A Cacophony of Chaos
Today, well.. today I introduce two new characters to the Sir Whiskerton universe. I hope that you like them. I was inspired by some music that I was listening to this morning. Here's my opening story...
Sir Whiskerton and The Case of the Back-Alley Beatdown
A Sir Whiskerton Mystery
Chapter 1: A Cacophony of Chaos
It was a Tuesday. Sir Whiskerton was precisely three-quarters of the way through his morning sunbeam, a time traditionally reserved for contemplative grooming and the silent judgment of passersby, when the world broke.
It wasn't a sound so much as a physical force—a percussive BOOM that rattled the barn doors, followed by a frantic, chattering t-t-t-t-t-tsss that felt like angry squirrels tap-dancing on the roof. From his perch, Sir Whiskerton watched as Doris the Hen shot three feet into the air, squawking, “Earthquake! The sky is falling! Code Cluck!”
“It is not an earthquake,” Sir Whiskerton stated, not moving a muscle. “It is an abomination of acoustics.”
He followed the noise to the barn, where a most peculiar scene unfolded. Perched on a hay bale stage were two cats of a sort he had never encountered. One, a sleek tabby, wore a tiny jersey and was spitting a stream of words so fast they seemed to trip over each other.
“My flow’s a typhoon, you’re a drippy faucet leak,
I’m the lyrical lion, you’re a timid, squeakin’ meek!
I got nine lives of wisdom, you got one life of fear,
I’m the top of the food chain, so lend me your ear!”
The other, a stockier tomcat in impossibly baggy shorts, was producing the monstrous beat with nothing but his mouth, punctuating the verses with explosive shouts of “YEEEAH!” and “THAT’S MY MC!”
Before them, the Valley Chicks were bouncing in unison, chirping “Like, totally fierce!” while Ferdinand the Duck had dramatically draped a wing over his forehead. “My ears!” he quacked. “They are bleeding poetry! Ugly, ugly poetry!”
Sir Whiskerton cleared his throat. The beat stopped. All eyes turned to him.
“I believe,” he said, his voice a silken dagger, “you are on my stage. And you are violating Section 4, Subsection B of the Barnyard Noise Ordinance: ‘No undue clattering, clucking, or cacophony before the second nap of the day.’”
The tabby, MC Scratches, puffed out his chest. “This ain’t cacophony, old-timer. This is art. We’re The Most Feline. I’m MC Scratches. This is my man, Lil’ Paws. And we’re here for our prize.”
“Prize?” Sir Whiskerton’s whiskers twitched with intrigue. “What prize?”
Chapter 2: The Tale of the Misguided Mail
Lil’ Paws, still buzzing with energy, explained. “We won the Back-Alley Beatdown! The grand prize was the ‘Ultimate Urban Survival Kit.’ It was supposed to be delivered to our alley. We tracked the scent all the way here.”
A light of understanding dawned in Sir Whiskerton’s eyes. He led them to a large, unopened cardboard box sitting in the corner of the farmer’s shed. The shipping label was indeed addressed to “The Victor, Back-Alley Beatdown.”
“The farmer,” Sir Whiskerton explained, “has a habit of accepting packages for the ‘ecosystem.’ He must have believed this was for the local raccoon population.”
They opened the box. Inside was a treasure trove: a state-of-the-art mini-speaker, premium tins of sardines, a lifetime supply of catnip, and, most importantly, two tiny, custom-made gold chains.
As Scratches and Paws marveled at their spoils, Sir Whiskerton observed them. He saw not just interlopers, but clever, resourceful felines. He also saw the effect they had. The farm, for all its charm, was predictable. This was new. This was chaos. And a little controlled chaos, he reasoned, was good for the digestion.
“Your prize has been located,” Sir Whiskerton announced. “However, its presence here creates a… jurisdictional quandary. You have disturbed the peace. The fine is typically twenty crickets or one large moth.”
Scratches looked deflated.
“However,” Sir Whiskerton continued, a sly glint in his eye. “I am willing to commute the sentence. There is a… pest. A boastful, operatic pest who believes his voice is a gift to the world. His name is Ferdinand. He has driven me to the brink of reason with his endless arias.”
Lil’ Paws’s eyes lit up. “You want us to… handle him?”
“I want you to engage him in a cultural exchange,” Sir Whiskerton said smoothly. “A battle of musical styles. Let the court of public opinion decide whose art is… superior. Succeed, and your prize, and your right to remain, will be secure.”
Chapter 3: The Great Musical Face-Off
The farm was abuzz. News of the “Rhyme vs. Reason” battle spread faster than gossip from Doris. The farmer, sensing the occasion, even set up two bales of hay as opposing stages.
Ferdinand went first. He sang a heart-wrenching aria about a lost feather, his voice quivering with emotion. The older animals nodded appreciatively. Bessie the Cow sighed, “It’s so deep, man.”
Then, The Most Feline took the stage. Lil’ Paws dropped a beat that made the very ground thrum. And MC Scratches unleashed a lyrical assault that was both brutal and brilliant.
“You sing ’bout a feather, a tiny little thing,
I’m spittin’ ’bout empires where the mouse is the king!
You cry for the past, I’m livin’ for now,
My purr is a engine, your quack is a plow!
You’re a dinosaur, a fossil, a relic of old,
My story’s a new one, and it’s gonna be told!”
Ferdinand was struck dumb. He had no counter for this. His vibrato was useless. The Valley Chicks immediately defected, forming a fan club called the “Paw-sitive Posse.” The battle was over. The farm had a new sound.
Chapter 4: An Unexpected Harmony
In the days that followed, The Most Feline didn’t just stay; they thrived. They found the farm was the perfect muse. Scratches wrote intricate rhymes about the complexity of a spider’s web, and Paws made beats from the sound of rain on the tin roof.
One evening, as they practiced near the pond, a mournful sound joined their beat. It was Ferdinand. Instead of fighting them, he was weaving his operatic quacks into the hook of their song, creating a strange, beautiful, and utterly unique fusion of opera and hip-hop.
It was a mess. But it was their mess.
Sir Whiskerton, observing from the fencepost with a satisfied smile, turned to Rufus. “You see, my glowing friend,” he purred. “The most intriguing mysteries are not of theft or ghostly wheelbarrows, but of the heart. We did not just find a home for two lost cats. We found the missing verse in our farm’s own peculiar song.”
The prize had been a box of treats. But the real reward, for everyone, was the discovery that even in the most tranquil of pastures, there was always room for a new beat.
Don't get between a cat and their human
Chicken-Sauerkraut Bake
Ingredients
- 4 boneless, skinless chicken breast halves
- 1 (16 ounce) package deli sauerkraut, drained and rinsed
- 1 teaspoon garlic powder
- 3/4 to 1 cup barbecue sauce
Instructions
- Spread sauerkraut evenly on the bottom of an ungreased 11 x 7 inch baking pan.
- Place chicken on top, sprinkle with garlic powder.
- Spread barbecue sauce over chicken.
- Cover and bake at 350 degrees F for about 1 hour until chicken is done.
- Serve with buttered boiled potatoes.
...With Laser Beams
Written in response to: "Write a story from the POV/perspective of a non-human character."
TJ Samek
Fiction Science Fiction Speculative
Until a Creature slithers into the water near the touch circle place. This is no fish. It has long arms, somewhat like an octopus, but only four of them, and they are arranged oddly around its body. Its two longer, lower arms have fins at the end of them.
You eye the Creature warily. It is smaller than you by half, and it has an odd smell. It does not smell like threat, but you can’t rule that out. You’ve taken nasty bites from seals before, once or twice.
The Creature hangs in the water, and you move around it slowly. Then the touch circle drops into the water. You are hungry–the circle has not dropped for some time–but the Creature is near it. Hunger and caution fight until you slowly edge forward and, quick as you can, touch the circle lightly.
A fish drops. One fish.
You are still hungry, of course, and the Creature hasn’t moved from its spot. And so when the touch circle drops again, you do not swim quite as quickly. The Creature watches you through its odd eyes, but otherwise offers no threat.
Soon enough you accept that the Creature will share your tank. It comes and goes, and eventually you make the connection that the touch circle only drops when the Creature is in the tank. You look forward to its arrival. You think of it as the Food Creature, since meals appear when it does. It is almost companionable.
And then, one time when the touch circle drops, the Food Creature reaches out an arm and touches you.
You flinch away in alarm, but it does not follow you. It just waits, patiently, by the touch circle. Again, when you swim in, it runs one oddly shaped fin down your side, and then waits.
The touch is not at all unpleasant. Each time you touch the circle, the Creature touches you. Eventually, greatly daring, you touch it back, running your nose quickly across its body. Its skin has an odd texture, like yet unlike a ray’s, but it smells like nothing you’ve known before.
Over time, the touch circle rises, so that each time it drops a little higher on the side of the tank. Eventually, you need to break the surface to touch it. The Food Creature often touches your dorsal fin. You are used to its touch by now; it’s a friendly Creature and this does not bother you. But one day, after it touches you, there’s a pressure on the fin, a pinch. You try to roll away, but the pinch remains. Your fin is heavier, as though something is holding onto it, and a weight rests on your back. But the touch circle gives you food, and the friendly Food Creature is there, and you try to ignore it.
Except that after you eat, the pinch is still on your fin. You try to dive to the lower, more comfortable part of the tank. But the deeper you dive, the tighter it pinches. You swim along the side of the tank, trying to dislodge the pinch, without luck. You swim higher, and the pinch eases. You discover that if you swim with your fin above the surface, your fin is comfortable. But you are not.
Long ago, before the Creature and the tanks, you swam in unenclosed water that was teeming with fish and plants and tasted like life. And you swam deep, close to the fish you fed on and away from those that would hurt you. And though you are the only one in this tank (apart from the intermittent Creature), your instinct remains. While you rise occasionally, everything in you tells you to swim deep.
And so now, swimming not only high but right at the surface, you feel your nerves fray. Surface is fear, but deep is pain. Eventually, exhausted, you give in and stay at the surface, drifting.
When the touch circle drops again, you move listlessly toward it. You almost don’t care when a veritable feast drops. Again, you feel touch on your dorsal fin, but this time the pinch disappears. It takes a moment to realize, but then you dive deeply, comfortably. You swim around the tank, celebrating both your freedom and your full belly.
“How is the project proceeding?”
“As planned and on schedule.” She keeps all her answers short and to the point. She knows he doesn’t really care about the training–or the creatures involved.
He looks into one of the tanks, to the animal circling within. “Lemon sharks,” he says with some disgust.
She bites her tongue. No good can come of rehashing this. Great whites need enormous tanks, makos and tiger sharks rarely survive in captivity, and reef sharks are timid. Social, trainable lemon sharks are the best option.
She hates when he visits the lab.
You’ve developed mixed feelings about the Food Creature.
Though your meals have become more delectable, the pinch always appears on your fin when it’s around. However, the Creature has started to play games with you, using the touch circle to direct you. It even uses sound signals to tell you which way to swim. You catch on fast to this rudimentary communication, and you enjoy the distraction.
In time, you learn to ignore the pinch and become comfortable swimming at the surface.
One day, the Food Creature spends extra time with you, without the pinch, playing and rubbing you, and you enjoy the session immensely.
It is some time before your next meal, and this time it’s not fish. A different Creature drops into the water. This one is colored darkly and hangs in the tank, not moving. But most importantly, this one smells like food.
You’re reluctant to taste a Creature, but the combination of the smell and your hunger soon become overwhelming. You cautiously seize a limb.
It’s delicious.
Before you can help it, you’re tearing into the Creature, satiating yourself.
Thereafter, your friendly Food Creature does not join you in the tank. You see it sometimes, when you breach, and it continues to play games with sound signals. You wear the pinch at all times; it has become part of your existence. And when you’re fed, it’s always a delicious smelling Creature.
You make the connection. Light-colored Food Creature is for games. Dark-colored Tasty Creature is for food.
A small part of you wonders what Food Creature would taste like.
“Are they ready to deploy?”
“Target training is complete.”
“Yes, but will they attack when they need to?”
“Associative conditioning has worked well so far. Of course, live divers aren’t going to be scented like our training decoys. And this all depends on them swimming close to the surface.”
“I don’t want excuses. I want guaranteed attacks.”
And what evil geniuses want, evil geniuses get, she thinks. Even when it’s needlessly complicated and more about the optics than anything. Of course it’s not guaranteed, she wants to tell him.
You’re the one that wanted sharks with laser beams.
There are noises above your tank–loud noises, lots of noises. Screeching noises and rumbling noises that sound like rocks rolling back and forth across the ground.
An opening appears in your tank, a passageway. The water coming from it smells…alive.
You have not eaten in several days, and the smells are too strong to ignore.
Sound signals direct you to the passage, but you would have gone anyway. When you emerge, you are distracted by the myriad sights and smells. This is open water, like where you used to swim, bursting with fish and plants and life. It is glorious! You must explore!
Then the pinch tightens and forces you to rise. There are shadows on the surface, floating vessels that you want to avoid, but between the pinch and the sound signals you cannot.
You rise next to one of these vessels. There is a flash that seems to come from your own dorsal fin, then a brightness, painfully hot and loud, that scares you back underwater. The water tastes like nothing you’ve ever experienced as debris rains down around you.
Creatures appear in the water. Dark Creatures–Tasty Creatures. Despite the chaos around you, your hunger takes over. This Creature is moving, alive, but you easily catch it and eagerly take a bite…
Which you spit out immediately. This tastes nothing like the Tasty Creatures you normally feed on. But there are more. Perhaps this one is bad. You try another.
Still awful. But the chaos in the water is combining with your hunger and a new, salty taste to drive you into a frenzy. You try to eat the Creature anyway, ignoring the taste, tearing out big bites.
The pinch tightens. Sound signals echo off every surface now, along with percussive thumps that disorient your sensitive system. The murky water is filled with debris.
You don’t know what to do. You swim in every direction, thrashing, hungry and confused and upset. You wheel back toward your tank. The water is dull there, but at least you were safe and fed.
But then there is a noise, like a thousand rockslides, like an underwater volcano, and a rush of heat and bubbles and pressure pounds into you and blows you backward.
Suddenly all is quiet. The water is still filled with debris, but there are no more sound signals. No more chaotic shadows. No more Creatures. The pinch on your fin disappears, and an object falls away from you and drifts slowly downward, disappearing into the deep.
You dive experimentally, and nothing stops you. You reach a comfortable depth, and your nerves relax. An anxiety that’s been present so long you’d forgotten it was there…releases.
You continue swimming away.
Away from your tank and the Creatures. Away toward water that you vaguely remember, clean and teeming with life.
You stretch yourself and pick up speed, swimming swift and straight for the first time in a long time.
Away.
Free.
Russia's Medvedev: Time to Declare "Rebus sic stantibus" on Hague Conventions on the Laws and Customs of War
Standard Hal. But worth a read. Things ARE going on and moving forward. Not to the timetable of the West, but to a beat of a distant drum. -MM
Hal Turner World June 21, 2026
Sometimes in life, it is not so important WHAT is said as it is WHO said it. Today is such a day.
Russia's Deputy Chairman of the Federation Council, Dmitry Medvedev, said something yesterday that should send shivers up your spine. Medvedev publicly wrote:
Given the massive terrorist attacks of the enemy on our cities, the intensity of which is increasing and will obviously continue to increase, it's time to openly declare that there are no more rules regarding neo-Nazi Kiev and there can't be any. The only thing that should remain beyond our acceptable limits is the deliberate destruction of civilians. I emphasize: deliberate, that is, intentionally. Everything else is quite acceptable, no matter how disgusting the scumbag from Bankovaya Street and his pathetic European sidekicks may be.
By the way, this also applies to the Hague Conventions on the Laws and Customs of War. They are no longer needed. Wars have changed too much over the past hundred years. Back then, it was unacceptable to steal or kill even the leaders of enemy countries. Moreover, the throwing of bombs from air balloons has been replaced by missiles and drones. So the invocation of the rebus sic stantibus clause is quite appropriate here.
What the Heck is "rebus sic stantibus?"
Rebus sic stantibus (Latin for "things thus standing") is a legal doctrine allowing parties to void or renegotiate a contract or treaty if there has been a fundamental, unforeseen change in circumstances. It serves as an exception to the rule that agreements must be strictly honored.
Core Legal Principles
- The Rule vs. The Exception: It contrasts directly with pacta sunt servanda—the foundational legal principle that promises must be kept.
- The Threshold: It cannot be invoked simply because a deal became less profitable. The change must be completely unforeseeable, render performance radically burdensome, or destroy the fundamental basis of the agreement.
Where It Applies
- International Law: Often used to terminate or suspend state treaties. It is recognized under customary international law and codified in Article 62 of the Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties.
- Civil Contract Law: Many civil law jurisdictions (and increasingly common law doctrines of frustration/hardship) allow courts to alter or terminate private contracts if extraordinary events (like pandemics or wars) cause extreme and unanticipated financial hardship.
How It Works
When successfully invoked, it does not just automatically cancel an agreement. Depending on the jurisdiction or treaty, it can result in:
- 1) Complete termination of the contract or treaty.
- 2) Judicial modification of the terms (such as adjusting timelines, prices, or scope) to fit the new reality.
HAL TURNER ANALYSIS
The Deputy Chairman of Russia's Federation Council just dusted off an arcane phrase in Latin, from Article 62 of the Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties to publicly say no more rules of war for the Russia-Ukraine conflict.
Stop for a moment and truly absorb what that means: Unlimited Warfare.
Unlimited.
This isn't some nobody from a tiny, insignificant country saying this. It's a former President of Russia and now the CURRENT Deputy Chairman of Russia's Federation Council.
He is arguing the Hague Conventions on the Laws and Customs of War are, in his words "no longer needed" because, he says "Wars have changed too much over the past hundred years."
He mentions that nowadays, aircraft with missiles and bombs do what the convention long ago outlawed: Dropping explosives from hot air balloons. He also explicitly mentions ". . . Killing enemy leaders." a concept of war brought to all of us by Israel intentionally bombing Palestinian leaders like Ismail Heniyah (Bombed in a Tehran Hotel by Israel) and Iran's Ayatollah Khamenei, whose personal home was hit with upwards of eight, 2,000 pound, air-dropped, bombs.
Thanks to the Israelis, the word threw out a long prohibited act of war - killing the leaders of a country!
It seems to me that what's good for the Goose is good for the Gander. If it is OK for Israel - and arguably the United States -- to kill the leaders of other countries, then we Americans had better get used to the idea that other countries might just decide to kill OUR leaders.
While it wouldn't bother me a bit to see some present Democrats (and a few RINOs) get whacked by some foreign government, it certainly would offend our sensibilities here in the USA. In fact, we'd likely go to declared war over it.
But nuances aside, it is we in the US, through our maniacal proxy Israel, that has brought this to the world.
Worse, the US and our vassals in Europe, have so viciously supplied Ukraine, that for all intents and purposes, Russia is already at war with Europe and the US. If Medvedev's argument is followed to its logical conclusion, Russia can simply declare that we are already at war with them, and use that as the basis to attack European manufacturing facilities supplying Ukraine with weapons, and European/US Military bases being used as logistics hubs to supply Ukraine to attack Russia.
I don't know what kind of morons think a war with Russia is worth fighting, but apparently we here in the United States (and for certain, in Europe) have quite a number of psychotic ego maniacs who think exactly that. These same psychopaths seem to think a nuclear war in winnable.
In any event, the fact that a guy like Medvedev utilized the Latin phrase, codified in Treaty law, to justify abrogating or withdrawing from the Hague Conventions on the Laws and Customs of War shows how serious things have gotten.
The blame for all this falls squarely on the shoulders of very specific people. So should accountability if their efforts cause a nuclear war. But it won't. There's never accountability.
A Formula You Need to Know
It is said that "al the world's a stage." That "politics is theater." Think about that: Theater.
The clap when the curtain rises. The clap when it falls.
Everything in between, you pay to sit in the dark.
If POLITICS = THEATRE, then the POLITICIANS are the ACTORS.
You, therefore are the AUDIENCE. And the Audience has one function, split across two moments: applause at the open, applause at the close.
Between those two claps you are silent. Not heard. Not seen. And what is not heard and not seen does not matter. If this is true, that means you do not matter to the theatre or the politicians because you are only useful for the clap or the vote. Beyond that, you’re useless.
My math…
You matter at beat zero and the final beat. You pay at every beat between them with your time and enthusiasm.
Ticket. Parking. Popcorn.
Two claps of value. A full show of cost.
My reading of what we are seeing…
They do not need your voice. They need your applause to begin, and your applause to feel earned at the end. The silence in the middle is not a flaw in the performance. It is the design.
This is signal that the voting class was never written as a character. It was written as a constant. Needed at the open, needed at the close, billed for the entire run.
You were sold a seat and told it was a stake.
Don’t expect your opinion on stopping overseas wars and inflation to matter. This is reality and reality is brutal.
Bookmark this to digest it over and over until you know. If you know, you know.
Pictures
*sigh*
Being a side-piece...
What is your unforgettable bus travel experience?
In August, I had travelled to Khajuraho on my birthday. I had a ticket on the Vande Bharat Express from Khajuraho to New Delhi, but I had to cut short my travel due to a family reason. There were no trains from Khajuraho to New Delhi, and that's why, seeing no other option, I took a bus from the nearby town of Chhatarpur to Delhi.
It was a Sleeper Bus and the journey was supposed to be 10.5 hours, which eventually took 11 hours to reach, and the ticket price was 1,000 rupees. As I boarded the bus, I was shocked to see the condition of the berths. They were very small and had glasses and no curtains. For someone like me who's claustrophobic, it was going to be a very difficult journey.
The space was very small. This small space was supposed to be used by two people. I was lucky that there was no co-passenger on my berth. To share this small space with someone else in this darkness would have been a nightmare. The length of the berths wasn’t good either. I could barely fit and had to fold my legs to fit inside, and I am only 5′ 10″. Imagine the condition of a 6-foot-tall person sharing the space with someone else!
There were no lights or pillows! There was no space to keep the shoes. People kept their shoes on the aisle. I still managed to keep it with me. There was a blanket provided, and their AC vents in the seats, but they didn't work. The journey was a nightmare, but I had to reach Delhi anyway, and so, I had to tolerate everything and continue my journey.
I couldn't sleep for more than 10 minutes at a stretch. I was just checking my watch and thinking when we would reach Delhi. I couldn't wait to get off the bus! Luckily, the bus was only half an hour late when we reached Kashmiri Gate and the journey, my worst journey in public transport, came to an end.
Senator Lindsay Graham Reveals What's Coming: "Take the Strait of Hormuz By Force"
More war-mongering from the boiler-plate idiots. I thought that the USA had enough fuel, and the strait was not critical to the USA. Right? Now, the USA must go to full-on war... being pushed by Congress. Ah. That was the idea all along. And what will happen? The world will be without oil, and
The regular Sunday Morning news talk shows on national television here in the United States, seem to reveal what the immediate future holds: The United States taking the Strait of Hormuz by Force. Obliterating Iran.
Anyone who thought things in the Middle East were calming down and Diplomacy could win the day, were rudely awakened today by the reality of psychopathic thoughts prevailing in the elected apparent sociopaths in Washington, DC..
Lindsay Graham, appearing on CBS News Face the Nation, said this:
"I spent 4.5 hours with President Trump on Friday. Here's what I think will happen next. If this deal fails, President Trump is gonna take the Strait of Hormuz over by force. We'll charge a fee for all those who go through to pay for the operation ... if Iran contests control of the Strait of Hormuz by the United States we'll obliterate them."
Here's video - Be sure to Listen for the prominently stated OTHER goal to understand who is actually causing this:
Did you hear the OTHER point: The Abraham Accords.
So all this crap that's going on, is not for the free flow of oil at market prices, it is for the imposters infesting the so-called "state" of Israel. To be clear, "Israel" of the Bible, is a PEOPLE chosen by God; not lines on a map drawn by men.
The Bible itself speaks about such men when it talks of "Those who call themselves jews, but are not. They are a Synagogue of Satan." See Book of Revelation (chapters 2:9 and 3:9) in the New Testament.
Based on Senator Grahams statements on national television this morning, it seems the plan is already adopted and what's taking place right now in Switzerland, is designed to intentionally fail.
I think that's why President Trump spoke the threats he made today against the Iran delegation in Switzerland, which caused them to walk out of negotiations today. (Story Here)
What Would That Mean for You and Me?
If Diplomacy fails today - or into tomorrow perhaps, then it seems to me - and this is just MY PERSONAL ASSESSMENT, not anything official -- that the war resumes almost immediately. Only this time, it would likely be at a "civilization-ending" level inside Iran. Unless . . . . . Unless . . .. Both Russia and China immediately start airlifting ground troops into Iran and deploying them along the Iran coastline at Hormuz.
Deployment of such troops would make clear to the US that if Iran is attacked, then the US is attacking both Russia and China at the same time, and it's instant World War 3 - nukes and all.
Now, most normal people would not even consider intentionally starting World War 3. But we don't have normal, rational people running things anymore. Worse, the people running things are now $39 TRILLION in debt, with almost no practical way to pay it off, and they need "debt forgiveness."
Historically, after a World War, countries get Debt forgiveness because there is no way that creditors would ever be paid back anyway.
THAT is what the US seems to need, and THAT is what the US seems to me, to be intent on doing.
So you and I have very little hope at all that things will ever be "normal" again.
If war resumes, the Strait of Hormuz remains closed. Oil flow that moved briefly for two days earlier this week, is stopped again.
Early last week, President Trump made clear at the G7 Meeting in France, the world oil reserves will last only "about four weeks."
Those of you who thought everything was going to be fine once the MoU had been signed, need to think again.
Readers are advised in the strongest terms possible to make certain you have Emergency Fuel properly and lawfully stored. I suggest multiple 5-gallon gas cans (Red colored) and/or multiple 5-gallon Diesel cans (yellow colored) if your vehicle uses Diesel fuel.
If I am right, and the oil flow is stopped again today after less than one full day of shipping, then four to five weeks from now, TSHTF in terms of fuel shortages. In the interim, prices will likely skyrocket. You need to be prepared to get through that as best you can, and that means getting spare fuel now, while you still can.
Once the oil reserves end, we here in the USA have about 45 days of gasoline and diesel fuel in Reserve and then, well . . . . things start falling apart. Commerce stops. Food supplies stop. Companies go under. Markets collapse. Banks go under. The end of the world as we know it; FULL ECONOMIC COLLAPSE. I'm not the only one who sees this:
Get emergency food. Stock your freezer up every square inch. Get non-perishable rice, beans, pasta, canned vegetables and meat, jarred sauces and the like the try to survive.
If I am right, and things go this way, after sufficient suffering and death, I think we will see the "new world order" with their "One World Government" step-up and offer to solve all the problems. We just have to give up our freedom. Remember what the World Economic Forum said "You will own nothing and be happy."
The people, hungry, tired, scared, will fall for it. Slave planet. Not with a bang - with applause that their problems are over.
Problems that were all deliberately caused, to achieve the desired result.
The Infection Begins… And It’s TERRIFYING | The Last Of Us (Pedro Pascal, Nico Parker)
The Last of Us is a post-apocalyptic drama TV series based on the popular video game of the same name. Set in a world devastated by a fungal pandemic that turns humans into violent, zombie-like creatures, the story follows Joel (Pedro Pascal), a hardened survivor, as he escorts Ellie (Bella Ramsey), a teenager immune to the infection, across the United States. Their journey is filled with danger, emotional struggles, and encounters with both hostile and compassionate survivors. The series, created by Craig Mazin and Neil Druckmann, blends intense action, deep character development, and thought-provoking themes of survival, love, and loss.
Joel (Pedro Pascal) and his daughter Sarah (Nico Parker) scramble to escape as the world around them crumbles. The infection spreads at an unstoppable rate, turning normal people into terrifying, rage-fueled monsters. Chaos erupts as they try to find safety—but nowhere is safe anymore.
How did rye bread fall out of favor in Europe, and what makes it unique compared to other types of bread?
Disclaimer: I’m from Poland. I live here and have been living and eating breads and experimenting with traditional bread recipies from Poland all of my life. I’m responding about European bread traditions. It seems plenty of comments suggest I only have American bread tradition to compare. I don’t. I was barely 5 weeks once in my life in Illinois.
It’s simple: it was never favoured.
Rye is a bit unique among grains, as very few animals can consume it (if you give it to chickens or cows, you can expect a bloody diarrhea, while horses can even die). It’s hard to digest, as it contains a sort of slimy fiber. That’s as well the reason why rye breads are denser and somewhat clay-like. People of any region and tome period preferred wheat.
But rye also has another unique feature: it’s hardy. Whenever there was drought, poor soil, some type of other issue with garvests - rye mostly prevailed. On the other hand wheat easily diminished. If people depended sorely on those tastier grains, they would die out. So rye was even sometimes called in Mediterrenean regions “Allah’s grain”. Not because it tasted right, but because it allowed survival.
However in modern times, when various soil improving techniques are used by default, better, hardier varieties of wheat selected (every single year they announce a whole set of novel oat varieties - I read farming magazines). And if it’s still hard to grow it somewhere, it can be easily and cheaply brought in thousands of tons at once from quarter of the world away (this happened with Ukrainian wheat, when it flooded whole EU bc we wanted to help them economically).
So with rye not being suitable as fodder (it’s still used for hay though) and tasting badly, there is little need to grow it. In fact if you look at the ingredients list in a bakery, or a recipe for a rye bread, you’ll notice extremely often it contains less rye than wheat. That’s to make it pallatable. Even in modern health concious dieting trends it can’t find a decent place, as it’s not gluten free, has as much carbs as wheat and the slimy fiber has no value, as it’s easy to add more fiber into diet in other, tastier ways.
So in short: rye’s fall is caused by humanity’s development.
A Quiet Place Part II (2020): The First Alien Attack Full Scene
Many Chinese companies have invested in the Simandou iron ore project in Guinea. What are they hoping to achieve, and what are the risks involved for China?
Isn’t this so obvious?
China accounts for approximately 70% of global iron ore imports but yet they do not have a say in the pricing because on the supply side, its the “Big Three” - Vale, Rio Tinto and BHP - that dominate the global seaborne supply and held control to date.
However, as the recent showdown with BHP showed, Simandou changed the equation. BHP had to submit to China’s demand that payment must be denominated in Yuan, a step toward gaining leverage on negotiating pricing.
Simandou allows China to diversify to an alternative source that is in its control and can reduce dependence on the command of Australia’s export. This serve as a wedge to break up the closed alliance of the “Big Three”.
Risk to China?
Its the political and investment risk involved. This project was delayed because of political instability and China had to spend $20 billion to construct approximately 600-kilometer railway line across Guinea and a new deep-water port to transport the iron ore to China.
Deep Impact (1998): The Comet Hits Earth Full Scene
What is an experience or situation that you witnessed or have been through that changed your life?
After my maternal grandmother passed away, I visited my grandfather as often as possible. One day, I had my hand on the doorknob ready to leave when Grandpa asked me to sit down. He had something to discuss with me. I sat and gave him my full attention.
You can see the sadness in Grandpa’s face.
It took him a moment to collect his thoughts. At 81, his three daughters thought he should no longer live alone. They wanted him to sell his house and move in with my parents who lived 15 minutes away. Grandpa lived in his house for over 50 years. He’d built his business in a building across the yard from his house. His church was two blocks away and he walked there every Sunday.
I was completely out of my depth but I saw the sadness in his eyes at the thought of leaving a place that was his home. He had complete control over what happened inside his four walls. If he wanted to rearrange the furniture or ask a contractor to change something it was entirely his decision to do so.
Living with someone else, you have a place to live but where you live is not your home. It belongs to someone else. You cannot change or alter anything. You must adjust your life and schedule to fit their habits. He finally agreed to their wishes, sold his house, and moved in with my parents. The photo you see above was taken on the patio at my parents’ house. He was loved and well cared for. But I’m not sure there was much joy in his existence.
As I grow older, I think of that conversation with Grandpa. Would my face mirror his given the same set of circumstance.
Tom Cruise coaches overconfident newbies for 10 minutes
My husband is a retired surgeon. Let me just give an example. He was helping a friend of ours who was a contractor remodel one of our bathrooms. Our friend told my husband to remove the bathtub faucet while he did something else in another room. Soon my husband said quietly, “Paul? Umm, I could use some help.” Paul told him to do this or that and it would be fine. Then my husband quietly said, “Can you come in here?” Paul said he would be there shortly. When Paul finely checked on my husband, water was shooting out of the faucet, my husband was soaking wet from head to toe and the bathroom floor and hallway were completely flooded. There was even water on the ceiling! Did I mention that my husband is not handy around the house? If you needed a cancerous tumor removed from around your carotid artery, he was your guy. But honestly, he cannot even caulk correctly!
So Paul ran in, got the water stopped and said, “Good Lord, man! Why didn’t you tell me you were having trouble!” Hubby just said, “I did.”
Just an example of how unfazed a surgeon can be when all hell is breaking loose in the OR. They learn very quickly that panic is not helpful.
What do surgeons and nurses see during surgery, and are they really as unfazed as people say?
My husband is a retired surgeon. Let me just give an example. He was helping a friend of ours who was a contractor remodel one of our bathrooms. Our friend told my husband to remove the bathtub faucet while he did something else in another room. Soon my husband said quietly, “Paul? Umm, I could use some help.” Paul told him to do this or that and it would be fine. Then my husband quietly said, “Can you come in here?” Paul said he would be there shortly. When Paul finely checked on my husband, water was shooting out of the faucet, my husband was soaking wet from head to toe and the bathroom floor and hallway were completely flooded. There was even water on the ceiling! Did I mention that my husband is not handy around the house? If you needed a cancerous tumor removed from around your carotid artery, he was your guy. But honestly, he cannot even caulk correctly!
So Paul ran in, got the water stopped and said, “Good Lord, man! Why didn’t you tell me you were having trouble!” Hubby just said, “I did.”
Just an example of how unfazed a surgeon can be when all hell is breaking loose in the OR. They learn very quickly that panic is not helpful.
The Need
Written in response to: "Center your story around someone who turns into the thing they’ve always hated."
Nemo Pinna
We are flying over Baghdad and its thousand gardens, the birthplace of civilization, capital city of Pangaea, and today the location of the Party meeting. Members of the government from all over the Solar System are here today. Security is strict, but the message spread by RosyRoxel has distracted them, they’re more prepared for a media war, than a frontal assault. We jump and all goes to shit.
I regain consciousness in a small room, the plan seemed so perfect, we encountered no resistance on the route to the Conference Room. We stormed in, our weapon ready to end the crowd of parasitic politicians, but the large room was empty.
We noticed the gas when it was already too late.
I’m sitting on a chair, and so are my comrades, they’re still unconscious. In front of me, a table, and on the other side the Man of Steel himself, the heart of the Revolution, the head of the government of the better part of the Solar System, and the chief betrayer of what I’ve dedicated my life to. I’m unarmed, but not tied, I leap forward, I’ll kill him with my hands if I have to. My legs fail me, and I collapse on the chair.
The Man of Steel observes me with the same eyes I’ve seen posted all over the Solar System.
“How did you discover our plan?”
“I’ve always known,” he speaks slowly, as someone who lives out of time.
“What do you mean, you alwa–”, he interrupts me. “Why are you here? Revenge? Is it because of what happened to your parents?”
“Nothing happened to my parents, you or some of your dogs, lift a finger and a minion hungry for a promotion made them disappear. But no, that isn’t why.”
“Why then?”
“Why?! Haven’t you seen what you’re doing? What you’ve made out of the dreams you sold to the people? You are the old that hides under a new hat. You wear the Revolution as a costume but ignore its values, what it stood for.”
“And what did it stand for?” he moves through the conversation as if he had it a million times before.
“Justice, freedom, equality.”
“What justice? What freedom? Our first act was to collectivize —”
I cut him off. “I’m not here to talk policy.”
“No, you’re here to kill me, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am, and I want to kill you, not for some abstract reason, but because of the kidnapping, because of the killings.”
“You think I like butchery? The Revolution doesn’t stand on dreams alone, it stands on the corpses of men and women. Before our victory, it stood on our corpses, now on those of our enemies.”
“Enemies? Are protesting teenagers your enemies? What about people’s houses getting dispossessed, what did they do? What about my parents?”
“So it is about your parents.”
“No it isn’t. What I’m talking about is… is democracy itself, under your rule there is no freedom of speech, there is a single Party!”
“Democracy, the noblest of words. But, you tell me, what does it mean? Power to the people, but how are the people supposed to use it? How do you give it to them? In the past they had elections and parties, some countries had two, other more, and all called themselves democracies. We abolished all parties but ours, we made our Party part of the state apparatus. We built a ladder of ascending Councils that start from the bottom, closer to the people, and rise to the central government; so that our decisions can be influenced by the reality at the base. Why? Because truthfully, a political system can only be the emanation of a single group of people and its interests. There is no power to the people, there is only power to a part of the people. Through human history, the interests of the few have ruled over the many. Our Revolution brought us to power, and we are making our best effort to ensure the interests of the many above all. And that means, that when one of the few refuse to give up what his ancestors stole, what they stole, it must be taken from them. It means that when a man like your father, a torturer of who ruled before, tries to escape, he must be captured so that his victims may have at least something that resembles justice.”
Tears slide out of my eyes. I found out about my father a year ago, still I knew him as a parent, not as a tormentor. “What about my mother? What was she guilty of?”
The Man of Steel intertwine his hands’ fingers. “I’ve read your file, and it seems to me that the arrest of your mother was a mistake committed by an overly eager local commissar. I know it means nothing to you, but I’m sorry.”
“What happened to her?”
“Do you really want to know?”
I remain silent, and he keeps talking. “You spoke about freedom of speech. And it is true, there are some kinds of speech that we prohibited. Have you ever asked yourself why?”
“Because you fear that it might undermine your rule.”
“Yes! Only an immutable regime allows free speech, for it has sedated its population. Its people get their fill of justice and indignation just by blabbing. They can say whatever they want, it doesn’t matter, because all they’re doing is exhausting themselves screaming into the void. A political system that allows absolute or almost absolute freedom of speech is a system sure of the inability of its people to change it, of the uselessness of said speech. We don’t think that, we respect our people. We want them to be as smart as they can, as active as they can, and that means that what they say, what they read, what they write, does matter, for we believe they have the ability to change our system.”
“So you oppress them because you think they’re totally awesome and smart. Come on, do you even hear yourself?”
“Are the billions we tore from the maws of poverty oppressed in their new homes, and human jobs? Are the sick oppressed in their hospital beds, for which they pay only what they can?”
“Two things can be true at the same time.”
“Maybe,” admits the Man of Steel before standing up. “But I’m sure of one thing, all those billions wouldn’t have what they now have, what they’ll have, without what you call oppression.”
“Says you.”
“You think yourself my better. What would have you done the day after the Revolution?” He slams his opened hand on the table. “Would you have held multi planetary elections? What if you lost those elections? What of all the dead, then? What of all that was sacrificed for the Revolution? What about the dream?”
I say nothing.
“What about those who disagree with you? What would you do if they started gathering followers who believe they should ruin what you’ve created. Would you let them do it?”
I say nothing again, but this time he waits. “What do you want me to say? That I would arrest them all, kill them?”
“No! I want you to say the exact opposite. If you can, you should let them grow their movements in a controlled environment, you should let them strike, let them fail. Let them become the fetish needed to vent the people’s frustrations, grievances, unhappiness. Let all of those who agree with them live vicariously through their failure, so that they don’t need to live it themselves.”
My heart drops. “What do you mean, grow in a controlled environment?”
He shows me a screen, there are photos of a younger him with an almost unrecognizable RosyRoxel. “That means nothing! That’s just an old photo. That could be fake,” I scream, but my voice is weak.
“Do you really think that? How do you think, we discovered about your little operation. Yours is just one of the many armed groups we monitor, you are society’s relief valve.”
Decades of lies fall heavy on my shoulders, an entire life built on nothing but manipulation from an enemy that felt so far away, while being just under my nose. Today I lost my family for the second time. “Why are you doing this? What do you want from me? Are you going to use our death for propaganda.”
“Maybe theirs,” he points to my comrades. “But, I want you to join the Revolution, the true Revolution, not the confused thing you’re doing.”
I almost laugh. “You really think me so stupid to believe you want to recruit me?”
“That’s exactly what I want. The Party attracts many, but they’re bureaucrats, they’re not men and women of conviction, they desire power and prestige, their spirit is empty. The Party needs them, but the Revolution needs people of principle, people of action, people not scared of sacrifice.”
He puts a gun on the table. “No one can be forced to be the person the Revolution needs. One is or isn’t.” He slides the gun to my side of the table, and glances at my unconscious companions. “You must choose.”
“Why me? Why not them?” I try and fail to hide the panic that suddenly grips me, my voice shakes with the understanding of what’s happening.
“Who tells you that I didn’t already ask them. Who tells you that they haven’t already refused.”
“And if they refused, do you really expect me to accept?”
“This isn’t a loyalty contest. They don’t matter, you don’t matter, in the large scale of things I don’t matter, only the Revolution does. I know you dream for a better Solar System, I know you dream of justice for all, I know you dream of humanity’s happiness, for that’s what I dream too. Look in my eyes Nino and you’ll look into a mirror. Trust me, this is the way, the Revolution must live, and to live it needs people like us. Men and women ready to do what must be done.” His words are heavy in my mind, heavier than the gun in my hand.
I open my eyes in the same room, but I’m not me, I’m the Man of Steel of another me, a young woman. I already gave her the speech, and after a minute of silence she speaks.
“So, what you’re saying is that the end justifies the means?”
“No, I say that there is no end. The Revolution is a boulder, you can push it forward or be squashed with whomever else tries to stop it.” I observe her grasping the vastness of the lie her RosyRoxel fed her. In a waste of memories and hopes, I see her finding the path I laid before her. I push the gun, and eye her comrades. “You must choose, now. Trust me, this is the way, feed the Revolution, water the dream of a better future.”
Chicken Provolone and Swiss Roulade
This was one of the dishes which I offered for my catering business. It was one of the most requested.
Yield: 4 servings
Ingredients
- 4 (5 to 6 ounce) boneless, skinless chicken breasts
- 4 thin slices prosciutto or smoked ham
- 4 thin slices provolone cheese
- 4 thin slices Swiss cheese
- 2 tablespoons + 1 teaspoon butter
- 1 teaspoon dried tarragon leaves
- Salt and pepper
Instructions
- Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
- Pound chicken breasts between two sheets of waxed paper until they nearly double in size and are fairly thin.
- Place one slice prosciutto on top of each chicken breast.
- Top prosciutto with one slice provolone cheese and one slice Swiss cheese.
- Roll up each chicken breast starting at short end and secure with wooden picks.
- Melt 2 tablespoons butter in large nonstick skillet over medium heat.
- Sauté rolled chicken breasts over medium/high heat for 2 to 3 minutes, turning frequently.
- Remove from skillet. Sprinkle sautéed chicken breasts with tarragon, salt and pepper.
- Place sautéed chicken breasts in a 13 x 9 x 2 inch baking dish coated with remaining butter.
- Bake for 20 to 25 minutes.
Notes
Serve this with rice pilaf and broccoli or green beans. If you like, sprinkle these with seasoned bread crumbs and drizzle with additional melted butter before baking.
Attribution
Posted by bettyboop50 at Recipe Goldmine May 30, 2001.
Trump Threatens Iran Delegation in Switzerland "If you don't make a deal . . . you won't even make it back to your fucking Country!"
Trump is many things, but he is not a diplomat. He is a thug and a bully. -MM
The Iran negotiating Delegation is Switzerland has WALKED OUT of the negotiations after US President Donald Trump threatened to resume bombing Iran, and actually threatened the negotiation delegation itself.
Trump said publicly “We may take over the strait if we have to. I'll blow the shit out of them”, per Fox News.
Trump went on to say “Iran must immediately stop their highly paid PROXIES in Lebanon from causing trouble. If they don't, we'll hit Iran very hard again, just like we did last week, only harder!!!”
Then, Trump is reported to have threatened the negotiating Delegation itself saying the Iranian officials in Switzerland that they won’t make it back to Iran if they close the Strait of Hormuz while Netanyahu bombs Lebanon, per Fox News
"You close the Strait of Hormuz and you won't have a country."
”You won't even make it back to your f*cking country."
The Iranian delegation left the meeting venue and returned to its residence, and will not return unless Trump apologizes and retracts his threats.