We are just a group of retired spooks that discuss things that you’ll not find anywhere else. It makes us unique. Take a look around. Learn a thing or two.
It was located in the basement, above the sub-basement, and it was a cluttered place. One, of course filled with all kinds of things that a 12 year old boy would find fascinating.
They were special radiation emitting bulbs dating from around the 1930's or so. My grandmother didn't want me to get hurt by them, and warned me against them. So they were all discarded.
Enjoy this little foray into my forgotten past, a past that is often neglected or forgotten in history.
Today...
The Case of the Talking Tree Stump (8A548)
Ah, dear reader. Prepare yourself for a tale not of interstellar intrigue, but of terrestrial mystery—a story rooted in the deep, quiet soil of the farm, where wisdom is often found not in the soaring branch, but in the grounded stump. This is a story of voices from the earth, of forgotten things that remember, and of the gentle danger that arises when we listen too hard to a single, strange note in the symphony of the soil.
I. The Oracle of Rot and Rings
It began, as the most peculiar farm disturbances do, with a rumour passed by beak and whisker.
A delegation of field mice, led by one particularly intense rodent named Mortimer, appeared at the porch one misty morning. Mortimer stood on his hind legs, cleared his throat with a tiny ahem, and addressed me.
“O Great Whiskered One,” he squeaked, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and awe. “The Quiet Wood speaks. And it… it says my cousin Herbert is a poor investment.”
I paused in my mid-morning paw-lick. “The wood… critiques financial planning?”
“Not the wood!” piped up another mouse. “The Stump! The Old Knothole Stump by the lightning-struck oak! It has a voice! It told me my winter cache location was ‘pathetically obvious to any owl with half a mind.’ It was… shockingly accurate.”
Ditto, who had been attempting to balance a blueberry on his nose, let it drop. “A talking stump! Does it tell jokes?”
“Its wisdom,” intoned Mortimer, ignoring him, “is profound. It speaks of cycles, of patience, of things lost and waiting. It told Doris her next egg would be double-yolked.”
From the coop, a triumphant squawk echoed. “IT IS! I CAN FEEL THE TWIN SUNS OF POTENTIAL WITHIN!”
This was no mere oddity. This was an event.
By afternoon, a pilgrimage path was worn in the moss. Animals queued before the Old Knothole Stump—a gnarled, chest-high relic of a sugar maple, its center hollowed by age into a dark, moist mouth.
And from that mouth, a voice emanated. It was not loud. It was a dry, fibrous whisper, like wind through long-dead leaves, yet perfectly clear.
To Porkchop, who presented a turnip: “Your satisfaction is the root, not the fruit.”
To Ferdinand, who sang an aria: “The pond reflects the sky, but the mud holds the truth.”
To a nervous young rabbit: “The fox’s path is winding, but the burrow’s entrance is hidden under the clover at the stone’s northeast point.” The rabbit fainted with relief.
The stump spoke in riddles, in gentle admonishments, in oddly specific advice. It became the farm’s hottest attraction.
Bartholomew the Piñata, swaying jealously from his beam, muttered, “An amateur. My wisdom is candy-coated. His is just… damp.”
II. The Cult of the Hollow Truth
Within days, a formal organization sprung up around the stump, founded by Mortimer and a deeply impressionable chicken named Prudence. They called themselves The Listeners of the Last Ring.
They had rules:
Approach only with a question “born of sincere confusion.”
Leave an offering of something personal (a whisker, a shiny pebble, a spare bit of grain).
Interpret the Stump’s words literally, always. (This led to some issues, such as when Rufus, after being told “Your joy is a bone buried in the sun,” spent six hours digging a crater in the vegetable patch).
The farm’s delicate equilibrium, usually a chaotic ballet, threatened to become a rigid, whispering dictatorship. Doris was furious her scheduling authority was being undermined by “arboreal anarchism.” The Catnip Syndicate was annoyed the stump had called their latest heist “a derivative performance lacking thematic resonance.”
Worst of all, the stump began issuing prophecies.
“The great blue falling will herald the time of the sticky sky,” it whispered one Tuesday.
Panic ensued. Harriet the Hen refused to leave her coop, convinced a giant bluebird was going to crash into the farm. Ferdinand began composing a dirge for the “impending azure apocalypse.”
I observed from a respectful distance. The voice was real. But the source… the timbre was wrong for wood. It lacked the deep, groaning resonance of a talking tree. It had a faint, almost… fibrous echo. A familiar one.
III. The Investigation: A Hole in the Story
My investigation began with botany and ended in podiatry.
First, I consulted the farm’s resident earth-philosopher, Steve the Scarecrow. “Steve. Talking stumps. Your thoughts?”
He creaked in the breeze, his burlap face thoughtful. “ALL STUMPS TALK,” he whispered via the wind in his straw. “BUT MOST JUST SAY ‘OUCH.’ THIS ONE… HAS A SOLE-FUL VOICE.”
A pun. From a scarecrow. The universe was mocking me.
The clue, however, was in the offering bowl at the stump’s base. Among the pebbles and seeds, I saw it: a single, weathered, blue-and-white striped shoelace aglet—the plastic tip. It was chewed, ancient, but unmistakable.
The Holy Shoe Phenomenon.
The Farmer’s missing boot. It was never just lost. It was journeying. And now, its trail led here.
That night, under a moon like a silver coin, I returned to the stump with Ditto and a determined earthworm named Virgil (who owed me a favour for not being used as fishing bait). “Virgil,” I said. “The root network. Is there… a cavity? Something unnatural down there?”
Virgil burrowed. Minutes later, his head popped up near the stump’s roots. “Boss. You gotta see this. It’s not a knot. It’s a… porthole.”
We dug carefully. Not at the stump, but beside it, where the roots twisted into the earth. And there, nestled in a cradle of thick roots, pressed right up against the hollow core of the stump, was the missing work boot.
But it was not empty.
Inside the boot, having chewed a perfect, speaker-like hole through the leather toe-cap and into the stump’s hollow core, was a family of Parchment-Mice—tiny, pale, book-loving rodents who make their nests from chewed paper and whispered words.
Their leader, a spectacled mouse named Tomes, looked up, blinking in our lantern light. Around him, the boot was lined with shredded pages: old farm almanacs, poetry collections, and—critically—several water-damaged philosophy textbooks the Farmer had once used as doorstops.
“Oh!” squeaked Tomes. “The evening audience is early. Please, state your existential quandary. We’re doing Stoicism tonight. The boot’s acoustics are magnificent for Marcus Aurelius.”
IV. The Moral, Unlaced
The mystery was solved. The “oracle” was a family of scholarly mice, using the boot’s natural amplification and the stump’s resonance chamber to broadcast their nightly book-club discussions and philosophical musings. They’d overheard farm gossip for months and wove it into their “readings.” The prophecies were just accidentally poetic phrases from rain-swollen pages.
I called a farm meeting at the stump.
“Citizens,” I announced, my paw resting on the now-silent boot. “Your oracle. Its wisdom did not spring from the ancient wood, but from… The Afterlife of Objects.”
I explained. The boot, lost, had found a new purpose: a library, a home, a resonator for tiny voices. The stump, a dead thing, had given it shelter and a voice. The mice had sought only quiet study.
“You have not been hearing the wisdom of the earth,” I said, looking at the crestfallen Listeners. “You have been hearing the earth hosting wisdom. The magic was not in a prophecy, but in a symbiosis. A lost boot shelters mice, who seek knowledge, whose words are carried by a stump, heard by you. The chain of belonging is the only true prophecy.”
Mortimer looked devastated. “So… it’s not psychic?”
“It is bibliographic,” I said gently. “A different, but equally valid, magic.”
V. Epilogue: New Purpose, Quietly Served
The Cult of the Stump dissolved, replaced by the Stump & Boot Mutual Aid Society. The mice now give weekly “Lectures from the Leather” on topics of their choosing. Attendance is optional, but the farm has developed a surprising taste for pre-Socratic philosophy.
The boot was not returned to the Farmer. Its purpose had evolved. The Farmer, meanwhile, found his other boot had mysteriously migrated to the roof of the henhouse, where it serves as a planter for Doris’s prize-winning pansies. He shrugged, and bought new boots.
The stump still whispers. But now, everyone knows the voice belongs to Tomes, who is currently working his way through a heavily annotated copy of Walden. Last Tuesday’s announcement, “I wish to live deliberately,” was met with polite applause from the hens and a confused but supportive “Woof!” from Rufus.
And I? I have a new respect for the journey of things. A boot is never just a boot. It is a potential library, a planter, a shrine. A stump is never just dead wood. It is a stage, a home, an amplifier for small, studious voices.
The farm, you see, is a place where nothing is ever truly useless, and even a silent oracle has more to say once you understand its accent.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, Ditto is trying to ask the boot how to achieve “transcendental oneness with a laser pointer.” I must intervene before the lecture series takes a turn for the overly ambitious.
Jingle on.
Moral of the Story: True wisdom often comes from understanding the system, not just the speaker. A chain of kindness and repurposed objects—a boot, a stump, a book, a mouse—can create miracles mistaken for magic. And sometimes, the most profound voice in the forest is just a very small scholar with very good acoustics.
Is it possible many dinosaurs had a lot of soft tissue (like trunks) that we don't know about because they aren't indicated on the fossils?
Absolutely. Carnotaurus is a great example of this. Considering their massive skull, small teeth, and the species it predated on, we only assume his neck was beefy. Also, there are no fossil records for its legs under its knees, so any representation needs to be based on other sauropsids and shaped by biomechanical logics, for example, a giant claw is unlikely, provided that it had an enormously bulky tail to keep balance to its body, making it really hard for it to rely on pouncing.
Another wonderful example is Spinosaurus. Look, this:
for many years was speculated to be this:
But it turns out that later evidence has provided more reasons to believe it was more like this:
That’s right: a hump, not a sail. Because… why not? However, it is still largely debated.
Making reconstructions of soft tissue takes a lot of speculation, it is really a hard job and sometimes even a fool’s game because of the lack of modern analogue species to draw comparisons with.
So, back to the short answer: Not only is it absolutely possible, but it is often the case.
What are some situations where you've refused to do something your boss asked, and how did you handle it afterward?
The company had a rule that all checks over $999.99 had to have a co-signer, as the office manager I was sometimes asked to sign checks, a simple control many companies use. One day my boss, who was GM and a VP asked me to sign a $5000 check. The check was a donation to a political campaign, I asked him if he was aware that by state law, businesses could not make political contributions over $500, he said he wasn’t, just sign the check and he would take care of any fallout. I tried to explain that he might want to write a personal check for the contribution and spread it out over a few months on his expense account. He was not interested in the opinion of a 28 y/o.
When I refused to sign, he got pissed, very pissed, someone had to drive the check to another company office and a VP there signed the check. From that point on my relationship with my boss was very strained. He gave me a poor performance review because I wasn’t a team player, I got no raise, so I started putting out feelers for a new job.
A few weeks later the HQ sent in a team of auditors, this was normal, it happened every one to two years. On the first day of the audit, the chief auditor came in my office and asked me about that $5000 check, I told him the truth and pointed out that my signature was not on it. There were repercussions for my boss and the other VP who signed the check, my boss had to reimburse the company the $5000. They all presumed that I had ratted them out to the auditors, I was ostracized and after a few weeks I was fired for “not being able to work with others”.
A friend of mine had just passed his bar exam a year before, he called the firm that represented the company locally and explained that I would be filing a suit for wrongful discharge and holding a press conference, he was sure the politician who took the contribution name would be made public. However, I would be interested in discussing a reasonable termination settlement of $$$$.
After a few weeks of negotiation, I signed a non-disclosure agreement, got a sizable check and my new lawyer friend got a nice fee. BTW my ex-boss apparently pissed off his boss enough, he even tried to get a job at the company that hired me, I was asked my opinion about him, he didn’t get a recommendation.
This Cheeseburger Pizza recipe has it all! Ground beef, onion, cheese, pickles, lettuce, tomato, ketchup and mustard, on a sesame seed crust.
Burger Pizza is a Mashup of Two Beloved Foods
When it comes to combining classic comfort foods, few things are as satisfying as this Cheeseburger Pizza. It takes the best parts of a juicy restaurant-style burger – ground beef, melted cheese and tangy pickles – and puts them on a crispy pizza crust for a weeknight meal or game-watching snack everybody will love.
What sets this recipe apart from others is attention to detail every step of the way. From par-cooking the dough to ensure a crispy crust, to selecting the right cheese for an optimal cheese pull, to sesame seeds to mimic a burger bun, this recipe is designed for home cooks of all skill levels who want reliable, delicious results every time.
Why You’ll Love This Cheeseburger Pizza Recipe
It tastes like a fancy restaurant-style pizza, but it’s so easy to make at home.
This family-friendly dinner appeals to all ages.
Easy to customize with your favorite burger toppings – bacon, avocado, even a fried egg or two!
ground beef – I recommend 80/20 ground chuck for best flavor.
onion – white or yellow onion is best for this recipe.
sharp cheddar cheese – the sharp tang is perfect for this burger pizza.
lettuce – classic crunchy iceberg lettuce is the way to go for this hamburger pizza recipe.
tomato – a chopped Roma tomato works well for this burger pizza, but halved cherry or grape tomatoes are great, too.
pickles – bread and butter pickle slices are the best choice here.
mayonnaise – it sounds weird, but mayo is going down on the crust first and acting as our pizza sauce.
ketchup – for drizzling over the top.
mustard – another drizzle for the top. This really makes it look like a cheeseburger!
sesame seeds – to add that sesame seed bun feel to the edges of the pizza crust to really make this feel like a Big Mac pizza recipe.
How to Make Cheeseburger Pizza
1. BEEF. Cook the beef and onion in a large skillet until it is browned and cooked through, then season it with salt and pepper.
2. PARBAKE CRUST. Stretch the dough into a large circle and place on a pizza pan. Bake 10 minutes.
3. TOPPINGS. Spread the mayonnaise over the crust, then add the ground beef mixture and the cheese. Sprinkle the sesame seeds over the outer edge of the crust.
4. MELT. Return to the pizza to the oven and bake until the cheese is melted and bubbly.
5. FINISH. Top the pizza with the lettuce, tomato and pickles, then drizzle with ketchup and mustard.
How Long to Cook Cheeseburger Pizza
Depending on your dough, and whether you use a regular pan or a pizza stone, baking time for pizza can vary. Typically, at 400 degrees F, a pizza can take anywhere from 18 to 24 minutes to fully cook. However, if you use a pizza stone, it could be a bit faster than this.
Hamburger Pizza Recipe Home Chef Tips
If using store-bought or otherwise refrigerated dough, let it come to room temperature for 20 to 30 minutes before stretching to make it easier to work with.
I like to buy a block of cheese and shred it myself vs. buying pre-shredded cheese for this burger pizza. I think cheese that you shred yourself melts better!
Homemade Cheeseburger Pizza Recipe Variations
BACON – Make it a bacon cheeseburger pizza by adding crumbled oven bacon to the pizza at the same time you add the ground beef and cheese.
EGGS – get really adventurous and add a few fried eggs to the top of this homemade cheeseburger pizza!
How to Store Burger Pizza
If you have leftovers, transfer them to a storage container and place them in the fridge uncovered for a few hours until they are fully chilled, then cover them with the lid and keep in the refrigerator up to 3 days.
You can reheat leftover cheeseburger pizza in the microwave, or in a 350 degree F oven until it is warmed through.
Cheeseburger Pizza
Author: Lori Yates
Yield: 4servings
Prep: 20 minutesminutes
Cook: 26 minutesminutes
Total: 46 minutesminutes
This Cheeseburger Pizza recipe has it all! Ground beef, onion, cheese, pickles, lettuce, tomato, ketchup and mustard, on a sesame seed crust.
Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. In large skillet, cook beef and onion over medium-high heat 8 to 10 minutes or until meat is browned and cooked through, stirring occasionally and breaking up meat with back of spoon. Stir in salt and pepper.
Meanwhile, spray large pizza pan with cooking spray. Toss and stretch pizza dough into 14-inch circle and place on prepared pan. Transfer to oven and bake 10 minutes.
Remove crust from oven and spread evenly with mayonnaise, all the way to the edges of the crust. Spoon beef mixture over crust, leaving outer 1/2-inch of crust bare. Sprinkle cheese over meat. Sprinkle sesame seeds onto outer edge of crust.
Return pizza to oven and bake for an additional 8 to 10 minutes or until cheese is melted and bubbly.
Remove pizza from the oven; top with lettuce, tomato and pickles. Drizzle with ketchup and mustard. Cut and serve immediately.
America's Kill Line: China EXPOSES the American Dream Scam (Life In China is BETTER)
Other than the threat of an invasion from mainland China, what obstacles would Taiwan have to face if they decided to become an official independent nation?
There’s one obstacle no one has mentioned yet.
It’s this.
This island is preventing Taiwan from declaring independence.
Kinmen and Matsu are two archipelagoes situated only a few miles off the coast of mainland China. Since 1949, both Kinmen and Matsu have been under the control of the Republic of China (ROC).
You must be thinking: wait, this makes no sense. If “Taiwan” controls Kinmen and Matsu, can’t they just declare independence from China along with Kinmen and Matsu?
Except there’s a problem.
Kinmen and Matsu are not a part of Taiwan.
According to the Republic of China, Kinmen and Matsu belong to Fujian Province, which is mostly based in mainland China. Geographically, Kinmen is considered to be a part of greater Quanzhou, a city in mainland China controlled by the PRC. Matsu is considered to be a part of greater Fuzhou, the capital of Fujian that is mostly controlled by the PRC.
The natives of Kinmen and Matsu do not identify as Taiwanese, but as Fujianese. The people of Matsu, being close to Fuzhou, don’t even speak so-called “Taiwanese” (Minnanese), they speak Fuzhounese — my parents’ dialect!
During the 1950s, as the KMT on Taiwan was trying to fend off Communist attacks on Kinmen and Matsu, the US was constantly trying to get Chiang Kai-shek to abandon Kinmen and Matsu so that they could draw a clear “international boundary” across the Taiwan Strait.
The idea was that since Taiwan’s status was “undetermined,” just defending Taiwan from the Communist Chinese would not only be militarily possible but legally justifiable. On the other hand, helping Chiang defend a bunch of islands that had nothing to do with Taiwan would constitute a blatant interference in China’s civil war, which doesn’t look good for the US however it is spun.
But Chiang refused to abandon Kinmen and Matsu, knowing that his hold on those islands — those mainland Chinese islands — were the ROC’s only hope of representing something more than just Taiwan.
In fact, it is said that the Communists deliberately shelled Kinmen in 1958 so that Chiang could find a reason to defend Kinmen. That way, he wouldn’t abandon the island to the Communists and let the Americans work their legal wonders on Taiwan’s political status (毛泽东是如何联蒋抵美反“台独”的?_读书频道_凤凰网).
To this day, the US has a policy of defending Taiwan and Penghu from PRC attack, but not Kinmen and Matsu. In fact, if you closely read the Taiwan Relations Act, the US defines “Taiwan” as being the main island of Taiwan and the Pescadores (Penghu).
Kinmen and Matsu, while being under “Taiwanese” control, are not included in that definition. This is important, as it is subtle evidence that what we call “Taiwan” is more than just the island of Taiwan — it’s a Chinese entity controlling two provinces, one of which has nothing to do with Taiwan.
So in a hypothetical situation where the DPP feels motivated enough to do away with the “Republic of China” and establish “Not China,” they would have to face the question of what to do with Kinmen and Matsu, which clearly do not belong to Taiwan.
Do they abandon the islands? If so, that looks really bad because many Kinmenese have lost their lives in the past preventing the PRC from reaching Taiwan in the first place. Also, abandoning the islands puts Taiwan’s security in further jeopardy.
Do they keep the islands, but rewrite the law to disassociate Kinmen and Matsu from Fujian? If so, that means they’re not just breaking away from “China,” but annexing “Chinese territory” in the process. The PRC could then take action against Kinmen and Matsu, putting Taiwan’s security in jeopardy.
It’s this dilemma that makes the idea of Taiwan independence a total headache. Which is why the DPP absolutely hates Kinmen and Matsu. In fact, the DPP hates Kinmen and Matsu so much that, for all their blabbering about “defending muh country” they do not depict Kinmen and Matsu as a part of their “country.”
“If only this is what we all control…f*cking Kinmenese and their wine!”
Kinmenese voters have reciprocated the favor by never electing the DPP to represent their best interests. When mainland China opened up a water pipeline to Kinmen a few months ago, Taipei told Kinmen to downplay the event in response to perceived hostility from mainland China. The Kinmen government responded by telling the DPP to f*ck off, and their deputy governor even said he could consider “one country, two systems:” 金门副县长:不反对一国两制 民族站起来最关键
While central and southern Taiwan are “green all over,” Kinmen had a grand total of one DPP legislator. Just one. And notice I said “had” — after witnessing the DPP government in Taiwan treating Kinmen like sh*t, the guy left the DPP! 「民進黨諸多政策違背民意」 金門縣議員陳滄江哽咽宣布退黨退選-風傳媒
The DPP, despite controlling the presidency and a majority of the Legislative Yuan for the first time in Taiwanese history, still cannot declare independence from China. Not just because of a piece of paper (the ROC constitution). Not just because of PLA missiles. Not just because of the mainland’s humongous economic clout. Not just because of “communist spies” in Taiwan who do treasonous stuff like telling Tsai Ing-wen her policies suck….
But because of a few puny islands whose inhabitants make up less than one percent of “Taiwan’s” total population.
Incredible Announcement From Beneath The Great Pyramids?!
Johan drew a long, satisfying breath and savoured the moment he'd laboured for seven interminable years. The path to this juncture had been paved with dedication, experimentation, and an unwavering determination. Now, he stood before a resplendent silver contraption that bore an uncanny resemblance to the cockpit of a helicopter. Johan knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this apparatus would inaugurate a new era and transform the course of human history forevermore.But his journey hadn't been without its trials and tribulations. The greatest obstacle he'd faced was the need for secrecy. He couldn't rely on other scientists to aid him in his quest, for doing so would result in the government seizing his invention, patenting his ideas, and taking credit for his achievements.Fortunately, he had a dear friend, Edison, who'd provided him with the financial resources necessary to bring his vision to fruition. Edison, Johan's best friend since high school, had come up with the idea for a time travel machine and entrusted Johan with making it a reality. It was a personal matter for Edison, a chance to rectify mistakes that had haunted him for two decades. Johan felt a deep sympathy for his friend, which spurred him on to test his scientific prowess and commit to the project.And now, after seven years of hard work, sleepless nights, and endless sacrifice, Johan had finally succeeded. All that was left was to put his creation to the test.He climbed into the machine, settled into the seat, and flicked the switch overhead. The engine whirred to life, and the screen in front of him lit up. Johan typed in the date: 25122002.He took a deep breath, buckled up, and hit ENTER. As the machine hummed to life, he closed his eyes, knowing that he was about to embark on a journey that would upend everything he thought he knew about the world.***Edison was immersed in his work, studying the newest ad that his creative team had concocted for Bıh̄n̂ā s̄wy, a big cosmetic brand from far-off Thailand. As CEO of Thompson Media, he usually left these tasks to his Chief Creative Officer, Siti Aminah. But with his arch-rival Harry Chin from A&C Advertising Agency lurking about, Edison couldn't afford to slip up with such a high-profile client.As he peered over the final edit of the ad and the PowerPoint slides Siti Aminah had prepared, Edison's phone started to jingle. His best bud, Johan, was on the line, and from the sound of it, he was itching to share some big news."What's the rumpus, buddy?" Edison answered, a grin spreading across his mug."Check your WhatsApp, man!" Johan replied, his voice electrified.Edison darted over to his computer and popped open the message from Johan. "What?! LOTR merch? Who the hell still sells that crap? I thought it went extinct.""Well, guess what, Eddy-boy?" Johan said, his voice reaching a fever pitch.Edison's jaw hit the floor. "Wait! Don't tell me you just time-travelled--""Yep! You got it, man. I just got back from Christmas 2002 to scoop up the merch I always wanted but couldn't afford back then," Johan said, sounding like a kid on Christmas morning."Holy shit, that's amazing news! When can I come see you?" Edison asked, his heart thumping in his chest.
"Anytime, dude," Johan replied.
"Alright, here's the plan. I'm heading home now to tell Ivy the good news, and we'll come over to see you tomorrow," Edison said, his mind racing with excitement.
"Sounds good, man. I'll fill you in on everything when you get here."
"Thanks, Jo. See you soon," Edison said before hanging up.
Driven by the desire to fix things in the past, Edison finished up his work, scribbled some notes for Siti Aminah, and shot them over on WhatsApp. With his affairs in order, he grabbed his things and bolted out the door, eager to share the incredible news with his wife, Ivy. He trusted his company would be taken care of while he tended to this personal business.
***
"What?! That's incredible news!" Ivy exclaimed as Edison shared the miraculous news with her.
Edison's eyes welled up with tears as Ivy wrapped her arms around him, providing comfort. "I understand, honey. It's been a long road," she whispered consolingly. Edison had carried the weight of his parents' untimely death for two decades, plagued by guilt for not stopping them from leaving. He believed he had heard a voice within him urging him to intervene, but he had ignored it.
"I've been waiting for this," Edison choked out, his voice heavy with emotion. "What's the point of all of this?" He gestured around their lavish home, filled with expensive designer furniture. "I have all the money in the world, but I can't even share it with my parents."
Ivy knew better than to interrupt. She knew the depth of pain her husband was carrying and how much he needed to release it. She gently rubbed his back, offering him a safe space to express himself fully.
Suddenly, their four-year-old son, Thompson, bounded over to them, jumping onto the couch. "Why is Papa crying?" he asked, his innocent eyes wide.
Edison managed to force a smile through his tears. "Do you want to see your grandma and grandpa?"
Thompson's face lit up, and he eagerly nodded, unaware of the magnitude of his father's words. Edison and Ivy felt their spirits lift at the prospect of starting a new life where Thompson would have four grandparents instead of just two. Edison was eager to return to May 5th and fix everything.
Noticing the sound of clanking crockery and smelling the tantalising aroma of food, Ivy immediately chimed in, "Time for dinner!" She playfully nudged Thompson off the couch as the family sauntered over to the dining table.
Mak Cik Jamnah, their loyal maid, warmly welcomed them to a feast fit for royalty. With their spirits uplifted, the family eagerly tucked into the lavish spread.
***
Edison and Ivy stood before the unremarkable grey machine, a sense of awe washing over them. The wires and cables hung exposed, and the entire structure looked rickety, but it was intriguing nonetheless. The double seats were nothing more than plastic stools, their legs securely fastened to the cockpit-like interior of the helicopter-shaped contraption.
"Are you sure this is working?" Edison asked sceptically, tapping the metal surface of the door.
Johan cleared his throat, pointing to his LOTR t-shirt. "If this isn't proof enough, I don't know what is. Embrace this perfect present I offer you," he chuckled.
Ivy cut in, eager to understand what was going on. "Okay, so what's going to happen? What do we do?"
Johan took a deep breath, preparing to explain the process. "Alright, so here's the deal. You'll take a seat in that chair there, and I'll switch on the engine. It'll take a few seconds for the screen in front of you to light up. Once it does, you'll use the keypad to enter the date you want to travel back to."
Edison and Ivy nodded in agreement, eager to take the plunge.
"This baby can transport you back in time or forward into the future! I put a lot of effort into cracking the code," Johan flaunted, gesturing to the hundreds of equations scrawled on the blackboard on the wall, as if they were some sort of secret language.
"So, once we enter the date, what happens?" Edison asked, eager to learn more.
"Ah, an excellent question," Johan replied with a grin. "Once you enter the date, you'll be transported to 6am on that day. You'll wake up in your own bed, wherever you were living at the time. You'll have 24 hours to do whatever needs to be done, and at 6am the next day, you'll be automatically transported back here," he explained proudly, pointing to the machine.
Edison and Ivy exchanged a look of sheer excitement, their minds racing with possibilities. The thought of travelling through time was an adventure like no other, and they were ready to take on whatever lay ahead.
Johan's eyes glittered with a mix of excitement and nerves as he looked over at Edison and Ivy. "Are you both ready?" he asked, his words filled with anticipation.
"I am," Edison replied with confidence, while Ivy simply nodded, her expression betraying a hint of hesitation.
"Alright then, monsieur et madame, climb aboard," Johan said playfully, gesturing towards the seats before them.
Edison helped Ivy onto the machine, his hand clasping hers as they settled into their seats. Johan stepped onto the metal skid next to the door on Edison's side, reaching for the 'on' button on the ceiling of the machine.
"Excuse me," he said, as Edison moved back to give him room to manoeuvre.
Edison and Ivy held hands as the machine began to emit a soft hum, the sound gradually growing louder and more intense. Ivy shivered nervously, but Edison remained steadfast and composed. A 'beep' started to emanate from the screen in front of them, displaying 000000.
"Whenever you're ready, enter the date," Johan shouted from outside, raising his voice to be heard over the noise of the engine. "I'm closing the doors now," he added, pressing a button on the side mirror to send the doors on both sides sliding closed.
As the doors closed, the sound was suddenly muted, and Edison was amazed by how different his voice sounded without the reverberations of the outside world. He spoke to Ivy, stunned by the change in acoustics.
Ivy nodded, her expression determined. "Yes, let's do this," she said, her voice carrying a hint of apprehension.
Edison took a deep breath and entered 050503 on the screen before him. Pressing ENTER, he steeled himself for what was to come.
Suddenly, the world around them began to spin rapidly, everything morphing into darkness as the machine whirled them away on an unimaginable journey through time.
***
Edison awoke, feeling disoriented and groggy, his mind struggling to make sense of his unfamiliar surroundings. It took a few moments for him to realise that he was lying on his old bed, back in 2003, when he was just twenty years old and still living with his parents.
Sitting up, a wave of strangeness washed over him. He marvelled at his youthful appearance - longer hair, flatter stomach. And when a loud beep sounded, he was stunned by the sight of his old Nokia 3310 on the desk.
Opening Ivy's text, he struggled to remember the old-fashioned way of typing without a keyboard. "Yes. OMG, I'm so young. Haha," he wrote, feeling foolish and nostalgic.
Standing up, he took in the surroundings of his old room, feeling a pang of nostalgia hit him like a freight train. The familiar scent of his youth - sweat and musk - brought back memories, so different from the luxury he'd grown accustomed to as a wealthy man.
Staring at his reflection in the mirror, he was amazed by how angular his face appeared. With his pimply forehead and unkempt hair, he much preferred his older, more refined appearance.
Suddenly, he heard it - the sound of his parents arguing downstairs, the sound overwhelming him with a whirlwind of emotions. He missed them so much.
Without thinking, he ran downstairs, tears glistening in his eyes as he caught sight of their faces. The sight of his parents, so full of life and vitality, was almost too much for him to bear.
As soon as his presence was felt, his mother turned to him in confusion, sensing something was amiss. "What's wrong?" she asked, searching his eyes for a clue.
Overcome with emotion, he hugged them tightly without a word. When his father asked, "What's the matter?" he couldn't even find the words to respond.
Taking a deep breath, he pleaded, "Whatever happens, please don't go out. I love you both so much."
His father was confused, "How do you know we're going out?"
"I just know," he said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "You're going to court to sort out your divorce procedures. But please, I'm willing to do anything for you as long as you don't go out," he pleaded, masking his true fear behind the guise of concern for their relationship.
He couldn't reveal the reason for his panic - the certainty that they would die in a car accident later that day. So, he pleaded with them to stay home, using all his powers of persuasion.
Silence hung heavy as his mother grimaced in pain and his father's expression grew forlorn. Reacting quickly, he rushed to their sides, embracing them tightly.
They stood in the living room, lost in each other's arms, crying as the weight of past regrets and future fears weighed on them.
The rest of the day was spent cocooned within the safety of their home. His parents were still distant from each other, but they tried their best to keep the peace for their son's sake. Edison savoured every moment, doing everything he wished he had done twenty years earlier. He watched movies with them, chatted, played cards, and even cooked for them. He chastised his younger self for not being more present in their lives.
As the night grew darker and sleep beckoned, a sense of calm and peace washed over Edison. For the first time in years, he felt at ease knowing he would wake up the next morning back in the future with both of his parents by his side. He couldn't wait for Thompson to meet his grandparents and for his family to be whole once again.
***
Edison and Ivy stirred, awakening in the contraption with a woozy haze that clung to their minds like cobwebs. They regarded each other with bleary eyes, observing that they looked somewhat altered from the day prior when they had first embarked on the machine.
"How was it?" Edison inquired.
"Amazing," Ivy replied, a glimmer in her eye. "I convinced my parents to let me pursue my dream in ballet."
Edison's eyes grew misty as he recalled his own experience. "I saved Mummy and Daddy," he confided.
The metallic groan of sliding doors drew their attention, and the pair was greeted by the beaming visage of Johan. Eager to disembark, they were taken aback when Johan's grin faded into a furrowed brow of confusion.
Johan's response was hesitant. "Perhaps you should return home and rest. There must be an explanation for this." As he spoke, the time-travelling device sputtered and coughed, and a frayed cable at the machine's rear sparked into a shower of electric flame. "It seems our contraption is in need of repairs," Johan observed, then added, “No regrets, okay? Repairs might take a while.”
The couple was further bewildered to discover that their garments had been replaced by cheap, unbranded clothes that appeared to have been procured from a discount shop.
"What's happening to us?" Ivy implored.
Johan blinked rapidly, searching for a suitable answer while Edison examined his own body, astonished by how gaunt he had become.
"Perhaps the machine has altered more than just your appearances," Johan suggested tentatively, "but don't worry, we'll get to the bottom of this."
As they made their way to the parking lot, the couple was aghast to discover that their sleek Audi RSQ8 had been replaced by a modest Toyota Corolla - a disconcerting shift, to say the least. Though questions clamoured in their minds, they opted to keep mum, hopeful that answers would reveal themselves in due course.
Edison couldn't shake the peculiar sensation of driving an economical vehicle after indulging in lavish luxury for so long. Along the journey, they sat in silence, each grappling with the disorienting sense that their lives had been irrevocably altered.
But the true shock came when they arrived at their home. They gasped for breath at the sight of their dwelling, unchanged from ten years prior, with peeling paint and a decrepit appearance that hinted at years of neglect.
The disconcerting revelations continued as they entered the house, greeted by a shabbier Thompson and Edison's mother, confined to a wheelchair and receiving assistance from a middle-aged caregiver.
In a frenzy of disbelief, the couple sprinted upstairs, scouring every inch for any shred of evidence to explain the inexplicable. Pages upon pages of documents were scrutinised, phones and wallets rifled through in desperation.
And in due time, they unearthed the sad truth: Edison's parents had divorced seven years earlier, his mother's dementia had reached a debilitating stage, and he toiled away as a copywriter at A&C Advertising Agency, barely scraping by to pay for his mother's care. Ivy had failed to make it as a ballet dancer and languished in unemployment for three years.
The reality was crushing, but it could not be denied. They were adrift in a strange and unfamiliar world, where the rules had been rewritten and fate had taken a cruel turn.
The bedroom was sweltering, an oppressive heat that clung to their skin like a second layer. Edison and Ivy sat on the floor in stunned silence, struggling to come to terms with the stark reality of their new existence. They couldn't even afford an air-conditioner to provide some respite from the oppressive heat.
In an instant, Thompson appeared, his wiry build wearing a broad smile and moving about with an energetic exuberance of a child. It was a jarring contrast to the dire circumstances they now found themselves in.
Despite the confusion and despair that gripped their hearts, the couple mustered a smile, embracing Thompson with open arms. There was no point in regretting the past or the choices that had brought them to this moment. All they could do was cling to each other and hope that somehow, they would find a way forward.
"Don't worry," Ivy reassured, "everything will be okay as long as we're together."
What's better, a limited scientific study or mass amounts of anecdotal evidence?
Here is a concrete example. British fighter pilots in WW2 reported that the German fighter pilots had developed a new tactic: attacking from "out of the sun".
The idea makes sense. If you can fly towards an enemy pilot from the same direction the sun is shining, he will have much more trouble seeing you since the sun is in his eyes.
The RAF started to develop tactics to train their pilots how to cope with this type of attack.
There was only one problem. The Germans did indeed have a new tactic, but attacking out of the sun wasn't it. Instead, they trained their pilots to approach from the rear, where the enemy pilot can't see at all. This tactic was so successful that most British pilots were killed when it was used.
As a result, those dead pilots never made it back to tell their anecdotes. Attacking out of the sun was much less effective, so many pilots survived to tell theirs.
Collecting only anecdotal evidence (which was very compelling) caused the Brits to completely fail to see the actual German tactics. This is known as reporting bias. Bias is (as in this example) common in anecdotes and hard to identify convincingly. That's where science steps in, using techniques designed to reduce or eliminate bias.
Anecdotal accounts can sometimes be helpful. For example, one black swan is all you need to see to disprove the statement "all swans are white". (This is a famous example). But having seen a black swan, we naturally but wrongly then conclude that swans are mostly white but some are black.
In fact, knowing that not all swans are white doesn't tell us much more. There may be green swans. Or pink ones. We just don't know.
At this point, we need a scientific study of swans, to find as many as possible, count them, and identify which colours they are. Then we can say what the proportions of white, black, green and pink swans are.
The Vet Hugged The Cat! A Minute Later, Something Unexpected Happened
How did Japan's I-400 submarine compare to other submarines during World War II and those built after the war?
THIS monster!
An aircraft carrier that also was the biggest submarines in the world till the huge ballistic subs of the Soviet Union, over 20 years later, a Japanese sub that could travel 37,500 nautical miles at 14 knots while surfaced, equivalent to going 1½ times around the world without refueling…in 1945!
The Sen-toku I-400 class boats were easily the biggest, fastest and most technologically advanced submarines of their time, the Yamato of WWII subs, and they remained so until Soviet and American nuclear ballistic missile submarines became operational in the mid 1960s, fully 20 years after WWII. They were, in fact, the world’s first purpose-built underwater aircraft carrier.
The Sen-Toku I-400 Class were 6,500-tons displaced and over 400-feet long. They stood 40-feet tall (beam), when surfaced. It had a crew of almost 200 officers, passengers and men.
(For comparison, a US Gato-Class sub 2,424 tons displaced and just over 300 feet long. They stood 27-feet tall (beam), when surfaced. It had crew of 60. It could travel less than 12,000 nautical miles at 10 knots surfaced.)
The Sen-Toku could achieve 18-knots underwater and a surface speed of 21-knots. She could Dive to a depth of 330-feet. The primary mission of The "Mega" Subs, were to attack the West Coast of the United States. A battle plan was initiated to attack and destroy The Panama Canal but failed.
(Above: Considered a Submersible Aircraft Carrier, The Sen-Toku could carry 3 Fighters (three huge Aichi “Mountain Haze” or “Storm Out of a Clear Sky” (i.e. “Sneak Attack”,) M6A1 Seiran aircraft, that were completely unknown to Allied intelligence,) in a waterproof compartment. See-through model, above.)
(Above/below: Internal aircraft Hangar of submarine I-400, Japan, 1945.)
The Sen-Toku was armed with 8 Torpedoes. For surface warfare, she was armed with (4) 20mm Auto Cannons and (1) 14mm Main Gun. She was powered by 4 diesel engines capable of 2,570HP and 2 electric engines that generated an additional 2,100HP.
(Above: It was huge. “You’re gonna need a bigger boat.”-Chief Martin Brody.)
(Above: The most distinct feature of the class was the cross-sectional shape of the hull, which resembled the number 8. Basically, the sub used two separate hulls fused into one, giving it the necessary structural strengths to handle an internal hangar. And since it was needed to stow the aircraft in the center water line, the conning tower was offset to the port side.)
(Above: Ex-Japanese submarine aircraft-carrier I-400 in US possession. Thank goodness their effectiveness was diminished by fuel, crew, maintenance issues resulting from logistical problems for Japan, esp. in that last year.)
Each of the three huge Seiran aircraft could carry a 1,764 lb. bomb/torpedo load a range of 650 miles at 295 miles per hour. A four-man crew could ready an aircraft for launch in less than 17 minutes inside the sub’s huge cavernous hull.
The aircraft used the Atsuta 30 series 12-cylinder inverted Vee engine (Japan’s version of a German Daimler-Benz DB 601A) which delivered 1,400 hp, and its liquid-cooled design meant it didn’t need as much warm-up time as an air-cooled engine, so the plane could launch faster, and with the danger subs faced being too long on the surface, this was an advantage.
Launching the aircraft was via an 85 ft. long, compressed air catapult on the forward deck. The biggest risk for each sub was to get all three aircraft launched in less than 30 minutes to avoid defensive counter attacks likely to “visit”, considering the closeness of the targets. The Seiran was a fully capable attack plane and not just a spotter aircraft. It could drop bombs and torpedoes and carried machine guns.
Below: captured I-400. A shame she was scuttled.
The Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum calls the I-400
–class subs and their Seirans “an ingenious blend of aviation and marine technology.” But they also said, “interesting design features built in…that ranged in engineering quality from the ingenious to the seemingly absurd.”
Sheet Pan Sausage and Peppers is the “I don’t want to cook dinner” route to feeding your family a nutritious meal with minimal prep work and cleanup time.
EASY Sheet Pan Sausage and Peppers
This is the meal for those days when I just cannot. I CANNOT. I don’t really want to cook dinner, but absolutely nothing sounds good for takeout, either. Does that ever happen to you?
This is the easiest meal to get into the oven and feed your family a nutritious weeknight dinner with a minimal amount of cleanup work at the end. That’s it. That’s all it’s designed to do, and it does its job well!
I’ve been making it for years, and it’s even become a family favorite, because the oven allows all of the flavors to meld together in such a way that they become so deeply flavorful that you wouldn’t ever know this is something of an emergency dinner.
Why You’ll Love Sausage and Peppers in the Oven
One dish, but you can serve it so many ways – in sandwiches, over pasta, or with some sides. You decide!
Hands-free cooking. Once you pop the pan into the oven, you’ll only need to stir it once, the entire time it cooks. You’re free to relax or prepare other parts of the meal.
Minimal ingredients but maximum flavor!
What You Need For Sheet Pan Sausage and Peppers
bell peppers – you’ll need 3 bell peppers, and they can be any color combination. I like a combo of green, red and yellow.
onion – 1 large sweet yellow onion works well for this sausage and peppers recipe, but you can also use white or red onion if you prefer.
olive oil – to prevent the veggies from sticking to the pan.
garlic powder, onion powder, dried oregano, dried basil, red pepper flakes, salt and pepper – the herbs and spices needed for seasoning the sausage and peppers in oven.
sausage – you’ll want to use about 5 links of Italian sausage. I keep it family-friendly with the mild version, but you can also use hot sausage, or a combination of the two! I recommend pork sausage here because it stays more moist than chicken sausage or turkey sausage.
How to Make Sausage and Peppers in the Oven
1. SPICES. In a small bowl, combine the garlic powder, onion powder, oregano, basil, salt, pepper and red pepper flakes.
2. TOSS. Place the peppers and onions in a large bowl and toss with olive oil. Add the spice mixture to the bowl and toss until the vegetables are evenly coated in spices.
3. ARRANGE. Spread the vegetables in an even layer on a rimmed baking sheet. Arrange the sausage over the vegetables.
4. BAKE. Transfer the pan to the oven and bake 25 to 30 minutes or until sausage is cooked through and vegetables are tender and slightly caramelized, stirring once halfway through. If, when you are stirring at this point, there is a lot of extra liquid on the pan, carefully try to drain most of the excess liquid off. This will help the vegetables caramelize better.
Home Chef Tips
The quality of the sausage makes a big difference in flavor. Choose the freshest, best sausage you can find for this sausage and peppers recipe!
Be sure to slice the peppers and onions evenly so that they roast at the same rate.
I highly recommend a drizzle of balsamic glaze when serving!
Sausage, Peppers and Onions Recipe Variations
MEDITERRANEAN TWIST – Add a handful of Kalamata olives and cherry tomatoes to the sausage and peppers in the oven, and finish with crumbled feta cheese for a Mediterranean-inspired version.
EXTRA VEGGIES – Add other quick-cooking vegetables like zucchini, cherry tomatoes and mushrooms for added variety and nutrition.
SWEET AND SPICY – Drizzle with a bit of hot honey (or just a combo of honey and hot sauce) at the end for a flavorful twist.
What to Serve with Sheet Pan Italian Sausage and Peppers
Pair this dish with breads and sides to make it a full meal. Some ideas are:
If you have leftover sheet pan sausage and peppers, transfer them to a storage container and place them in the fridge uncovered for a few hours until they are fully chilled, then cover them with the lid and keep in the refrigerator up to 3 days.
Sausage, Peppers and Onions Recipe
Author: Lori Yates
Yield: 4servings
Prep: 15 minutesminutes
Cook: 25 minutesminutes
Total: 40 minutesminutes
Sheet Pan Sausage and Peppers is the "I don't want to cook dinner" route to feeding your family a nutritious meal with minimal prep work and cleanup time.
Ingredients
1teaspoongarlic powder
1teaspoononion powder
½teaspoondried basil
½teaspoondried oregano
½teaspoonred pepper flakes
½teaspoonkosher salt
½teaspoonground black pepper
1green bell pepperthinly sliced
1red bell pepperthinly sliced
1yellow bell pepperthinly sliced
1largesweet onionthinly sliced
2tablespoonsolive oil
5Italian sausage linkscut into 1-inch pieces
Finely chopped fresh parsleyfor garnish
Instructions
Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. In small bowl, stir garlic powder, onion powder, basil, oregano, red pepper flakes, salt and black pepper until well combined.
Place bell peppers and onion in large bowl. Drizzle with oil and toss until well combined. Sprinkle with spice mixture and toss again until all vegetables are coated in spices.
Spread vegetables in an even layer on large rimmed baking pan. Arrange sausage evenly over vegetables.
Transfer to oven and bake 25 to 30 minutes or until sausage is cooked through and vegetables are tender and slightly caramelized, stirring once halfway through. If, when you are stirring, there is a lot of extra liquid on the pan, carefully try to drain most of the excess liquid off before continuing cooking. This will help the vegetables caramelize better.
Earth is now a whisper--sad, desolate. For many miles, crags drone on in a ceaseless field of black. The rocks left behind are sharp and cracking, their shale falling down into pits of tar and sludge. At the peak of the highest crag is a glowing portal--our slip. It is a gate to another time; another place. We funnel through the slip like lemmings to the cliff, our eyes glazed and desperate. We being the last of us, that is. We come, warped and damaged by radiation, drought, famine, to escape. The seas and forests are gone, our beloved animals with them. The things which remain are warped and ugly: things which should never be trusted, and never be eaten. So, we march to the slip--to places bountiful and beautiful. Pilgrims, that is what we are, come to pray to our swirling god. Beyond and about the world burns, boils, breaks as it has for as long as we can remember. Overhead, toxicrows bark. Their call is a loathsome, lonesome thing--the song of our last birds. Earth, our mother, screams, spewing up green sludge with each cough. Only in the slips is there beauty anymore: a giant, rounded portal to a separate time, surrounded by copper machinery. Its many tubes, electrodes, and vents scream at us, begging for mercy. Big waste tubes run from it down into the crust of out world, pulsing like a sick vein.One of us steps forward--an irradiated man with burnt skin. He, smiling, steps through the slip and disappears. Not but a second later, a form falls from the sky in the distance and splats into a wide pit. Person by person the line decreases, its backmost reaches leading on for uncountable miles. As the unchanging light of our dying world filters on, I move.Soon, it is my moment. The slip towers above me--a welcoming swirl. With a nod, the slip-keeper--his fleshless face hidden behind a plague mask of junk--bids me enter. Stepping forward, I am swept up in the cold hug of the slip. Though I have never seen the sea, I know now how it feels to be adrift in it. It's the soothing, amniotic rush through the fabric of many realities. Separate times flicker by like framed photographs behind dusty glass. There: a man learning to ride a bike. There: a lone fish in a wide, endless depth. They come in droves, these moments. The slip was perfected decades ago, and it leads me seamlessly to where I want to be.Colors rocket by, leading me to a time, a place, where all is clean and good. A time where my child is still alive; a place when flowers still grow. Here, things are foreign, yet familiar. At first, my head hurts--a symptom of slip-travel, or so I was told. But a headache is worth the time I have ahead. There are pools here...lakes...oceans. Forests too, and cities not held together by junk wire. I grow. I laugh. I love. I know it is not permanent, but the knowledge fades in time. What pain is there here but the prickle of pine needles underfoot? What sadness but the bitter-sweet, happy kind? I don't go hungry here, nor fall to bits in the light of the sun. In my original time, rain was a stinging, stinking barrage. Here, it is beautiful. The mountains are clean; the skies are clear. I find I often wonder how I could have ever survived in such a place as the one I left. Yet, there is a ghost--lurking and terrible--in the shape of things. It is the shadow of what is. What will be. What I left. There's something like guilt inside of me; I've sacrificed a life in my own time for a new one here. Is that so wrong? I did leave my friends...did leave my love. Surely, if they could see how beautiful this place is, they would not judge.A day comes when the slip-trip is done. The portal--once a friend, now angry and red--rips me from the separate place. I am shorn, tossed, discarded. Tired, I am deposited in the sludge pits of my ruined home. The slip had mangled me irreparably. My limbs are twitching goiters. My organs bloat and squeeze incorrectly; my flesh is a colorless bag of veins. My mouth slants up between my eyes, coils over my head, and back over my spine. My eyes--lidless now--are turned forever upwards to watch the blazing sky. Not even the toxicrows dare taste my flesh.In my world. but a second has gone by.I hear a friend scream at me from the line. "Look!" she says, "what fun you must have had."She's right.Watching the lines pour over the crags--the silhouettes marching into the slip--I grow to resent them. I had my time, but I want more. One by one the people return, cast down to wallow beside me, their DNA mutilated by the slip's rays. We will never die now: the cost of a brief taste of utter serenity. Though we cannot shut our eyes, we sleep and dream all the same. Our lips gibber, teeth gnash, and we remember those separate times. Body by body, we grow in number until our pit is full. When there is no more room, the sun melts our bodies into one. Cobbled flesh, melded bones, our thoughts trail off and merge, our brain cells fusing together. My memories of flowers and my child become memories of slow, dark rain against a ship. Become the gentle breeze through palms on a quiet beach. Become the rhythmic thrum of heavy bass in a noisy club. Become hellos and goodbyes and tears and kisses and dancing and sex, each neural-fusing brining a new brilliant burst of light. Before long, the memories compile too many times over, and we become a mindless legion, our terrible form growing lost beneath falling shale and sludge. trapped in the dark, we can feel the weight of new slip-returnees plopped down. They enter, they live, they land here to bake under the sun.
NASA & SpaceX Are Stunned By What China Is Building Right Now
https://youtu.be/sV81hCxY6FA
Why would the Navy choose to frock someone instead of giving them an official promotion, and what are the benefits for the Navy in doing so?
OK, an actual Squid here and not one of Uncle Sam’s Misguided Children, and I was frocked. All Sailors advancing to the next rating get “promoted” on the same day, but not everybody gets the additional pay.
Enlisted promotions in the Navy go through quite a few steps.
Get recommended for advancement by your command.
Take the advancement test for intended rate and rating. In my case, I took the MR3 advancement test.
Test scores and many other factors are compiled together. This assigns a score for each hopeful.
The needs of the Navy are considered. Let’s say the Navy needs 100 MR3’s and 150 took the test and passed. The top 100 combined scores from step 3 will be advanced, the other 50 have to try during the next cycle in about 6 months.
The selectees are divided into 3 groups. The top group will be fully promoted on the given date. The other two groups get frocked.
Group 2 will start receiving the higher pay in one month.
Group 3 (that was me) has to wait 2 months for the pay to kick in.
For those 2 months, I was a Petty Officer in all aspects except pay and time in rate which becomes important in compiling the Step 3 score for the next promotion. There is one other time that only being frocked is important. During those 2 months, had I gotten in trouble and had to stand at Captain’s Mast. Mast often comes with a reduction in rate. As I was only frocked, had I done this, I would have gone down to E-2 pay instead of the E-4 pay I was getting ready to spend.
As I said, I was a Petty Officer in everything except pay. My Crow was tacked on when I was frocked. It became real for me when over the 1MC I was paged to the quarterdeck. “Petty Officer Tannehill, Quarterdeck.”
I earned it, It ain’t never coming off!
China warns Trump over Greenland: Keep China out of your mouth!
https://youtu.be/KIZJLeiFifE
When my grandfather died, I was permitted to scrounge in his electronic lab before my grandmother cleaned it out.
466d077ac70ade990e5b333bb80384d4
It was located in the basement, above the sub-basement, and it was a cluttered place. One, of course filled with all kinds of things that a 12 year old boy would find fascinating.
b05c925b319818b9f45555840a366394
He had these various bulbs, that would not be a radio tube, but wouldn't be a light bulb either.
c62598ab487a7f987575c41eda3b86e9
ee5b3de999ddc7e2116a615ee52ded92
b7e02659770176495b06074eca080a35
c2e7810aa63a2ac078619a0b0d1afd55
They were special radiation emitting bulbs dating from around the 1930's or so. My grandmother didn't want me to get hurt by them, and warned me against them. So they were all discarded.
800d1a44c1d86b948d07205a73575bd1
05a113c9bb364d320668d0c3a70df260
198b39bb2a9763e6f021adf849128c8e
Enjoy this little foray into my forgotten past, a past that is often neglected or forgotten in history.
Today...
The Case of the Talking Tree Stump (8A548)
Ah, dear reader. Prepare yourself for a tale not of interstellar intrigue, but of terrestrial mystery—a story rooted in the deep, quiet soil of the farm, where wisdom is often found not in the soaring branch, but in the grounded stump. This is a story of voices from the earth, of forgotten things that remember, and of the gentle danger that arises when we listen too hard to a single, strange note in the symphony of the soil.
I. The Oracle of Rot and Rings
It began, as the most peculiar farm disturbances do, with a rumour passed by beak and whisker.
A delegation of field mice, led by one particularly intense rodent named Mortimer, appeared at the porch one misty morning. Mortimer stood on his hind legs, cleared his throat with a tiny ahem, and addressed me.
“O Great Whiskered One,” he squeaked, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and awe. “The Quiet Wood speaks. And it… it says my cousin Herbert is a poor investment.”
I paused in my mid-morning paw-lick. “The wood… critiques financial planning?”
“Not the wood!” piped up another mouse. “The Stump! The Old Knothole Stump by the lightning-struck oak! It has a voice! It told me my winter cache location was ‘pathetically obvious to any owl with half a mind.’ It was… shockingly accurate.”
Ditto, who had been attempting to balance a blueberry on his nose, let it drop. “A talking stump! Does it tell jokes?”
“Its wisdom,” intoned Mortimer, ignoring him, “is profound. It speaks of cycles, of patience, of things lost and waiting. It told Doris her next egg would be double-yolked.”
From the coop, a triumphant squawk echoed. “IT IS! I CAN FEEL THE TWIN SUNS OF POTENTIAL WITHIN!”
This was no mere oddity. This was an event.
By afternoon, a pilgrimage path was worn in the moss. Animals queued before the Old Knothole Stump—a gnarled, chest-high relic of a sugar maple, its center hollowed by age into a dark, moist mouth.
And from that mouth, a voice emanated. It was not loud. It was a dry, fibrous whisper, like wind through long-dead leaves, yet perfectly clear.
To Porkchop, who presented a turnip: “Your satisfaction is the root, not the fruit.”
To Ferdinand, who sang an aria: “The pond reflects the sky, but the mud holds the truth.”
To a nervous young rabbit: “The fox’s path is winding, but the burrow’s entrance is hidden under the clover at the stone’s northeast point.” The rabbit fainted with relief.
The stump spoke in riddles, in gentle admonishments, in oddly specific advice. It became the farm’s hottest attraction.
Bartholomew the Piñata, swaying jealously from his beam, muttered, “An amateur. My wisdom is candy-coated. His is just… damp.”
II. The Cult of the Hollow Truth
Within days, a formal organization sprung up around the stump, founded by Mortimer and a deeply impressionable chicken named Prudence. They called themselves The Listeners of the Last Ring.
They had rules:
Approach only with a question “born of sincere confusion.”
Leave an offering of something personal (a whisker, a shiny pebble, a spare bit of grain).
Interpret the Stump’s words literally, always. (This led to some issues, such as when Rufus, after being told “Your joy is a bone buried in the sun,” spent six hours digging a crater in the vegetable patch).
The farm’s delicate equilibrium, usually a chaotic ballet, threatened to become a rigid, whispering dictatorship. Doris was furious her scheduling authority was being undermined by “arboreal anarchism.” The Catnip Syndicate was annoyed the stump had called their latest heist “a derivative performance lacking thematic resonance.”
Worst of all, the stump began issuing prophecies.
“The great blue falling will herald the time of the sticky sky,” it whispered one Tuesday.
Panic ensued. Harriet the Hen refused to leave her coop, convinced a giant bluebird was going to crash into the farm. Ferdinand began composing a dirge for the “impending azure apocalypse.”
I observed from a respectful distance. The voice was real. But the source… the timbre was wrong for wood. It lacked the deep, groaning resonance of a talking tree. It had a faint, almost… fibrous echo. A familiar one.
III. The Investigation: A Hole in the Story
My investigation began with botany and ended in podiatry.
First, I consulted the farm’s resident earth-philosopher, Steve the Scarecrow. “Steve. Talking stumps. Your thoughts?”
He creaked in the breeze, his burlap face thoughtful. “ALL STUMPS TALK,” he whispered via the wind in his straw. “BUT MOST JUST SAY ‘OUCH.’ THIS ONE… HAS A SOLE-FUL VOICE.”
A pun. From a scarecrow. The universe was mocking me.
The clue, however, was in the offering bowl at the stump’s base. Among the pebbles and seeds, I saw it: a single, weathered, blue-and-white striped shoelace aglet—the plastic tip. It was chewed, ancient, but unmistakable.
The Holy Shoe Phenomenon.
The Farmer’s missing boot. It was never just lost. It was journeying. And now, its trail led here.
That night, under a moon like a silver coin, I returned to the stump with Ditto and a determined earthworm named Virgil (who owed me a favour for not being used as fishing bait). “Virgil,” I said. “The root network. Is there… a cavity? Something unnatural down there?”
Virgil burrowed. Minutes later, his head popped up near the stump’s roots. “Boss. You gotta see this. It’s not a knot. It’s a… porthole.”
We dug carefully. Not at the stump, but beside it, where the roots twisted into the earth. And there, nestled in a cradle of thick roots, pressed right up against the hollow core of the stump, was the missing work boot.
But it was not empty.
Inside the boot, having chewed a perfect, speaker-like hole through the leather toe-cap and into the stump’s hollow core, was a family of Parchment-Mice—tiny, pale, book-loving rodents who make their nests from chewed paper and whispered words.
Their leader, a spectacled mouse named Tomes, looked up, blinking in our lantern light. Around him, the boot was lined with shredded pages: old farm almanacs, poetry collections, and—critically—several water-damaged philosophy textbooks the Farmer had once used as doorstops.
“Oh!” squeaked Tomes. “The evening audience is early. Please, state your existential quandary. We’re doing Stoicism tonight. The boot’s acoustics are magnificent for Marcus Aurelius.”
IV. The Moral, Unlaced
The mystery was solved. The “oracle” was a family of scholarly mice, using the boot’s natural amplification and the stump’s resonance chamber to broadcast their nightly book-club discussions and philosophical musings. They’d overheard farm gossip for months and wove it into their “readings.” The prophecies were just accidentally poetic phrases from rain-swollen pages.
I called a farm meeting at the stump.
“Citizens,” I announced, my paw resting on the now-silent boot. “Your oracle. Its wisdom did not spring from the ancient wood, but from… The Afterlife of Objects.”
I explained. The boot, lost, had found a new purpose: a library, a home, a resonator for tiny voices. The stump, a dead thing, had given it shelter and a voice. The mice had sought only quiet study.
“You have not been hearing the wisdom of the earth,” I said, looking at the crestfallen Listeners. “You have been hearing the earth hosting wisdom. The magic was not in a prophecy, but in a symbiosis. A lost boot shelters mice, who seek knowledge, whose words are carried by a stump, heard by you. The chain of belonging is the only true prophecy.”
Mortimer looked devastated. “So… it’s not psychic?”
“It is bibliographic,” I said gently. “A different, but equally valid, magic.”
V. Epilogue: New Purpose, Quietly Served
The Cult of the Stump dissolved, replaced by the Stump & Boot Mutual Aid Society. The mice now give weekly “Lectures from the Leather” on topics of their choosing. Attendance is optional, but the farm has developed a surprising taste for pre-Socratic philosophy.
The boot was not returned to the Farmer. Its purpose had evolved. The Farmer, meanwhile, found his other boot had mysteriously migrated to the roof of the henhouse, where it serves as a planter for Doris’s prize-winning pansies. He shrugged, and bought new boots.
The stump still whispers. But now, everyone knows the voice belongs to Tomes, who is currently working his way through a heavily annotated copy of Walden. Last Tuesday’s announcement, “I wish to live deliberately,” was met with polite applause from the hens and a confused but supportive “Woof!” from Rufus.
And I? I have a new respect for the journey of things. A boot is never just a boot. It is a potential library, a planter, a shrine. A stump is never just dead wood. It is a stage, a home, an amplifier for small, studious voices.
The farm, you see, is a place where nothing is ever truly useless, and even a silent oracle has more to say once you understand its accent.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, Ditto is trying to ask the boot how to achieve “transcendental oneness with a laser pointer.” I must intervene before the lecture series takes a turn for the overly ambitious.
Jingle on.
Moral of the Story: True wisdom often comes from understanding the system, not just the speaker. A chain of kindness and repurposed objects—a boot, a stump, a book, a mouse—can create miracles mistaken for magic. And sometimes, the most profound voice in the forest is just a very small scholar with very good acoustics.
Is it possible many dinosaurs had a lot of soft tissue (like trunks) that we don't know about because they aren't indicated on the fossils?
Absolutely. Carnotaurus is a great example of this. Considering their massive skull, small teeth, and the species it predated on, we only assume his neck was beefy. Also, there are no fossil records for its legs under its knees, so any representation needs to be based on other sauropsids and shaped by biomechanical logics, for example, a giant claw is unlikely, provided that it had an enormously bulky tail to keep balance to its body, making it really hard for it to rely on pouncing.
Another wonderful example is Spinosaurus. Look, this:
for many years was speculated to be this:
But it turns out that later evidence has provided more reasons to believe it was more like this:
That’s right: a hump, not a sail. Because… why not? However, it is still largely debated.
Making reconstructions of soft tissue takes a lot of speculation, it is really a hard job and sometimes even a fool’s game because of the lack of modern analogue species to draw comparisons with.
So, back to the short answer: Not only is it absolutely possible, but it is often the case.
What are some situations where you've refused to do something your boss asked, and how did you handle it afterward?
The company had a rule that all checks over $999.99 had to have a co-signer, as the office manager I was sometimes asked to sign checks, a simple control many companies use. One day my boss, who was GM and a VP asked me to sign a $5000 check. The check was a donation to a political campaign, I asked him if he was aware that by state law, businesses could not make political contributions over $500, he said he wasn’t, just sign the check and he would take care of any fallout. I tried to explain that he might want to write a personal check for the contribution and spread it out over a few months on his expense account. He was not interested in the opinion of a 28 y/o.
When I refused to sign, he got pissed, very pissed, someone had to drive the check to another company office and a VP there signed the check. From that point on my relationship with my boss was very strained. He gave me a poor performance review because I wasn’t a team player, I got no raise, so I started putting out feelers for a new job.
A few weeks later the HQ sent in a team of auditors, this was normal, it happened every one to two years. On the first day of the audit, the chief auditor came in my office and asked me about that $5000 check, I told him the truth and pointed out that my signature was not on it. There were repercussions for my boss and the other VP who signed the check, my boss had to reimburse the company the $5000. They all presumed that I had ratted them out to the auditors, I was ostracized and after a few weeks I was fired for “not being able to work with others”.
A friend of mine had just passed his bar exam a year before, he called the firm that represented the company locally and explained that I would be filing a suit for wrongful discharge and holding a press conference, he was sure the politician who took the contribution name would be made public. However, I would be interested in discussing a reasonable termination settlement of $$$$.
After a few weeks of negotiation, I signed a non-disclosure agreement, got a sizable check and my new lawyer friend got a nice fee. BTW my ex-boss apparently pissed off his boss enough, he even tried to get a job at the company that hired me, I was asked my opinion about him, he didn’t get a recommendation.
This Cheeseburger Pizza recipe has it all! Ground beef, onion, cheese, pickles, lettuce, tomato, ketchup and mustard, on a sesame seed crust.
Burger Pizza is a Mashup of Two Beloved Foods
When it comes to combining classic comfort foods, few things are as satisfying as this Cheeseburger Pizza. It takes the best parts of a juicy restaurant-style burger – ground beef, melted cheese and tangy pickles – and puts them on a crispy pizza crust for a weeknight meal or game-watching snack everybody will love.
What sets this recipe apart from others is attention to detail every step of the way. From par-cooking the dough to ensure a crispy crust, to selecting the right cheese for an optimal cheese pull, to sesame seeds to mimic a burger bun, this recipe is designed for home cooks of all skill levels who want reliable, delicious results every time.
Why You’ll Love This Cheeseburger Pizza Recipe
It tastes like a fancy restaurant-style pizza, but it’s so easy to make at home.
This family-friendly dinner appeals to all ages.
Easy to customize with your favorite burger toppings – bacon, avocado, even a fried egg or two!
ground beef – I recommend 80/20 ground chuck for best flavor.
onion – white or yellow onion is best for this recipe.
sharp cheddar cheese – the sharp tang is perfect for this burger pizza.
lettuce – classic crunchy iceberg lettuce is the way to go for this hamburger pizza recipe.
tomato – a chopped Roma tomato works well for this burger pizza, but halved cherry or grape tomatoes are great, too.
pickles – bread and butter pickle slices are the best choice here.
mayonnaise – it sounds weird, but mayo is going down on the crust first and acting as our pizza sauce.
ketchup – for drizzling over the top.
mustard – another drizzle for the top. This really makes it look like a cheeseburger!
sesame seeds – to add that sesame seed bun feel to the edges of the pizza crust to really make this feel like a Big Mac pizza recipe.
How to Make Cheeseburger Pizza
1. BEEF. Cook the beef and onion in a large skillet until it is browned and cooked through, then season it with salt and pepper.
2. PARBAKE CRUST. Stretch the dough into a large circle and place on a pizza pan. Bake 10 minutes.
3. TOPPINGS. Spread the mayonnaise over the crust, then add the ground beef mixture and the cheese. Sprinkle the sesame seeds over the outer edge of the crust.
4. MELT. Return to the pizza to the oven and bake until the cheese is melted and bubbly.
5. FINISH. Top the pizza with the lettuce, tomato and pickles, then drizzle with ketchup and mustard.
How Long to Cook Cheeseburger Pizza
Depending on your dough, and whether you use a regular pan or a pizza stone, baking time for pizza can vary. Typically, at 400 degrees F, a pizza can take anywhere from 18 to 24 minutes to fully cook. However, if you use a pizza stone, it could be a bit faster than this.
Hamburger Pizza Recipe Home Chef Tips
If using store-bought or otherwise refrigerated dough, let it come to room temperature for 20 to 30 minutes before stretching to make it easier to work with.
I like to buy a block of cheese and shred it myself vs. buying pre-shredded cheese for this burger pizza. I think cheese that you shred yourself melts better!
Homemade Cheeseburger Pizza Recipe Variations
BACON – Make it a bacon cheeseburger pizza by adding crumbled oven bacon to the pizza at the same time you add the ground beef and cheese.
EGGS – get really adventurous and add a few fried eggs to the top of this homemade cheeseburger pizza!
How to Store Burger Pizza
If you have leftovers, transfer them to a storage container and place them in the fridge uncovered for a few hours until they are fully chilled, then cover them with the lid and keep in the refrigerator up to 3 days.
You can reheat leftover cheeseburger pizza in the microwave, or in a 350 degree F oven until it is warmed through.
Cheeseburger Pizza
Author: Lori Yates
Yield: 4servings
Prep: 20 minutesminutes
Cook: 26 minutesminutes
Total: 46 minutesminutes
This Cheeseburger Pizza recipe has it all! Ground beef, onion, cheese, pickles, lettuce, tomato, ketchup and mustard, on a sesame seed crust.
Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. In large skillet, cook beef and onion over medium-high heat 8 to 10 minutes or until meat is browned and cooked through, stirring occasionally and breaking up meat with back of spoon. Stir in salt and pepper.
Meanwhile, spray large pizza pan with cooking spray. Toss and stretch pizza dough into 14-inch circle and place on prepared pan. Transfer to oven and bake 10 minutes.
Remove crust from oven and spread evenly with mayonnaise, all the way to the edges of the crust. Spoon beef mixture over crust, leaving outer 1/2-inch of crust bare. Sprinkle cheese over meat. Sprinkle sesame seeds onto outer edge of crust.
Return pizza to oven and bake for an additional 8 to 10 minutes or until cheese is melted and bubbly.
Remove pizza from the oven; top with lettuce, tomato and pickles. Drizzle with ketchup and mustard. Cut and serve immediately.
America's Kill Line: China EXPOSES the American Dream Scam (Life In China is BETTER)
Other than the threat of an invasion from mainland China, what obstacles would Taiwan have to face if they decided to become an official independent nation?
There’s one obstacle no one has mentioned yet.
It’s this.
This island is preventing Taiwan from declaring independence.
Kinmen and Matsu are two archipelagoes situated only a few miles off the coast of mainland China. Since 1949, both Kinmen and Matsu have been under the control of the Republic of China (ROC).
You must be thinking: wait, this makes no sense. If “Taiwan” controls Kinmen and Matsu, can’t they just declare independence from China along with Kinmen and Matsu?
Except there’s a problem.
Kinmen and Matsu are not a part of Taiwan.
According to the Republic of China, Kinmen and Matsu belong to Fujian Province, which is mostly based in mainland China. Geographically, Kinmen is considered to be a part of greater Quanzhou, a city in mainland China controlled by the PRC. Matsu is considered to be a part of greater Fuzhou, the capital of Fujian that is mostly controlled by the PRC.
The natives of Kinmen and Matsu do not identify as Taiwanese, but as Fujianese. The people of Matsu, being close to Fuzhou, don’t even speak so-called “Taiwanese” (Minnanese), they speak Fuzhounese — my parents’ dialect!
During the 1950s, as the KMT on Taiwan was trying to fend off Communist attacks on Kinmen and Matsu, the US was constantly trying to get Chiang Kai-shek to abandon Kinmen and Matsu so that they could draw a clear “international boundary” across the Taiwan Strait.
The idea was that since Taiwan’s status was “undetermined,” just defending Taiwan from the Communist Chinese would not only be militarily possible but legally justifiable. On the other hand, helping Chiang defend a bunch of islands that had nothing to do with Taiwan would constitute a blatant interference in China’s civil war, which doesn’t look good for the US however it is spun.
But Chiang refused to abandon Kinmen and Matsu, knowing that his hold on those islands — those mainland Chinese islands — were the ROC’s only hope of representing something more than just Taiwan.
In fact, it is said that the Communists deliberately shelled Kinmen in 1958 so that Chiang could find a reason to defend Kinmen. That way, he wouldn’t abandon the island to the Communists and let the Americans work their legal wonders on Taiwan’s political status (毛泽东是如何联蒋抵美反“台独”的?_读书频道_凤凰网).
To this day, the US has a policy of defending Taiwan and Penghu from PRC attack, but not Kinmen and Matsu. In fact, if you closely read the Taiwan Relations Act, the US defines “Taiwan” as being the main island of Taiwan and the Pescadores (Penghu).
Kinmen and Matsu, while being under “Taiwanese” control, are not included in that definition. This is important, as it is subtle evidence that what we call “Taiwan” is more than just the island of Taiwan — it’s a Chinese entity controlling two provinces, one of which has nothing to do with Taiwan.
So in a hypothetical situation where the DPP feels motivated enough to do away with the “Republic of China” and establish “Not China,” they would have to face the question of what to do with Kinmen and Matsu, which clearly do not belong to Taiwan.
Do they abandon the islands? If so, that looks really bad because many Kinmenese have lost their lives in the past preventing the PRC from reaching Taiwan in the first place. Also, abandoning the islands puts Taiwan’s security in further jeopardy.
Do they keep the islands, but rewrite the law to disassociate Kinmen and Matsu from Fujian? If so, that means they’re not just breaking away from “China,” but annexing “Chinese territory” in the process. The PRC could then take action against Kinmen and Matsu, putting Taiwan’s security in jeopardy.
It’s this dilemma that makes the idea of Taiwan independence a total headache. Which is why the DPP absolutely hates Kinmen and Matsu. In fact, the DPP hates Kinmen and Matsu so much that, for all their blabbering about “defending muh country” they do not depict Kinmen and Matsu as a part of their “country.”
“If only this is what we all control…f*cking Kinmenese and their wine!”
Kinmenese voters have reciprocated the favor by never electing the DPP to represent their best interests. When mainland China opened up a water pipeline to Kinmen a few months ago, Taipei told Kinmen to downplay the event in response to perceived hostility from mainland China. The Kinmen government responded by telling the DPP to f*ck off, and their deputy governor even said he could consider “one country, two systems:” 金门副县长:不反对一国两制 民族站起来最关键
While central and southern Taiwan are “green all over,” Kinmen had a grand total of one DPP legislator. Just one. And notice I said “had” — after witnessing the DPP government in Taiwan treating Kinmen like sh*t, the guy left the DPP! 「民進黨諸多政策違背民意」 金門縣議員陳滄江哽咽宣布退黨退選-風傳媒
The DPP, despite controlling the presidency and a majority of the Legislative Yuan for the first time in Taiwanese history, still cannot declare independence from China. Not just because of a piece of paper (the ROC constitution). Not just because of PLA missiles. Not just because of the mainland’s humongous economic clout. Not just because of “communist spies” in Taiwan who do treasonous stuff like telling Tsai Ing-wen her policies suck….
But because of a few puny islands whose inhabitants make up less than one percent of “Taiwan’s” total population.
Incredible Announcement From Beneath The Great Pyramids?!
Johan drew a long, satisfying breath and savoured the moment he'd laboured for seven interminable years. The path to this juncture had been paved with dedication, experimentation, and an unwavering determination. Now, he stood before a resplendent silver contraption that bore an uncanny resemblance to the cockpit of a helicopter. Johan knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this apparatus would inaugurate a new era and transform the course of human history forevermore.But his journey hadn't been without its trials and tribulations. The greatest obstacle he'd faced was the need for secrecy. He couldn't rely on other scientists to aid him in his quest, for doing so would result in the government seizing his invention, patenting his ideas, and taking credit for his achievements.Fortunately, he had a dear friend, Edison, who'd provided him with the financial resources necessary to bring his vision to fruition. Edison, Johan's best friend since high school, had come up with the idea for a time travel machine and entrusted Johan with making it a reality. It was a personal matter for Edison, a chance to rectify mistakes that had haunted him for two decades. Johan felt a deep sympathy for his friend, which spurred him on to test his scientific prowess and commit to the project.And now, after seven years of hard work, sleepless nights, and endless sacrifice, Johan had finally succeeded. All that was left was to put his creation to the test.He climbed into the machine, settled into the seat, and flicked the switch overhead. The engine whirred to life, and the screen in front of him lit up. Johan typed in the date: 25122002.He took a deep breath, buckled up, and hit ENTER. As the machine hummed to life, he closed his eyes, knowing that he was about to embark on a journey that would upend everything he thought he knew about the world.***Edison was immersed in his work, studying the newest ad that his creative team had concocted for Bıh̄n̂ā s̄wy, a big cosmetic brand from far-off Thailand. As CEO of Thompson Media, he usually left these tasks to his Chief Creative Officer, Siti Aminah. But with his arch-rival Harry Chin from A&C Advertising Agency lurking about, Edison couldn't afford to slip up with such a high-profile client.As he peered over the final edit of the ad and the PowerPoint slides Siti Aminah had prepared, Edison's phone started to jingle. His best bud, Johan, was on the line, and from the sound of it, he was itching to share some big news."What's the rumpus, buddy?" Edison answered, a grin spreading across his mug."Check your WhatsApp, man!" Johan replied, his voice electrified.Edison darted over to his computer and popped open the message from Johan. "What?! LOTR merch? Who the hell still sells that crap? I thought it went extinct.""Well, guess what, Eddy-boy?" Johan said, his voice reaching a fever pitch.Edison's jaw hit the floor. "Wait! Don't tell me you just time-travelled--""Yep! You got it, man. I just got back from Christmas 2002 to scoop up the merch I always wanted but couldn't afford back then," Johan said, sounding like a kid on Christmas morning."Holy shit, that's amazing news! When can I come see you?" Edison asked, his heart thumping in his chest.
"Anytime, dude," Johan replied.
"Alright, here's the plan. I'm heading home now to tell Ivy the good news, and we'll come over to see you tomorrow," Edison said, his mind racing with excitement.
"Sounds good, man. I'll fill you in on everything when you get here."
"Thanks, Jo. See you soon," Edison said before hanging up.
Driven by the desire to fix things in the past, Edison finished up his work, scribbled some notes for Siti Aminah, and shot them over on WhatsApp. With his affairs in order, he grabbed his things and bolted out the door, eager to share the incredible news with his wife, Ivy. He trusted his company would be taken care of while he tended to this personal business.
***
"What?! That's incredible news!" Ivy exclaimed as Edison shared the miraculous news with her.
Edison's eyes welled up with tears as Ivy wrapped her arms around him, providing comfort. "I understand, honey. It's been a long road," she whispered consolingly. Edison had carried the weight of his parents' untimely death for two decades, plagued by guilt for not stopping them from leaving. He believed he had heard a voice within him urging him to intervene, but he had ignored it.
"I've been waiting for this," Edison choked out, his voice heavy with emotion. "What's the point of all of this?" He gestured around their lavish home, filled with expensive designer furniture. "I have all the money in the world, but I can't even share it with my parents."
Ivy knew better than to interrupt. She knew the depth of pain her husband was carrying and how much he needed to release it. She gently rubbed his back, offering him a safe space to express himself fully.
Suddenly, their four-year-old son, Thompson, bounded over to them, jumping onto the couch. "Why is Papa crying?" he asked, his innocent eyes wide.
Edison managed to force a smile through his tears. "Do you want to see your grandma and grandpa?"
Thompson's face lit up, and he eagerly nodded, unaware of the magnitude of his father's words. Edison and Ivy felt their spirits lift at the prospect of starting a new life where Thompson would have four grandparents instead of just two. Edison was eager to return to May 5th and fix everything.
Noticing the sound of clanking crockery and smelling the tantalising aroma of food, Ivy immediately chimed in, "Time for dinner!" She playfully nudged Thompson off the couch as the family sauntered over to the dining table.
Mak Cik Jamnah, their loyal maid, warmly welcomed them to a feast fit for royalty. With their spirits uplifted, the family eagerly tucked into the lavish spread.
***
Edison and Ivy stood before the unremarkable grey machine, a sense of awe washing over them. The wires and cables hung exposed, and the entire structure looked rickety, but it was intriguing nonetheless. The double seats were nothing more than plastic stools, their legs securely fastened to the cockpit-like interior of the helicopter-shaped contraption.
"Are you sure this is working?" Edison asked sceptically, tapping the metal surface of the door.
Johan cleared his throat, pointing to his LOTR t-shirt. "If this isn't proof enough, I don't know what is. Embrace this perfect present I offer you," he chuckled.
Ivy cut in, eager to understand what was going on. "Okay, so what's going to happen? What do we do?"
Johan took a deep breath, preparing to explain the process. "Alright, so here's the deal. You'll take a seat in that chair there, and I'll switch on the engine. It'll take a few seconds for the screen in front of you to light up. Once it does, you'll use the keypad to enter the date you want to travel back to."
Edison and Ivy nodded in agreement, eager to take the plunge.
"This baby can transport you back in time or forward into the future! I put a lot of effort into cracking the code," Johan flaunted, gesturing to the hundreds of equations scrawled on the blackboard on the wall, as if they were some sort of secret language.
"So, once we enter the date, what happens?" Edison asked, eager to learn more.
"Ah, an excellent question," Johan replied with a grin. "Once you enter the date, you'll be transported to 6am on that day. You'll wake up in your own bed, wherever you were living at the time. You'll have 24 hours to do whatever needs to be done, and at 6am the next day, you'll be automatically transported back here," he explained proudly, pointing to the machine.
Edison and Ivy exchanged a look of sheer excitement, their minds racing with possibilities. The thought of travelling through time was an adventure like no other, and they were ready to take on whatever lay ahead.
Johan's eyes glittered with a mix of excitement and nerves as he looked over at Edison and Ivy. "Are you both ready?" he asked, his words filled with anticipation.
"I am," Edison replied with confidence, while Ivy simply nodded, her expression betraying a hint of hesitation.
"Alright then, monsieur et madame, climb aboard," Johan said playfully, gesturing towards the seats before them.
Edison helped Ivy onto the machine, his hand clasping hers as they settled into their seats. Johan stepped onto the metal skid next to the door on Edison's side, reaching for the 'on' button on the ceiling of the machine.
"Excuse me," he said, as Edison moved back to give him room to manoeuvre.
Edison and Ivy held hands as the machine began to emit a soft hum, the sound gradually growing louder and more intense. Ivy shivered nervously, but Edison remained steadfast and composed. A 'beep' started to emanate from the screen in front of them, displaying 000000.
"Whenever you're ready, enter the date," Johan shouted from outside, raising his voice to be heard over the noise of the engine. "I'm closing the doors now," he added, pressing a button on the side mirror to send the doors on both sides sliding closed.
As the doors closed, the sound was suddenly muted, and Edison was amazed by how different his voice sounded without the reverberations of the outside world. He spoke to Ivy, stunned by the change in acoustics.
Ivy nodded, her expression determined. "Yes, let's do this," she said, her voice carrying a hint of apprehension.
Edison took a deep breath and entered 050503 on the screen before him. Pressing ENTER, he steeled himself for what was to come.
Suddenly, the world around them began to spin rapidly, everything morphing into darkness as the machine whirled them away on an unimaginable journey through time.
***
Edison awoke, feeling disoriented and groggy, his mind struggling to make sense of his unfamiliar surroundings. It took a few moments for him to realise that he was lying on his old bed, back in 2003, when he was just twenty years old and still living with his parents.
Sitting up, a wave of strangeness washed over him. He marvelled at his youthful appearance - longer hair, flatter stomach. And when a loud beep sounded, he was stunned by the sight of his old Nokia 3310 on the desk.
Opening Ivy's text, he struggled to remember the old-fashioned way of typing without a keyboard. "Yes. OMG, I'm so young. Haha," he wrote, feeling foolish and nostalgic.
Standing up, he took in the surroundings of his old room, feeling a pang of nostalgia hit him like a freight train. The familiar scent of his youth - sweat and musk - brought back memories, so different from the luxury he'd grown accustomed to as a wealthy man.
Staring at his reflection in the mirror, he was amazed by how angular his face appeared. With his pimply forehead and unkempt hair, he much preferred his older, more refined appearance.
Suddenly, he heard it - the sound of his parents arguing downstairs, the sound overwhelming him with a whirlwind of emotions. He missed them so much.
Without thinking, he ran downstairs, tears glistening in his eyes as he caught sight of their faces. The sight of his parents, so full of life and vitality, was almost too much for him to bear.
As soon as his presence was felt, his mother turned to him in confusion, sensing something was amiss. "What's wrong?" she asked, searching his eyes for a clue.
Overcome with emotion, he hugged them tightly without a word. When his father asked, "What's the matter?" he couldn't even find the words to respond.
Taking a deep breath, he pleaded, "Whatever happens, please don't go out. I love you both so much."
His father was confused, "How do you know we're going out?"
"I just know," he said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "You're going to court to sort out your divorce procedures. But please, I'm willing to do anything for you as long as you don't go out," he pleaded, masking his true fear behind the guise of concern for their relationship.
He couldn't reveal the reason for his panic - the certainty that they would die in a car accident later that day. So, he pleaded with them to stay home, using all his powers of persuasion.
Silence hung heavy as his mother grimaced in pain and his father's expression grew forlorn. Reacting quickly, he rushed to their sides, embracing them tightly.
They stood in the living room, lost in each other's arms, crying as the weight of past regrets and future fears weighed on them.
The rest of the day was spent cocooned within the safety of their home. His parents were still distant from each other, but they tried their best to keep the peace for their son's sake. Edison savoured every moment, doing everything he wished he had done twenty years earlier. He watched movies with them, chatted, played cards, and even cooked for them. He chastised his younger self for not being more present in their lives.
As the night grew darker and sleep beckoned, a sense of calm and peace washed over Edison. For the first time in years, he felt at ease knowing he would wake up the next morning back in the future with both of his parents by his side. He couldn't wait for Thompson to meet his grandparents and for his family to be whole once again.
***
Edison and Ivy stirred, awakening in the contraption with a woozy haze that clung to their minds like cobwebs. They regarded each other with bleary eyes, observing that they looked somewhat altered from the day prior when they had first embarked on the machine.
"How was it?" Edison inquired.
"Amazing," Ivy replied, a glimmer in her eye. "I convinced my parents to let me pursue my dream in ballet."
Edison's eyes grew misty as he recalled his own experience. "I saved Mummy and Daddy," he confided.
The metallic groan of sliding doors drew their attention, and the pair was greeted by the beaming visage of Johan. Eager to disembark, they were taken aback when Johan's grin faded into a furrowed brow of confusion.
Johan's response was hesitant. "Perhaps you should return home and rest. There must be an explanation for this." As he spoke, the time-travelling device sputtered and coughed, and a frayed cable at the machine's rear sparked into a shower of electric flame. "It seems our contraption is in need of repairs," Johan observed, then added, “No regrets, okay? Repairs might take a while.”
The couple was further bewildered to discover that their garments had been replaced by cheap, unbranded clothes that appeared to have been procured from a discount shop.
"What's happening to us?" Ivy implored.
Johan blinked rapidly, searching for a suitable answer while Edison examined his own body, astonished by how gaunt he had become.
"Perhaps the machine has altered more than just your appearances," Johan suggested tentatively, "but don't worry, we'll get to the bottom of this."
As they made their way to the parking lot, the couple was aghast to discover that their sleek Audi RSQ8 had been replaced by a modest Toyota Corolla - a disconcerting shift, to say the least. Though questions clamoured in their minds, they opted to keep mum, hopeful that answers would reveal themselves in due course.
Edison couldn't shake the peculiar sensation of driving an economical vehicle after indulging in lavish luxury for so long. Along the journey, they sat in silence, each grappling with the disorienting sense that their lives had been irrevocably altered.
But the true shock came when they arrived at their home. They gasped for breath at the sight of their dwelling, unchanged from ten years prior, with peeling paint and a decrepit appearance that hinted at years of neglect.
The disconcerting revelations continued as they entered the house, greeted by a shabbier Thompson and Edison's mother, confined to a wheelchair and receiving assistance from a middle-aged caregiver.
In a frenzy of disbelief, the couple sprinted upstairs, scouring every inch for any shred of evidence to explain the inexplicable. Pages upon pages of documents were scrutinised, phones and wallets rifled through in desperation.
And in due time, they unearthed the sad truth: Edison's parents had divorced seven years earlier, his mother's dementia had reached a debilitating stage, and he toiled away as a copywriter at A&C Advertising Agency, barely scraping by to pay for his mother's care. Ivy had failed to make it as a ballet dancer and languished in unemployment for three years.
The reality was crushing, but it could not be denied. They were adrift in a strange and unfamiliar world, where the rules had been rewritten and fate had taken a cruel turn.
The bedroom was sweltering, an oppressive heat that clung to their skin like a second layer. Edison and Ivy sat on the floor in stunned silence, struggling to come to terms with the stark reality of their new existence. They couldn't even afford an air-conditioner to provide some respite from the oppressive heat.
In an instant, Thompson appeared, his wiry build wearing a broad smile and moving about with an energetic exuberance of a child. It was a jarring contrast to the dire circumstances they now found themselves in.
Despite the confusion and despair that gripped their hearts, the couple mustered a smile, embracing Thompson with open arms. There was no point in regretting the past or the choices that had brought them to this moment. All they could do was cling to each other and hope that somehow, they would find a way forward.
"Don't worry," Ivy reassured, "everything will be okay as long as we're together."
What's better, a limited scientific study or mass amounts of anecdotal evidence?
Here is a concrete example. British fighter pilots in WW2 reported that the German fighter pilots had developed a new tactic: attacking from "out of the sun".
The idea makes sense. If you can fly towards an enemy pilot from the same direction the sun is shining, he will have much more trouble seeing you since the sun is in his eyes.
The RAF started to develop tactics to train their pilots how to cope with this type of attack.
There was only one problem. The Germans did indeed have a new tactic, but attacking out of the sun wasn't it. Instead, they trained their pilots to approach from the rear, where the enemy pilot can't see at all. This tactic was so successful that most British pilots were killed when it was used.
As a result, those dead pilots never made it back to tell their anecdotes. Attacking out of the sun was much less effective, so many pilots survived to tell theirs.
Collecting only anecdotal evidence (which was very compelling) caused the Brits to completely fail to see the actual German tactics. This is known as reporting bias. Bias is (as in this example) common in anecdotes and hard to identify convincingly. That's where science steps in, using techniques designed to reduce or eliminate bias.
Anecdotal accounts can sometimes be helpful. For example, one black swan is all you need to see to disprove the statement "all swans are white". (This is a famous example). But having seen a black swan, we naturally but wrongly then conclude that swans are mostly white but some are black.
In fact, knowing that not all swans are white doesn't tell us much more. There may be green swans. Or pink ones. We just don't know.
At this point, we need a scientific study of swans, to find as many as possible, count them, and identify which colours they are. Then we can say what the proportions of white, black, green and pink swans are.
The Vet Hugged The Cat! A Minute Later, Something Unexpected Happened
Pictures
2ebdd2e6f4b8aefa79d35dade2457faf
c984b88b0db0d0bf00d899941203de0a
96742e21028822d9e95e5317df9c89d3
50576ee1fdaada8ee2f10a0248408575
2694d5c5f256e59a244f0b948fbe3b7d
57e8c1fe48550ca11a816b4f39543052
336f4b3e43305b8d8975360157088f43
ad52afe3c87b7e92c2d7d5c8c044ea99
27033872485a9071d210e51fc32c34df
65cc4512dc25a91d28df9d826538d56b
5120678ba408430600feae8a282dfc97
d997bf0a5ed096ed409b1130ff75f064
070a164afbf63f72e5630d91a449a4b3
d4e8310678e74c3b8102c8d8c5ade410
e551b1dc22f05af772d2eb88e99bc496
722c0f0376409592096d34270e944077
2fa92fbf82e99d781766a09b3467da9c
040ec61829a0f2619e4a51fbcb6f66a1
492cb2406567d2d7043066fad71ad8e9
af1f18fb373b7bcaa56f225392c69f73
900664a9f52af9695c46e51c9a318d28
df09921ff20c3f60280d2a608a3231bf
cc0c12848399b59169f62c2210ffb555
7a4a27a704afbab1bf61173acd1be736
68905cd13f1cc46fe0542b2dbb0ae9eb
e180529a738977f909fcb801527c6eed
3aaaf9bcb6dce24df5ea3147404288c0
174ce435f66dfeef8360ba01bb6802ec
c3fc2f8f37615253cdd98166232ee315
586bc9ba6f13dd8c96409079e2eb6757
90f82267b61eeebdd1ca08e52edf8f92
1e36ebf86c18bfbb80d000556a112cbf
2851957a7002461adf8cd93fdd26aaa9
ce74deda82e870064609472ff04c1097
6684355a1a25c0535b82077ff9333660
d08dfb027daf5da078d4c83501ca048c
3dca8079ea84e923e92f0372eef78052
c3d83f509f5530f86c86e54cc9e1dc95
467f40bfc9161c50a1a4e52c01a919ee
57bcfb13a036025aed111235510c3b39
5691611b624017343ab3a2fccc75cc64
ab77b0508cb58665afc9ade053668596
42b502c74df3656d9dc8df8c31faaf92
6954ea46a6bf5cc4b882d6475fb71fb5
20fdee849f3244157eee933dd93d8acf
0158f4104b4f38ffdd2942a4ec1fb883
1b390d1d7db9e76a8cab18bcadca8f28
bbb5411428430780cd6170262980f68d
6b40012abdd118cb359a87119cd296d5
9a960bfca2520b3774e0ecb16cebfc04
96e877218282007b80c661d6a73c2889
5498c93b6c61338252541bf70f40163a
eb5c374b860365325fd16eeb43a2f489
c8bd792b7aa03e85bb9b42f2d321b62b
591725bc074733dfbbd2c8e0a7145b20
ac37ee686ddc3ae795c01daa97a4ef2d
b414619640932a1cfd3f1b562029044a
968203be32de171212a3ae97e3b12ffb
1f6912a80baf4bb2bae4696f8a5702ea
b6974c604471c976bc16f1f372b35b90
f6911f8f4a32ba8dda462af6a83a497a
3d134375ad06720c394c800717b0398e
ca5735f8e662b6e2e0f596bc1b602e89
184194692c3855922d88e3e65c6fa384
41baa60ac27a201a7a3e8dcd26aa3c59
a8766e3dff1ea7e2ddec506a0a974cae
365fdbdd73dde5b3e91606e0fbac2fb2
29ccb7025ad10414fa54f6db17ba4720
87dedcd362063c0bb63a47a4f48c2c8d
1459cb39a6bf557baa37c742460f230b
a8c357f9dff8b4e125dd38d52960d304
1ab6031b3d11055619616ec7f137e6b5
dfef48b64acbc7114d5b4b7603a157bd
9761bd26aa5408fd514953b6f6708d17
acc65f8817cad89057a35e3c77f4a226
491df8b97b247dcb28343ad9d6a456b5
92a31a73bbefd11c5f11bfd4e873e9ef
2264eac07d797aef78cf5e99945ed7b6
b38e313c7e1b229c3d37faff7aeba075
254756cd8b257d999651280333801699
3815bf6d2a836351b335792c3b93a969
a69597d41a90171d5487ad42ab4dc468
2e94bdfb0fb7c724885f95f12b5e9e96
80ef8b4659fbc64f6b4d3b70cf89aeb2
91d58323d6a6d9390c8d8ce8f5389343
31ff6bd82f295785535c71e6f52c1942
5f7d6e75df5e429ed981f4e9e887d30b
9eff8b0514b7f7315318e150177496e8
cc9134066cae7ba585babb1797163039
21f9a6d1606d102776fd38e83bd95cb3
10a21e2834a19d603ead86bdc7a46372
83e108ea597b11cabb36e65ae63d96b0
19628941cd0c013e84752c6b46135788
603af6c8501d4d7629728c64e98fd8e1
b067717f672d4414ccf1f29ea7166254
b3bb8610b2dedc5eb9c7ec6f3f8815f7
b0c4812c185d6a885a81b853a8d1358c
e813696c2b0dd4fd583d7dfd2fd1f6d9
37643e74ac9ccf84d350ebc67abe7138
486cdf5b6b27c53a9f99fd9a2e54e516
02fc27bd7ef423b79a36a5f1d37904eb
e9a2e91a7cdeec8e2cf48e2e96bfc7f8
5cd2a8fc7c6c45c6b78d5bf5756087b1
de2d78276191b1ccdcfeb0f65c37aae7
63ab0d8d2ab24c7f95bc962e1f1da5d5
77a12cb33e727885b760e867e77077cb
b304eaf6790700513620f83a5d4853b0
d36b8a2e78c489da15ab89e84c9873ac
5077110b85b52d22ae1d72e6a1109fb9
0f5953c9ab5e372c9089c45a21da9d3a
98bc6f2937935c08f205e384ff5c87db
How did Japan's I-400 submarine compare to other submarines during World War II and those built after the war?
THIS monster!
An aircraft carrier that also was the biggest submarines in the world till the huge ballistic subs of the Soviet Union, over 20 years later, a Japanese sub that could travel 37,500 nautical miles at 14 knots while surfaced, equivalent to going 1½ times around the world without refueling…in 1945!
The Sen-toku I-400 class boats were easily the biggest, fastest and most technologically advanced submarines of their time, the Yamato of WWII subs, and they remained so until Soviet and American nuclear ballistic missile submarines became operational in the mid 1960s, fully 20 years after WWII. They were, in fact, the world’s first purpose-built underwater aircraft carrier.
The Sen-Toku I-400 Class were 6,500-tons displaced and over 400-feet long. They stood 40-feet tall (beam), when surfaced. It had a crew of almost 200 officers, passengers and men.
(For comparison, a US Gato-Class sub 2,424 tons displaced and just over 300 feet long. They stood 27-feet tall (beam), when surfaced. It had crew of 60. It could travel less than 12,000 nautical miles at 10 knots surfaced.)
The Sen-Toku could achieve 18-knots underwater and a surface speed of 21-knots. She could Dive to a depth of 330-feet. The primary mission of The "Mega" Subs, were to attack the West Coast of the United States. A battle plan was initiated to attack and destroy The Panama Canal but failed.
(Above: Considered a Submersible Aircraft Carrier, The Sen-Toku could carry 3 Fighters (three huge Aichi “Mountain Haze” or “Storm Out of a Clear Sky” (i.e. “Sneak Attack”,) M6A1 Seiran aircraft, that were completely unknown to Allied intelligence,) in a waterproof compartment. See-through model, above.)
(Above/below: Internal aircraft Hangar of submarine I-400, Japan, 1945.)
The Sen-Toku was armed with 8 Torpedoes. For surface warfare, she was armed with (4) 20mm Auto Cannons and (1) 14mm Main Gun. She was powered by 4 diesel engines capable of 2,570HP and 2 electric engines that generated an additional 2,100HP.
(Above: It was huge. “You’re gonna need a bigger boat.”-Chief Martin Brody.)
(Above: The most distinct feature of the class was the cross-sectional shape of the hull, which resembled the number 8. Basically, the sub used two separate hulls fused into one, giving it the necessary structural strengths to handle an internal hangar. And since it was needed to stow the aircraft in the center water line, the conning tower was offset to the port side.)
(Above: Ex-Japanese submarine aircraft-carrier I-400 in US possession. Thank goodness their effectiveness was diminished by fuel, crew, maintenance issues resulting from logistical problems for Japan, esp. in that last year.)
Each of the three huge Seiran aircraft could carry a 1,764 lb. bomb/torpedo load a range of 650 miles at 295 miles per hour. A four-man crew could ready an aircraft for launch in less than 17 minutes inside the sub’s huge cavernous hull.
The aircraft used the Atsuta 30 series 12-cylinder inverted Vee engine (Japan’s version of a German Daimler-Benz DB 601A) which delivered 1,400 hp, and its liquid-cooled design meant it didn’t need as much warm-up time as an air-cooled engine, so the plane could launch faster, and with the danger subs faced being too long on the surface, this was an advantage.
Launching the aircraft was via an 85 ft. long, compressed air catapult on the forward deck. The biggest risk for each sub was to get all three aircraft launched in less than 30 minutes to avoid defensive counter attacks likely to “visit”, considering the closeness of the targets. The Seiran was a fully capable attack plane and not just a spotter aircraft. It could drop bombs and torpedoes and carried machine guns.
Below: captured I-400. A shame she was scuttled.
The Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum calls the I-400
–class subs and their Seirans “an ingenious blend of aviation and marine technology.” But they also said, “interesting design features built in…that ranged in engineering quality from the ingenious to the seemingly absurd.”
Sheet Pan Sausage and Peppers is the “I don’t want to cook dinner” route to feeding your family a nutritious meal with minimal prep work and cleanup time.
EASY Sheet Pan Sausage and Peppers
This is the meal for those days when I just cannot. I CANNOT. I don’t really want to cook dinner, but absolutely nothing sounds good for takeout, either. Does that ever happen to you?
This is the easiest meal to get into the oven and feed your family a nutritious weeknight dinner with a minimal amount of cleanup work at the end. That’s it. That’s all it’s designed to do, and it does its job well!
I’ve been making it for years, and it’s even become a family favorite, because the oven allows all of the flavors to meld together in such a way that they become so deeply flavorful that you wouldn’t ever know this is something of an emergency dinner.
Why You’ll Love Sausage and Peppers in the Oven
One dish, but you can serve it so many ways – in sandwiches, over pasta, or with some sides. You decide!
Hands-free cooking. Once you pop the pan into the oven, you’ll only need to stir it once, the entire time it cooks. You’re free to relax or prepare other parts of the meal.
Minimal ingredients but maximum flavor!
What You Need For Sheet Pan Sausage and Peppers
bell peppers – you’ll need 3 bell peppers, and they can be any color combination. I like a combo of green, red and yellow.
onion – 1 large sweet yellow onion works well for this sausage and peppers recipe, but you can also use white or red onion if you prefer.
olive oil – to prevent the veggies from sticking to the pan.
garlic powder, onion powder, dried oregano, dried basil, red pepper flakes, salt and pepper – the herbs and spices needed for seasoning the sausage and peppers in oven.
sausage – you’ll want to use about 5 links of Italian sausage. I keep it family-friendly with the mild version, but you can also use hot sausage, or a combination of the two! I recommend pork sausage here because it stays more moist than chicken sausage or turkey sausage.
How to Make Sausage and Peppers in the Oven
1. SPICES. In a small bowl, combine the garlic powder, onion powder, oregano, basil, salt, pepper and red pepper flakes.
2. TOSS. Place the peppers and onions in a large bowl and toss with olive oil. Add the spice mixture to the bowl and toss until the vegetables are evenly coated in spices.
3. ARRANGE. Spread the vegetables in an even layer on a rimmed baking sheet. Arrange the sausage over the vegetables.
4. BAKE. Transfer the pan to the oven and bake 25 to 30 minutes or until sausage is cooked through and vegetables are tender and slightly caramelized, stirring once halfway through. If, when you are stirring at this point, there is a lot of extra liquid on the pan, carefully try to drain most of the excess liquid off. This will help the vegetables caramelize better.
Home Chef Tips
The quality of the sausage makes a big difference in flavor. Choose the freshest, best sausage you can find for this sausage and peppers recipe!
Be sure to slice the peppers and onions evenly so that they roast at the same rate.
I highly recommend a drizzle of balsamic glaze when serving!
Sausage, Peppers and Onions Recipe Variations
MEDITERRANEAN TWIST – Add a handful of Kalamata olives and cherry tomatoes to the sausage and peppers in the oven, and finish with crumbled feta cheese for a Mediterranean-inspired version.
EXTRA VEGGIES – Add other quick-cooking vegetables like zucchini, cherry tomatoes and mushrooms for added variety and nutrition.
SWEET AND SPICY – Drizzle with a bit of hot honey (or just a combo of honey and hot sauce) at the end for a flavorful twist.
What to Serve with Sheet Pan Italian Sausage and Peppers
Pair this dish with breads and sides to make it a full meal. Some ideas are:
If you have leftover sheet pan sausage and peppers, transfer them to a storage container and place them in the fridge uncovered for a few hours until they are fully chilled, then cover them with the lid and keep in the refrigerator up to 3 days.
Sausage, Peppers and Onions Recipe
Author: Lori Yates
Yield: 4servings
Prep: 15 minutesminutes
Cook: 25 minutesminutes
Total: 40 minutesminutes
Sheet Pan Sausage and Peppers is the "I don't want to cook dinner" route to feeding your family a nutritious meal with minimal prep work and cleanup time.
Ingredients
1teaspoongarlic powder
1teaspoononion powder
½teaspoondried basil
½teaspoondried oregano
½teaspoonred pepper flakes
½teaspoonkosher salt
½teaspoonground black pepper
1green bell pepperthinly sliced
1red bell pepperthinly sliced
1yellow bell pepperthinly sliced
1largesweet onionthinly sliced
2tablespoonsolive oil
5Italian sausage linkscut into 1-inch pieces
Finely chopped fresh parsleyfor garnish
Instructions
Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. In small bowl, stir garlic powder, onion powder, basil, oregano, red pepper flakes, salt and black pepper until well combined.
Place bell peppers and onion in large bowl. Drizzle with oil and toss until well combined. Sprinkle with spice mixture and toss again until all vegetables are coated in spices.
Spread vegetables in an even layer on large rimmed baking pan. Arrange sausage evenly over vegetables.
Transfer to oven and bake 25 to 30 minutes or until sausage is cooked through and vegetables are tender and slightly caramelized, stirring once halfway through. If, when you are stirring, there is a lot of extra liquid on the pan, carefully try to drain most of the excess liquid off before continuing cooking. This will help the vegetables caramelize better.
Earth is now a whisper--sad, desolate. For many miles, crags drone on in a ceaseless field of black. The rocks left behind are sharp and cracking, their shale falling down into pits of tar and sludge. At the peak of the highest crag is a glowing portal--our slip. It is a gate to another time; another place. We funnel through the slip like lemmings to the cliff, our eyes glazed and desperate. We being the last of us, that is. We come, warped and damaged by radiation, drought, famine, to escape. The seas and forests are gone, our beloved animals with them. The things which remain are warped and ugly: things which should never be trusted, and never be eaten. So, we march to the slip--to places bountiful and beautiful. Pilgrims, that is what we are, come to pray to our swirling god. Beyond and about the world burns, boils, breaks as it has for as long as we can remember. Overhead, toxicrows bark. Their call is a loathsome, lonesome thing--the song of our last birds. Earth, our mother, screams, spewing up green sludge with each cough. Only in the slips is there beauty anymore: a giant, rounded portal to a separate time, surrounded by copper machinery. Its many tubes, electrodes, and vents scream at us, begging for mercy. Big waste tubes run from it down into the crust of out world, pulsing like a sick vein.One of us steps forward--an irradiated man with burnt skin. He, smiling, steps through the slip and disappears. Not but a second later, a form falls from the sky in the distance and splats into a wide pit. Person by person the line decreases, its backmost reaches leading on for uncountable miles. As the unchanging light of our dying world filters on, I move.Soon, it is my moment. The slip towers above me--a welcoming swirl. With a nod, the slip-keeper--his fleshless face hidden behind a plague mask of junk--bids me enter. Stepping forward, I am swept up in the cold hug of the slip. Though I have never seen the sea, I know now how it feels to be adrift in it. It's the soothing, amniotic rush through the fabric of many realities. Separate times flicker by like framed photographs behind dusty glass. There: a man learning to ride a bike. There: a lone fish in a wide, endless depth. They come in droves, these moments. The slip was perfected decades ago, and it leads me seamlessly to where I want to be.Colors rocket by, leading me to a time, a place, where all is clean and good. A time where my child is still alive; a place when flowers still grow. Here, things are foreign, yet familiar. At first, my head hurts--a symptom of slip-travel, or so I was told. But a headache is worth the time I have ahead. There are pools here...lakes...oceans. Forests too, and cities not held together by junk wire. I grow. I laugh. I love. I know it is not permanent, but the knowledge fades in time. What pain is there here but the prickle of pine needles underfoot? What sadness but the bitter-sweet, happy kind? I don't go hungry here, nor fall to bits in the light of the sun. In my original time, rain was a stinging, stinking barrage. Here, it is beautiful. The mountains are clean; the skies are clear. I find I often wonder how I could have ever survived in such a place as the one I left. Yet, there is a ghost--lurking and terrible--in the shape of things. It is the shadow of what is. What will be. What I left. There's something like guilt inside of me; I've sacrificed a life in my own time for a new one here. Is that so wrong? I did leave my friends...did leave my love. Surely, if they could see how beautiful this place is, they would not judge.A day comes when the slip-trip is done. The portal--once a friend, now angry and red--rips me from the separate place. I am shorn, tossed, discarded. Tired, I am deposited in the sludge pits of my ruined home. The slip had mangled me irreparably. My limbs are twitching goiters. My organs bloat and squeeze incorrectly; my flesh is a colorless bag of veins. My mouth slants up between my eyes, coils over my head, and back over my spine. My eyes--lidless now--are turned forever upwards to watch the blazing sky. Not even the toxicrows dare taste my flesh.In my world. but a second has gone by.I hear a friend scream at me from the line. "Look!" she says, "what fun you must have had."She's right.Watching the lines pour over the crags--the silhouettes marching into the slip--I grow to resent them. I had my time, but I want more. One by one the people return, cast down to wallow beside me, their DNA mutilated by the slip's rays. We will never die now: the cost of a brief taste of utter serenity. Though we cannot shut our eyes, we sleep and dream all the same. Our lips gibber, teeth gnash, and we remember those separate times. Body by body, we grow in number until our pit is full. When there is no more room, the sun melts our bodies into one. Cobbled flesh, melded bones, our thoughts trail off and merge, our brain cells fusing together. My memories of flowers and my child become memories of slow, dark rain against a ship. Become the gentle breeze through palms on a quiet beach. Become the rhythmic thrum of heavy bass in a noisy club. Become hellos and goodbyes and tears and kisses and dancing and sex, each neural-fusing brining a new brilliant burst of light. Before long, the memories compile too many times over, and we become a mindless legion, our terrible form growing lost beneath falling shale and sludge. trapped in the dark, we can feel the weight of new slip-returnees plopped down. They enter, they live, they land here to bake under the sun.
NASA & SpaceX Are Stunned By What China Is Building Right Now
Why would the Navy choose to frock someone instead of giving them an official promotion, and what are the benefits for the Navy in doing so?
OK, an actual Squid here and not one of Uncle Sam’s Misguided Children, and I was frocked. All Sailors advancing to the next rating get “promoted” on the same day, but not everybody gets the additional pay.
Enlisted promotions in the Navy go through quite a few steps.
Get recommended for advancement by your command.
Take the advancement test for intended rate and rating. In my case, I took the MR3 advancement test.
Test scores and many other factors are compiled together. This assigns a score for each hopeful.
The needs of the Navy are considered. Let’s say the Navy needs 100 MR3’s and 150 took the test and passed. The top 100 combined scores from step 3 will be advanced, the other 50 have to try during the next cycle in about 6 months.
The selectees are divided into 3 groups. The top group will be fully promoted on the given date. The other two groups get frocked.
Group 2 will start receiving the higher pay in one month.
Group 3 (that was me) has to wait 2 months for the pay to kick in.
For those 2 months, I was a Petty Officer in all aspects except pay and time in rate which becomes important in compiling the Step 3 score for the next promotion. There is one other time that only being frocked is important. During those 2 months, had I gotten in trouble and had to stand at Captain’s Mast. Mast often comes with a reduction in rate. As I was only frocked, had I done this, I would have gone down to E-2 pay instead of the E-4 pay I was getting ready to spend.
As I said, I was a Petty Officer in everything except pay. My Crow was tacked on when I was frocked. It became real for me when over the 1MC I was paged to the quarterdeck. “Petty Officer Tannehill, Quarterdeck.”
I earned it, It ain’t never coming off!
China warns Trump over Greenland: Keep China out of your mouth!