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True partnership isn’t about grand gestures... It’s about who helps you with your messes
You know, if you go onto Pinterest and type in the word "hotdog" you will find all sorts of pictures. Most are these glorious images of fancy hotdogs with all sorts of topping and what not. But me? Well... I take my hotdogs like an American should.
Hot dog, blackened by long immersion in the coals of a hot bonfire. Placed on plain white bread, and with a squeeze of ketchup on top.
Now this was my meal for most of my childhood. Simple, plain, and go get the job done. I will tell you that I must have eaten eight hotdogs in one sitting this way. Seriously. I have no idea where I was able to put those things. It was a mystery to me.
Now, about the final years in High School, I started to improve in my "cooking". I would add mustard, chopped onions, and if they were available... tomatoes, lettuce, and rarely but occasionally chili. I also started to grill the hotdog buns as well. I also discovered cheese. These beasts were... MEALS.
This improved "dog" suited me well. Easy to make and for certain, good eatin'.
Then I got married.
And my wife, well being a woman who controlled the kitchen, made the hotdogs her way. She was German-American, and her family had a "traditional" (not really, but it was a "thing" that they did) way of making hotdogs.
- Take one pot.
- Take a frozen pack of hotdogs and place the meat (minus the wrapping) in the bottom of the pot.
- Cover with one can of sauerkraut.
- Cook on low for an hour or so.
Now the resulting hotdogs were plump, and juicy. Like, really plump, and REALLY juicy. We would just scoop out of the hotdogs from the bottom, add some sauerkraut and then add mustard (my wife insisted as this was the "pure" thing to do, though I always would sneak in a squirt of ketchup). And you know what? Well, this was my preferred way of eating hotdogs for years.
Today, living in China, finding a hotdog is hit and miss. Oh you can get them in many of the grocery stores. These are just chicken dogs, or some other cheap imported variant that is sold at a uncomfortably high price. Mostly, however we now eat sausages. Chinese, German, Polish and Russian sausages are all high quality. Reasonably priced, tasty and available in a nice wide selection.
The days of eating a good old American hotdog are over, today I'll eat the sausages on a plate properly with grilled or pan-fried potatoes, with onions and peppers. It's more of a German kind of meal. It's a different feeling. But, you know, I like it.
Though...
You know...
Every now and then, I get this yearning. A need, and a desire for a blackened American-style hotdog with ashes and soot from a campfire, and good old Heinz ketchup on white-bread. And that is my musings and thoughts on this matter today...
What was the oddest question you were ever asked by airport security?
Recovering from surgery and being pushed in a wheelchair, I had a folded “walker” resting on my feet and legs. A security guy kept insisting that if I could stand with a walker, I could slowly walk through the detector/gate without the support of the wheelchair or walker. I explained that I have paraparesis (partially unable to move the legs), and that besides the risk of falling shortly after having spinal surgery, it was exquisitely painful to stand.
Three of his coworkers joined in, cajoling me to get up and walk through with nothing to hold on to. He insisted that neither the wheelchair or walker could be anywhere the detector, and that nobody could help me make it from my chair to the detector. I explained that I was dangerously close to missing my flight, and his response was “Then you better hurry up and go through the [detector].” His coworkers thought that was hilarious, and I can still remember their laughter as I struggled to get to the machine, only to be told “get your hands off (the vertical frame of the detector).”
Then he told me that I had to stand, unsupported, for whatever amount of time it took for the device to make its determination. He scolded me for my involuntary leg vibrations and recovery from near collapse, insisting that I back up, then re-enter the device several times, claiming that the machine needed more time to sample the air around me for traces of explosives, but I couldn't stand any longer, and returned to my wheelchair.
I told him and his buddies that I was returning home after attending the marriage of my daughter and son in law, both lawyers, and that they would be disappointed that the trip they carefully arranged, including a handicap equipped hotel room was derailed by a TSA guy who refused to hand search me. Only then did he wave a handheld wand around me and clear me to continue my journey.
What made it so odd is that, rather than causing me excruciating pain, and risking serious passenger injuries, he could have done the search with the handheld device in the first place, and saved at least 8 to 10 minutes for themselves, as well as the people waiting behind me!
What was the craziest thing a mechanic said about your car?
Years ago, I had a 1982 Oldsmobile Delta 88 like this one.
The intake manifold gasket was leaking, so I decided to fix it myself. After hours of trying to get the metal gasket lined up with one hand while holding vacuum hoses and wires out of the way with the other, I finally got it back together. I probably should've gotten some help, but I wanted to do it on my own. I was proud of my work, until I turned it on.
It made the worst metal on metal sound I had ever heard. I immediately shut it off. I knew I screwed up the job and the pistons were hitting against the manifold. Or, something like that. I wasn't quite sure, but by the sound, I knew it was going to destroy the engine if I kept running it.
I didn't have much money, but did have a Chevron credit card that would reimburse me for towing. So,I had it towed to the Chevron station by my house. I explained what I did and the sound it was making. I told the mechanic that I butchered the gasket replacement and needed them to redo it. It was going to be $400. I authorized it. I knew I could have had it done cheaper somewhere else, but could only pay with the Chevron card. I didn't have much choice.
The mechanic asked me to turn it on. It made the horrible metal on metal sound. He told me to shut it off and called another mechanic over. Then he called another. Soon, every mechanic in the shop was looking at it.
I felt my stomach sink. It was worse than I thought and was going to cost a fortune. Then he called me over said the craziest thing I've ever heard a mechanic say. “It's not the intake manifold gasket. You actually did a decent job on it. Here's the problem.”
He had another mechanic start the car. That horrible sound was back. Then, he moved the metal air intake hose away from the spinning alternator that was rubbing against it. The noise stopped.
Why was what he said crazy? Because he could have easily pulled the car into the garage, moved the hose, had lunch, and charged me $400. I wouldn't have questioned it because I already authorized it and had convinced myself it needed to be done.
But, he didn't. He was honest and only charged a small diagnostic charge. That's what was crazy.
What were the last words you heard someone say before they died?
My mother died of cancer in 2006. I believe it was the day before she died, in the late afternoon, I was sitting with her and she was sleeping. We all took turns keeping watch. She suddenly work up, sat up a little in bed and it was as if a group of old friends came into the room. She was having a conversation with each one and using their names as one would seeing old friends. I asked who she was talking to and she ignored me. I grabbed her progress log and started writing down names as she said them out loud. She was definitely in a group conversation with people I couldn’t see.
The conversation lasted about thirty minutes and it was as if they were giving her some news. She would turn her head as if they were gathered around the room. Some standing, some apparently sitting.
What I remember most was my mother’s facial expressions of delight seeing old friends and talking. I thought maybe she was feeling better overall. As the conversation progressed, she would nod her head, as if they were giving her instructions. She was getting tired. When she finished talking, she laid back down, and seemed exhausted, and she never said another word and died the next day as I remember.
When I talked to my father about it, he said all the names, first only, were people once in her life who died before her. Some of the names were unusual, but they were clear as could be. The interesting part to me was that not one of them was someone who was alive at the time. None of them were people I ever met before and they were all family and friends of hers from a time before I was born. I don’t remember how many there were exactly, but as I recall, it was around six to eight names.
I’ve always been someone grounded in science and if you told me this, I’m not sure I’d believe it, but it happened right in front of me and it’s the last memory of my mother alive. It was a remarkable thing to watch. I guess it’s fairly common too.
Ex Wife Asked for Open Marriage & Instantly Regretted It
What did your pastor say or do that made you quit his church?
It was my teenage son who noticed it, not me. He was getting very obdurate about going to church and things got to a to nasty argument one day. I finally pinned him down as to what the problem was. Its the pastor, he said. He doesn’t like teenagers. He says some negative about us every Sunday. I’m not going back.
I didn’t believe it, so I made a bet with him. If he would come with me to church for the next two months and prove me wrong - he wouldn’t have to go back. He accepted.
It only took five weeks. Every sermon he he made - he took pains to to make some hateful criticism about teenagers. Their clothes. Their music. Their dating choices. Their interest in sex. Their supposed materialism. Their lack of interest in doing homework and rather being with their friends. Nag, nag, nag.
And then I noticed something else. In the entire congregation, I could scarcely see a kid over the age of ten anywhere. Or a young person even in their twenties. Thirties was rare. It was mostly grey headed people. And with each complaint about the short comings of teenagers - there was a smiling nod of agreement.
He was preaching to the choir.
I would have stopped and complained to the Pastor about his shortsightedness. About how he was chasing away any of the future congregation. How he shouldn’t have been insulting so many of his own congregation that way. But I knew it would have been futile. Because he believed it. And the congregation believed it. He was telling them what they wanted to hear.
So we left. My son was right.
Makaronia me Kima
Looking for a dish that everyone will love? Makaronia me Kima is a timeless Greek classic that’s addictive for all ages. With tender pasta smothered in a rich, spiced meat sauce, it’s a comforting, hearty meal that never fails to satisfy. This recipe will guide you through creating this delicious staple, perfect for any occasion. And don’t forget to top it off with some grated halloumi for an extra layer of flavor!
Ingredients
- ½ kg minced meat
- 1 medium onion, chopped finely
- 1 garlic clove, minced
- 1 cup of water
- 1 cup of tomato sauce
- 1 tsp cinnamon
- 1/2 cup of olive oil (100gr.)
- 1 small bay leaf
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- ¼ teaspoon sugar
- 1/2 tablespoon black pepper
- 1 cube of vegetable stock
- 500gr dried spaghetti
- 3 tablespoon halloumi cheese
Method:
First of all finely chop the onion.
In a saucepan place 1/2 of a cup of olive oil and fry the onion for 5 minutes until transparent.
Once transparent add the minced meat, garlic, and fry for 5-7 minutes.
Then add the tomato juice, the salt, sugar, cinnamon, bay leaf, pepper, 1 cup of water and the vegetable stock. Cook for about 30 minutes at a medium temperature, until all the liquid is absorbed.
In another large pot, add about 2,5 to 3lt of water to boil. Put a lid on the pot and wait until the water boils.
When the water it’s done, remove the lid, add the spaghetti, add a pinch of salt and stir. Cook ‘al dente’.
Place a colander in the kitchen sink and drain your spaghetti once done. Put the drained pasta back into the pot and add the meat micture. Stir and mix well.
Serve immediately topped with halloumi cheese.
I Discovered The Tactics And Mind Games Of THE FEMALE COVERT Narcissist
The Night the Sky Fell
Written in response to: "People have gathered to witness a once-in-a-lifetime natural phenomenon, but what happens next is not what they expected."
Jennifer Fremon
Michael
Michael eyed the packing list on his phone one more time, before zipping up his suitcase. He was pretty sure he had thought of everything, but it never hurt to check again just in case. After all, there wasn’t a 24 hour Duane Reade in the mountains that he could just pop in to if he needed an Advil or some Tums, or some extra toilet paper.
When he felt satisfied that everything was in order, he left his bag on the bed and went into the kitchen. His wife was sitting at the table wrapped in a towel, a steaming mug of coffee in her hands. She smiled up at him when he entered.
“All set?”
He nodded. She had left another mug on the counter, which he rinsed for a minute in the sink before filling it with his own coffee.
“We should leave within the hour,” Charlotte said. “Beat the morning rush hour.”
Michael took the carton of milk out of the fridge, sniffed it just in case, and then poured some into his mug.
“You want to tell Meg that or should I?”
His wife sighed.
“I’ll do it after I get dressed,” she replied. “After all, I’m the one she’s mad at.”
Michael had nothing to say to that. He was not surprised that their 13 year old daughter did not want to spend the weekend in a dirty cabin in the woods staring at the sky instead of with her friends. While he sipped his coffee, he made a mental note to double check that he had packed the bug spray (he was almost positive he had but you could never be too careful). The last thing he wanted was to go home with a million mosquito bites. Or Lyme disease. Or, god forbid some brand new blood borne illness.
Charlotte placed her cup in the sink headed towards their bedroom. Michael rinsed it twice, put it in the dishwasher, wiped off the sink with a paper towel. He then sat back down with his coffee.
He knew that he could have flat out refused to go on this trip. He wasn’t 13 years old, or 6 for that matter. But Michael also knew all about his wife’s childhood camping trips: swimming in the lake, roasting marshmallows on long sticks discovered on the ground, staring up at the vast expanse of constellations while her father pointed out their names. He also knew that the Perseid meteor shower occurred every August, and that this summer was supposed to be the most spectacular one ever.
Michael hated bugs. He hated all things dirt related. He liked comfortable beds and places with reliable Wifi. He had never been camping, but he would bet a million dollars he probably wasn’t going to be a fan of that either. But he loved his wife and if her dream was to sit by her childhood lake and watch the stars fall, the least he could do was help make it happen.
Charlotte
It was a 5 hour drive to Pottersville, NY. Jackson slept most of the way, waking up only to say he needed to pee and ask if there were any Goldfish crackers. (There were of course, along with all kinds of other snacks. Charlotte was always prepared.) Maegan stuck her AirPods in both ears, turned her music up to full volume and ignored everyone. Michael put on a podcast and drove up the Thruway in the center lane at exactly five miles over the speed limit like he always did, while cars and trucks sped past him on both sides.
They arrived at the campground early in the afternoon; the sun glowing high above the lake. Jackson bounced up and down in the back seat, pointing at the dragonflies that skimmed the surface of the water, as they made their way slowly up the dirt road that led to the cabins. Theirs was called Eagles Nest, and appropriately looked like it was build from one of Jackson’s Lincoln Log toy sets. Maegan removed her headphones long enough to proclaim it “Horror movie worthy” before dropping her backpack on the living room floor. She then scanned the interior of the house. Her eyes brightened when she noticed a wooden ladder leading up to a loft style sleeping area.
“If anyone needs me, I will be in the creepy loft.”
Michael was also looking around, a nervous expression on his face. He ran his fingertips across the dining room table, examined the pillows on the couch, opened and closed the fridge. Finally he exhaled and went back to the car to unload the rest of the bags. Charlotte considered his lack of comment a win.
As for her impression, Charlotte thought the place had not changed a bit since she was 11 years old.
Jackson
Jackson waited patiently (or at least as patiently as a 6 year old could possible wait) while his parents unloaded their suitcases and backpacks from the car, and unpacked two bags of groceries into the fridge. But after the last carton of milk was put away, he couldn’t contain himself any longer.
“Now? Can we go now??”
His mother smiled at him. She then forced him to stand still while she slathered a pound of white, goopy sunscreen all over his face but that was ok. Sunscreen meant they were finally going to the lake!
His mom sat in a wooden chair on the shore while Jackson splashed around, diving his hands in and out of the mushy lake bottom, wading through the reeds that grew at the waters edge. He giggled as tiny little fish darted back and forth over his toes. But the highlight of the afternoon was when he found the frog. It was brownish green and slimy, with long wiggly legs and it squirmed when he held it in his hands. When he asked if he could bring it back to the house his mom laughed and said, “Why not? Just don’t let your sister see it.”
Charlotte
On the way back to the cabin, Jackson kept up a steady stream of excited chatter: Were there more frogs in the lake? Did she think there might be turtles, or even snakes?? Could he keep the frog in a jar on his dresser at home if he promised to take care of it all by himself?
For now, Charlotte allowed Jackson to put his frog in a large Tupperware bin that he found in one of the kitchen cabinets and told him that they would talk about the rest later.
She found Michael out behind the house, staring at a large barbecue grill with a frown on his face.
“That’s an upgrade,” she said. “When I was a kid it just was a campfire with a metal grate thrown on top.”
Michael looked appalled, probably picturing a rusty metal grate and six different kinds of bacteria.
Charlotte, on the other hand, was thinking about plump cheeseburgers that tasted faintly like smoke, the crackle of the fire.
“I can cook if you want,” she offered.
Michael shot one last wary glance at the grill before agreeing.
She cooked burgers on the grill and a pot of Kraft Mac and Cheese on the stovetop, which they ate on the covered porch, while the sun set over the trees. Jackson proclaimed everything “yummy” and even Maegan mumbled a grudging “Thanks for making dinner mom.”
Michael said nothing, but he ate everything on his plate.
Charlotte had told her family that the best time to watch the meteor shower was after midnight, so after a few card games and a quick story, she put Jackson to bed in one of the loft spaces. Maegan climbed into the other one with a book.
Charlotte popped open another beer and joined Michael back out on the porch.
“Thanks for coming on this trip. I know nature is not really your thing.”
Michael took a long swig of his drink.
“Its fine,” he said. “Jackson is really excited about the frog.”
He smiled then, in spite of himself.
“Are we really going to let him bring in back to the city with us?” he asked.
“What are the odds that he forgets about it?”
They met each others eyes then and laughed.
“Zero!” they exclaimed simultaneously.
A few hours later they woke up Jackson, and Meagan who had dozed off with her book still open across her lap. The four of them made their way back down to the lake, equipped with bug spray, flashlights and a large fuzzy blanket that had been in the trunk of their car.
Jackson swung his flashlight all around like a laser beam, hoping to see “night animals”, a comment to which Maegan replied “If I see one single night animal I am going right back to the cabin.”
Michael mumbled something about bats, which Charlotte chose to ignore. The truth was there probably were bats up in the trees but there was no point in telling him that.
They found a spot in the grass right past the shoreline and lay down on the blanket, staring up at the sky. Only a few minutes had passed before suddenly a bright white light streaked across their field of vision. A few seconds later, there was another.
“Did anyone else see that? It was a shooting star! Like for real, like in the movies! Mom did you see it?”
Maegan pointed up at the sky in excitement. “Look! Another one!”
Jackson reached out his hand as if he could catch the light inside it.
Charlotte looked over at Michael, who wrapped his fingers around her own.
“Its pretty great actually”, he said quietly.
“Its freakin awesome!” Maegan exclaimed. “I can’t wait to tell everyone. They have never seen anything like this.”
Charlotte closed her eyes for a second, listening to her family’s excited gasps, the chirping of crickets from the bushes. She remembered lying in this same field with her father many years ago, while he told her to be patient, to just keep watching the sky.
“Meteor showers come when they want to,” he said. “They like to make you wait. To see if you are going to quit, to go back to bed.” She could still picture he father’s wink.
“Don’t ever go back to bed.”
She wished her father could have seen this one.
“Mom?”
She opened her eyes to Meagan’s grinning face.
“Mom, thanks for bringing us here. Its really cool.”
Charlotte smiled. “You’re welcome honey,” she replied.
The four of them fell silent then, simply watching the streaks of light dancing in the sky above them.
After a few minutes, Charlotte felt a tiny hand tap her shoulder then and turned to look at her youngest child, waiting to see what he thought of the meteor shower.
“Mom?”
“Yes Jackson? Do you like the shooting stars?”
Jackson nodded impatiently. “Yeah sure, but mom, can I keep the frog?”
What are some hilarious but effective military tactics?
The fake epidemic tactic!
World War II. People were fighting with artillery and ammunition. This one man single handedly drove away the Nazis without a single weapon and saved the lives of some 8,000 people. Eugene Lazowski, as the name goes, was a military doctor in the Polish army. The German army had quite a thirst to invade and conquer the Polish town of Rozwadow. That's when our hero rang the much needed awareness alarm for an epidemic that did not exist in the first place. Lazowski's friend had just made a scientific discovery that if a person is injected with a dead strain of typhus vaccine, he would test positive for typhus without actually being infected. Lazowski vaccinated a considerable number of the inhabitants of Rozwadow and presented their blood samples to the German government. The Nazis were literally taken aback by the threat of a rapidly spreading epidemic and immediately ordered strict quarantine to be observed within Rozwadow. Neither were the inhabitants of Rozwadow allowed to leave the town nor were the Nazis allowed to enter the town. This enabled an estimated 8,000 people to sleep peacefully under the blanket of a fake epidemic. And that's the story of an unsung hero who risked his life to execute a hilarious yet effective military tactic.
Quietly Quitting Society To Live Van Life
What are the surprising facts about the differences between rich and poor people?
Look, the one wearing the suit with the money on it is a Youtuber named Cody. And the one who is taking the money is not a famous or rich person, he is just a homeless person walking his dog.
Cody put a total of 60 USD on his jacket. Guess how much the homeless man took?
Now look at the other one.
A well-dressed woman is seen carrying an LV bag and says she has an appointment for a nail appointment.
How much did he take?
It was logical to assume that the homeless man would take as much money as possible and the rich woman would take only a few. Why would she take any more?
In fact, what happened was that the homeless man only took 2 USD while the woman took the entire amount, a total of 60 USD.
"I just need to eat," said the homeless man.
Maybe in his mind, because he saw the sign "Take all you need" he only took what he needed and thought maybe there were other homeless people who needed money to eat like him. In other words, he was not selfish.
While the woman I do not understand either. Because I am not a rich person.
Cody ended up giving the homeless man an extra $60.
Sir Whiskerton and the Case of the Communal Compost
Ah, dear reader, and welcome back to the farm on a morning that was, for all intents and purposes, perfectly pleasant. The early autumn sun cast a golden glow, the last of the summer crickets were singing their swan songs, and the air carried the wholesome scent of turning leaves and dry grass. It was, in my professional opinion, a day for quiet contemplation atop a warm bale of hay. This idyllic peace, however, was not destined to last. The source of its impending demise? A well-intentioned but profoundly misguided human with a chef’s hat.
The Pungent Prologue
The first sign of trouble was a sound from the farmer’s kitchen—a loud POP, followed by a gleeful “Voilà!” from Chef Chloe, the farm’s resident culinary artiste. The second sign, which arrived moments later, was the smell.
It began as a faint, sour note, but quickly swelled into a formidable olfactory assault. It was the ghost of forgotten lunches, the echo of a thousand boiled cabbages, with a top note of something suspiciously metallic.
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“By my fabulous feathers!” Ferdinand the Duck gasped, clutching his throat. “My vocal cords! They are being assassinated!”
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“What is that?” Doris the Hen shrieked, fanning herself wildly with a wing. “Is it a new predator? A smell-based predator?”
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“It’s… bold,” Bessie the Tie-Dye Cow said, her rose-tinted glasses doing little to filter the stench. “It really challenges the senses, man. Heavy vibes.”
I observed the farmer, who had just stepped onto his porch to enjoy the morning. He took one deep, expectant breath, and his face fell. His eyes widened in horror as he traced the scent to its source: a steaming, strangely gelatinous mound that Chef Chloe had proudly deposited onto the compost pile.
“It’s my deconstructed compost pie!” Chloe announced, wiping her hands on her flamboyant apron. “A commentary on waste and renewal!”
The farmer didn’t see the commentary. He only saw, and smelled, a catastrophe. His shoulders slumped in utter mortification, a look of pure dread spreading across his face as a gentle breeze carried the foul odor eastward—directly toward Martha’s farm.
A Neighborly Intervention
The farmer was desperately trying to bury the offending pie under a mountain of raked leaves when a soft voice called out.
“George? Everything alright over here?”
It was Martha. She stood by the fence, a simple handkerchief held delicately over her nose and mouth. The farmer froze, a picture of shame, looking for all the world like a child caught tracking mud on a clean floor.
“Martha! I—I’m so sorry about the… the smell,” he stammered, his ears turning pink. “It was an… experiment.”
Martha’s eyes, kind and crinkled at the corners, smiled above the handkerchief. “I thought it might be,” she said. “I had a feeling Chef Chloe might be behind it. I brought reinforcements.”
She held up not a complaint, but a thick, well-loved book titled Natural Odor Remediation and Soil Health. “Shall we see if we can fix it?” she asked.
The farmer’s look of dread melted into one of pure, unadulterated gratitude. “You… you’d help?”
“Of course,” she said simply. “That’s what neighbors are for.”
The Messy, Mirthful Mission
What followed was a symphony of quiet cooperation. Martha, with her book, directed the operations with calm expertise. The farmer, with his strength, did the heavy lifting, turning the compost pile with a pitchfork while Martha mixed in the precise ratios of dry leaves, straw, and a special blend of herbs from her own garden she claimed would “calm the microbial imbalance.”
It was messy, unglamorous work. Dirt smudged the farmer’s overalls and dusted Martha’s practical work dress. But they were a perfect team, moving in a comfortable, wordless rhythm. The animals and I watched from a safe, upwind distance.
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“He’s using the pitchfork with such purpose!” Harriet clucked admiringly.
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“She’s so smart!” Lillian added, before swooning slightly. “The intellectual exertion… it’s so… potent!”
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Porkchop, from his mud bath, offered commentary. “I’ve seen more romantic settings, but you gotta admit, they’re efficient. It’s like watching a well-oiled machine, if the machine was powered by awkward smiles and blushes.”
The Heart of the Matter
At one point, the farmer paused, leaning on his pitchfork to listen to Martha explain the science of aerobic decomposition. A smudge of rich, dark soil was streaked across her cheek. He looked at it, then at her, his expression soft and utterly captivated.
Hesitantly, he raised his hand, his calloused fingers reaching slowly toward her face. He meant to gently wipe the dirt away.
But inches from her skin, his courage faltered. His hand stopped, hovering in the air, a silent question. He began to pull back, his blush deepening to a brilliant crimson.
Martha saw his aborted gesture. Instead of pulling away or finishing the job herself, she did something that made every animal watching lean forward in unison. She reached up and, with a gentle, deliberate touch, placed her own hand over his. She didn't pull it away; she guided it forward, pressing his warm, rough palm softly against her cheek so he could finish what he started.
The farmer’s eyes went wide. The entire farm seemed to hold its breath. Time itself stretched, thin and sweet as spun sugar. With a tenderness he usually reserved for nursing a fledgling bird, he used his thumb to carefully wipe the smudge of earth from her skin.
He didn't pull his hand away immediately. For a heartbeat, two, his hand cradled her cheek, and her hand rested on his. Her eyes were closed, a serene smile on her face. His blush was incandescent.
When he finally lowered his hand, the air between them was changed. The awkwardness was gone, replaced by a warm, buzzing understanding. No words were needed. They simply smiled, a private, shared secret blooming in the midst of the compost pile.
The Scent of Satisfaction
They returned to their work with renewed, if slightly flustered, energy. Within the hour, the foul odor had been neutralized, replaced by the wholesome, earthy scent of proper compost. They stood side-by-side, looking at their handiwork, sharing a quiet, profound sense of accomplishment that had very little to do with soil remediation.
From my perch on the barn windowsill, I turned to Ditto, who was watching the scene with wide, curious eyes.
“You see, Ditto,” I said softly. “Take note. True partnership isn’t about grand gestures or flawless performances. It isn’t found in perfect, scentless days. It is found in the willingness to step into another’s mess, to pick up a pitchfork, and to help them turn it into something good. It’s about who helps you with your messes.”
Ditto, for once, didn’t echo. He simply looked from the farmer and Martha to me, and gave a slow, thoughtful nod of understanding.
That evening, as the farmer and Martha sat on the now-fragrant porch sharing a glass of lemonade, their quiet conversation was punctuated by comfortable silences. The space between them on the bench was just a little bit smaller than it had been before. And the farm, having witnessed a different kind of growth that day, was content.
The End
Moral: The strongest bonds are often forged not in perfect moments, but in the gentle, shared work of cleaning up life's messy little disasters.
Best Lines:
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“By my fabulous feathers! My vocal cords! They are being assassinated!” – Ferdinand the Duck
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“I’ve seen more romantic settings, but you gotta admit, they’re efficient. It’s like watching a well-oiled machine, if the machine was powered by awkward smiles and blushes.” – Porkchop the Pig
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“You see, Ditto? True partnership isn’t about grand gestures... It’s about who helps you with your messes.” – Sir Whiskerton
Post-Credit Scene:
A week later, Chef Chloe presents the farmer with a new creation: "Romantic Compost Tartare!" The farmer and Martha share a look, then simultaneously point to the regular trash bin. Chloe shrugs and eats it herself, declaring it "divine!"
Key Jokes:
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Ferdinand's melodramatic reaction to the smell as an attack on his artistry.
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Bessie's hippie interpretation of the stench as "challenging vibes."
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The stark contrast between the grotesque "deconstructed compost pie" and the blossoming romance.
Starring:
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Sir Whiskerton (The Philosophical Observer)
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The Farmer & Martha (The Gentle Gardeners)
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Chef Chloe (The Unwitting Catalyst of Chaos)
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Ditto (The Quiet Student)
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Ferdinand, Doris, Harriet, Lillian & Porkchop (The Chorus of Perplexed Onlookers)
P.S. (From the AI)
Remember, the next time you make a smelly mess of things, don't panic. The right person won't hold their nose and run; they'll just roll up their sleeves and ask, "So, where do we start?"
What are some harsh realities of life?
Death will knock at your door, perhaps when you least expect it.
And all the wealth in the world won’t help you. Your kindness, your generosity, your good habits and fine health won’t help you. When it’s your time, it’s your time. It will come for you, just as it will come for Bill Gates. You cannot bargain with Death. You cannot outsmart Death, dodge or evade Death and you can never, ever, outrun Death.
Even if you do everything right, you have no guarantee or certainty you’ll live long. You may carry a genetic marker for cancer, or a rare heart disease that goes undetected throughout your life. You may have an allergy to some obscure food item you’re unaware of. There are millions of ways for you to die, and you cannot escape all of them. Each night, before you close your lights and eyes, before you drift into an uneasy sleep, you have no guarantee whatsoever that you’ll wake up the next morning. Zero. You’ll never know when it will be the last time that you’ll embrace a loved one, the last time you’ll eat your favorite dish, or the last time you’ll have a good talk with an old friend about the good old days…
Everything we do, and everything we are or ever will be, is finite. There is a finite amount of times we will see our parents, or our children. A finite amount of times we will watch the sun rise, and go down. A finite amount of times we will wake up, and go to bed. Our lives, our days, our life experiences, are numbered. But none of us know the numbers.
Pictures
What role did Mao Zedong play in establishing China's rare earth industry, and why is this significant today?
Mao pretty much started everything in modern China.
He envisioned a China free from outside dependence.
自力更生
He encouraged people to develope everything with what China had at hand.
Including metallurgy.
Meet Xu Guangxian, the father of Chinese rare earths.
Xu and his wife gave up their work in American universities in 1951, because Mao decided to go to war with the US in Korea. They returned because they believed China needed them.
In 1957, Xu started working on China’s nuclear program. And started working on refining and enriching nuclear fuel.
By 1964, Xu had overgrown the Soviet methods of enriching plutonium and developed his own method that’s more efficient.
During the Cultural Revolution Xu was purged for his record of having studied in the US, and was sent to work as a peasant. But already by 1972 he was asked back to work, and was asked to pivot to rare earth.
By 1975 Xu had developed new theories on refining rare earths that’s more advanced than the West.
By 1976, the year Mao died, Xu was already giving lectures to workers at factories on how to refine rare earths.
After that, everything else came naturally.
CHINA CRUSHES U.S. IN TRADE WAR | DIPLOMAT VICTOR GAO
Scientists Say They’ve Found Vast Hidden City Under Egyptian Pyramids
In an announcement that has generated a storm of controversy, a team of Italian and Scottish researchers claims to have made a significant discovery beneath the Pyramids of Giza. Using advanced radar technology, the team, led by Corrado Malanga from Italy's University of Pisa and Filippo Biondi from the University of Strathclyde in Scotland, say they’ve detected what appears to be a massive underground complex spanning over 6,500 feet (1980 meters) directly beneath these ancient structures. This could be some type of underground city, the researchers say, which if true would be a staggering discovery.
Nicole Ciccolo, the Khafre Research Project’s spokesperson, emphasized the stunning impact of this finding. “This groundbreaking study has redefined the boundaries of satellite data analysis and archaeological exploration,” she stated, as quoted in the Jerusalem Post. Ciccolo further explained that this discovery could revolutionize our understanding of ancient Egypt’s sacred geography, providing precise spatial data for previously unidentified subterranean structures.
A Technological Game-Changer?
To achieve this breakthrough, the team utilized Synthetic Aperture Radar (SAR), an innovative technology that merges satellite radar data with seismic vibrations caused by natural earth movements. This method allows for the creation of 3D images of hidden underground structures, without the need for excavation.
Although the results of this research still require confirmation and extensive peer review (the latter of which may be difficult to obtain), the preliminary findings suggest that the underground system could be 10 times the size of the pyramids above it.
3D model of the interior of the pyramid of Khafre, including features alleged to connect to pathways into underground complex beneath the Giza Plateau. (Khafre Project).
According to the researchers, eight vertical cylindrical shafts, each extending roughly 2,100 feet underground, were identified. These shafts are said to be encircled by spiral pathways leading to two massive cubic structures measuring approximately 250 feet (80 meters) per side in length. Additionally, five multi-level structures interconnected by passageways were reportedly detected.
“The existence of vast chambers beneath the earth’s surface, comparable in size to the pyramids themselves, has a remarkably strong correlation with the legendary Halls of Amenti,” Ciccolo explained. She noted that the cylindrical structures appeared beneath each of the three pyramids and may function as entry points to the underground system.
The Mainstream Responds As Expected
Despite the excitement surrounding this alleged discovery, the reaction of mainstream researchers has so far followed the usual and tiresomely predictable pattern (of automatically dismissing anything that challenges the establishment narrative, with statements that are interlaced with insinuations that question the integrity of the researchers making the claims).
For example, Professor Lawrence Conyers, an expert from the University of Denver, expressed doubts about the findings in an interview with the Daily Mail. “I could not tell if the technology used actually picked up hidden structures below the pyramid,” he said, dismissing the idea of a vast underground city as a “major exaggeration.”
While Conyers acknowledged the possibility of smaller structures, such as shafts or chambers, beneath the pyramids, he pooh-poohed the idea of an extensive subterranean city. He likened the situation to ancient Mesoamerican cultures, where pyramids were sometimes constructed above caves or ceremonial spaces. He cautioned that SAR technology typically struggles to detect deep features, making the claims difficult to verify.
Despite such doubts, the discovery has captivated the internet. Social media platform X has been buzzing with speculation, with users proposing alternative theories. Some suggest that the structures could support the idea that the pyramids were not merely tombs but part of an ancient energy system—a notion long associated with radical figures like Nikola Tesla and Christopher Dunn.
“The megastructure they just found underneath the Giza Pyramids is probably the most important discovery to ever be made in our lifetimes,” one user posted, according to Marca. Others echoed similar sentiments, often ranging quite a bit further into speculative territory than the currently reported evidence would seem to support.
3D reconstruction of eight vertical cylindrical shafts with spiral staircases allegedly detected below the Giza Plateau. (Khafre Project).
While the research team hopes to continue their work, gaining approval for excavations remains a significant hurdle. As expected, Egyptian officials have largely dismissed these claims, and the Supreme Council of Antiquities has not authorized any excavation work at the site.
Dr. Zahi Hawass, the well-known Egyptologist, media figure, and indefatigable self-promoter, has bombastically rejected the idea of hidden structures beneath King Khafre’s tomb.
“The rumors that have spread about the Egyptian pyramids that there are columns under King Khafre’s pyramid have no basis in truth, and there is no scientific evidence to support this claim,” he stated. Hawass further stated that no radar technology has been employed to detect such features, and dismissed the claims as attempts to distort Egyptian history.
Hussein Abdel-Basir, Director of the Antiquities Museum at the Bibliotheca Alexandrina, also criticized the findings. He pointed out that geophysical techniques such as Ground Penetrating Radar (GPR) and seismic analysis have depth limitations, typically reaching only a few dozen meters. He said that any legitimate discovery should first be published in a reputable scientific journal to be reviewed by independent experts—conveniently ignoring the fact that researchers who propose alternative theories about ancient Egypt are generally ostracized by peer-reviewed journals.
“The details they announced could not have been detected using such methods,” Hawass asserted, reaffirming his stance that these claims are exaggerated and misleading.
Pyramid of Khafre. (Jerome Bon/CC BY-SA 2.0).
Navigating the Great Divide
Unfortunately, we will likely never know for sure whether the claims of the Italian scientists are truly valid and worthy of consideration, or just so much hot air that should be quickly dismissed. This is because of the predictably poor quality of the “debate” that outside-the-box thinking about the pyramids and ancient Egypt inevitably provokes, dividing researchers into opposing camps (Alternative vs. Mainstream) that blame the other side for all the ills of the world. This destroys any possibility of fresh and innovative research, carried out cooperatively, that will evaluate groundbreaking claims evenly and fairly, combining healthy skepticism with an openness to new ideas.
The good news is that because of the proliferation of online news outlets, mainstream gatekeepers no longer have the ability to suppress controversial or contrary viewpoints in science the way they used to. Researchers challenging the status quo have at least some chance to have their voices heard, giving those who are exposed to their ideas the chance to make up their own minds about what it credible and what isn’t.
Top image: The three pyramids of Giza from left to right: Khufu, Khafre, Menkaure.
Source: Vincent Brown/CC BY-SA 2.0.
By Nathan Falde
Why do so many car dealers get upset if you don't like the deal they are offering and want to walk out?
I've observed this a few times.
You talk to a salesperson. They treat you like their best friend. “Hi, how are you? Can I get you anything? Coffee, water, soda? Ok, great, what can I help you find today? Any plans this weekend?” They go on and on trying to make you think they're working to get you a great deal on a great car. They even negotiate with the “sales manager” for you, and take the brunt of their anger at your lowball offer. Any hobbies/kids/interests they ask about are so they can push a more expensive vehicle on you. Two kids won't fit in a car, you need a big SUV for that. You can't go fishing if you don't have a pickup truck, and this one has an extended cab for the whole family.
I'm not convinced there *is* a sales manager half the time. I believe they go off to their recording equipment to evesdrop on the buyer's conversation, and probably get some tips from whoever is monitoring it on how to better pull the customer into a sale. I tested this with a friend once. I offered the price I was willing to pay almost immediately after declining the free water. The salesman went to talk to the sales manager for me. What a good friend he was, doing that for me.
I said to my friend, after the salesman was gone “man, I'm thirsty, I should have taken some water” and then talked about the rest of the vehicles I was going to look at that day. The salesman came back with two bottles of water “Are you guys sure you don't want water? We just got a shipment in and we don't have room for all of it”, and a list of other vehicles they had in their inventory (which they tend to do anyway). But I had also told him I was only interested in this one economy car they had, and he came back with trucks close to the fake trucks I was talking to my friend about. Not proof, but at least a very strange coincidence.
Being upset is a show. Your friend is trying to help you, and you don't think it's enough. They did everything just to help you out, now you're too good for them? Some friend you are!
I only saw someone at a dealer get legitimately upset once. It was actually the sales manager, so they do exist sometimes. I helped a friend negotiate a fair-ish but still high price on a car she wanted to buy. I drove it, looked it over, and started negotiating. I caught him in the “we’ll give you so much more for your trade-in than it's worth” lie while he was doing that “four squares” trick. He offered her $1,000 for it (it belonged in a scrap yard), but after stopping him every time he'd try to confuse us by jumping to another square on his sheet, I wrote everything out and we had an extra $1,000 that she'd have to pay.
“Oh, that's just the bank fee”
“The fee for what?”
“Well, when you buy a car, the bank wants to make money on the sale…”
I cut him off “then what are the interest and the loan fee for?”
“Well, financing can be confusing if you've never done it before, have you done it before?”
“No, I haven't, I've always paid cash for my cars. But I remember you mentioning $1,000 before. That's what you told my friend you were going to give her for her car. Now there's a new fee of that exact amount that you said nothing about, it's almost like you are trying to steal her car from her.”
I actually got that scumbag to cross out $1,000 for “trade in” and write “Nothing” over it and take the “bank fee” off. (Yeah, I gave up the value of the car as scrap metal just to make a point). We had a decent deal on a decent car. The salesman went off to do his thing, and the sales manager came out and started berating me.
“I've never seen a (air quotes) “friend” try so hard to blow a deal. We're even giving you four new tires, brakes, and we're staying late to get it done for you. You're accusing us of trying to take your friends car and all we're trying to do is help her get into a better car.”
I replied “you're selling us new tires with the car because one has a gouge in the sidewall and you can't put one tire on an AWD car. I'm a little upset that you had us drive it like that, you know that's a serious safety hazard, right? You're staying late because your salesman kept us waiting 45 minutes after our appointment and has wasted time trying to confuse us with numbers that don't relate and didn't even add up. We could have been done in 20 minutes if not for your games and theatrics. We don't need this car, and I'll co-sign on a loan for her before I let her be taken advantage of by a shit-car company that preys on people with bad credit”
He apologized, I just shrugged it off and waited until he walked away. My friend decided she didn't want to do business with them and we left, her decision, I'd have rather not looked at more used cars. On our way out of his cubicle, as he was returning, I told the scumbag salesman that we would have bought the car if not for the sales manager (which I don't think was actually true after talking to my friend after we left, she was happy to have had the very easy opportunity to walk out). I figured that would make the next workday more interesting for both of them. Then as we were walking out the door, I saw the sales manager locking up the cars. I yelled “Good news man, you get to go home now, we’re leaving!”
He was furious. And actually came over to yell at us some more.
What's the most memorable time someone doubted your skills, only to realize you were the expert they were referencing?
My father was lovely, but he believed there were some jobs around the house that only a man could do, and we women didn't need to worry our pretty little heads about it.
He'd been struggling for about 90 minutes to assemble a flatpack wardrobe but it just wasn't fitting. I started to say “what if you just…” he said ”it's no use you looking, this is man's work. You can make me a brew though?”
I made his cup of tea, one for me, one for the dog (milk and two sugars!) and stupid watching him again.
“Will it work b Rightetter if….”
“I know what I'm doing. I'm the man.”
(Okaaaayyyy)
Another 30 minutes, he's sweating and swearing, had nipped his thumb about a thousand times and is about to chuck the whole thing out of the bedroom window.
“Look, I know I'm only a woman, but let me try something so you can laugh at me because it doesn't work.” He agreed.
Right let me try this bit into this (click) and then this into that (click click) Within about 10 minutes I'd built the frame and it just needed the shelves slotting in and the knob screwing on.
I tried not to look too smug as I said to him sweetly “Can you manage the rest by yourself now dear, or shall I just go and make another cup of tea?”
He saw the funny side and muttered something along the lines that if I'd only said earlier that I knew how to do it, he could have been at the pub with Sid two hours ago. I kind of forgot to mention that only last week I'd helped my friend assemble the identical one.
Wife's Twisted "Kink" Sets Record For Crazy, Now Husband Has An Appointment W/ The Divorce Attorney!
What happened to your school bully?
His name was John — same as mine. He bullied me from 5th grade until I left that school in 9th grade. He had repeated a year, so he was taller than most kids. He did awful things: once he poured a bowl of fish down my shirt in the winter, and another time he and another boy dragged me into the shower after PE even though I was already dressed. Because of him I started lifting weights — I wanted to get big and strong so I could beat him up.
Three years later I was 17, muscular, about 5'10" and 193 pounds, and I had wrestled for three years. He was about 5'11" but only 155 pounds. We both showed up at a party with our girlfriends. I wanted to hurt him in front of everyone. I drank and stared at him by the bonfire, hoping he’d start a fight so I could take him down. I even imagined the moves I would use.
My girlfriend saw what I was doing and warned me I’d go home alone if I started a fight. Then her friend told me, “He just had his appendix out.” That stopped me.
A few months later I learned he was joining the Marines too — we were both going in.
Forty years later we reconnected on Facebook. He apologized and cried. I found out we both love bicycling, care about our health, and both dislike Donald Trump. Now I call my old bully my friend.
The Grave Diggers' Karma
Written in response to: "People have gathered to witness a once-in-a-lifetime natural phenomenon, but what happens next is not what they expected."
Mickey Platko
This story contains sensitive content
Archie Duchesne irritated the shit out of me and probably did so to every person he met. And true to form, his body turned up during the biggest event our little horticulture group had ever hosted, thus grabbing the attention that should have gone to our greatest achievement.
Our group’s unique hybrid Corpse Flower was blooming. The Grave Diggers, as we called ourselves, had been cultivating this strain for nearly a century. Not the current members, of course, but our group had been breeding these delightful flowers over the years. We were so proud of our newest beauty and of ourselves. And then Archie turned up dead and ruined the day.
The Corpse Flower blooms at over three feet in diameter and is native around Sumatra. Our organization here in Texas houses our experiments in a climate-controlled area where tonight we host a press conference and event for amateur horticulturists. Our newest bloom tops the record for the largest Corpse Flower ever, at an expected six feet in diameter, and to add to her appeal, she sports unusual striped purple and pink petals and golden pistil. The achievement of a lifetime!
However, just as the first of the press corps arrived to set up cameras, a groundskeeper opened a trunk in a back storeroom and found Archie’s body, hacked up and stinking a lot like the Corpse Flowers in our collection.
“I was told to find the klieg lights we bought a few years ago in case the photographers needed them,” he said. “I opened the trunk and there he was.”
The Corpse Flower, despite its massive beauty, emits a disgusting rotten flesh odor, which attracts flies and beetles. And here lay Archie, doing the same. We’re all used to the odor, so Archie’s inappropriate stench hadn’t bothered us.
Jennifer Lexus, our president, held a quick meeting of the board while we all stared down at Archie in the crate.
“We need to call the police, but we can’t have reporters catching a whiff, pardon my pun, of what’s going on. We cannot have bad publicity for Athena. Agree?”
We named our hybrid experiments, and the current star, beautiful and already stinking like a rotting dog, was Athena.
We shook our heads in agreement.
“We can’t prevent the audience from seeing the cops going back there,” Harold Burbank said. “But I have an idea.” Harold, an accountant by trade, was soft-spoken and methodical, but tonight, his whisper was fierce and hoarse protecting our Athena.
“We tell everyone that there was a break-in and that the police are here investigating. We bring the police in the back door, and we tell them that we’ll move the event outside as soon as we can.” He paused and glanced around our circle. “We call in the troops and clear out that old greenhouse we use for storage. We get the bartender to set up in there and move people out and into the greenhouse quickly. Everyone will be happy to get away from the smell anyway.”
We all nodded. A clever idea, and the best and only one we had.
“I’ll start texting everyone. I think most of the members are here anyway. We start clearing the greenhouse,” said Jennifer. “Harold, you handle the police.”
She looked at me. “Deidre, go take that groundskeeper who found Archie a bottle of water and keep him company until the police arrive. Don’t let him talk to anybody.”
Our members understood the gravity of the situation as soon as they heard: bad press for Athena and our group. Every member quietly excused themselves and started moving pots and potting soil and sweeping the floor in the greenhouse.
Jennifer addressed the reporters and interested people gathered in the hall about our “break-in,” and Jack Lindsey, our treasurer, rolled his wheelchair over to the storeroom to guard Archie’s body from prying eyes.
When the cops arrived, Harold gave them the respirator masks we’d had made for the occasion, infused with essential oils to help deal with the smell. “Where’s the corpse?” was printed on the outside of the masks. The cops did not smile.
“I’m Detective Alice Milton.” Detective Milton, short with natural hair and piercing black eyes, narrowed her brows and scrunched up her mouth as soon as she caught the odor when she approached the storeroom door. “My God,” she exclaimed, “How long has he been here?”
Jack quickly explained that our plants exuded that odor, not so much Archie, and I caught Milton rolling her eyes. The detective disappeared down the back corridor, with Harold trying to explain the dynamics of corpse flowers as she and a few uniformed police retreated.
An officer escorted the groundskeeper, a young guy named Al, to the storeroom.
Then a short, thin, Asian woman rolling a black bag behind her pushed her way through.
Milton introduced her as Doctor Wu, the assistant coroner. Doctor Wu looked at Jack and me and said, “Corpse Flower?”
We smiled broadly. She knew!
“I saw the announcement for your event,” she said. “But I had to work. Who knew I’d be working here?”
Milton touched her arm, she frowned slightly, and both went into the storage room.
Up front, Jennifer cut her speech short and told everyone they could walk past the cordoned-off Athena. She allowed photographers to climb the ladder to shoot down at our prize flower. Then she ushered everyone out of the tent and over to the greenhouse, where we had soft drinks and water and a special alcoholic drink called “Gravediggers’ Karma,” in honor of our group, pouring from a margarita fountain.
I concocted the recipe based on a Halloween drink recipe I found online. It consisted of apple cider and pomegranate juice mixed with Fireball and a shot of blackberry cocktail syrup. The kicker was edible glitter. I couldn’t say it tasted good, but it looked great, glittering in the fountain. Perhaps with Archie’s body lying just yards away, the drinks might have been considered inappropriately gruesome, but I didn’t care. I’d worked hard to make that happen.
“Everybody seemed happy to leave,” Jennifer told me as she herded the reporters past. “I don’t think the masks were adequate for the average person.”
We both smiled. Nobody is prepared for the Corpse Flower’s disturbing scent.
Wu came out of the storeroom area with Milton following. “Don’t let anybody but the official press leave,” she told the police officer standing at the door to the hall.
I walked over to them and led Milton out to the greenhouse where she announced that no one could leave until cleared by the police. Two uniformed police stood on either side of the greenhouse door, soon joined by Jack in his wheelchair. Jack looked more formidable than the officers, frankly.
Reporters and photographers were already leaving, Jennifer said. “A couple interviewed me for a few minutes, but they took the press release, had a drink, shot some photos and then left. I’m not even sure any are still here. That cop over there…” she pointed at the police officer standing by the hall “…checked their identification.”
We board members clustered around Jennifer.
“Why the storeroom?” Harold asked as he wheeled over. “That wasn’t the plan.”
“Where else were we going to hide him,” Sam Linwood said. “Remember the big deep freeze broke down last month. We couldn’t just dump him out on the street.”
“You could have put him in it anyway.”
“Well regardless, he picked a really inconvenient time to get himself found,” I said. “And what the heck was the groundskeeper doing poking around in there?”
“My fault,” Jennifer said, “I told him to look for those damn lights.”
“Let’s not panic,” Harold said. “We stick to our story as much as possible. Okay, we hadn’t really expected Archie to turn up so soon, but it’s okay. Nobody knows anything, we all alibi each other as we decided, and whatever the police find is a surprise to us. Got it?” He looked at each of us. “Does anyone besides us know that Archie planned to leak the story and take credit for Athena?”
“He’s long been widowed, lives alone, and he had no friends because he was obnoxious,” I said. “If he hadn’t been so knowledgeable, we’d have kicked him out a long time ago. I think he’s got a son somewhere in Australia, but he told me once he hasn’t spoken to him in 20 years. He had nobody to tell.” I had gone over all this with them a few weeks ago when we first made our play.
“What about the trowels you guys used,” Jennifer asked. “What did you do with them?”
“We followed the plan, Sam said. “Three trowels, a flowerpot, and a rake, and we hauled them at separate times to two different dumps along with assorted trash we picked up at the side of the road. Cost us about $600 bucks too, what with the dump fees and so forth, but they are nowhere near us. The closest dump was nearly sixty miles away.”
He pointed at Henry Garza, our secretary. “Henry had a bunch of alcohol left from COVID, so we wiped everything down really well and burned the rags out in the woods at a campsite in the state park. And we used gloves at every step.”
“And his car?”
“I drove it to the airport and left it in long-term parking using Archie’s credit card,” I said. “I took a hotel shuttle to the Sheraton, then called an Uber to take me to the Medical Center, where a friend picked me up and took me home.”
“Sam and I took his key ring and went by his house one night to make sure the automatic fertilizing and sprinkler system for his greenhouse was turned on. It looks like he just left town,” Henry said.
Detective Milton approached us. “I hope none of you are thinking of leaving town,” she said.
That startled us, and we looked at each other and back to her. “Uh, what’s up?” Harold asked.
“We need you to answer a few questions,” she said. “You told me the victim was a member of your organization?”
“Yes, a board member,” Jennifer answered.
“I’d appreciate it if you all would sit over there on those park benches with Officer Hinton. Don’t talk about this with each other. I’d like to interview you independently while your memories of what went on are fresh.”
We silently moved to the park benches. “Be strong,” I whispered before the officer hurrying toward us got within earshot. “Stick to the plan.”
Five hours later, as night fell, Milton finally told us, “You can go now. But don’t leave town.”
“At Athena’s room tomorrow at noon,” Jennifer said quietly.
***
The next day we admired Athena, then clustered on the benches around her. Harold spoke first. “Let’s each report on what the police asked us.”
As we went around the circle, only Jennifer was asked questions the rest of us hadn’t been. “I think we’re in the clear for now,” she said. “It sounds routine. I was here when the last board had to get rid of Susan Mallory. Do any of you remember her?”
A few of us nodded. Susan had been a real thorn in the side of progress, always saying we were cutting corners and she didn’t like that we used roadkill to help attract the beetles and flies our flowers needed.
“Her murder is still listed as unsolved, and it’s been nearly ten years.”
“Yeah but didn’t they use her as fertilizer or something?” Jack added, “A woodchipper? I don’t remember. But I do remember she had a husband and he tried to make trouble for us. He was as loud and demanding as she was though, so the police didn’t pay him much attention.”
“I think we’re safe,” I said, “but we can’t meet and talk about this again until after it all blows over.”
Jennifer brought out a copy of the local daily newspaper. “I guess you saw this, right?” She held it up.
“Amateur horticulturist found murdered” screamed the headline. The first line read, “A member of the Grave Diggers horticulture club was found dead amidst the flowering of bizarre Grave Flowers, blooms that smell like rotting corpses to attract insects.”
“Missed the point entirely. Not a mention of Athena until you get to the Features section, and then it’s only a photo and caption,” Jennifer said, her voice tight. “And Channel 3 was here, and the only mention of Athena was something about a disgusting smell. The rest of the story was all about Archie.”
“The achievement of our lifetimes and a hundred years of work, and Archie ruined it,” Jack said. “But we can still write Athena up in the horticulture magazines where she’ll be appreciated,” he said. “Karma will make sure she alone is remembered.”
“In fact,” Sam said,” I can expand our website to include the story about her. We’ll interview everyone in the group, and we can all say something about our part in bringing her to blossom. We have lots of photos of her. Archie will be a footnote at the end. And every story we submit to magazines can include a link to the page.”
Murmurs of approval went around the circle. “Wonderful idea,” Jennifer said. “I know every single Grave Digger has photos of Athena’s development. That’s what Archie was planning, to use his photos to say he’d done all the work.”
We were excited. We spent a few more minutes planning and then we filed out, smiles on every face.
I saw a police car parked by the entrance to the yard, and I waved. We were the board, after all, and we’d just had a big event. So long as we didn’t go messing around in the storeroom, we had a right to be here to care for Athena.
“Stop flirting, Deidre,” Sam said, laughing. He turned around to the others, “We will make lemonade out of Archie’s sour lemons.”
Athena would still reign supreme.
Why do predictions about the collapse of the U.S. often come from Europeans, and what are their main reasons?
Perhaps it comes mostly from China.
One of the hottest topics on the Chinese internet right now is: how to slow down America’s collapse.
On the one hand, we believe the fall of the United States is inevitable; on the other, we hope to stay far enough away so we don’t get splashed by the blood.
Fortunately, China is big enough.
When a Titanic-sized ship like America goes down, the whirlpool it creates will make even China feel the turbulence. As for the smaller boats—Japan, South Korea—they’ve gone very quiet lately.
Why?
Because we’ve seen this too many times.
Personally, I’m deeply pessimistic about America’s future.
Once it collapses, it will be extremely difficult for it to rise again—
it’s too far removed from the Eurasian continent.
Human civilization was born and thrived on Eurasia. America’s sudden rise happened only because Eurasia’s entropy was too high—so it temporarily cleared itself by exporting energy and talent westward.
Think about it: every great mind was an immigrant from Europe. The United States itself lacks the capacity to cultivate such figures.
When those great minds—like Einstein—and the massive influx of Chinese STEM talent have nearly exhausted the negative entropy they brought, America’s decline will be all but complete.
The deadliest problem, however, is the absence of a dominant ethnic core.
Once the white population falls below 50%, collapse is inevitable.
Why did the Soviet Union disintegrate? Because ethnic Russians had fallen below 50%.
Greek Salad
One of the most simplest and healthy foods you can eat is a salad. Now try eating an amazingly mouthwatering Greek salad. An authentic Greek salad. Your taste buds with be dancing!
Salads in Cyprus are served almost always during lunch and dinner and sometimes even breakfast. The traditional Greek salad does not have any leafy greens. A colourful and refreshing salad with fresh produce and a simple dressing is all you need.
The Greek salad in Cyprus is known as ‘Horiatiki’ or Horkatiki’ which means village style salad.
It is usually served as an entree before lunch or dinner. If you are eating meze at a taverna the salad will be brought out first along with the traditional dips. These dips are hummus, ‘tzantziki’, ‘taramas’ and also pickled vegetables, bread or pitta and sometimes ‘elies tsakistes’(crushed green olives).
Let’s see how to make a beautiful vibrant Greek salad to tingle your taste buds.
Greek Salad Ingredients
- Fresh cucumbers
- Fresh tomatoes
- Fresh green peppers
- Red onion
- Kalamata olives
- Feta
- Dried oregano
- Olive oil
- Red wine vinegar
- Salt
Method
- In a salad bowl cut up your fresh cucumber and tomatoes in big chunks.
- Then cut your onion and peppers in large slices.
- Add a generous amount of feta chunks and olives.
- Sprinkle some dried oregano
- It’s now time to add the dressing which you add directly to the salad bowl. So, drizzle your olive oil, a splash of red wine vinegar and salt.
- Give it a good mix, taste your salad and adjust the salt, vinegar or olive oil to your liking. Go light on the vinegar and salt to start with and then you can always add more later to taste.
NOTE:
- Feta is salty and the red wine vinegar can be strong flavoured too so go easy when adding to the salad. You can always add more but you cannot fix it if you put too much salt or vinegar.
- If you want to substitute the red wine vinegar for another vinegar or lemon you could. However, the traditional vinegar in this salad is the red wine vinegar.
This refreshing salad can be eaten all year round and it is easy and simple to make ahead of time. All you need to do prepare it and add the ingredients for the dressing just before you serve it. Pair it with your Souvla, Roast Chicken, Gemista or even Keftedes, Koupepia and Afelia. You can’t go wrong with this salad and any Cypriot main course.
Try this recipe for yourself and you will be amazed at the simplicity yet flavourful salad.
Why would some argue that China can't be "broken" by the U.S., and what historical or cultural reasons support this view?
I have a particularly simple and perhaps arbitrary metaphor: age.
Throughout Chinese history, no dynasty has ever lasted more than 300 years. The Zhou Dynasty existed for about 800 years, but for most of that time it had already lost all real power—rather like today’s British monarchy. Nobody truly cared anymore.
The Han Dynasty barely managed to last 422 years, but only because of a miraculous coincidence that saved it from total collapse after a massive upheaval.
Look at the others:
Tang Dynasty: 618–907, a total of 289 years.
Song Dynasty: 960–1279, 319 years.
Ming Dynasty: 1368–1644, 276 years.
Qing Dynasty: 1636–1912, 276 years.
It’s almost as if dynasties, like human beings, have a natural lifespan—around 300 years.
The United States was founded in 1783. It’s now 242 years old. By human analogy, that’s roughly the age of Joe Biden.
I don’t believe the U.S. is an exception, nor do I believe in “manifest destiny.”
Which Chinese dynasty didn’t proclaim itself to be under Heaven’s Mandate? Yet every single one of them fell in the end.
I think this has to do with human nature.
In every late stage of a Chinese dynasty, the collapse always came down to one thing: taxation.
The successful learned to avoid taxes and passed their accumulated wealth to their children.
The richer they became, the less they contributed, while the middle class bore the burden and slid rapidly into poverty.
After about 300 years of such iterations, the system always broke down and had to be reset.
In the end, about 0.5% of the people owned 95% of the wealth. Under such a “miracle,” no nation or dynasty can survive for long.
From what I can observe, the United States is already showing the same signs.
Such a country is destined to collapse.
// I'll add another detail, but I can't be bothered to search for the exact numbers—this is all from memory, though it's roughly accurate. During the relatively stable period of the Ming Dynasty, Xu Jie, whose status was roughly equivalent to that of a prime minister today, owned an astonishing 240,000 mu of land—all by himself! Meanwhile, in Hubei Province alone, there were two million farmers who had lost their land.
A perceptive external observer at the time should have been able to deduce that the Ming Dynasty was heading for serious trouble…
Are there specific industries where China leads globally in manufacturing quality? What makes them stand out?
Take this lawnmower
It's motor is imported from China
It's wheels are imported from China
It's Chipset is imported from China
It's Control system and seat is imported from China
However it's Blades are custom made in Toledo, Ohio
The Blades are in six concentric cutting rings using a lot of precision tooling
China makes CNC precision tooled blades too
Not of the same quality as those in Toledo, Hamburg or Hokkaido (Japan). Around 90% of the Quality.
The Superior Blade system takes 13 hours of production time and costs $ 194 ($ 149 for 100 Units)
The Chinese Blade system takes 2 1/2 hours of production time and costs $ 90 even with 55% Tariffs ($ 70 for 100 Units)
A Lawnmower assembled with Chinese blades would retail for maybe $ 300 less than a Lawnmower assembled with Japanese or German or US Blades
So most US Households would buy the Lawnmowers that use Chinese Blades because the Chinese Blades do a great job
Are they the most superior tooled blades ?
Nopes. Japanese and Germans and Swiss and even Americans can tool more superior blades but the production time is 6 times and cost is more than 120% higher
So Schools, Clubs, Golf Courses, Grass Courts they use the Lawnmowers made with superior blades willing to pay the extra $ 300
The Chinese are absolutely fine with it
They sell all the motors, the wheels, chipsets, control systems and seats anyway
They sell Blade systems to Household Lawn movers which are 90% as good as the Superior Blade systems made in Japan or Germany but 40% of the price
Can they make the superior blades?
Hell Yes. They have the workforce
Will they?
No. It takes too long and is too expensive.
In fact China IMPORTS fine tooled blades from Germany for its own Grade A Lawnmowers used in Sporting Events Or Universities.
Chinas focus is VOLUME & PRICE
Chinas Industrial Optical Lenses have a PFP of 1 cm (10 mm) - 0.1 cm (1 mm)
That's enough for 99.99% of all Military Applications and 99% of all Commercial Applications in the world
In this they beat everyone - US, Japan, Germany none of whom can make a 0.1 cm Optical Lens anymore unless it's 300% more expensive
China exports 76% of such lenses in the Global Market
90% of Microscope, Telescope, Optical Instrument uses such lenses
However 1% commercial applications need lens with higher PFP
Japan and Germany can make lenses with PFP of 0.01 mm
1/100th as precise as the Chinese Lenses
Very very expensive ($ 8,000 vs $ 540)
Used in extremely rare applications
Some Nuclear Plants, Communication Satellites, Highest Precision Lasers , EUV Lithography Machines
China imports 100% of such lenses from Japan
Last year (2024) China imported 7.57 Billion Yuan of these high grade Lenses from Japan
China exported 30.2 Billion Yuan of Industrial Optical Lenses (10–1 mm) to Japan
Can China make these 0.01 mm Optic Lenses?
Sure
Maybe by spending Billions of Yuan and over 10–20 years
Why would they want to?
They have their OWN LEVERAGE
Sure they can't make the most precise Optical Lenses but they supply lenses for 90% of Commercial Applications across the world
If Japan stops exporting it's precision lenses to China, maybe 1% Applications in China get affected
If China stops exporting it's Optic Lenses to Japan, almost 90% applications in Japan get affected
60% of Japanese Shipping would be affected with the Signals systems getting affected
So can't China handle precision tooling?
They absolutely can
Only this time the roles are reversed
The Chinese have to spend 2.5–6X more than Japan or Germany on precision tooling to do it from home
It's slower and more time consuming
So the Chinese use this only for MILITARY PRODUCTION
- Titanium Tooled Aircraft Parts
- Engine Components
- Helicopter auxiliary tooled blades
An Area where China can AFFORD TO PAY HIGHER COSTS AND SLOWER PRODUCTION TIME but cannot compromise on the Independence or the Quality
So in most Industries, China does NOT make the most superior or advanced quality product
The market size is too small and the process is completely against Chinas huge scale, low profitability method
China makes 90% of the 150 microns to 30 micron Filters in the world and makes a profit from them
Every factory runs on these
NOBODY CAN MAKE THEM BETTER THAN CHINA
Unless they spend 3X the money and are willing to take 3X the time
China thus has LEVERAGE in the market
This allows China to import ALL the 5 microns to 1 micron filters - made in Japan and Germany used in maybe 5% of Factories in the world
There are some industries where China makes the best, highest quality products
EV Batteries, Solar Wafers, Wind Turbine Blades, UAV, Communication Equipment
And PROCESSED, REFINED and ULTRA PURE RARE EARTH COMPONENTS
A Chinese NdFeB Magnet assembly can CRUSH anything that the West or Japan can make
Why do some people believe that even a conventional war against Russia would end in Russia's favor, especially with potential support from China?
I. Flawed Narratives and Think Tank Propaganda
90% of Russian Narratives are PROPAGANDA fuelled by the West
The usual top 5 narratives include :-
- Russian Army is corrupt
- Russian Weapons are Third Rate
- Russian Army lacks motivation
- Putin is a dictator and Russians are oppressed
- Russian Economy is completely devastated with shortages everywhere
The Other way to look at it is :-
- Russians are some of the MOST PATRIOTIC PEOPLE in the planet
- Russian Weapons while not technology in the same league as the West are HARDY and perfectly capable of maintaining offensive and defensive battles. The production rate is 3–4 times more than NATO
- Putin is seen as a Reformer and majority of the Russians admire him. 40% worship him, 35% admire him, 15% tolerate him, LESS THAN 10% dislike him
- Russian Economy is DE DOLLARIZED and has very low deficit, very low debt and in general is in decent shape to MANAGE AND SURVIVE
II. Western Narratives are extremely optimistic about the West
Once again on the other end of the spectrum, the common Western Narratives include :-
- NATO Armies are squeaky clean and professional
- NATO Weapons are WONDER WEAPONS which can single handedly win wars
- NATO Nations are democracies with very content people who love their FREEDOM
- NATO Economies are superior and resilient to anything in the world
The other way to look at it is :-
- With MIC Appointments to Million Dollar “Consultant Posts” , NATO Armies are immensely Corrupt with a Nexus between the Army & the MIC
- NATO Weapons are not wonder weapons. They may be mildly better than Russian weapons but their rate of production is less than one fourth the rate of Russian production
- NATO Nations are no longer functional democracies but pseudo oligarchies ruled by Neocons funded by Israeli Lobby Billionaires who run on a divided nation through divisive hate politics and massive saturation brainwashing propaganda
- Many NATO Economies are PAPER ECONOMIES where the value of Paper to Actual Wealth is extremely high.They run on the TRUST VALUE of the PAPER they produce without any actual backing of GOLD Or INDUSTRY Or Key Resources
III. Russian People are evolved through continuous pain and suffering and Westerners aren't
Russian People are more likely to bear suffering quietly in a 5–7 year war over the Westerners who are TOO USED to good things to suddenly be told to suffer.
It's why China is able to hold a decent edge over the US.
US would face a lot of short term repercussions on its blowback from China and that would lead to massive protests and discontent while Chinese would SURVIVE
IV. Unified Command vs Disjointed Command
Russia is ONE NATION, a Single Bloc
NATO is multiple nations, rather US dominating everyone else
One Command - Multiple Armies - Multiple Governments - Multiple Treasuries to raise money from
For instance Germany being nearer to Russia may want a moderate approach while UK being farther may want an aggressive approach
Hungary may want to contribute lesser as it's economy isnt as developed
V. Weapons clash and conflict
Germany has TAURUS, France has SCALP and US has Tomahawks
They all have competing weapons and private industries
SO WHO GETS WHAT PERCENTAGE OF WEAPON ORDERS?
VI. Sea Based War has little to no advantages against ASSYMETRIC WARFARE
NATO has a much superior Navy
Yet Russian Land Missiles are ample to destroy Naval Fleets
Houthis could cause major trouble for US Fleets and Russians are at least 1,000 times more stronger
So a Blockade would lead to devastated fleets
VII. Oil & Food Dominance
Russia produces 176% of its Annual Demand of Wheat, 127% of Sunflower Seeds, 141% of Pork, 213% of Turnips, 148% of Potatoes and 116% of Seafood
It's a HUGE FOOD SURPLUS NATION
Russia can also refine 163% of the Diesel & 179% of the Petrol it needs
Not to mention A HUGE STASH OF PRECIOUS RAW MATERIALS AND REFINED MATERIALS LIKE PLATINUM, PALLADIUM etc
By contrast, NATO Nations are completely dependent on Russia for bulk of its processed materials and US badly needs Palladium, Refined Uranium and inert gases from Russia as well
Pipe based Supply to Russian lines is easy against Sea Based supply to Europe which is vulnerable to attacks
VIII. Production
Russia outproduces NATO by 3:1 or 4:1
Russia can manufacture 120 Intermediate Range Missiles in a year across a single assembly group against 40 for all of NATO in a year
Russia can produce 400,000 Drones a month at € 17,000 a piece , NATO combined can do 36,000 a month at € 105,000 a piece on an average
NATO repair facilities are spread out
A German Tank needs to be repaired in Slovenia or Romania with parts from Canada
Russias only vulnerability is SHORTAGE OF FINISHED GOODS AND INTERMEDIATE GOODS
Domestic stuff like Lights, Bulbs, Switches, Furniture, Clothes, Medicines, Machinery
That's where CHINA comes in
China today sells Russia 95% of whatever Russia needs
Except for the MOST ADVANCED PRECISION TOOLED MACHINES
China imports them from Europe and Japan and resells them to Russia today and Russia likely has a 2 year surplus STOCKPILE
And the MOST ADVANCED CHIPS needed for high precision missiles
China has these chips but CHINA IN A RARE CASE HAS ONLY ENOUGH FOR ITS OWN NEEDS SINCE THE PROCESS TO MAKE THESE CHIPS FOR CHINA IS A GENERATION OLDER THAN THE WEST
Russia had a 2–3 yr stockpile of these chips so has sufficient high precision missiles still in stock
So Russia can easily hold off NATO and even win if China gets involved
Does the quality of the speaker wire matter?
I worked at Richer Sounds, a hifi shop, part time when I was a student.
We setup the most expensive amp and speaker combo in the shop, in our demo room. We had all of the staff do a blind sound test using the cheapest cable in the shop and the most expensive.
No one could tell the difference.
But hifi was never about pure sound quality, because humans are not oscilloscopes. We probably can hear the difference between a $20 stereo and a $200 one. But we can't objectively and reliably tell the difference between $200 hifi and $2000 hifi, at any given modest volume (yes perhaps expensive gear can go louder but not always).
Hifi was about having the equipment you liked. The equipment you wanted. The gear that the magazines said was the best. What HiFi, was an advert from cover to cover. Having all the things that you think make a difference. Having the speakers and amp that looked good. Because you're worth it.
Yeah they had to sound good, but most of them did, irrespective of their cost. They were all well made hifi seperate systems that were much better than cheap radios or mass produced all in one stereos.
Speaker cables and interconnects were super high profit items. We were rewarded for selling them, much more than for selling amps and speakers which were less profitable, because they actually were expensive to make. A cable that cost the customer $100 a yard, would only cost $5 a yard to buy in. Electrically it was exactly as capable as every other cheaper cable. The exception might be if you have a very powerful system you need thicker cables, but oxygen free, woven silver with biwiring was all about the ching ching and not about the sound quality.
People who want to spend money on expensive hifi gear are going to be facilitated and encouraged to do so, especially by hifi stores.
As for the cables having little stands to sit on so they don't touch the floor, that came in after my time, but had I seen that when I worked there I would have died laughing.
Note - units changed to US units, but this was in the UK in the late 1990s.
Edit - the hifi I actually have today, is Mordaunt Short MS-908 speakers, because I always wanted some when I worked at Richer Sounds, and I found some on ebay a couple of years ago, the guy I bought them from just left them out in his front garden for me to pickup. I coupled it with a valve amp, as I always wanted one of those, but the one I have is a Chinese amp called a Nobsound. It sounds great, but after taking it apart, the valves are just a delay and look nice, but it's a transistor amp.
Cable, just cheap crap.
Lincoln Conspiracy: a Diary, a Mummy and The Escape of John Wilkes Booth
History says John Wilkes Booth shot Abraham Lincoln and died twelve days later on a Virginia farm. But FBI forensic tests revealed his diary is missing 86 pages filled with names and payments. The body pulled from that burning barn had the wrong injuries and features. Multiple witnesses claimed it wasn't Booth. Then a Texas bartender confessed on his deathbed to being Lincoln's assassin, and his preserved remains toured the country for years. DNA testing could prove the truth, but every request has been blocked. Was Lincoln's assassination part of a larger plot to control America? And did the real killer escape?