I’m coping with a reality in flux. Please have patience.

-MM

The Treasury just declared the U.S. insolvent. The media missed it

Hal Turner Nation March 23, 2026   

The U.S. government is insolvent. That’s not hyperbole — it’s the conclusion drawn directly from the Treasury Department’s own consolidated financial statements for fiscal year 2025, released last week to near-total media silence. The numbers: $6.06 trillion in total assets against $47.78 trillion in total liabilities as of September 30, 2025.

Importantly, the $47.78 trillion in reported liabilities does not include the unfunded obligations of social insurance programs like Social Security and Medicare — those are disclosed separately in the off-balance-sheet Statement of Social Insurance (SOSI).

The government’s consolidated balance sheet position, excluding the SOSI, deteriorated by nearly $2.07 trillion between FY 2024 and FY 2025, reaching a staggering negative $41.72 trillion. Total liabilities are now nearly eight times the value of reported assets. The largest drivers were a $2 trillion increase in federal debt and interest payable (now $30.33 trillion) and a $438.8 billion increase in federal employee and veteran benefits payable (now $15.47 trillion).

The Off-Balance-Sheet Iceberg

The off-balance-sheet picture is even more alarming. The 75-year unfunded social insurance obligation surged by $10.1 trillion in a single year, rising from $78.3 trillion in FY 2024 to $88.4 trillion in FY 2025 — driven primarily by a $6.9 trillion jump in projected Medicare Part B shortfalls and a $2.5 trillion increase for Social Security. The Treasury’s Statement of Long-Term Fiscal Projections shows the 75-year fiscal gap widening from 4.3% of GDP in FY 2024 to 4.7% in FY 2025.

If the $88.4 trillion in 75-year off-balance-sheet obligations were added to the $47.8 trillion in official balance sheet liabilities, total federal obligations would now exceed $136.2 trillion — roughly five times U.S. annual GDP.

The Government Accountability Office (GAO) issued a disclaimer of opinion on the U.S. government’s FY 2025 financial statements — the 29th consecutive year it has been unable to determine whether the statements are fairly presented. This is primarily due to serious, ongoing financial management problems at the Department of Defense and weaknesses in accounting for interagency transactions.

What $136 Trillion Looks Like in Your Living Room

Not only has the financial press ignored the consolidated financial statements, but most members of Congress and members of the general public will not read the consolidated financial statements. Documents like the consolidated financial statements are not the kind of thing you want to read before driving. If that’s not bad enough, most people cannot relate to the trillion-dollar numbers in the financial statements. Therefore, it is appropriate to translate them into terms that people will understand.

Most people cannot relate to trillion-dollar figures on a government ledger. So consider this: divide every number by 100 million — drop eight zeros — and federal finances look like a household budget in freefall.

That household earns $52,446 and spends $73,378 — running a $20,932 annual deficit. Its total liabilities and unfunded promises amount to $1,361,788 against just $60,554 in assets, leaving it $1.3 million in the hole. Uncle Sam, by any accounting standard, is insolvent.

Congress has clearly lost control of the nation’s finances. America is facing a fiscal catastrophe. The reckoning, long deferred, is becoming impossible to ignore.

BY:   Steve H. Hanke, David M. Walker, via FORTUNE Magazine at: https://www.yahoo.com/news/finance/economy/policy/articles/treasury-just-declared-u-insolvent-151425143.html

Hal Turner Editorial Opinion

Now, perhaps you understand why they’ve been trying so hard to actually START World War 3; they’re broke.  They don’t want to take the blame for being the one’s who did it, they need a really big war to blame it on.   Too bad for them the Russians didn’t take the bait with Ukraine.

So now they’re trying to start it with Iran.   They need some really big war they can point to, to tell the American people  “we didn’t Bankrupt the country, it was the war!”

You see, they’re worried about another potential January 6-style event, only this one with Guns and Nooses, lynching them from the lamp posts.

But the Iranians aren’t cooperating either.

So they’re in a jam.   What do do now?

HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM.

I wonder if some of those political psychos are thinking “False Flag attack upon America?”   Maybe something akin to 9-11?    Then they can BLAME IT on . . . . . whoever, declare war, and have at it!

After all, it really doesn’t matter who they blame as long as they can deflect responsibility for wrecking the entire country’s finances.   It seems to me they’ll do literally ANYTHING to avoid the blame.

Americans would do well to learn the old skill of tying NOOSES.

Israel Just Hit Iran’s Bushehr Nuclear Reactor — Radiation Detected 300km Away

So close to nuclear war…

Sir Whiskerton and the History Exam: Who Invented Naps?

Or: How One Kitten’s Test Turned Into a Napocalypse

---

Introduction

Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for a tale so absurd, so gloriously drowsy, that even your morning coffee might yawn in solidarity. Today’s story begins with Ditto the Echoing Kitten facing an existential crisis—his very first (and possibly last) attempt at taking a kitten-version of the Chinese Gaokao (高考). But this wasn’t just any exam; it was The Great Nap Debate.

When Sir Whiskerton declares himself the inventor of naps, chaos ensues. Elvis the Rooster steps into the fray, claiming rock stars pioneered snoozing as an art form. What follows is a battle of wit, whiskers, and wing flaps—a nap-centric showdown that threatens to rewrite history itself. So grab your pillow, settle into your favorite sunbeam, and join us for Sir Whiskerton and the History Exam: Who Invented Naps?

---

Act 1: The Essay Question That Broke Time Itself

Ditto sat nervously at his tiny desk, quill poised like a sword ready for intellectual combat. His task? To answer the most daunting question ever posed to a feline student:

“Who invented naps?”

Before he could even think, Sir Whiskerton strolled in wearing his signature monocle, looking every bit the regal scholar-cat. He cleared his throat dramatically.

“Let the record show,” Sir Whiskerton announced, “that I, Sir Whiskerton, am the undisputed inventor of naps. My pawprints are etched in the sands of time!”

Elvis the Rooster strutted forward, feathers puffed out like a glittering disco ball. “Oh please,” Elvis scoffed. “Naps were invented by rock stars. We don’t sleep—we REST OUR EYES FOR HISTORY!”

Ditto blinked, overwhelmed. Then, true to form, he echoed both voices:
“ZZZ… huh-wha? ZZZ…”

---

Act 2: The Battle of the Snooze Scrolls

As the debate raged on, the farm animals gathered around, eager spectators to what would soon become known as The Napocalypse.

• Sir Whiskerton’s Argument:
  “I have spent centuries perfecting the art of strategic stillness,” Sir Whiskerton declared, pacing back and forth with dramatic flair. “A well-timed nap is not laziness—it is efficiency personified! Without me, humanity would still be wandering aimlessly through their days without the restorative power of slumber.”

He held up a scroll labeled The Nap Codex, which detailed his life’s work:

• “Paw Placement During Sunbeams: A Scientific Study”
• “The Monocle Nap: Seeing Clearly Through Rest”
• Elvis’s Counterargument:
  Elvis grabbed the mic (or rather, squawked loudly) and began belting out lyrics from his latest hit single, “Rockin’ Dreams.”
  “Naps aren’t about strategy—they’re about style!” Elvis crowed. “Every great musician knows the importance of recharging before the encore. And let’s not forget—I once slept standing up during a concert AND woke up mid-song!”

The crowd gasped. Bessie the Tie-Dye Cow whispered, “That’s dedication.”

---

Act 3: Ditto’s Dilemma

Poor Ditto was stuck in the middle, furiously scribbling notes while trying to echo both arguments.

• Key Jokes:
  • Elvis: “Elvis never sleeps—he just rests his eyes for history!”
  • Sir Whiskerton: “I have pawprints in the sands of time!”
  • Ditto: [Echoing both] “ZZZ… huh-wha? ZZZ…”

At one point, Ditto fell asleep mid-sentence, drooling onto his parchment. When he awoke, he realized he’d written the entire essay in snore-shaped doodles.

---

Reflection Scene

After the dust settled (and after several cups of chamomile tea), Sir Whiskerton took Ditto aside for a quiet moment under the stars.

“Ditto,” Sir Whiskerton said gently, “the lesson here isn’t who invented naps—it’s that everyone deserves rest. Whether you’re a cat, a rooster, or a nervous little kitten taking the Gaokao, it’s okay to pause and recharge.”

Ditto tilted his head thoughtfully. “So… does that mean I passed?”

Sir Whiskerton chuckled. “Let’s call it a conditional pass.”

---

Post-Credit Scene

Chef Remy LeRaccoon waddled up holding a tray of suspiciously glowing cupcakes. “Behold! My newest invention: Energy-Napping Cupcakes™. Eat one, and you’ll feel rested without actually sleeping!”

Doris the Hen peered at the cupcakes skeptically. “Are these radioactive?”

Remy grinned. “Only slightly.”

Cue horrified silence.

---

Moral of the Story

Rest is universal—and no one owns the patent on relaxation.

---

Best Lines

• “Elvis never sleeps—he just rests his eyes for history!” – Elvis
• “I have pawprints in the sands of time!” – Sir Whiskerton
• “ZZZ… huh-wha? ZZZ…” – Ditto, multitasking

---

Starring

• Sir Whiskerton (Philosopher-King of Strategic Stillness)
• Elvis the Rooster (Self-Proclaimed Rock Star of Rest)
• Ditto the Echoing Kitten (Accidental Historian)
• Chef Remy LeRaccoon (Mad Scientist of Midnight Snacks)

---

Summaries

• Moral: Everyone needs rest—it’s part of being alive.
• Key Jokes: From Elvis’s dramatic flair to Ditto’s accidental nap-doodles, laughter abounds.
• Future Potential: Could Ditto face another Gaokao challenge? Or will Chef Remy’s glowing cupcakes spark a new disaster?

Until next time, may your dreams be deep and your naps legendary. 🌙

In 1945, America dropped atomic weapons on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. How come people are able to live there today? Where is the radiation fallout?

First of all: the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombs were tiny. Well, as nuclear weapons go. Their yield was 20 kilotons, while the biggest ones deployed today are at some 4 megatons – 200 times more powerful. And at the height of the Cold War deployments, bombs were even bigger: USA made about 500 B41 bombs with a yield of 25 megatons, over 1,000 times more powerful than the Hiroshima bomb.

Another important factor was that bombs like the B41, from 1960, had a “dirty” version: designed to have a lot of fallout. The Little Boy and Fat Man designs used on Japan were only concerned with getting a uranium and plutonium charge, respectively, to detonate; there was some fallout but it was relatively small.

The thing here is that “fallout” would mostly refer to fission products: when the heavy atoms in U-325 and Pu-239 are split, they form all manners of extremely unstable isotopes that are highly radioactive. The U-325 and Pu-239 atoms themselves are not actually hugely radioactive, and if they settle on the ground, they are quite manageable.

The bombs used on Japan had a relatively small amount of fission products. Dirty nuclear weapons use a fusion component that makes close to all the uranium or plutonium split into the highly radioactive fission products. The very purpose is to destroy the target country completely and make it unliveable.

There’s a third factor, as well: Hiroshima and Nagasaki were air bursts, detonating several hundred metres up in the air. That actually minimizes fallout (partly because it gets dispersed by wind – like with an ordinary poison, “diluted” radiation is less dangerous). Detonation close to, or on, the ground will create a lot of radioactive dust that will settle nearby.

So when you hear about how nukes can contaminate the ground for several generations, that’s certainly true – but the first ones weren’t designed to do that. They were designed to blow up an entire city, destroying industrial capacity, or an entire advancing army – an immediate result, but nothing beyond that. They were, in modern parlance, tactical nuclear weapons. Later designs were designed to blow up a county and neutralize it long term; they were strategical weapons.

Take home message: “nukes” isn’t one thing. They can be designed for different purposes, they can be of various sizes, and the first ones were simply focused on achieving a detonation in the first place. It works much the same way as “gun”, which can be anything from a six-shooter to a modern assault rifle to a musket or a smoothbore cannon.

Are men and women who live for a long time the ones that were slim all of their lives?

Leon Askin didn’t look wonderfully healthy on Hogan’s Heroes. He died aged 97, still obese.

My Grandmother was obese most of her life. She died at age 89. She wasn’t overweight by the end of her life. In her case the process of aging naturally reduced her weight as was the case with another relative who went from obese to slim and died at age 90.

Mum was overweight from age 45 till 65 when she developed diabetes. As her mother had died through complications of diabetes at age 89. (which were unpleasant) she reduced weight, eventually dying at age 95.

My mother and Grandmother enjoyed food but also ate very healthy food as part of their diet, even when overweight.

My mother noticed that everyone in her family who lived to be very old liked walking. Grandad died at age 84 and walked , even when diagnosed with emphysema at age 73. He sounded terrible but he was on his feet. He walked a hilly route of about 5 kilometres with his trusty walking stick. He was overweight but not obese in old age.

Mum followed his example and deliberately walked to the mailbox up a steep driveway with her walker till 3 months before the end. She walked to and around the shops till her late 80s, then caught the bus up the steep hill. Eventually we dropped her off at the shops to potter round before helping her round towards the end.

I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s good genes combined with a healthy lifestyle. Obviously not being obese is going to help with mobility and a good diet is helpful.

I can’t allow myself to become obese. I have arthritis and it flares up with extra kilos as I found out when I let my healthy eating slip. This made it difficult to walk far so I suspect eventually my health would be impaired from inability to walk far.

Now I’m still mildly overweight but at age 62 bouncing around.

A close relative who is ten years older than me has hereditary bone loss. Apparently being too slim is not necessarily always helpful in old age either. She was not skinny but never overweight.

What maintaining a healthy weight will do is enable you to live a healthy life style and have a greater chance of a healthier life till the end. It may maximise your life.

My father was Mr Healthy but died suddenly of a brain aneurysm at age 74. The doctor advised his lifestyle could have given him 15 years. Bad habits would have made the blood vessel (birth defect) give way a lot sooner.

I’m of cause speaking from observations in my own family mainly but I think being moderate in all things seems to be a common factor and longevity is more than being slim.

And of course there are always outliers who drink, smoke, are sedationary and /or are obese who live to 110 or Mr Healthy who was lucky to make it to 74.

China and Nuclear

Just like Iran & DPRK North Korea, China has built a deep 3,000 MILE Length network of tunnels to conceal & protect Transporter Errector Launchers (TEL) designed to survive a nuclear first strike by the United States. It is referred to as the underground Great Wall.

China operates a second strike nuclear deterrence doctrine which makes even conventional warfare against China a suicidal act:

Pentagon led Studies by the Rand think tank have concluded if USA attacks China, America will be destroyed:

• WW3 simulations ‘leave America destroyed by Russia and China’
• War Games Simulation Shows U.S. Forces “Crushed” By China, Russia
• https://www.belfercenter.org/publication/chinas-underground-great-wall-subterranean-ballistic-missiles
• Underground Great Wall
• https://www.belfercenter.org/publication/chinas-underground-great-wall-subterranean-ballistic-missiles
• U.S. students dig up China’s nuclear secrets: Arsenal could be huge
• Riddled like Gruyère: underground tunnels in China

China’s network of tunnels were begun in 1985 stretching east from Nagqu, Tibet:

6

Twilight Zone America: The USA Dystopia

Damn! This is one GREAT video. -MM

This video takes a psychological, philosophical, sociological and dystopian look at the human condition and human nature in an age of AI, algorithms, surveillance, and mass loneliness.

Step into a post apocalyptic America where the line between sci-fi and reality has vanished. With dark humor and an existential edge, we explore how we got here, why it feels like an endless Twilight Zone episode, and how to keep your mind intact in a culture built to manipulate you.

Nuevo Cubano Chicken
with Spanish Olive Picadillo Salsa

Prep: 20 min | Cook: 25 min | Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 4 (4 to 5 ounce) boneless, skinless chicken breast halves
• 1 tablespoon Jamaican or Caribbean jerk seasoning
• 1 medium onion, chopped
• 1 red or green bell pepper, chopped
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 (10 ounce) can diced tomatoes and green chilies, undrained
• 3/4 cup halved Lindsay® Pimiento Stuffed Spanish Manzanilla Olives
• 1/2 cup golden or dark raisins
• 1 tablespoon drained Lindsay® capers
• 1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
• Optional toppings: minced plum tomato, chopped fresh basil

Instructions

1. Heat oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium heat until hot.
2. Add chicken; sprinkle half of the jerk seasoning over chicken. Cook for 4 minutes.
3. Turn; sprinkle remaining jerk seasoning over chicken. Continue to cook for 4 minutes. Transfer to a plate; set aside.
4. Add onion, bell pepper and garlic to same skillet; cook for 3 minutes, stirring occasionally.
5. Add tomatoes, olives, raisins, capers and Worcestershire sauce. Increase heat to medium-high and simmer 5 minutes.
6. Return chicken to skillet, turning to coat. Continue cooking until chicken is no longer pink in center, about 5 minutes.
7. Transfer chicken to serving plates; top with olive mixture and serve with desired toppings.

Nutrition

Per serving: Calories: 326 Calories from fat: 109 Total fat: 12g Monounsaturated fat: 8g Cholesterol: 66mg Sodium: 956mg Total Carbohydrates: 28g Dietary Fiber: 4g Protein: 28g

Attribution

Recipe and photo used with permission from: Lindsay Olives – Bell-Carter Foods

What’s a red flag that you ignored in a significant other, only to realize it was a big deal later?

Not me, but my daughter.

My youngest child got married in February 2023 after two and a half years of dating. Her new husband was very particular about many things. I noticed when we visited that he would not provide us with a code to open the front door of the house, and the door was set to auto-lock in 30 seconds so we had to be careful not to lock ourselves out even if we just walked outside to fetch something from the car.

He had a way of ordering the dogs around (they had three dogs), feeding and watering each of them on a strict schedule. Whenever he left the home while we were visiting he would lock up the dogs. My wife and I let the dogs back out after he left, but he didn’t appear to trust us handling their dogs.

My daughter’s husband was very specific about what she should drive. They went to shop for a vehicle and bought her a car she didn’t particularly want.

Eventually she called me up one day to tell me about her struggles. I made a comment to her that I always enjoyed visiting her (she was out of state) but we never really felt welcome in her home.

She said:

“Dad, I am married to him, and I don’t feel welcome in this home.”

They divorced a year later. She kept one of the dogs.

Why is India so dirty? They have trillions of dollars in the economy yet can’t clean the streets.

The State Government of a State allocated ₹8.5 Crore to modify,clean up and maintain 3 Large Parks in a city so that the public could enjoy fresh oxygen

Guess how much actually goes to maintain the Park?

₹ 2.28 Crore

Approximately 27%

73% is siphoned off through GRAFT & CORRUPTION

So obviously you have half payments, reduced maintenance work and ultimately a neglected park with rusted wires within 3–4 years

The Guys doing the Siphoning? They aren’t frightened

The Law can’t bother them

The Local Police are either hand in glove with them or don’t really care

The Residents are Indians with Indian DNA & basically Indian Cattle

Foreigners on Quora might be puzzled as to why the stalwarts of India on Quora, the Patriots, the Proud Indians who shake with patriotic fervor DON’T TALK ABOUT THIS

Not a word 😞😞😞😞😞😞

It’s like Corruption never exists in India

And that’s the biggest problem

We have very few Patriots

What India has are Jingos

Jingos who pretend to be patriots but ignore all the real problems facing India like Corruption, Cartelism, Cronyism

The BHALERAO METHOD 😂😂😂😂😂

---

So

• The People don’t care and turn a blind eye
• The Courts don’t care
• The Police don’t care
• Nobody cares

So the Result is

India is a dirty cesspit literally and metaphorically

And yet rather than get angry at those who make India a dirty cesspit, most of Quora would be angry at me for REMINDING THEM ON UNPLEASANT THINGS

Something appeared in the sky alright. But that is where the similarities end. There was no warning by NASA that alien ships had been detected to make for a dramatic build-up, no ominous landing to heighten tensions, no disruption of our communication satellites to demonstrate how impossibly outmatched we were, and no vaporizing lasers to outrun. They were just there. A million ships—who could count them all. They blipped into the skies in the twinkling of an eye.

The ships were silver balls that looked almost like jingly Christmas bells. They had a small seam or foil around the middle that was saucer-like, and along the bottom were crossed stripes with bulb-like openings toward the middle—just like jingle bells have. They were roughly the size of Spaceship Earth at Epcot—not small, but not so huge as to throw all earthly proportions out the window. These cross-hatched areas on the hull of the ships contained pulsing lights that blinked in greens, blues, yellows, and reds.

The ships hovered for a moment, and then unceremoniously descended to their landing stations, in a gradual and disarming manner. Three tripod-like-legs reached to the ground from each ship and perched them all in place.

* * *

EDWARDS, CALIFORNIA: I was at Edwards Air Force Base with Connie, where we had been going over a test plan for the newest model of the NGAD fighter jet. By the way, NGAD stands for Next Generation Air Dominance. Wasn’t that a joke.

Connie said, “Doug ‘Dogsbody’ Bader, recent graduate of baby pilot’s school, and destined to forever fly the safest flight plans and have all throttles, controls, and flight settings perfectly adjusted by his crack co-pilot—the best in the business.”

“Ok, Connie. I get it. You are the real hero of this story.”

Connie was my flight test engineer, and I was a naval flight officer of Lieutenant rank, whose entire family was ex-navy or air force.

All I wanted was to be the youngest to make Captain on my detail and finally get some combat experience under my belt. Connie thought bigger picture and used to quote the Art of War where it says, “To win one hundred victories in one hundred battles is not the acme of skill. To subdue the enemy without fighting is the acme of skill.” Connie had other Yoda-like quotes that she sprinkled into conversation to pour cold water on my ambitions. I had begun to suspect she was a closet pacifist. But she would probably make Admiral while I soldiered away in obscurity and failed to meet my goals, just like I failed to heed orders. Or maybe she was a traitorous Lago in a sweet disguise, after all, manipulating me like a marionette and thwarting my ambitions at every turn.

You can imagine our surprise when Rear Admiral Colonel Mickey Davidson appeared in the hanger an hour before pre-flight inspections were set to begin.

“Uhh, sorry if I woke you two. But we have a situation,” Admiral Davidson said as we saluted, and the Admiral saluted back halfheartedly.

“What seems to be the matter, Admiral,” I asked.

“I don’t know how to say this. But we’ve been invaded by aliens.”

“That’s good sir, very funny–now what is it?”

“Aliens, son. Hand to God.”

“When did this happen, Admiral,” Connie asked.

“About ten minutes ago. The report will be going out on the PA shortly, but I have a mission for you two. I hope you don’t mind Connie, but you’ll have to throw on a G-suit and go up with this ground pounder. Make sure he doesn’t accidentally initiate a war-of-the-worlds.”

“I can babysit the zoomie, but what’s the mission, Admiral?”

“Reconnaissance.”

***

GENEVA, SWITZERLAND: Dr. Fabiana Giancarlo had been sitting at her desk at her corner office suite in the upper offices above the Large Hadron Collider (LHC) when Luk had called her down to inspect a magnet quench in sections 3 and 4.

The dark corridors of the tunnel were lit by overhead fluorescent lights. It reminded her of the two narrow shoots of the Holland Tunnel in New York City. Fabiana donned a white hardhat and rode a one-speed Schwinn bicycle with a front-side basket through the tunnels toward where she was to meet Luk, calling to her mind the scene in the Wizard of Oz where the Wicked Witch rode a bicycle in the cyclone. What a day she was having!

The long line of segmented particle accelerators appeared to her as a giant Ouroboros. She thought of the strange dreams of the Chemist, August Kekulé, who saw that mysterious symbol and awoke to solve the chemical structure of benzene. Atomicity and valency sprung from a single dream, which in turn unlocked the vision of dynamic atoms and molecules, which drew into focus the weirdness of the microcosm and murky quantum mechanics, which for all its quirks looked oddly like the celestial plane in miniature—like a tiny constellation of stars.

It haunted Fabiana to think that if the macrocosm was filled with life, as now appeared to be the case, then was the microcosm also teaming with life, which could be destroyed just as pitilessly by their mundane experiments? Was she the real destroyer of worlds—ignorant of the massacres she was committing? Or was it possible that she would magnify these demons and bring them forth in our world? She wondered where the boundary of science’s stable conceits finally ended and gave way to unbridled magic.

Kekulé had written poetically, “I turned my chair towards the fire and dozed. Again the atoms were gambolling before my eyes… all twining and twisting in snakelike motion. But look! What was that? One of the snakes had seized hold of its own tail, and the form whirled mockingly before my eyes.” And so, in the wake of visions of snakes, sausages and molecular charts, a few scientists had dreamed a further dream of cataloguing the irreducible subatomic world—which with every discovery became smaller and vaster still. If only Kekulé could have known that protons could be smashed as if by a hammer and their shattered pieces seen by human eyes!

Fabiana was haunted by the vision she’d seen two days ago, after which she changed the settings and ran the collider successfully, achieving a result she’d never hoped for. But at what cost?

Luk said, “It’s like what happened in 2008, but worse.”

Breaking hard and putting her arms akimbo as she balanced on one leg, Fabiana said,

“What?”

“We’ve got radiation and magnetic leaking.”

“No, no we don’t!”

“Afraid we do Doctor.”

* * *

CASTEL GANDOLFO, ROME, ITALY: The nametags on the dais read: Ross Coulthart, Investigative Reporter, David Grusch, Intelligence Officer, Pasquale Borgomeo, Vatican Radio, and Brother Guy Consolmagno, Pope’s Astronomer.

The learned guests were seated in a circular assembly room, with some reporters with cameras and microphones kneeling or sitting in the central area. A large statue of Shiva like the one at CERN was at the front of the room at the head of the table, where Brother Guy sat.

“Nonhuman biologics,” David Grusch said.

“Officer, do you believe these are the same aliens that have shown up at our door,” Ross Coulthart asked.

“Who can say,” David said.

“But let us remember, God proves science, not the other way around,” said Guy Consolmagno.

“Indeed, they are our brothers every bit as much as the saints,” said Pasquale Borgomeo.

And like a scene from King Arthur’s Court, where the Green Knight appears to present the challenge of a Christmas Game, two aliens in long black robes and clean bald heads, that otherwise looked like Hollywood actors strode into the televised roundtable event and stood directly in the middle of the assembly.

One of them spoke: “We have much to discuss, but first we must ask for a favor.”

“First, what are your names,” Coulthart asked.

“Ohh. You’d never be able to pronounce them,” the male said. And then with a sly smile he said, “You can call me Carey Grant.”

And the female shot up to say, “And I’ll go by Audrey Hepburn.”

The group of scientists, journalists, and priests looked at one another in shock. One doesn’t expect their gods to covet personas from Hollywood’s Golden Age. And everyone assembled for the event immediately doubted the wisdom of these far-off travelers.

* * *

The sound of the B-52H Stratofortress Bomber was like the low rumbling of thunder before the lightning reached your location with sharp crackling rattles.

“Dogsbody, your target is Castel Gandolfo in Rome. Deploy the nukes.”

“You can’t be serious,” I said into the comm.

“Afraid so Dogsbody. Orders from the commander-in-chief.”

“But sir—”

“You wanted battle duty, son. Well, this is what it looks like,” Rear Admiral Davidson said in a stern tone, but I could hear his voice crack as he tried to maintain composure.

It occurred to me that the commander-in-chief was senile and probably couldn’t remember what he had for breakfast if the fate of the world hung in the balance—which it did. I turned to Connie and flipped off the comms.

“We aren’t really going to do this, right?”

“Orders are orders,” she said. But we were supersonic, and her face was squeezed to the seat like a lemon which made it hard to take her seriously, and I waited for her to return to form.

* * *

The assembly walked out onto the long dock of Lago Albano Lake, which for all its majesty had the distinct look of a meteor’s crater.

Brother Guy Consolmagno, the Pope’s Astronomer, with his professorial mien and stately gray beard, dressed in a friar’s frock and Catholic collar, was waste deep in the cool blue waters of the lake.

Carey and Audrey jumped into the lake holding their noses, and arose like two pink babies, with dew still on their brows.

Brother Guy, dunked Carey first, then Audrey, saying the rites in Latin and then English, “I baptize you in the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” As each of them emerged with glee, the attendants clothed them in large terry cloth towels from the gift shop at the observatory.

In a moment of high fervor, Brother Guy said in a whisper to them, “go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit…”

The two aliens looked at him in wonder, and said, “now where on Earth can we find this Christ of yours?”

* * *

Dr. Fabiana Giancarlo said, “can we reverse the protocol?”

Luk said, “it could make the entire collider unstable—it wasn’t built for those forces.”

“Worst case, we blow ourselves up, no?”

“But doctor, that is unacceptable.”

“I’m saying, no civilians would be hurt, right? We’ve taken precautions in the case of a system failure, that’s why we are so deep underground.”

“Ok. But why are you entertaining this. What is going through your mind?”

“What makes you so sure those are alien ships,” Fabiana said.

“What do you mean, Doctor?”

“Luk! Think! I adjusted the experiment the night before those ships appeared. What if, for instance, we opened up a portal to another world, another dimension. Do you follow? These may not be ‘aliens’ from outer space, but ‘aliens’ from inner space, or God forbid, somewhere much worse.”

“This isn’t science, Doctor—but pure speculation.”

“Oh, Luk. I’m afraid that’s all science is, after all—just rank speculation, with some corroborating proof and a good press kit. No one can search the depths of the cosmos, but God, and none knows the truth of existence but he who set it in motion. We grasp, but our reach exceeds our grasp—and I think this time we reached too far.”

“Tell me what to do.”

“We must reverse the magnification—we must run the entire experiment directly in reverse. God willing, we will send those hounds of hell back where they came from.”

* * *

Connie had regained her composure. And now she was in a sentimental mood.

“It was nice knowing you Dogsbody.”

“Do you really have to call me that?”

“Would you prefer grunt?”

“No!”

“Then Dogsbody it is.”

“We can’t do this Connie. We are going to be directly responsible for a war-of-the-worlds. Wasn’t that the exact thing that the Admiral told you to keep me away from?”

“He also sent us up in a BUFF armed with nuclear missiles—you think that was accidental?”

“Big-Ugly-Fat-Fella.”

“Exactly.”

“You are usually the voice of reason in these matters.”

“Not this time.”

“Connie! We are talking about nuking an area twenty-three kilometers from Rome, as the crow flies. That is well within the twenty-mile radiation cone for the nuclear fallout. The Colosseum will be radioactive for a century.”

“Better than mankind being dead forever.”

“Be reasonable, Connie. The Admiral’s report was that there are two aliens there. How is killing two aliens out of a million going to do anything but usher in Armageddon?”

* * *

“So, you are looking for Christ,” Brother Guy said from a leather chair behind his glass Alaska writing desk in the study of the observatory.

“That is why we came,” Carey Grant said.

“Really. And did you read our Bible and realize that he is a spirit, non-corporeal, not of this Earth.”

“Oh no,” Audrey said. “That is not what He said at all. Isn’t it true that if two of us believers are gathered together, he is here also?”

“My God!” the priest exclaimed, “you are evangelists!”

Carey and Audrey looked at one another and let out a maniacal laugh.

“Hell no. Skeptics… I believe is your word. It’s just that in all the universe there is no other species that claims eternal life as a birthright. Granted, you are cordoned off here in this backwater, a Nazareth of the cosmos, which is why no one ventures out here.” Carey grant looked down at his sandals a moment before continuing. “But Earth was on our way, and we had to pay a visit.”

“So, what is your interest in our religion then,” the priest asked.

“It’s just that, if your people believed that Christ’s return is imminent, if they were to see miraculous deeds being performed by veritable angels… I mean, your world is filled with believers… in that case, wouldn’t they bow down and obediently follow any command?”

The priest felt an ominous presence as if the room had filled with shadows, and then apprehended that, perhaps, this was the end of days that had been foretold.

* * *

“Ok, Luk. Run the protocol.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am sure,” Fabiana said.

The whirring mechanism of the Ouroboros hummed with the energy of a thousand stars. The lightning of smashing protons filled the chamber with an orchestra of colliding worlds. And Fabiana prayed a silent prayer.

“What do you imagine this will do,” Luk asked.

“If I am right,” she said, “maybe we will pull the demons of hell back into the pit.”

A few moments passed in eerie silence. Luk and Fabiana walked out to the front of the CERN laboratory where the statue of Shiva stood like a dark omen. They could see the lines of orbs stretching to the horizon in an unholy grid, like an army of monsters. And then, as if it were all a bad dream, they vanished as quickly as they had appeared.

“We’ve done it,” Luk exclaimed.

“Thank the Lord,” Fabiana said, not believing there was a Lord, but for the first time apprehending that maybe hell was real after all.

* * *

“T-minus forty-seconds,” Connie said.

“Jesus!” I exclaimed.

“Son, I’ve just received a report from the Vatican that the orbs are gone. But the commander-in-chief hasn’t recalled the order. I’m sorry son,” the Admiral said.

I flipped off the comms.

“What do we do Connie,” I asked, clasping the cross around my neck.

“You’re the pilot hotshot. It’s your call.”

“Hey, Connie, have you ever been to the Colosseum?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“You know, being that it’s the end of the world and all—and on the off chance I’m right and this whole nightmare is over—would you want to get dinner?”

“You’re kidding.”

“Dead serious.”

“Ok. Dogsbody. But you’ll be court marshaled.”

“So, the Gaeta U.S. Air Force Base is a few clicks from our position. I’m gonna set down there and we’ll rent a two-seater Vespa and its two-hours to Rome. We’ll dine by the Spanish Steps.”

“So, we’re going AWOL?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“You know this could be the end of the world.”

“That’s a chance I’m willing to take, if you are.”

“Ok flyboy. I’m in. But it’s your funeral.”

Pictures

Ex wife Asked for open marriage after 4 years of marriage

Nothing Further to Report

Written in response to: “Set your story after aliens have officially arrived on Earth.“

K A Hamilton

To the Residents of Bloombasil Homeowner’s Association:

 

Please join us in extending a warm welcome to our newest residents, B’leep and B’larp Greene. We will be hosting a welcome potluck this Saturday at the community center. A signup list of mains, sides, and desserts will be kept on the community bulletin.

 

Kind Regards,

The Members of the Bloombasil HOA Board

 

As a reminder: discrimination against a resident or residents based on their planet of origin is strictly prohibited under the 2030 Fair Housing Act. Any such behavior could put the status of our organization in jeopardy, and as such will not be tolerated.

 

——————————————

 

On August 1st, at approximately 1900 hours, I responded to a report of a suspicious person at 30 Marjory Drive. When I arrived at the residence in question the exterior of the property appeared vacant. I approached the home. Two notices were taped to the front door: an HOA violation letter and an invitation to a welcome party. I knocked and was given permission to enter.

 

I confirmed the identity of and interviewed the inhabitant, a 91-year-old female named Hannah Wardell. Wardell confirmed that she was the one who had made the report. She asserted that “a Gray” had walked across her lawn. She further explained:

 

“They’re everywhere now. Living in our homes. Trespassing on our lawns. Next they’ll be telling us what we can and can’t do. Don’t believe me? Soon enough they’ll be trotting out eviction threats, just like that Janet Stone. You want to see where the suspicious individual is? Go to the party. Everyone is celebrating it.”

 

I continued my patrol on foot. Upon hearing music and seeing a heavy social presence at the community center, I opted to check in with the residents inside.

 

The door was open, so I entered the premises. Although there were approximately 40-50 people inside, the room was quiet. All eyes turned to me. I had the feeling there had just been a lively group conversation which ceased upon my arrival. I was immediately approached by 56-year-old Terry Phillips with a plate of gluten free oatmeal cookies. He explained to me that the community was celebrating the move-in of two new residents. He then raised his voice as though addressing both me and the group to say that all was peaceful. Conversation between the partygoers resumed.

 

I noticed a folding table with name tags laid out in an orderly fashion. Many appeared to have been claimed, but some remained, including that of Wardell. It read:

 

Hannah Wardell (Homeowner)

30 Marjory Drive (105V / 15Y)

 

I asked what the numbers meant. Phillips indicated his own name tag, which read:

 

Terry Phillips (Board Secretary)

22 Marjory Drive (2V / 10Y)

 

Phillips then explained:

 

“Just a little conversation starter, and a fun way to educate new residents on the rules. The first number, you see, represents how many violations a person has been subject to during their time with us. The second is how many years they’ve lived here.

 

My two violations, for example: My mom lived with us for a bit and didn’t know any better. She was used to hanging the wash out to dry – that’s just what they did in her day. But it was time for her to move to a home anyway. The other time our puppy, Barnaby, got out and… well, we couldn’t stop him from making a mess on the neighbor’s lawn. Good dog, the whole thing was a shame. But all dogs go to heaven, right?

 

You’d think it would make people feel ashamed, but we like to keep this sort of thing out in the open. Relieves tension, makes us laugh. And people with high numbers never show up to these things anyway. And nobody has a zero. Well, nobody except for Janet and her household.”

 

I explained that I was there to investigate a suspicious person, but there didn’t seem to be sufficient evidence to support the claim. I would have left the scene at that point, but I observed another resident, 16-year-old female Amelia Stone, in apparent distress.

 

Miss Stone sat in a side chair. Her arms hung limp and she stared dead ahead. Her eyes did not appear to track my movement. Her mascara indicated that she had recently been crying. Phillips began to usher me out.

 

I attempted to interview the young woman, but she was unresponsive. Her mother, Janet Stone (age unknown), joined us. She explained that Miss Stone was merely in shock after seeing the new residents for the first time. She further explained that her daughter was going through an “anti-cop phase,” and I ought to avoid upsetting her further.

 

I asked the elder Stone to describe the new residents. She responded:

 

“Oh! Well. I would never be so vulgar as to describe someone in detail. But they are as you would expect of a pair of Gr-, er, Martians. Thin, large eyes, skin the color of old socks. They are the first of their kind in our neighborhood. But I assure you, we are all eager to help them integrate. We don’t usually hold a party like this, you know. This is an occasion. The Board believes that diversity will only enrich our lives. But! The presence of law enforcement can often create tension, don’t you think? It’s probably best if you head out. Please, take a little treat on your way.”

 

It was at that point that the younger Miss Stone stirred. Her eyes met mine and she whispered:

 

“Blueberry crumble.”

 

Her mother let out a brief gasp. She then addressed me:

 

“Our family’s specialty. Unfortunately, she forgot to bring it tonight and she’s quite upset about the whole thing. Now please, I think you should go.”

 

I scanned the dessert buffet and found a multitude of baked goods and ice cream. There seemed to be a recent absence in the lineup, however, indicated by a blank stretch of tablecloth. Upon further inspection I noted scattered crumbs and a purple-blue stain. I noticed that the two Stones and a few others watched me closely.

 

To maintain a casual appearance, I removed one brownie. I scanned the trashcan next to the table, but it appeared to contain only plasticware and paper plates. With no further evidence of an issue and a standing request to leave, I proceeded to the exit.

 

As I walked across the lawn, I heard shouting. Miss Stone appeared in the doorway. She was immediately pulled back into the building by several unidentifiable hands. She cried out:

 

“It was an accident! You have to help them!”

 

I returned but found the door to be locked. I informed the inhabitants that they were under suspicion of a crime and must open the door immediately. When met without a response I scanned the premises for alternative entrances. I noticed a beam of light around the side of the building and found a second doorway open to the kitchen. Two long Martian-sized shapes lay on the floor, covered in a white tablecloth. It was stained purple in several places. The smell of blueberries was strong.

 

Phillips opened the doorway to the kitchen opposite me, so fast that several pieces of cutlery fell to the floor. After the sound diminished, he said:

 

“Please, it was an accident. We didn’t know until it was too late. Amelia queried it on her phone.”

 

I lifted the sheet. Two Martians lay seemingly unconscious or dead.

 

The elder Stone appeared in the doorway, pulling her daughter behind her.

 

“Wait! Amy, tell him what you just told me.”

 

Miss Stone sobbed and shook uncontrollably. She held out her phone to me. The screen read:

 

“Query: accidentally poisoned two grays what to do now

 

Answer: Martians (pejoratively known as “Grays”) are extremely allergic to an anthocyanins, responsible for the blue pigment in blueberry skins. However, exposure to this chemical may be remedied given a rapidly administered dose of nitroglycerin, normally used in the emergency treatment of cardiac arrest in humans.”

 

I asked if they had any such medication on site. Phillips shook his head. Stone said:

 

“The only person in our community who has a serious heart condition is Mrs. Wardell. And she has 38 outstanding violations! We can’t ask her for help.”

 

There was a chuckle at the door. Mrs. Wardell stood there, leaning on a walker and still in her nightdress. I began to explain the situation, but she interrupted:

 

“Oh, I heard everything. You’ve gone and done it now, haven’t you, Janet? Killing two of them… that’s not just a violation. That’s murder. Maybe even a hate crime.”

 

Stone sobbed. Wardell went on:

 

“As much as I dislike their kind and as much as like to imagine you running around the prison block fining everyone for not keeping their cells up to your standards, I am willing to provide what you need. IF – if. You must agree to my terms.”

 

Stone asked:

 

“What do you want?”

 

Wardell replied:

 

“I want the list of completely unfounded, outstanding violations aimed at my household to be dropped.”

 

Stone hesitated but Phillips applied a hand to her elbow. Stone spoke:

 

“Fine, it’s done.”

 

Wardell continued:

 

“And I want a violation added to your household’s record. Surely poisoning the guests of honor at a community event violates some rule you’ve got in that made up code of yours.”

 

Stone issued a series of expletives that indicated a lack of agreement to the terms. However, Phillips replied:

 

“As board secretary, all record-keeping falls to me… including that of violations. Hannah, it will be done.”

 

Stone screamed. Wardell produced a small orange prescription bottle from her nightdress.

 

The effect of the medication was nearly instant. The two individuals of Martian origin quickly returned to consciousness and requested a moment to clean and compose themselves. All other parties removed themselves to the community room. The Martians rejoined us shortly, somewhat disoriented but otherwise healthy. When the situation was more fully explained to them, they addressed me directly:

 

“Please, you may uncuff the Earthling named Janet Stone. We do not intend to press charges.”

 

Stone sat slumped in a chair while her daughter now attempted to comfort her. The news appeared to have no effect. I heard her whisper the words “fifteen years” and “no violations,” but the rest of her speech was indecipherable.

 

The Martians continued to speak to me:

 

“Thank you for correcting the situation, officer. Although we have had conflict with your government’s executive branch in the past, it appears that the new anti-discriminatory regulation is not a completely empty gesture. We will note this to your leaders. May we record your badge number?”

 

I assented. As they took down the number, I heard a soft sobbing in the corner. It was Stone. Terry stood over her with a Sharpie, apologizing profusely.

 

At approximately 2030 hours I left the scene. No arrests were made as there was no lasting harm and no charges were pressed. And aside from a handwritten “1” now appearing on Janet Stone’s name tag, there is nothing further to report.

We’ll Arrest all European Leaders or Extrajudicially Punish THEM: Russia made a SHOCKING statement

One-Pan Marsala-Inspired Chicken and Veggies

Tender chicken thighs are coated in a delectable mushroom sauce that comes together in one pan, in mere minutes. One-Pan Marsala-Inspired Chicken and Veggies is a recipe all mushroom lovers must try!

Ingredients

Chicken

• 1 pound boneless, skinless chicken thighs, excess fat cut off
• 1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
• 1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
• 1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1/4 teaspoon pepper
• 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

Sauce

• 1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
• 1/2 cup chopped yellow onion
• 16 ounces sliced crimini or white button mushrooms
• 1 cup Marsala or Port wine
• 1 cup low-sodium chicken or vegetable stock
• 1 tablespoon all-purpose flour (or gluten-free alternative)
• 1 tablespoon chopped parsley

Instructions

1. Season both sides of the chicken thighs with oregano, garlic powder, smoked paprika, salt and pepper.
2. Heat oil in a large cast iron skillet over medium to medium-high heat. Place the chicken thighs in the skillet and cook for about 4 minutes on each side, until browned.
3. Using tongs, remove the chicken from the skillet and place on a plate. The chicken may not be completely cooked through, but it will finish cooking in the sauce.
4. To make the sauce, add an additional tablespoon of oil to the skillet. Sauté onion and mushrooms over medium to medium-high heat until browned, about 5 minutes.
5. Add the wine and bring to a boil for about 3 minutes, until the wine is reduced in half. Then add the broth and flour. Mix together until the flour is dissolved.
6. Add the chicken thighs back to the pan. Bring sauce back to a boil and let boil for another 5 minutes, until the sauce thickens and chicken is cooked through. The internal temperature of the chicken should be at least 165 degrees F.
7. Garnish with parsley before serving.

Attribution

Recipe and photo used with permission from: Mushroom Council
Recipe courtesy of: Chelsey Amer, MS, RDN

She begged for counseling after I caught her cheating, but it was too late