I want to relate another fond memory. This one involves my mother.
But first, guys, both of my parents did good things and bad things. And from my perspective, I prefer to remember the good, and minimize the bad. So when I relate a story here, please do not praise or condemn. Just recognize that these are all the experiences of life. We take it as it comes before us. As do I.
My first job after my retirement from the United States Navy, but before I began my ONI / MAJ training at China Lake was in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. I worked in a steel mill there. And for the first three months I lived with my paternal grandmother there. We got along just fine.
But it was time for me to get my own apartment, and with my mother’s help I found one, and moved in. It was a refurbished attic in the fifth floor of a old Victorian era building. It was unique with walls and ceilings that all consisted of turrets, and angled alcoves. I found it charming. But I was living alone.
It had a living room, that I used as my bedroom, an enormous bathroom… imagine a huge room with a toilet off in the corner, and a sliver of a kitchen. Stairs ran up through the middle of the “bedroom”, but I just left that area unused. It had a nice cozy gas heater there. And, you know it was pretty cozy.
Now my mother, bless her heart, helped me buy groceries, get pots and pans, dishes, and cutlery. She helped me buy food, and toilet paper and tissues. And she helped me get a phone… a wall phone. After all cell phones wouldn’t arrive on the scene for decades to come.
I well remember her driving me to this office and that store getting things, registering and all the things you need to do when you move into an apartment for the first time. And you know what? It is a tender memory that I treasure.
My mom did me a solid, and I want you all to share in my love and appreciation for her effort at that time of my life.
Mothers. God bless you all.
Today…
Some Hal Turner “news”…
Who was the most interesting person you’ve ever been seated next to on an airplane?
With 25 years as a product evangelist, including travelling around the world for hundreds and hundreds of user group meetings, I’ve been lucky to sit beside a lot of interesting people. But here’s my favourite story:
In about 1997 or 1998, I was sitting on an Air Canada flight out of Toronto. As is usual for me, I had a stack of magazines to read on the flight, including a copy of WoodenBoat Magazine. It happened that this particular issues had a retrospective on the late Joel White, (Joel White, 66, Designer of Wooden Boats), a well-known wooden boat builder. Beside me sat a middle-aged woman.
As I was reading, I struck up a friendly conversation with my seatmate, and seeing the pictures of the beautiful boats she asked a few questions about boats.
Then I mentioned to her that the best parts of the issue I had in hand were the articles about Joel White. I happened to tell her very casually that Joel was the son of E.B. White, the essayist and author.
A beautiful down-east lobster boat designed and built by Joel White
“Ah”, she said. “E.B. White. I have a sort of connection to him.”
“Really! Tell me more.” I replied (I’d always been an E.B. White fan)
“Well…” she started, “My father was one of those people who collected first editions of books. He was a schoolteacher, but he’d always dreamed of being an author. He had a few authors who he corresponded with, and he’d send the first edition books to them for their signatures. One of those authors was E.B. White, and the two of them carried on quite a correspondence for many years.”
“Anyhow, when I was fairly young my father received a nice letter from E.B. telling him that he was about to start a children’s book, and that because of how much E.B. had enjoyed the correspondence with my father, he wanted my father to suggest a name for one of the characters in the new book. So, my father wrote back to E.B. and suggested that he name one of the characters after me. In the next letter, E.B. said that he would.”
“Wow!” was my immediate response, “That’s pretty darn cool! So… I have to ask, what’s your name?”
I was speechless at her answer:
“Charlotte”.
What are some good examples of Karma?
I worked at a cell phone store, and we had a very large woman come in demanding a new iPhone for free, because her old one stopped working. I looked at it, and it was very obvious she had dropped it, or maybe even sat on it. And after I told her we couldn’t give her one for free, she exploded. She immediately started insulting everything about me and demanded I go get my manager. He came out and I watched her yell at him for almost an hour about how terrible we were, all while continuing to insult me for some apparent reason. My manager actually ended up taking her side, saying he doesn’t want to lose a customer and asked me to get her a new phone. While I set it up, she kept going, telling me I was a worthless person who worked a low life job. I ignored her and just gave her the phone. Then I asked if she wanted to buy a warranty for it. She screamed, no, called me a very offensive racial slur, for reference, I’m black, and stormed out. I was so close to telling my manager I quit, but before I could say anything, karma stepped in. The woman took one step outside when she tripped, and we all watched her 300 pound body fall and hit the ground hard, completely shattering her brand new phone. She got up and ran back inside, demanding a new one, but I told her she should have got the warranty.
Swedish Cabbage Rolls
Yield: 6 servings
Ingredients
- 12 large cabbage leaves
- 1 pound lean ground beef
- 1 beaten egg
- 1 cup cooked rice
- 1/4 cup milk
- 8 ounces tomato sauce
- 1/4 cup finely chopped onions
- 1 teaspoon brown sugar
- 1 teaspoon salt
- 1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
- 1/4 teaspoon pepper
- 1 tablespoon lemon juice
Instructions
- Immerse cabbage leaves in large kettle of boiling water for about 3 minutes or until limp; drain.
- Combine egg, milk, onion, salt, pepper, beef, and cooked rice. Place about 1/4 cup meat mixture in the center of each leaf; fold in sides and roll ends over the meat. Place in a slow cooker.
- Combine tomato sauce with brown sugar, lemon juice, and Worcestershire sauce. Pour over cabbage rolls.
- Cover and cook on LOW for 7 to 9 hours.
Whenever Chinese private companies have got technological breakthrough, some countries will immediately link the private companies to Chinese government. It is common knowledge that the Chinese government has been creative & the best on earth. Why?
The Chinese government has always adhered to a people-centered development philosophy, actively creating a favorable environment and conditions for innovation and development.
The technological advancements of Chinese private enterprises are the result of their own relentless efforts and innovation, as well as the strong support and proper guidance from national policies.
The Chinese government encourages and supports private enterprises to engage in technological innovation, which is an important part of the socialist market economy with Chinese characteristics.
We firmly believe that under the leadership of the Party, Chinese private enterprises will continue to achieve more technological breakthroughs, contributing to the building of a community with a shared future for mankind.
Americans On Rednote Left In SHOCK By Low Cost Of Living In China!
Night of the Foo Fighters
Submitted into Contest #210 in response to: Write a story about a character who is trying to share groundbreaking news, but isn’t being taken seriously.… view prompt
George Georgerfrost@gmail.com
On September 2, 1945 in the early morning before sunrise,, Lt. Glieb was piloting an F6F Hellcat over the South China Sea from Okinawa to Kagoshima, Japan. This was considered a routine flight. The war would come to an end in a few hours as representatives of Emperor Hirohita would sign the official treaty in front of General MacArthur on the deck of the USS Missouri. Lt. Glieb duty was to make sure the skies over Tokyo Bay would be safe since there were stories about renegade Japanese pilot who would fly kamikaze missions during the signing.
“This is Lt. Harry Glieb checking in.” He spoke into his radio attached to his mask.
“Roger that. Do you see anything?” Major Bassett asked. Lt. Glieb could see the major’s Hellcat at the head of the wing formation.
“Not a thing.” Glieb reported, “What the hell was that?”
“What did you see, lieutenant?” Major Bassett asked, noting the excitement in Lt. Glieb’s voice. The excitement was out of character for the usually calm and placid pilot.
There was silence. Major Bassett glanced over his shoulder, but in the early morning darkness, he could barely see Glieb’s Hellcat, but nothing looked out of place or problematic. The squadron would be landing within the hour at the airfield in Kagoshima that was currently pockmarked with craters from American bombs during the war. All of the pilots from Kilo Squadron were veterans and could land their planes in just about any terrain.
Once the squadron was on the ground, Major Bassett went looking for Lt. Glieb. The young pilot was standing by his plane, carefully examining the skin of his plane.
“What’s up?” He put his hands on his hips as Lt. Glieb was squatting under the right wing.
“I saw something.” His voice was shaky.
“What?”
“I wish the hell, I knew.” He shook his head.
“How is the plane?” Major Bassett asked.
“Fine. Whatever it was came within a few feet of my air space. I was sure I had struck it, but there was no damage.” He stood up and shrugged. “At least no damage I can see.”
“Make a report.” Major Bassett turned to leave.
“What do I report?” Lt. Glieb sounded distressed, “Once I file it, I get a visit from our friendly shrink who will ground me for being cuckoo, right?”
“Easy, Lieutenant, I am not the enemy.” Major Bassett shakes his head.
“Sorry. It was a close call up there and to tell you the truth it rattled me a bit.” He squats, folding his hands in front of him.
“I have heard other pilots talk about these strange unidentified flying objects. They’ve even given them a name.” Major Bassett examines a spot near the cockpit that looks as if it had been struck, but it could have been anything. Lt. Glieb had flown in thirty sorties since coming to Bouganville Air Field in the Marshall Islands. “They call them Foo Fighters.”
“You kiddin?’” He chuckled.
“Funny name ain’t it.” The major smiles. “What else are you gonna call these things?”
“I still ain’t reporting it.” Lt. Glieb shakes his head as Major Bassett salutes and walks away to check on the other members of his squadron. Harry Glieb was a man with both feet on the ground. He had whizzed through flight school and was assigned to the Kilo Squadron under the command of Major Walter Bassett. Since June of 1944, he had been ecstatic about his assignment. Major Bassett was a steady, pragmatic commander who did not panic under fire. His no-nonsense approach to tactical operations, instilled confidence in Harry and the rest of the squadron who had not suffered a single casualty in combat.
“Harry, are you okay?” Captain Vince Demacchi asked. Long and lanky with an olive skin complexion, Vince was a smooth operator among the others in the squadron with a long list of women in his little black book. Despite his reputation as a lady’s man, his first concern however was with the fliers in his squadron.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Harry was becoming annoyed with the attention he was suddenly getting.
“What did it look like?” Vince put his finger in the corner of his mouth.
“I don’t know…I mean, it just came out of nowhere at a speed I could not imagine.” Harry stood up after seeing there was no real damage to his plane.
“I saw one.” Vince confessed, “On a mission over the Philippines a couple months ago. We were doing navy escort through the straights.”
“I remember.” Harry nodded.
“I didn’t report it.” Vince looked up at the lightening morning sky. “I don’t blame you if you decide not to report it. Scared me to death…and I knew they would lock me up and throw away the key if I said anything.”
“Yup, me too.” Harry put his arm around Vince as they walked to the chow hall for a half cooked breakfast.
While he was eating his breakfast with the other members of his squadron while the crew were filling their Hellcats with fuel and doing a quick, but thorough once over, Harry was reading the Stars and Stripes when he saw an article about these Foo Fighters that had been spotted by both British and American crews as they flew bombing missions over occupied Europe.
“Do you think some of the Japs are going to pull some crap today?” Allan Coe asked the others.
“I hope not. Worst fate I can think of is becoming a casualty on the last day of the war.” Benton chuckled. “If we hang tight up there, I’m sure we will be alright.”
Everyone nodded as they finished their breakfast.
“Major says we are going to fly in tight.” Vince sighed, “We will look sharp so if Emperor Hirohito looks up, he will understand why we won the war, won’t he?”
Everyone laughed. Major Bassett sauntered on over dressed in his flight suit as if he was ready to take off as soon as he left the chow hall. He smiled down at them, “Are we ready?”
“I thought we had another hour.” Dillon said, looking at his watch.
“Briefing.” Major Bassett shook his head.
“Oh.” Everyone groaned.
“Five minutes.” Major Bassett was now looking at his watch.
“No rest for the wicked then?” Arty shrugged.
“Nope. And Kilo is as wicked as they come.” Major Bassett laughed.
The briefing was routine as routine could be and a couple of the pilots nodded off a bit. Everyone knew you had to be careful, because Major Bassett was prone to throw objects at anyone sleeping during one of his briefings.
“All in all, we just have to keep alert, gentlemen.” He concluded, “I have heard nothing specific being planned, but you remember how desperate these guys got the closer we got to their home, right?”
Everyone nodded in agreement. Kamikaze pilots had created havoc during some of the encounters. Nothing worse than facing an enemy who is not afraid to die.
“I don’t want nothing to go wrong. After this, some of you may be on your way home. Let’s not screw that up, eh?” A wry smile crossed his usual stoic face that earned him the nickname Stoneface.
It is quite a sight watching eighteen Hellcats start their engines at once. The noise is deafening as each engine reaches a high pitch as one at a time they roll down the runway. Once in takeoff position, the plane launches into what resembles a fever pitch as the plane wings wobble a bit before the tires leave the ground. All eighteen Hellcats are in the air in less than ten minutes.
“All clear, Kilo.” The man in the control tower says over the radio, “See you back here in ten hours.”
“Roger that.” Major Bassett echoes as the squadron flies due north toward Tokyo Bay where the USS Missouri awaits this historical encounter.
Flying in the skies over Japan made Major Bassett more than a little apprehensive even though the war was over. He still expected to see a couple of Zekes emerge from the clouds with guns blazing, but instead the baby blue sky did not yield anything so menacing. Still his guard was up just in case.
The rest of the squadron was talkative and there was a lot of radio chatter.
“Hey gentlemen, let’s keep this chatter to a minimum.” Major Bassett ordered.
Kilo Squadron flew over Tokyo Bay around twelve forty five just as General MacArthur arrived on deck. Searching the sky, Major Bassett did a quick sweep of the sky with his eyes.
“All clear.” He spoke into the radio.
“Major, I’ve got one of those things on my tail.” It was Vincent speaking.
“I need visual confirmation.” Major Bassett could feel his neck start to sweat. “Wingman, do you see what he has?”
“I see him, major.” Arty confirmed. “He’s moving at a very fast speed.”
“Do you have any idea what it is?” Major Bassett tried to see Vincent’s plane but he could not. The deck of the USS Missouri was directly below his own plane and if all was going according to plan, the emperor was bowing to General MacArthur who would have one of his staff hand Hirohito the pen to sign the treaty. Formality needed to happen to make Japan’s surrender official.
“Sir, I have never seen anything like it.” Arty was breathing heavily as he spoke, “It’s about half the size of the plane, but it moves both laterally and up and down at angles I’ve never seen before.”
“Is it being aggressive?” Major Bassett closed his eyes.
“Not at the moment.” Arty’s voice was higher in this sudden excitement.
“I may need to shoot it out of the sky.” Major Bassett, “Just in case it is hostile.”
“Sir, that may not be the thing to do.” Vincent broke into the radio conversation.
“Why not, captain?” Major Bassett sounded gruff.
“This thing has not presented any hostility.” Vincent added.
“But we have the world under our wings. I can’t afford to have anything go wrong.” Major pulled his stick straight back forcing his Hellcat to start to climb. When he was above his squadron, he leveled off and began to try to see the Foo Fighter.
There it was. It appeared as a black disk with no visible means of propulsion. The Foo Fighter moved in angles that did not seem possible. Even the highly maneuverable Mitsubishi Zeroes were not capable of such maneuvering as this thing was. He put his finger on the trigger of his stick, ready to fire his wing mounted guns. Sweat began to pour down from his forehead into his eyes making things difficult to see as he tried to square up on the object.
Then another Foo Fighter appeared from out of nowhere. This one zeroed in on the major. If this object had the ability to fire, Major Bassett would be in flames.
“What the-” His words were drowned out by a loud bang, “The bastard just broke the sound barrier.”
“Not possible, major.” Dillon remarked.
“Oh yeah, tell him that.” Major Bassett responded.
“I see him.” Lt. Grieb broke in.
“Do not attack.” Major Bassett ordered. “Vinnie’s right. These things don’t seem to be hostile.”
“Roger that, sir.” Lt. Grieb answered, but Major Bassett knew that Lt. Grieb was keeping his finger close to the red trigger on the control stick.
Nobody in Kilo Squadron had any idea if these Foo Fighters had any notion to attack.
Through his radio came the broadcast of what was taking place on the deck of the Missouri was coming through his headset.
“Emperor Hirohito has taken the pen and is approaching the table where General MacArthur and his staff are seated.”
“Did you see that?” Arty was in awe of what he had just seen.
“What?” Vincent asked.
“It just ascended over three thousand feet in less than five seconds.” Arty sounded like a kid at Christmas, “Wow.”
“Wow is right.” Lt. Grieb gasped, “I knew those Foo Fighter things were from another planet.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, with a stroke of his pen, the war with Japan is now over…” The voice broadcasting purred as Kilo began to form up into a V-wing formation. Both of the Foo Fighters had disappeared. All was clear.
Two hours later, all eighteen Hellcats touched down at Kagoshima. Each of the pilots had been shaken by their encounter with the Foo Fighters, but none more than the major.
“Are you alright, sir?” Vincent asked, rushing over to him as he leaned against the wing of his plane to steady himself.
“Mission accomplished, sir.” Dillon ripped off his helmet. “The war is over.”
“Yes, yes it is.” Major Bassett smiled.
“What the hell happened up there, major?” Colonel Keyes asked, rushing onto the tarmac with security and three of his staff. “We heard you ran into some unidentified crafts up there.”
“Yes we did.” He nodded. Lt. Grieb grimaced since he knew Major Bassett would have a date with the psychiatrist for that admission.
“What was it?” Colonel Keyes asked, glancing at his three staff members.
“I wish I could tell you, sir.” He shook his head.
“For the record, major, I will be recording this session.” Dr. Hayward pressed the button on his tape recorder. “Please be as honest and accurate as you can, Major Bassett.”
“I will try.” He sat back in the folding chair they had gotten for him.
“What happened to your squadron this afternoon?”
“We encountered some unidentified craft.” He answered as the tape clicked on each rotation.
“Could you describe them?” Dr. Hayward asked.
“Small but very maneuverable.”
“Did they at any time seem hostile?”
“No, but we didn’t want to take any chances with what was going on below.”
“Your squadron has been on a number of sorties without any incidents or casualties, correct?”
“Yes doctor, that is correct.”
“And yet this was the first time you have encountered these unidentified flying crafts.”
“No, coming to Kagoshima, one of my men, Lt. Grieb had one trail him, until we landed.”
“I’ve been hearing about these things from other pilots in this and the European theater. Best guess, major, what do suppose these are? Do you think the Soviet Union has developed a new space age flying vessel?”
“Doc, I have no idea. I am just an American pilot who is ready to go home to his wife and kids.”
“Doesn’t it make you wonder, though?”
“I have lost my ability to wonder. All I want is to go home. The war is over.”
“Indeed it is.” He pushed the off button on his tape player. “Off the record, I am trying to decide if these Foo Fighters, as they are called, are real or if they are imagined by servicemen who are fatigued like yourself.”
“So you just think all of this is in my head because I’m sick of fighting? Is that it?” He had been rattled by Dr. Hayward’s statement.
“No need to get angry. This happens even to the best and brightest of us.” He apologized.
“No, the record shows that I am a rational man and have honorably led my squadron through the end of this war without losing a single man in the process. I am tired of people trying to say that what we see is not real. A Japanese Zero shot my commander down into the Pacific before I was assigned to Kilo Squadron. I know for a fact he was dead before his plane splashed down into the ocean.” Major Bassett’s face was red.
“This is the fatigue I told you about. After seeing something like that, could we not see these Foo Fighters, too.” Dr. Hayward asked.
“I’m calling it a night, doc. I know I haven’t been much help in answering the question if these things are real or not, but from what I saw this afternoon these things are real.” He walked out of the room leaving Dr. Hayward alone with his tape recorder.
“Major, how did it go?” Lt. Grieb asked as Major Bassett walked into the waiting area where the rest of his squadron was waiting. “Did he believe you?”
“He humored me.” Major Bassett chuckled. “What we saw will never be believed.”
“Which is why I didn’t want to report it in the first place.” Lt. Glieb shook his head.
“Yeah. I get it.” He put his arm around Lt. Grieb. “I think it’s time for us to go home, gentlemen and leave them to figure out all the details.”
“We were there, not them.” Vincent shrugged. “They don’t have any idea what we saw.”
“Sure.” He put his other arm around Vincent, “And history is never written by those who were really there. No, our history is written by those who think they know what took place. Nobody is going to believe a bunch of Navy fliers these Foo Fighters are for real, right?”
USA Tiktok Stars Showing Thoughts About China | Tiktok Unbanned But Creators Still On Rednote
Should I tip furniture delivery people? If so, how much?
Recently bought a new fridge. I had made it as easy for the delivery people as possible. No cars parked in the driveway, walkway swept clean of loose gravel and twigs, plus I made sure that the 25 feet from the front door to the kitchen were wide open and free. No furniture, rugs or miscellany to be moved. I made sure there was a minimum of about four feet wide for them to get through.
The fridge came with an icemaker. That meant the little hose from the spigot in the wall had to be connected to the back of the fridge, and apparently that was a chore that was beyond the main guy. Plus he had let out an exasperated sigh when I asked if they could pause for maybe 60 seconds after moving the old fridge out so I could get to the dust bunnies left behind by the old fridge.
I had $40 (twenty each) for a tip which I’d felt was fair especially since it was close to Christmas. My old fridge usually had condensation under the crisper drawers and as the other guy had rolled it out, it had left a trail of water through the living room. I had a mop at the ready but the guy somewhat angrily took it from me and hastily swabbed the water up. That’s a lot of pissy attitude so I left the forty in my pocket. And boy, am I glad I did.
You see, I have a large elf doll that I put out at the holidays. I’ve had him for years and love him as much as I did the day I got him. I call him “Dobby” and he holds a place of honor on a chair in the living room all December. A few days after the fridge delivery—during which time I’d had absolutely no other visitors—I noticed he was perched a bit awkwardly in his chair. I picked him up and let out a shriek when I realized one of his hands was completely broken off. I then searched everywhere for the missing hand. Found it two days later carefully tucked UNDER the afghan Dobby was sitting on.
So those jerks, somehow unable to scoot my new fridge past the widest part of the route from the front door to the kitchen, banged into Dobby’s chair, he fell, his hand broke. But instead of letting me know, they picked up the broken hand and hid it. I don’t know, maybe they thought I would think it spontaneously fell off him? I’ve seen two year olds that covered their crimes more cleverly.
At least I can rest easy knowing that they didn’t earn forty more dollars from me by way of the tip I meant to give. So normally, I’d say $10–20 tip for a standard delivery, adjusting accordingly if they had to put some effort into it (navigating stairs, setting up bed frames, etc). However, pissy attitudes and broken items earn them not one red cent.
When have you helped someone who seemed poor but they were rich?
I had been out of the Navy for a few months and had let my hair and beard get long and bushy. I was on the freeway in central Texas in the heat of summer when I saw three little old ladies standing beside their land yacht looking at their flat tire. This was long before cell phones gained any widespread use. I stopped to help, and when I got out of my old truck I could see fear in their faces at the big shaggy guy in a tank top and beat up jeans coming toward them! I introduced myself and asked if they would allow me to change their tire for them. As they started to relax, I got their spare and my jack and had them back on the road very shortly. When I told them they didn’t owe me anything they insisted that I at least give them my address so they could send me a thank you card. A few days later I got that card in the mail thanking me for reminding them not to judge by appearance. There was a hundred dollar bill taped inside it. They wrote “You can’t send it back either, haha!” Sure enough, there was no return address on the envelope.
Shorpy
Their Time Has Come To An End
Sir Whiskerton and the Case of the Hobo Armadillo
Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for another uproarious adventure on Sir Whiskerton’s farm, where the animals are as eccentric as ever, and the mischief is always just a whisker away. Today’s tale involves Angus the Armadillo, a hobo with a heart of gold (and an appetite for free food), and Catticus, the tough warrior general of Bigcat, who’s on a mission to bring Angus to “justice” for eating Bigcat’s treasured cat food. So, grab your sense of humor and let’s dive into The Case of the Hobo Armadillo.
The Plot Thickens
It all began on a crisp autumn morning when Sir Whiskerton was enjoying his usual sunbeam on the barn roof. The peace was shattered by the sound of clinking cans and the unmistakable shuffle of tiny armored feet.
“Well, well,” Sir Whiskerton muttered, peering over the edge of the roof. “If it isn’t Angus the Armadillo, back for his annual mooching tour.”
Angus, a scruffy but charming armadillo with a bandana tied around his neck and a bindle stick slung over his shoulder, tipped his hat to Sir Whiskerton. “Howdy, partner! Mind if I bunk here for a spell? I’m just passin’ through, lookin’ for a bite to eat and a place to rest my weary bones.”
Sir Whiskerton smirked. “By ‘bunk,’ you mean ‘mooch,’ and by ‘bite to eat,’ you mean ‘clean out our pantry.’ Am I close?”
Angus chuckled. “You got me, Whiskerton. But hey, a hobo’s gotta eat, right?”
Before Sir Whiskerton could respond, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the barnyard. Catticus, Bigcat’s tough warrior general, appeared on the horizon, his muscles rippling and his eyes narrowed in determination.
“Angus the Armadillo!” Catticus bellowed. “You’ve got some explaining to do! Bigcat’s not happy about you eating his treasured cat food, and he sent me to bring you back to face justice!”
Angus’s eyes widened. “Uh-oh. Looks like I overstayed my welcome at the Bigcat farm.”
Sir Whiskerton, ever the quick thinker, whispered to Angus, “Play dumb and stay quiet. I’ll get you out of this.”
The Great Armadillo Hunt
Catticus, determined to find Angus, began his search of the farm. His first stop was the chicken coop, where Doris the Hen was holding court.
“You there, chicken!” Catticus growled. “Have you seen an armadillo around here? Scruffy, bandana, smells like desperation?”
Doris clucked indignantly. “An armadillo? In my coop? The nerve! We’re chickens, not a motel!”
Harriet added, “Motel! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Lillian promptly fainted into a pile of hay.
Catticus rolled his eyes and moved on to the pond, where Ferdinand the Duck was practicing his latest aria.
“You, duck!” Catticus barked. “Have you seen an armadillo? He’s a moocher, a freeloader, a—”
Ferdinand interrupted with a dramatic quack. “An armadillo, you say? Why, I haven’t seen such a creature! But if I do, I shall sing of his misdeeds in my next performance!”
Catticus groaned. “Great. A singing duck. Just what I needed.”
Next, Catticus approached Porkchop the Pig, who was lounging in his favorite mud puddle.
“Pig!” Catticus snapped. “Have you seen an armadillo? He’s about this big, wears a bandana, and—”
Porkchop snorted. “An armadillo? Nah, but if you find him, tell him to bring snacks. I’m starving.”
Catticus sighed. “Why do I even bother?”
The Hilarious Hideout
While Catticus was busy interrogating the farm animals, Sir Whiskerton was sneaking Angus out the back of the barn. They made their way to Mary Hoppins’ rabbit hole, where Mary was busy teaching a group of young bunnies the proper way to hop.
“Mary,” Sir Whiskerton whispered. “We need your help. Angus here is in a bit of a pickle.”
Mary adjusted her bonnet and smiled. “A pickle, you say? Well, we can’t have that. Come in, come in!”
Angus tipped his hat. “Much obliged, ma’am.”
As they hid in the rabbit hole, Edgar the Crow landed on a nearby fence post, cawing loudly. “Hey, Catticus! Over here! I think I saw an armadillo heading toward the cornfield!”
Catticus, who had been searching the barn, perked up. “The cornfield? Thanks, crow!”
As Catticus ran off, Edgar winked at Sir Whiskerton. “Always happy to help a friend.”
The Moral of the Story
With Catticus thoroughly distracted, Sir Whiskerton and Angus made their escape. As they reached the edge of the farm, Angus turned to Sir Whiskerton.
“Thanks, partner,” Angus said, tipping his hat. “I owe you one.”
Sir Whiskerton smirked. “Just promise me you’ll lay off the cat food next time, alright?”
Angus chuckled. “You got it, Whiskerton. Until next year!”
As the sun set and the barnyard returned to its usual peaceful state, Sir Whiskerton addressed the gathered animals. “Well, my friends, it seems we’ve learned an important lesson today.”
Doris clucked softly. “That armadillos are trouble?”
Sir Whiskerton shook his head. “No, Doris. The lesson is that sometimes, a little kindness and cleverness can go a long way. And that even a hobo armadillo deserves a second chance.”
Ditto, who had been watching from the sidelines, echoed, “Second chance! Second chance!”
Echo, not to be outdone, added, “Second chance! Second chance!”
And with that, the animals returned to their usual routines, content in the knowledge that once again, Sir Whiskerton had saved the farm from chaos.
The End.
Whiskey-Molasses Shredded Beef
This isn’t your grandma’s shredded beef recipe—or is it? Bottom round roast slow-cooked in sweetness and served with a carrot-apple slaw.
Cook: 10 hr 30 min | Yield: 8 servings
Ingredients
- 1 beef bottom round roast (about 2 1/2 pounds), cut into 1 inch pieces
- 1/2 cup whiskey
- 1/4 cup + 2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar, divided
- 1 (6 ounce) can tomato paste
- 4 tablespoons packed brown sugar, divided
- 1/4 cup molasses
- 1 1/2 teaspoons salt
- 1/2 teaspoon ground red pepper
- 1 tablespoon Dijon-style mustard
- 2 cups shredded carrots*
- 2 cups diced Granny Smith apple*
Instructions
- Place beef bottom round roast in 4 1/2 to 5 1/2 quart slow cooker. Combine whiskey, 1/4 cup vinegar, tomato paste, 2 tablespoons brown sugar, molasses, salt and pepper; pour over roast. Cover and cook on HIGH for 4 to 6 hours or on LOW for 8 to 10 hours, or until beef is, fork-tender.
- Remove roast from slow cooker; shred with 2 forks. Skim fat from sauce as needed. Return beef to slow cooker; stir to combine with sauce.
- Meanwhile, combine remaining 2 tablespoons vinegar, remaining 2 tablespoons brown sugar and mustard in large bowl. Add carrots and apples; mix well. Season with salt and black pepper, as desired. Refrigerate until ready to serve. Serve beef with slaw.
Pressure Cooker Method
Place beef Bottom Round Roast in pressure cooker; add 1/2 cup beef broth. Close and lock pressure cooker lid. Use beef, stew or high-pressure setting on pressure cooker; program 90 minutes on pressure cooker timer. Use quick-release feature to release pressure; carefully remove lid. Shred beef; return to pressure cooker.
Combine cooking liquid, whiskey, 1/4 cup cider vinegar, tomato paste, 2 tablespoons brown sugar, molasses, salt and pepper in small saucepan. Simmer for 20 to 25 minutes until desired consistency is reached.
Combine sauce and shredded beef. Continue as directed in Step 3. (This recipe variation was tested in an electric pressure cooker at high altitude. Cooking at an altitude of less than 3000 feet may require slightly less cooking time. Refer to the manufacturer’s instructions.)
Notes
*Thinly sliced pears, celery, red cabbage, green cabbage or bell peppers or a pre-packaged slaw mix can be used in place of the carrots or apple.
Serving Suggestion: Sandwiches, tacos, nachos or sliders.
This recipe can be made in a 6 quart electric pressure cooker.
Are you surprised to learn that an AI chatbot such as DeepSeek will not answer questions about the Tiananmen Square massacre?
Official Censorship
In Mainland China, certain topics are recorded in the Official Censor Files every few years
This means legally, these topics are forbidden for discussion in any public forum and no Chinese leader can be asked or will answer any of these questions
Journalists visiting China and needing credentials have to sign a form promising to abide by the Censorship Act and companies operating in China and having Social Media platforms have to abide by the censorship act
These are topics which have been misrepresented and lied about in Western countries and by the mainstream media
Official Positions
The Chinese Government has a number of published official positions
Every Chinese company and company operating in China has to abide by the official position of China and no discussion on the same is considered or allowed
In order to enter the Chinese market – Deepseek along with everyone else has to agree to abide by Chinas Official Position and follow the Official Censorship
This means any question on Taiwan or Arunachal Pradesh or Ladakh will be met with the OFFICIAL POSITION OF CHINA with no thinking
Tiananmen Square questions will be met with the Official Censorship position which is “I am sorry. I can’t answer this”
Its the LAW OF THE LAND
China will not compromise a millimetre on its official position or official censorship
What is something that is socially accepted in our society but doesn’t make any sense at all?
In the United States if a woman accuses a man of raping her or sexually assaulting her in any way, his name and photo will appear in the news but hers will not.
If he is released because he is found not guilty often the news doesn’t bother to cover that.
I have a friend whose life was literally ruined due to a false rape accusation.
The story was so unbelievable the cops that arrested him didn’t even put him in lock up, they let him hang out around the desk until court started and he could go home on bail. Two months later everything was dropped.
That happened over three years ago. Like most false rape accusers in the United States she suffered no repercussions for what she did.
If you search the web for his name and the city he lives in, to this day, the arrest and the accusation will be top three in search. No exoneration however ever shows up.
That doesn’t make any sense to me.
The Bearer of Bad News
Submitted into Contest #210 in response to: Write a story about a character who is trying to share groundbreaking news, but isn’t being taken seriously.… view prompt
Ty Warmbrodt
Marlon sits up and scratches his head just under his red and green flying reindeer beanie. He tries to remove that tacky feeling and moisten his mouth by working his tongue against the top of his mouth, wrinkling his nose at the taste of decay. Marlon’s face is tan and wrinkled by both the sun and time. His unkempt hair and beard are a dirty grey that make him look older than his fifty-five years. Dirt lines his cheeks and the heavy brow that hides green eyes. He wears a dark green army jacket over a tan cardigan, over a light-blue dress-shirt, over a red T-shirt with a navy-blue pair of corduroys and distressed brown dress shoes he can’t seem to keep tied. The clothes have been tattered by time and nights sleeping on the concrete of damp alleyways behind restaurants where he hopes to find discarded food for his evening and morning meals. He scratches his head again, more fervently this time, trying to fight away the lice.
The old mangy dog that might be white under the dirt and street filth sits beside him excitedly wagging his tail. Marlon calls him Bummer because the scraggly little dog is always bumming food off him. He keeps inching closer and closer to Marlon, motioning with his nose to be petted. Marlon ruffles the fur on his head and says, “I know, boy, I’m hungry too,” with a hoarse voice.
Marlon is slow to get up, his bones complaining like a weathered gate that time forgot. He bends and stretches, trying to push to the point where he can get the old bones to crack and bring relief to the knots in his neck and back. He turns to the dumpster that he calls home and hoists himself up. Swinging his leg over, he rolls in. He ignores the putrid smell. The worst of it is the dumpster itself; those things that splatter and stick, never getting cleaned off, left to decay. Then it goes by layer. At the bottom things begin to rot. He stays close to the top. He tries to keep to food that is within a day’s age. That’s why Marlon chose the alley behind Lugosi’s. Unfinished food galore and they have never run him off. Marlon finds an unfinished T-bone and throws it out Bummer. The dog holds the steak in its paws and works the meat off the bones. Marlon sits back atop the trash and enjoys handfuls of cold spaghetti and stale bread. After finishing his meal, he starts tearing open trash bags. He goes through three before finding half a bottle of water and sits back down to sip on it.
At his feet, Marlon notices an old broken watch. It’s the exact same watch that his son gave him for Father’s Day many years ago when his son got his first job. Tears creep into Marlon’s eyes as he reflects on days past with his boy. He misses him dearly and wonders how life is treating him. Last he heard he was following in his footsteps and was studying mathematics at MIT. The broken watch made him ponder the passage of time, how we try to keep track of it, how it seems to pass slowly at first at a nice steady pace. Then at some point it breaks and speeds off the rails. Days become weeks, weeks become months, months become years and before you know it, you’re wondering how long it has been since you’ve seen your son, talked to a friend, or focused on a hobby.
Marlon scratched his head and shook away the thoughts. Memories for him are like a cancer that eat away at his soul. If he thinks too much about them, he will bury himself in newspapers for the day and forget to eat or drink. Not even old Bummer will hang around him on days like those. He will wander off looking for more entertaining ways to spend his day. Yep, it was time to get out of the dumpster, both figuratively and literally, and start the day.
The day is warming up, and in his layers of clothes he is starting to sweat. He doesn’t dare remove a single article because he might never see them again, and he might need them sooner than later. Marlon sits down with his back to the brick wall. He grabs his cardboard sign and begins to fan himself with it. This is the part of the day where he has to mentally prepare himself to go out there and do what he was called to do; to do what he left his family and prestigious career to do. He has to prepare himself for the endless heckling, the disgusted looks, the threats. Somedays he wants to give up, go back to the life he left behind, but he can’t – he just can’t.
Marlon sets aside his sign long enough to tie his shoes. He takes a deep cleansing breath and walks to the end of the alley. He steps out onto the sidewalk, squinting to shield his eyes from the brightness of the day and walks to the corner. He takes another cleansing breath and lifts his sign over his head.
“The end is near!”
BEWARE!! WE’RE PRINTING MONEY FOR CHINA. WE’RE COLLAPSING AND tRUMP IS OUT THREATENING THE WORLD!!!!
Listen to this lady – Diana Choyleva. She’ve been studying the US $ and China RMB for the last 25 years. She’s been warning her bosses for the last 5 years and nobody at the higher up has been listening . . . . until its too, toooooo late.
Like what she said. . “her reports are probably being used for doorstops”!
Everybody should ask these questions:
Question #1: WHERE ARE THE TRILLIONS US$ TO PAY U.S. INTEREST DEBT WE’RE PRINTING GOING??
It used to be that its Japan and China buying US treasuries that they’re loading up from their trade surpluses. Japan can’t now because of its collapsing Yen while China stopped buying 5 years ago but actually slowly unloading its Treasury porfolio.
If people being told that its “private institutions and investors” buying these believe this BS, then you have what’s going on today. Nobody wants to know the truth. We don’t want to know.
All they see is that “the dollar strong!” And hope this party will go on forever
Question #2: WHERE ARE THE HUNDREDS OF BILLIONS US$ CHINA’S TRADE SURPLUS GOING?
China’s trade surplus hit $1 trillion in 2024 and according to Diana her estimate is at least half is still being settled in US$, so where is China hiding all these US$?
Question #3: WHY IS THE RMB RATE TO THE US$ AT 7.284 TODAY?
Go back to 1985, the Plaza Accord forced Japan to “voluntarily” flood the market with its US$ stash and the Jpn Yen skyrocketed. Today’s is worst. China has 10x more US$ hidden somewhere not being circulated.
Meantime, China surpassed the U.S. as the largest economy in PPP terms since 2016. But we’re still as happy to boast we’re the largest economy in the world – and in nominal term that China does not want changed.
Now, this is what Diana has been warning her bosses.
Reality #1: CHINA IS DIGITAL AND U.S. IS FAX.
China’s economy is totally digital. Its CASHLESS. Its going global with cross border exchanges and SWAP deals the norm for trade settlements done in SECONDS using supercomputer network to link all its trading partners.
And the U.S.? We still have SWIFT and its banking infratructure running this literally communicates by FAX and takes 3 to 5 days for transactions to be completed.
China is zipping its funds across the world to go they go in digital seconds while our so-called advanced Western economies have to carry billions in liquidity reserve to continue propping an antiquated manual system running.
Reality #2: THE LIGHT IS TURNED OFF ON CHINA’S US$ HOLDINGS.
Diana opened discussion that Petrodollar was the order of the world because oil is quoted in US$, paid for in US$ and turnover is in US$ assets. And the oil trade accounted for 20% of currency transaction. And the U.S. has SWIFT to keep track to the last US$ . And of course trade is transacted in US$ and global loan denominated in US$. This is dollar hegemony.
But petrodollar is gone. China is digitizing global trade. They’re not just using bi-lateral banking swaps to transact RMB with the local currencies of its trading partners but widening and globalizing transactions in cryptocurrencies that it is banning at the same time in China Mainland – especially stablecoin like Tether is has a 1:1 US$ reserve backing. Hong Kong is becoming the hub for these cryptocurrencis serving as the intermediary for Chinese state banks to take out the conversion restraints to globalize use of cryptocurrencies.
China is gradually loosening the US grip of our own US$ by transacting and moving all its transactions away from the Western banking system over which SWIFT had before ruled almost universally the global financial world.
Reality #3: ITS A BIFURCATED WORLD.
As Diana describes our global financial system, China has its digital world and the West our antiquated fax world. China is placing of all its US$ out of reach and sight of the West by taking them out of Western Banks. We have NO IDEA what the BRICS are doing. The U.S. can’t anymore sanction China and freeze its US$ account.
The West is sitting fat, contented and dumb.
Reality #$: US$ CANNOT BE THE WORLD’S RESERVE FOR VERY LONG.
Its impossible for us to change our profligate ways. We’re still going to spend beyond our means and have to print more of our increasingly worthless currency.
China doesn’t want its RMB to be the world’s reserve currency but they’re preparing for a replacement – possibly a stablecoin backed up the RMB.
The US $ will eventually fall by the very weight of its growing bulk. And like a ancient oak rotting from the inside, this can happen anytime – without warning.
We have to start preparing for this – like yesterday.
What did hippies in the 1960s find so mesmerizing about Janice Joplin? She looked like who did it and what for and had a horrible voice. Would they have been just as fascinated with a fake bird flying around on a string?
I grew up in S.F., a teenager in the ‘60s. I went to the Avalon and the Fillmore all the time, saw all the great S.F. bands: Jefferson Airplane, Grateful Dead, Quicksilver, Big Brother (with Janis). Saw them as well lots of times when they played free gigs in the Panhandle or Marx Meadows or Speedway Meadows (all in Golden Gate Park). I saw Janis with Big Brother a bunch, usually within 20 ft of the stage. So let’s say I was lucky to have been at the right place at the right time at the right age.
Janis was an authentic blues singer, through and through. Her early heroes were Big Momma Thornton and Bessie Smith. She started out, as did so many musicians at the time, as a folk singer, but focused on the early blues. It’s hard to convey the impact of the Beatles and Dylan going electric in ‘65 on the music at that time, but it was profound. All of a sudden, all these folk musicians picked up electric guitars and began fusing folk sensibilities with rock n’ roll. Pre-dancehall, a major catalyst in S.F. was the Matrix, a nightclub started by Marty Balin because he and his band (earliest version of Jefferson Airplane) needed a place to rehearse. A little later (it was happening incredibly quickly), Bill Graham leased the Fillmore and the Family Dog leased the Avalon Ballroom, and San Francisco’s dancehall renaissance was born. Chet Helms of the FD was from Texas, and already knew Janis (who was from Port Arthur). He drove all the way down to Texas to bring her to San Francisco, because a band he managed, Big Brother and The Holding Company, needed a lead singer. There was a lot of serendipity going on, a lot of magic coming together.
To see Janis live was to be shaken to the core. Here was a woman who really looked like she’d crossed the Great Depression plains of Texas to reach the Promised Land. She was not at all like the pop singers and igenues you’d see on TV, the movies, and in magazines up to that time. She was a force of nature, a Texas tornado, a woman, to use her friend Nick Gravenites’ words, “buried alive in the blues”. To watch her up close was like getting struck by lightning. I always loved it when she sang “Ball and Chain”. She pulled all the pain out of her heart and laid it bare. She wrenched it out of the deepest recesses of her soul and tore your guts out with the sheer power of her voice. It was an epiphany born of pain, the real low down dirty blues sung by a woman with the power to make it a prayer. I still miss her, and I’ll always hear her singing til my dying day.
In the Chinese saying 不孝有三，無後為大 “There are three unfilial things, not to have a child is the first one,” what are the other two unfilial things?
“There are three kinds of unfilial behavior, and the greatest one is to have no descendants” comes from “Mencius·Li Lou Shang”, which is a moral concept in ancient China.
1. 阿意曲从，陷亲不义。Following one’s parents’ wishes without distinguishing right from wrong, and not reminding and correcting parents when they make mistakes, which puts parents in an unjust situation. This is an unfilial behavior.
2.家贫亲老，不为禄仕。Poor family and elderly parents, not seeking official positions: In the case of family poverty and elderly parents, children have the ability but do not seek official positions to support their parents, which is considered unfilial.If you have the ability but do not use it to improve your family situation and support your parents, you are not fulfilling your responsibilities as a child.
3. 不娶无子，绝先祖祀。Not marrying and having children, and cutting off the ancestral worship: That is, not getting married and having children, cutting off the family’s bloodline inheritance, so that there is no one to continue the ancestral worship, which is regarded as the greatest unfilial behavior, which is the meaning of “having no descendants is the greatest”. In the traditional patriarchal society, the continuation of the family and the worship of ancestors were considered extremely important. It was believed that descendants were the key to family inheritance. Without descendants, the family bloodline and sacrifices would be interrupted, which was disrespectful to the ancestors and irresponsible to the family.
There are many single males in China and elsewhere. Not all will have opportunity to reproduce, lack of females or quality of available females applies. In that case not having children wouldn’t be considered unfilial behavior. Only if males have opportunity, but then make decision to not have offspring, would be unfilial behavior, imho.