face pulped and glistening black with blood, and Tom picked him by the scruff and launched him over the side of the boat.

‘Bloody Spaniards on the east coast of Ireland,’ Tom muttered disbelievingly, coming out of the cabin to join me under the slewing rain. ‘Come on, hup with ya lad,’ he said as he put a hand on my shoulder. ‘Dod’ll be fine.’

I looked up from my hands as the last of Dod’s blood flowed off them. ‘But what of the plan?’ I asked. ‘Dod’s part is yet to be played. What’ll we do?’

I did the maths in my mind even as I asked the question. Dod had the most convincing accent. Tom the least. And Twitch…well Twitch wasn’t meant for a more discreet task such as this. I gulped. That left me.

‘Let’s get inside and talk.’ He had a note of urgency in his voice, and I looked where his gaze roved, squinting into the ominous bank of mist above the dark turbulent water. The blurred shapes of Dublin Port were emerging.

My accent had held up as we’d pulled into the port and our goods were inspected. We were four Englishmen delivering tea, among some other items, from England. Dod had made whatever mendacious prearrangements were necessary so that our arrival was expected, and so far I’d gotten by saying no more than a few words. As we had known, there was just enough cargo that an extra man was needed to deliver it all in one trip. The others waited on the boat while I helped lug the goods to a warehouse. And then we would hope that our plan unfolded from there over the coming weeks.

One of the workers motioned to me with his hand to stop as I went to unload my trolley. He picked off the top box of teabags and put it into my hands. ‘Bring it inside, main building. Upstairs.’

I tried not to panic. ‘Aw’right. Why’s that?’ I asked, cutting the ts from the ends of my words.

He glared a moment. ‘Left out the door. Follow the main path.’

I bobbed my head obeisantly and left the warehouse, trying to mask the pounding of my heart. Everything would be fine, I reassured myself, as I strode through cones of white light. I walked for what seemed like an age when finally a three-story, grey-bricked building became visible. I took a breath before I entered and shoved through the door. There was an empty reception desk and an aura of quiet in the building that suggested the air had been undisturbed for a while. I walked around the wide desk and looked left and right down a dimly lit corridor. There were stairs to the next floor up and one below directly behind the desk and across the corridor, and I made for the flight going up.

I stopped at a sound and tilted my head. It took me a moment to recognise it, and as I did, a curdle of dread rose in my gut. Another less faint scream floated through the air. It came from below, again and again, tortured and raucous, each scream more desperate than the last. I somehow found the will to move my body and left the muted shrieks behind. The second floor was completely dark, so I kept going to the third and there I saw a faint light emanating from a room down an otherwise unlit corridor. I arrived at a door with a pane of mottled yellow glass set in it, light from within spilling out in a turtleshell splatter on the wall.

‘In y’come,’ a woman’s voice drawled.

Surprised, I entered.

The room was a simply furnished office, and a grey-haired woman sat behind its desk, lit up in a flaxy glow of lamplight. The desk was littered with papers and a map.

‘Finally, some tea that isn’t fifteen years out of date.’ Her voice was deep for a woman’s, the gravel of a frequent smoker baked into her accent. I approached with the box, placing it on the desk. She inspected me with dark eyes.

‘You’re d’youngest soul I’ve seen in years. You must be innocent still, without pain.’ I didn’t think anything in my demeanour changed, but she said, ‘Oh. Or not perhaps.’ As I pulled back from the desk her hand suddenly darted out, quick as a lizard, and snatched my wrist in a vice-grip. I yelled as something sharp and unseen nicked my palm. Then with another sharp yank she pulled my hand in and licked the oozing blood from my palm. I recoiled with a jolt, horrified.

‘What are you doing!?’ I yelled, backing away clutching my hand.

‘Now you’re mine,’ she said huskily.

She wiped her mouth. She opened it and took a teabag, held it under the light.

‘Ah. A cuppa tea and a smoke. Nothing settles the voices in my head so well.’ She worked a cigarette from a pack, a neat white stick, not like Twitch’s hand-crafted abominations. She lit it and sucked on it while she stood and went to a side table where she opened a flask and poured hot water into a cup over the teabag. She set it on the desk to brew and sat down again, looking at me with an unreadable gaze.

‘So young,’ she muttered approvingly. ‘I’ll give y’two choices, lad. Stay of your own volition and next time you wake up, all your pain will be gone. The power to do such a thing for another was bestowed on me when the world was rebalanced. I may enter another’s dream, and there, smote their fears, eradicate their pain, their grief. You join us, help us remake the world.’ She ashed her cigarette and sipped tea with a sigh. ‘Or, you go,’ she gestured towards the door, ‘but know that I’ll come to you in your dreams anyway, with different intentions. You’d do things, things to your own kin, things you couldn’t live with. But live on you would. This I promise you, is within my power.’ She took another swig of her tea, and despite the thundering of my heart, I felt my lips curl into a grin.

‘Not yet convinced, I see. Do you think people allow me to lead out of respect? Nay, lad. Fear. Fear.’ She nodded, exhaling, smoke streaming from her nostrils and purling around her face. ‘Most come to realize, I can…unburden them. If only they let me rove their minds freely while they sleep, without resistance. So you see, you can gain a lot, or you can lose everything. A simple choice.’

She drank deeply, and at that I managed to stop myself shaking with anxiety. In a way, our plan was unfolding right before my eyes, just not in a way we could have predicted. The woman coughed. The last third of her cigarette fell from her fingers as she grasped at her throat, great heaving breaths suddenly seizing her. Her eyes came into the light, bulging at me as she clawed her neck bloody. Her face went purple and then her features froze in a rictus. She wheezed a last time and slumped to the desk.

I ran.

Down the stairs two at a time, down the spotlit path, heedless of who might see me. I waved frantically at the boat as I came down the jetty, the walkway tilting under my scamper.

Tom helped me onboard and grasped me by the shoulders.

‘What’s wrong? No one’s comin. You’re grand.’

‘Need to go,’ I panted.

‘Alright. Twitch! Get us gone! What happened Seamus?’

I slumped down on the deck as we pulled out, and relayed everything to Tom.

He looked at me, dumbstruck. ‘What’in the good fuck.’

I’d hauled myself inside the cabin and there on the harsh wood floor I’d slumbered. I’d dreamt I’d been walking a winding country path in dusk, mist coiling in. A figure appeared on the path and a familiar rasp wafted to me.

‘Two choices I gave’ya lad. Two choices.’

How does President Donald Trump’s positive stance on improving trade relations with China affect the outcome of the trade war between China and the United States?

President Trump’s credibility is terrible, his promises change countless times every day, and his social credit score is not even good enough to use shared bikes in China. Who would want to make a deal with him? 🤣

This guy signs a deal in the morning and tears it up in the afternoon.

He never keeps his word, where does his credibility come from?

Since taking office three months ago, he has achieved nothing:

• He forgot his promise to acquire Greenland;
• He also forgot his promise to make Canada the 51st state of the United States;
• He also selectively forgot his promise to “stop the Russian-Ukrainian war within 24 hours”;
• He forgot his promise on his first day in office that he would lower the price of eggs and other basic groceries;
• He no longer mentions government audits and cost savings;
• He seemed to have forgotten to continue to put extreme pressure on China…

President Trump, the number you dialed is no longer available. Don’t wait!!!

Didn’t you say there were dozens of countries waiting in line to call you? Why are you waiting for us?

Chicken with Dumplings

Equipment

• Pressure Cooker

Ingredients

• 1 fryer chicken
• 2-3 cups water
• 2 carrots, diced
• 2 ribs celery, diced
• 1 tablespoon chicken bouillon
• Salt and pepper, to taste
• 1 1/2 to 2 cups Bisquick or Biscuit Baking Mix
• Parsley flakes

Instructions

1. Cut up a fryer and brown it in a frying pan. Put the chicken in the pressure cooker with water, carrots and celery.
2. Deglaze the frying pan with some of the water and put that liquid into the pressure cooker. Add about a tablespoon of chicken bouillon, cover and cook it for 20 minutes at 15 psi.
3. After cooling and removing the lid, the chicken is now falling off the bones. Remove chicken, and season the liquid with salt and pepper.
4. Make the dumplings. Mix Bisquick or Biscuit Baking Mix and enough water to make a sticky dough. Form into 2-inch balls. Put some parsley flakes on the outside of each dumpling and place 8 dumplings into the pressure cooker with the chicken and liquid. Put on the lid and cook for another 10 to 15 minutes.

What can you tell me in two minutes that can blow my mind forever?

Let’s say you own a S Class Mercedes; and you do long-drive to work every day, say roughly 100 kilometres per day. A little too much, but you do it 7 days a week, 30 days a month and 365 days a year. I know we are stretching it too far, but that’s what we are trying to do.

Like any Mercedes, S Class runs about 12 to 14 Km/L (as per the Mercedes site). Being a Mercedes, let’s presume it to be 10 KM/L (worst case scenario).

This means you need 10 Litres of fuel daily; and 3650 Litres a year.

Don’t forget that the S class offers you a cabin that is virtually silent, for a powerful sedan of its size; a cabin noise level of < 55 dB (normal whisper is 60 dB).

Your Heart pumps around 60 ml blood every beat; at roughly 72 beats per minute, it amounts to 4.5 Litres every minute, 260 L every hour, and 6240 Litres in a day.

In a day!!! and that’s double the amount of fuel you have put in your S class in one year!!!

And noise? Yes, that’s still a problem. My wife always reminds me of the trauma she suffers every night because of my snoring.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t appreciate my hearts Luv-Dup, loyally proclaiming my love for her, inaudible at less than 50 dB

Sir Whiskerton and the Case of the Mysterious Poo Piles

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Chapter 1: A Crappy Morning

Sir Whiskerton awoke to a farm in crisis. The usual morning chorus of birdsong had been replaced by horrified shrieks and the unmistakable squelch of paws stepping in something unfortunate.

“By the nine lives!” he gasped, leaping onto a fence post (the only safe surface). Before him lay a battlefield of brown, lumpy atrocities. The barnyard looked like a chocolate factory had exploded—if the chocolate was extremely cursed.

Doris the Hen flapped onto the roof, her feathers puffed in outrage. “This is an OUTRAGE! My eggs deserve better than this—this—”

“Biological warfare?” offered Porkchop, knee-deep in the mess and weirdly unbothered.

Sir Whiskerton adjusted his detective hat (a repurposed teacup today) and declared: “This mystery is piling up fast!”

---

Chapter 2: The Suspect Lineup

The farm’s inhabitants gathered, each more suspicious than the last.

• Rufus the Radioactive Dog: “I glow, I don’t… go. Besides, mine would be neon green.” (Fair point.)
• Bessie the Tie-Dye Cow: “I’m a vegetarian, darling. My deposits are artisanal.” (Also fair.)
• Ferdinand the Duck: “I would NEVER! My posterior is a TEMPLE!” (Dramatic, but plausible.)

Then, Ditto made a fatal mistake.

Curious, he sniffed a pile—then recoiled like he’d been slapped. “PUNGENT! PUNGENT!” he yowled, collapsing into a dramatic faint.

Sir Whiskerton’s eyes narrowed. “This level of devastation… this lack of shame… there’s only one possible culprit.*”

Just then, Chef Remy LeRaccoon waddled up, grinning. “Good news, mes amis! My new ‘Digestive Dynamo’ recipe was a triumph!”

A horrified silence fell.

“You fed us LAXATIVES?!” the animals roared.

Chef Remy blinked. “Oh. Is that why the fence posts are… melting?”

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Chapter 3: The Great Cleanup

With the culprit revealed, the farm launched Operation: De-Poopify.

• Porkchop was weirdly helpful (“I eat garbage. This is basically recycling.“).
• Rufus tried to hose everything down but just made mud pies of doom.
• Sir Whiskerton supervised from a very high perch, shouting encouragement like “That one’s still moving!“

Finally, the farm was (mostly) clean. Chef Remy, now wearing a “I ♥ Fiber” apron as punishment, groaned. “Next time, I’ll just make salad.”

“Whoever did this is a real piece of work!” Doris clucked.

Sir Whiskerton sighed. “Literally.”

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The End… Or Is It?

Post-Credit Scene:
Chef Remy, whispering to his lab rat: “Psst… what if we made the salad carbonated…?”

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Summaries

Moral: Take responsibility for your actions—clean up your messes!

Best Lines:

• “This mystery is piling up fast!” – Sir Whiskerton, regretting his word choices.
• “PUNGENT! PUNGENT!” – Ditto, nose martyr.
• “I eat garbage. This is basically recycling.” – Porkchop, unbothered king.

Key Jokes:

• The fence posts “melting” from toxic exposure.
• Bessie’s “artisanal deposits” (“It’s free fertilizer, darlings!”).
• Chef Remy’s “Digestive Dynamo” being rebranded as “Farmyard Fury.”

Starring:

• Sir Whiskerton (Detective, Poop Patrol Leader)
• Ditto (Sniffing Victim)
• Porkchop (Unfazed Trash Panda)
• Chef Remy (Mad Scientist of Regret)

P.S.
“A wise raccoon once said: ‘Science is about trial and error. Mostly error.’”

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Author’s Note:
No animals were permanently scarred during this story. (Emotionally, however…)

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Hope you enjoyed this craptacular mystery!

This is the boy who quenched the thirst of half a million Africans. His name is Ryan, and he was born in Canada in May 1991.

When he was a child, just six years old, his teacher told the class about how children live in Africa. Deeply moved by the fact that some even die of thirst—while he could simply go to the tap and drink clean water—Ryan asked the teacher how much it would cost to bring water to Africa. She mentioned an organization called “WaterCan,” which could build wells for about $70.

When he got home, he went straight to his mother, Susan, and told her he needed $70 to buy a well for African children. His mother told him he would have to earn the money through hard work and gave him chores that allowed Ryan to earn a few dollars each week.

Eventually, he saved up the $70 and went to WaterCan, where they told him the actual cost of drilling a well was $2,000. Susan made it clear she couldn’t give him all that money, but Ryan didn’t give up—he promised he would come back with the full $2,000.

He continued doing chores around the neighborhood to raise money, inspiring his brothers, neighbors, and friends to join in and help until they raised the necessary funds. In January 1999, the well was drilled in a village in northern Uganda.

Once the well was ready, Ryan’s school started to help, and they established contact with the school near the well. That’s how Ryan met Akana, a boy who fought to go to school every day. Ryan was so moved that he asked his parents to take him to meet Akana. In 2000, he arrived in the village, where hundreds of people greeted him, forming a corridor and chanting his name.

“They even know my name?” Ryan asked the guide, surprised.

“Everyone within 100 kilometers knows,” the guide replied.

Today, Ryan is 33 years old, runs his own foundation, and has brought over 400 wells to Africa. He is also responsible for providing education and teaching locals how to take care of the wells and manage water.

While we go through so many meaningless things, nothing is more righteous than paying tribute to a true hero.

What will be the response of other Chinese owned businesses in the UK after what has happened to their Chinese counterpart who owns British steel, could the Chinese rapidly accelerate their plans to move Chinese owned businesses from the UK to China?

It’s simple

British steelmaking is not feasible

The equipment is old, the forges are old, the process is twenty years behind

The Chinese Group found that an investment of £ 3.4 Billion was needed to modernize the steel making plant and it couldn’t pay out even after 50 years

So like any CAPITALISTS they decided to cut their losses and go home

They were losing £ 700,000 a day and though the UK Government had offered £ 500 Million a year in subsidies, it would barely be enough for 70 days out of 330 days

It was a purely business decision to close down a loss making factory

Every Major Country Has Bullet Trains… Except the U.S.