Here’s a story from the 1960’s. I figure sometime around 1968 or so.

My first wife; Cheri; was a Pennsylvania girl. Her folks came from the hills of Western Pennsylvania. They were all worker folk that hovered in the lower strata of the sociological-economic scale.

And it was the 1960’s.

With “big hair”, the television shows “Hee Haw”, “Bowling for dollars”, and “I love Lucy”. Country music was BIG in her family.

So, her father, like all the workers of that time, would cash his weekly paycheck and spend a part of it on the lottery.

One one day, as luck would have it, he won!

Not a millionaire amount, but became an instant “thousandaire”.

And, knowing the time and social tides that were lapping on the shore of mankind at that time, did a very 1960’s thing.

Once the father won the State lottery, he ended up buying matching dresses for all of his 16 daughters.

Big family. All the girls wearing matching pastel dresses.

Sheech!

16 girls. Perhaps something like this…

Oh sigh.

I think they wore the dress once.

Yuppur.

Champagne life with a broken Gucci belt.

Today…

The United States of Collapse: The End of Empire

A great insight to the United States today…

How could you eat this hard food in the cool snow with tears?

Life is hard, not only in China but also around the world.

I think the key character of the Chinese is optimistic under pressure. And the power is their family.

Not one could feel your heart but yourself,

I could feel hard for this man, there is a sad story.

The only thing that the Chinese is keeping going,

Try to avoid negative events.

This is China’s ‘Ice Boy’

Wang shot to fame in January last year after his teacher posted a photograph of him arriving at school with a mop of icicles for hair.

The fancy style was the result of the youngster having just trekked for over an hour and 4.5km (2.8 miles) from his home in a mountainous region of southwest China’s Yunnan province in temperatures as low as minus 9 degrees Celsius (16 degrees Fahrenheit).

Not only adults but kids are trying to cope with difficulties and misery!

Chinese is still a developing country with millions of people living in poverty

President Xi has identified anti-poverty as one of three “tough battles” already,

Set the agenda for government institutions at all levels to lift another 10 million Chinese citizens out of poverty in rural areas.

There is a small part of the rich man in China, they travel and buy all around the world,

The most part of the normal Chinese represent present China

1. The United States does not have any position to demand Taiwan’s ‘independence’, and the United States can only be a ‘bystander’ in matters between Taiwan and the Mainland.
2. The objective of the United States is neither ‘to keep China away from Taiwan’ nor ‘to avoid war’, but to maximise its interests in the Taiwan issue. For this reason, the United States has even proposed a ‘Taiwan destruction plan’ to shock China.
3. Therefore, it is impossible for the ‘capitalist’ United States to cede its rights and interests to China in good faith for the sake of Taiwan’s ‘democracy’ and ‘avoidance of war’. If the U.S. did do so, it would be communism (which, of course, communism does not do).

Moreover, the ‘Taiwan Destruction Plan’ was proposed by Samuel John Paparo Jr, Commander of the U.S. Indo-Pacific Command, in the hope of placing Ukrainian tactics in the Black Sea (where the Ukrainians destroyed almost the entire Russian Black Sea naval force through unmanned weapons) into the Taiwan Strait to starve and disrupt this region, and then hold China’s efforts to rebuild Taiwan in check. 2023 On 21 February, Biden also publicly stated that the United States had ‘a plan to destroy Taiwan’.

Yes, the destruction of the whole of Taiwan is only to ‘contain China’s strength’, and Taiwan is only a pawn of the United States. Therefore, instead of asking, ‘What can the United States give China to avoid a war in the Taiwan Straits?’, why not ask, ‘What can China give the United States to prevent it from destroying Taiwan?’

Midwestern Pork Tenderloin Sandwiches

Midwestern Pork Tenderloin Sandwiches are extremely popular in Illinois and through the Midwest.

Yield: 4 sandwiches

Ingredients

• 1 pound boneless pork loin (or boneless pork chops)
• 1 cup all-purpose flour
• 1/2 cup yellow cornmeal
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
• 4 large sandwich buns

Instructions

1. Cut 4 (1 inch) slices of pork. Trim any exterior fat from edges and butterfly each slice by cutting horizontally through the middle almost to the edge so that the halves are connected by only a thick piece of meat. Put each butterflied slice between pieces of plastic wrap. Using a wooden meat mallet, or the side of a cleaver, pound vigorously until the slice is about 10 inches across.
2. Mix together flour, cornmeal, salt and black pepper.
3. Heat 1/2 inch of oil in a deep, wide skillet to 365 degrees F. Dip each slice of pork in water, then in flour mixture. Fry tenderloin, turning once, until golden brown on both sides, about 5 minutes total. Drain on paper towels and season to taste with salt and pepper.
4. Serve on buns with desired condiments (mustard, mayonnaise, dill pickle chips, ketchup, sliced onion, lettuce).

How do you see Walmart pressuring Chinese suppliers to cut prices, shifting the burden of new U.S. tariffs onto them and consumers?

Good luck.

Walmart is a huge customer, and able to screw its suppliers. But this is different than the usual “knock 50 cents off the price if you want to keep our business.”

For starters, they’ve undoubtedly already done that bit. Tariff discounts would on top of already rock-bottom prices.

Second, if other suppliers could handle Walmart’s volume, delivery and pricing expectations, they’d already have the business. Asking them to not only match what they couldn’t before, but to absorb the tariff as well, is likely to meet with “We can’t.”

Third, tariffs are assessed on landed costs, which includes shipping, insurance and other import duties. So we’re talking a lot MORE than 10% of the cost of manufacturing.

Last, I’d be amazed if the Chinese government didn’t tell their companies not to pay, and then monitor compliance.

I suspect Walmart will make the demand. The suppliers will make a tiny reduction in the cost they charge and say that’s the best they can do. Walmart will grumble but have no choice but to accept.

And then consumers will transfer the cost of the tariffs from their pockets, to the government, and from there into the pockets of trump and his billionaire buddies.

The REAL Cause For The Decline Of Marriage And Birth Rate

Jasmine slammed her laptop shut, the blank screen mocking her. She drained the last of her latte, its bitterness mirroring her frustration. Writing had always been her refuge, especially in retirement, but today, words eluded her like a cruel joke. Deciding a change of scenery might help, she left Lemon Drop Café and stepped into the unusually quiet main street.Turning a corner, she noticed a narrow, cobblestone lane she’d never seen before. Curiosity piqued, she ventured down the lane, her footsteps echoing softly on the smooth cobblestones.At the end of the lane stood an imposing building with a substantial red wooden door adorned with a large brass knocker. Georgian lamps cast cheerful beams around the entrance, and above the door, the word “Library” was inscribed in clear gold lettering. Jasmine frowned. How had she never noticed this before?’Pushing the door open, she entered a dimly lit foyer filled with the comforting scent of old books and polish. Behind a polished desk sat a woman in her sixties, dressed in a neat grey suit, her hair pulled back into a bun.”Welcome,” the woman said with a knowing smile. “We’ve been expecting you.””I didn’t even know I was looking,” Jasmine replied, puzzled.”We knew you needed us”, the woman explained. “This is a special library. It only appears to those struggling with their writing” 

Jasmine blinked. “Seriously?”

 

The woman nodded. “Follow me to the Reading Room. You’ll find it quite inspiring.”

 

Jasmine followed the Librarian to a door labelled Reading Room. As it opened, Jasmine peered in uncertainly. The lighting was subtly different, creating a welcoming and cosy atmosphere. Inside, she noticed numerous plump sofas, chairs, and stools decked with scatter cushions of opulent velvets and silks, draped with various coloured luxurious cashmere throws. The beauty of the room made her gasp with pleasure. The contrast between the dim foyer and the vibrant Reading Room was striking.

 

The walls, from floor to ceiling, were crammed with books. Everywhere she looked—tables, cupboards—there were books. Everything was beautifully displayed, making her itch to open any book and start flicking through them. How strange that no signs indicated the genre of the books displayed.

 

“You’re a fiction writer, yes?” said the Librarian.

 

“Yes”.

 

“Shall we continue to the Fiction section? Wander amongst the books, see what you fancy, and return to the Reading Room. I think Sir Henry Rawlinson is working in the next room. He might be able to advise you.”

 

“At last, someone else in the Library,” she thought. “For such a beautiful building, it’s strangely quiet.”

 

2

She followed the Librarian next door and stared at the hundreds, maybe thousands, of books that stretched up as high as the ceiling, almost disappearing into nothingness. Ladders interspersed with narrow walking floors, and more ladders climbed higher and higher. She got dizzy just looking up. None of the fixtures were labelled in the usual manner —crime, romance, thrillers, sci-fi, or even autobiographies. This library had no signage at all.

 

Approaching the nearest shelves, she peered at the first spine and squinted. It was blank. She heard a noise behind her and turned to see a man of indiscriminate age writing at a table. He looked up and said, “Hello, can I help?”

 

She smiled. “Hi, I’m Jasmine. I assume you’re Sir Henry Rawlinson. This is a great library, but how do I find a book? There don’t seem to be any titles or authors printed on them.”

 

“No, there are no words inside the books either.”

 

“What do you mean? Why are there no words in the books?” a chill running down her spine. “How could a library have books with no words in them?”

 

“This is how life used to be. It must have been very boring. I personally love sitting and reading a book.”

 

“I don’t understand. Why were there no words in books?

 

“It’s simple; writing hadn’t been invented. This is what my research entails – the first ever writing. Only the rich and powerful were eventually offered this wonderful reading and writing skill. It was considered a status symbol.” said Sir Henry. “I know you are struggling with your story this week, or you wouldn’t be in the Library. Let me help. So tell me, what’s been the problem?” asked Sir Henry solicitously.

 

Her face flushed, and she felt she would cry. The writer’s block had really got a grip on her.

 

“This week required more effort, and I convinced myself I couldn’t do it”, Jasmine said, looking at him. “I’ve been getting upset over nothing, haven’t I?”

 

“I can see why the Library revealed itself to you! Thank goodness everyone doesn’t give up, or we’d have nothing to read!” Sir Henry snorted.

 

“I am determined to get you writing again”, he told Jasmine. “I’ve read some of your work, and it’s OK. It’s not Shakespeare, but it’s good enough. The Library thinks you’re good enough. Sort out that lack of self-belief, and goodness knows what you might produce. But we’ll never know if you sit staring at a blank screen all day.”

 

Jasmine felt entirely out of her depth in a room crammed with books that, unbeknown to her, had been sweated and struggled over. Poor Jasmine had assumed only she was experiencing problems, and no other author had ever struggled to produce a story.

 

“You do realise that all these books are just waiting for the authors to demonstrate how they wrote these – and for many, it was a real struggle. Pick up one of those books from a shelf. Look at the blank sheets, begin visualising any book, and watch it being written. Watch it being drafted and edited until the book you will come to know and love begins to appear.”

 

Jasmine shook her head. “How can this be a library? I’ve never heard of blank books in a library.”

 

He laughed, “Imagine if none of us wrote, this is how life would be. Boring, eh? I think I know the perfect book for you. How about ‘The Alchemist’ by Paulo Coelho?”

 

“Have you read it?” asked the Librarian.

 

“No,” she said.

 

“It’s about chasing your dreams and listening to your heart—will that help you write?” asked Sir Henry.

 

“Oooh, I think so. Yes.”

 

Returning to the Reading Room, the Librarian smiled encouragingly and said, “Find a comfy seat. Open the book, and watch the blank pages slowly fill with the story.”

 

“Similar to when I switch on my laptop and start typing!” Jasmine said excitedly. The Librarian nodded.

 

Jasmine looked at the blank book and noticed how it perfectly fitted her hands. She eagerly opened the pages and let the faint smell of vanilla from the freshly prepared clean paper wash over her. Words seemed to appear as she swept her eyes over the page. One minute, it was a blank page; the next, it was full of printed text. How strange. She shook her head.

 

The Librarian led her to one of the luxurious sofas. Picking up a coverlet, Jasmine covered herself with one of the soft, cuddly cashmere throws, kicked her shoes off, and, lying on the couch, began to read.

 

“This is ‘The Alchemist,’” she thought. “Why have I never read this before?”

 

“The author wrote it in only two weeks. He says it was already written in his soul. But even so, he had to put the effort into finishing writing it,” Got everything you need? Comfortable?” asked the Librarian.

 

Jasmine nodded and nestled further into the sofa, clutching the book. “Mmm, this sofa is so comfortable,” she thought as she re-read the opening page.

 

The boy’s name was Santiago. Dusk fell as the boy arrived with his herd at an abandoned church. … an enormous sycamore had grown where the sacristy had once stood.

 

“Do I want to write a story about a shepherd called Santiago? Why will this book help me get over my word block?” she mused.

 

As her eyes slowly closed, the Librarian carefully removed the book, still busily writing itself, from Jasmine’s slackened hands.

 

3

Dusk began to fall, and the gentle perfume of freshly chewed grass, the warm bark of a tree, and the sweet smell of clean livestock hit her nose. She had been reading The Alchemist, and as her eyes slowly opened, she realised she must have fallen asleep.

 

She was no longer lying on the sofa but stood in a large open field. In the distance, a boy with his herd stood near an abandoned church. She instantly knew the shepherd boy was Santiago. She knew he had dreamt of treasure inside the church, which had sent him off on a series of adventures across North Africa. She knew all this because she had just watched the story being written.

 

Jasmine walked towards him and the herd he was looking after.

 

“Hi, I’m just reading about you.”, said Jasmine.

 

“Yes, I know. How far have you got”?, he asked.

 

“I’ve only just started reading it?” Jasmine said. “I seem to be standing exactly where the story opens.”

 

“This is where I dream of treasure in a ruined church. It’s clever writing, isn’t it?”

 

“I haven’t read it all yet, so I’m not sure what happens”, said Jasmine.

 

“Ah, You don’t know if the poor shepherd boy can achieve the riches? An author can let anyone achieve anything. One minute, I will be alone in a field with my sheep; the next, I find myself talking to you. So how might you have written my story?”

 

“No idea. I don’t seem able to write this week”, she said.

 

“So look around the grazing area and the ruined church where we are – in your story, would you want to stay here?

 

“No…. I’d have to move on, I think”, she said.

 

“Okay. What about we go travelling together?”

 

She nodded excitedly.

 

“My author set my adventures in North Africa and Egypt. So, where do you want to set your story? I think travel will set your imagination on fire, and before you know it, your story will begin to write itself.”, said Santiago.

 

“I think you will need to be an older version of yourself so that we can better enjoy our travelling adventures”, Jasmine said.

 

“No problem. You’re the author, so sort it out. I can be anything you want – the story is set in your imagination. It just needs writing.” said Santiago. “Shall you start the story in the Library?”

 

“No, if I put it in a book, millions of authors might find out about it and decide to use it, and then there might not be room for me next time I need it. No, the Library will decide who it wants to show itself to.”

 

“OK, well, I suggest you start with how we meet and then let your imagination take over. I’ll see you again when you’ve written my character,” the boy said.

 

Laughing, she said, “By the way, your name’s Steven from now on.”

 

4

She started walking back over the field. As she turned to wave “bye-bye”, she saw that the boy and the herd were no longer there. In their place was a lemon-painted wall. As she stretched her eyes open, she realised she wasn’t standing but was lying on cushions on the floor. She sat up, confused for a few minutes, and then stretched and yawned, a pleasant smile playing on her face as the memory of her dream replayed. She pulled herself up from the floor, where the oversized comfy cushions were scattered. She looked around and realised she had fallen asleep in the Lemon Drop café.

 

“That was a hell of a dream. Damn it, I loved that Library. What a shame that none of it existed.”

 

She wandered back to her desk, opened her laptop, and a spark of creativity seized her. Her fingers flew over the keys as a story began to flow effortlessly from her mind.

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a tall, handsome man walk into the Lemon Drop. He had a swarthy complexion and looked as if he lived a healthy outdoor life.

 

“Hi, can I sit here?” he asked.

 

“Go ahead,” she said, welcoming him and pointing to the empty chair. “I’m Jasmine.”

 

“I’m Steven,” he said, smiling.

 

She looked intently at his face. Was it him? “Am I still asleep?” she wondered aloud.

 

Steven laughed. “Does it matter? You agreed to come travelling with me. We are about to start our adventure, aren’t we? So tell me, how’s the writing going?”

How do I legally disappear so I can never be found again?

Step 1) Sell everything you own. Phone, car, house, electronics, everything.

Step 2) Liquidate everything. Bank account, etc.

Step 3) Buy a Caribbean cruise ticket.

During one of the stops, get off and never return to the ship. Don’t prepare to settle in the Caribbean. The ship knows that’s where they lost you and anyone who comes looking for you (with a little help) can discover the island you ran away to.

Step 4) Rent a boat, with cash, to go (say) Virgin Islands, to Barbuda. Then from Barbuda, to Dominica. From Dominica, to St Lucia. From St Lucia, to Grenada. From Grenada, to Port-of-Spain. At this stage, bring an English (Italian) to Spanish and Portuguese dictionary.

Step 5) Go to Venezuela.

Step 6) Exchange some US dollars for Venezuelan bolivars. Go south. Many buses go south. Go to El Dorado and follow the highway south to Santa Elena.

Step 7) Enter Brazil. Exchange your bolivars for Brazilian reals. Go southeast. Take buses until you reach Aracaju on the coast.

Step 8) Not many tourists know about Aracaju, a beach town on the coast of Brazil. It is mostly inhabited by Brazilians. Here you can start doing odd jobs, while you learn the language. Dishwasher, cook, waiter, housekeeper. Pretend you are traveling from Vancouver, Canada and need to make money to continue your travels. Tell everyone you plan to stay there for at least 5 years.

Step 9) Integration. Live and survive.

This plan could be dangerous in many ways, you would get into debt (most likely) in the US. You would have to have your documents falsified. The only illegality would be that you are an illegal immigrant. You need to stay away from the police and live as discreetly as possible.

I guess if you want to leave forever and never be found, you have to have your reasons.

Are Russian women really that beautiful?

I was in Moscow as a tourist and took the opportunity to do the usual sightseeing (St. Basil, Kremlin, Red Square, Metro etc). A very pleasant day, apart from the infernal traffic.

As I walked around the Kremlin, a long green ring, I was enchanted not only by the importance of the places, but also by the beauty of Russian women: many of them have a still Western but Asian-leaning eye shape. Cat-like. Beautiful and very very intriguing.

I had never seen so many beautiful women together, life-size Barbies . Tall, thin, blonde, curvy, bright eyes, half naked…not beautiful but very beautiful. And (now I speak Italian) they walked normally down the street without being bothered by anyone!

Then of course there are big women like the potato farmers from Belarus with huge biceps and butts. Let’s say 50/50

And what about their character, is it equally beautiful? Not in the sense that we give to this word: they are passionate women, very strong and determined. They are never submissive but ruthless and do not forgive anything. I have a couple of friends who have been squeezed like lemons by these women and then left without remorse.

They see Italian men as weak, who can be fooled and bossed around. Which is true, unfortunately, we are not used to women like that by culture . It takes a moment from hunter to prey. And while an Italian woman reveals herself immediately, they can wait years for the right opportunity, but they will do it.

You can’t really tame a tiger . In the end you always end up back there, ” your own wife and oxen .” Take these notes as you will.

(in the photos, found on the internet, typical Russian beauties. Moscow is full of girls like that).

1

EUROPE in RAGE: The US and Russia Have Paralyzed NATO Forces & The Ukrainian Army on The BATTLEFIELD

Sir Whiskerton and Millie the Milkmaid’s Misplaced Moo Juice: A Tale of Chaos, Communication, and a Very Lost Milkmaid

Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for a tale of misplaced milk, misguided directions, and one particularly cheerful milkmaid who just can’t seem to find her way. Today’s story is one of absurdity, adventure, and the occasional existential crisis, all wrapped up in a whirlwind of wordplay and farmyard chaos. So, grab your sense of humor and a map (you’ll need it), as we dive into Sir Whiskerton and Millie the Milkmaid’s Misplaced Moo Juice: A Tale of Chaos, Communication, and a Very Lost Milkmaid.

The Arrival of Millie

It all began on a sunny morning when a cheerful milkmaid named Millie arrived at the farm. With her bright red boots, a milk pail swinging from her arm, and a smile that could outshine the sun, Millie was the picture of optimism. “Good morning, farm animals!” she called, waving enthusiastically. “I’m here to collect the farmer’s milk!”

The animals, who had been going about their usual routines, stopped to listen. “Collect the milk?” Doris the Hen asked, tilting her head. “But the barn is right over there.”

“Oh, I’ll find it!” Millie said, her smile never wavering. “I have an excellent sense of direction!”

Sir Whiskerton, who had been enjoying a particularly luxurious nap in a sunbeam, opened one eye. “This is either going to be brilliant or a complete disaster,” he muttered. “And I’m leaning heavily toward disaster.”

The Misplaced Milkmaid

True to form, Millie immediately got lost. Instead of heading toward the barn, she wandered off in the opposite direction, her cheerful humming echoing across the farm. “Now, let’s see,” she said, tapping her chin. “The barn should be… this way!”

Her first stop was the pond, where she encountered Ferdinand the Duck. “Excuse me, sir,” Millie said, curtsying dramatically. “Could you point me toward the barn?”

Ferdinand, ever the dramatic one, flapped his wings and struck a pose. “The barn, you say? Why, it’s that way!” he said, pointing in a completely random direction.

“Thank you!” Millie said, setting off with renewed determination.

Next, she stumbled upon Porkchop the Pig, who was enjoying a particularly juicy apple. “Excuse me, ma’am,” Millie said, bowing slightly. “Could you tell me how to get to the barn?”

Porkchop, who was too busy chewing to speak, simply grunted and pointed in another random direction. “Thank you!” Millie said, setting off once again.

The Comical Encounters

As Millie continued her quest, her cheerful optimism remained unshaken, even as her path grew increasingly absurd. She wandered into the chicken coop, where Doris the Hen was in the middle of a particularly juicy bit of gossip. “Excuse me, ladies,” Millie said, interrupting the conversation. “Could you point me toward the barn?”

Doris squawked in alarm. “The barn? It’s that way!” she said, pointing in yet another random direction.

“Thank you!” Millie said, setting off once more.

Her next stop was the tie-dye cow pasture, where Bessie the Tie-Dye Cow was meditating under a tree. “Excuse me, ma’am,” Millie said, bowing deeply. “Could you tell me how to get to the barn?”

Bessie, ever the laid-back hippie, opened one eye. “Like, the barn is, you know, over there, man,” she said, gesturing vaguely. “Just follow your inner peace.”

“Thank you!” Millie said, setting off with a spring in her step.

The Chaos Escalates

As the day wore on, Millie’s attempts to find the barn grew increasingly comical. She wandered into the vegetable patch, where she mistook a scarecrow for the farmer. “Excuse me, sir,” she said, curtsying again. “Could you point me toward the barn?”

The scarecrow, of course, said nothing. “Oh, you’re shy!” Millie said, patting it on the shoulder. “That’s okay. I’ll find it myself!”

Next, she stumbled upon Rufus the Dog, who was napping in the shade. “Excuse me, sir,” Millie said, bowing slightly. “Could you tell me how to get to the barn?”

Rufus, who was too sleepy to care, simply wagged his tail and pointed in yet another random direction. “Thank you!” Millie said, setting off once again.

The Feline Intervention

Determined to restore order, Sir Whiskerton called an emergency meeting. “Clearly, Millie’s sense of direction is… less than accurate,” he said, flicking his tail. “But fear not! I have a plan.”

With the help of Chef Remy LeRaccoon and the Divine Llama, Sir Whiskerton devised a solution: they would guide Millie to the barn using a series of animal signals. The only problem? Millie didn’t understand animal language.

“We’ll have to get creative,” Sir Whiskerton said, adjusting his monocle. “Follow my lead.”

The Hidden Talent

As Sir Whiskerton and the animals guided Millie toward the barn, something remarkable happened. Millie, in her cheerful optimism, began to pick up on the animals’ signals. “Oh, I see!” she said, clapping her hands. “You’re trying to tell me something!”

With a little practice, Millie discovered a hidden talent for animal communication. She began to understand the animals’ gestures, sounds, and even their facial expressions. “This is amazing!” she said, her smile widening. “I can understand you!”

The animals, equally amazed, began to communicate more clearly. “The barn is this way,” Sir Whiskerton said, flicking his tail.

“Thank you!” Millie said, following the animals to the barn.

The Moral of the Story

As Millie finally arrived at the barn, the animals reflected on the day’s events.

The moral of the story, dear reader, is this: Sometimes, the most unexpected talents can lead to the greatest discoveries. Whether you’re a lost milkmaid, a dapper detective, or just a cat trying to keep the peace, it’s important to embrace new skills and perspectives—and maybe leave the map at home.

A Happy Ending

With her newfound talent for animal communication, Millie became a regular visitor to the farm, always finding the barn with ease. The animals, now her friends, looked forward to her cheerful visits and her ever-present smile.

As for Sir Whiskerton, he returned to his sunbeam, content in the knowledge that he had once again saved the day. The farm was calm, the animals were happy, and Millie… well, Millie finally found the barn.

And so, dear reader, we leave our heroes with the promise of new adventures, new talents, and hopefully, no more misplaced milkmaids. Until next time, may your days be filled with laughter, discovery, and just a little bit of feline genius.

The End.

There was a bully that was an asshole to everyone including me. He broke my arm, kicked me in the stomach and broke a rib. Called me faggot and gayboy. Put pictures of guys on my locker. Carved a penis on my parents car door (no proof it was him) and the school nor police did nothing..if i reported it the next day would get a beating. One day i was in a field behind my house where him and 3 of his friends beat me up tied my hands behind my back and took all my clothes. And did things to me. It was reported to police and he and his fiends made up a story that it was consensual because i was gay. They did end up going on JV probation. His grandpa was the county attorney and uncle was county sheriff. I did move away to live with my grand parents in another state. Move on to about a 20 years away from then i was just made regional VP of operations for a very big oil and gas company and my task was to see if anyone needed “let go”. I was in an area in west Texas when i came across his name. He was a team lead manager. Making about 200k+ a year plus bonuses. I looked at his HR file and seen several complaints about “bullying” over his 10 + years with the company. I called his supervisor and told him to fire him immediately. He was only in that position because his dad was with the company (now new owners and new name) for 30 years now retired. This bully lost everything. House, truck, boat, even his wife and kids. And last i knew he put something in his mouth and ended it all. I don’t feel sorry one bit because of the daily verbal and physical abuse he did to me and others. I actually can’t wait to go piss on his grave.

What other factors, apart from Chinese stocks, would drive global capital back into China’s long-shunned assets?

In 2008, any investor who invested 10,000 Dollars into Property ETFs in China would have been worth 44,944 Dollars in 2018. Showing 16 per cent growth a year.

In 2024, these ETFs are 12,619 Dollars

So any investor who invested in Chinese property would have seen his investments grow by 1.37 per cent a year over 17 years

That is because the Chinese Government sabotaged their own property market overnight, unilaterally because they felt the property bubble had to burst sooner than later

Who suffered?

The Investors from the States mainly, Japan and Europe

They carried 60 Billion Dollars of Losses on the Property Funds

It was not a natural crash

Had it been, there would have been signs, symptoms and chances for many investors ti diversify, reinforce or exit

It was a decision by their government

“We don’t want a bubble. Our Citizens are paying too much for housing. So we will bring down housing prices by punishing the developers and forcing them to the table”

In the process, overseas investors were thrown under a bus

This came after the Alibaba IPO that was cancelled after so much fanfare

After the scrapping of Tuition and Coaching software and Industry related investments, again overnight costing overseas investors 7 Billion Dollars

(I personally had little respect for Property Or Tuition Software as instruments for value growth , so I was never personally impacted)

—

I get that they did all this to ensure their average citizenry benefited in the long run and their monopolies were replaced by many smaller startups

However I am not Chinese

I only look at things from an Overseas investor’s perspective

How could I trust such a system that can decide overnight to dismantle an industry and let all overseas investors go to hell?

—

Nobody believed China would get another chance

Yet the proverbial luck of the Chinese turns out to hold for the umpteenth time

A Combination of Deepseek and Donald Trump have once again led to a confidence among Overseas investors into China

We ourselves have been stacking up positions in Chinese investments

The boss Jinpeng took this chance to meet the private investors and give reassurances that there would be no more bad moments

—

What we expect from the Chinese is clear communication , well in advance

Policies which affect investors must be made known in advance so that investors can protect themselves

We don’t mind getting burnt in a free market equation but we sure wouldn’t like policy changes to affect value of our investments

We expect less interference from the Government.

We expect full throttle free market capitalism

The Chinese can help their poor and keep their prices low but they must keep their markets as free as possible even if sometimes their people make losses. You cannot mollycoddle people all the time.

This is one golden chance China has to assure investors that things are a-ok

Investors have a short memory so if we make enough money now, the past will be forgotten

If they decide to do something foolish and nationalize all their AI and proprietary assets overnight, then investors get burnt again

—

The ball is in their court

Interest is slowly building up in China to such an extent that the investors are overcoming their mistrust and coming to China , attracted by the low PE of their markets and the massive IP and Proprietary assets at their disposal

They should encourage this interest and bring back the trust

Europe Just Sent a Terrifying Warning to the World

In 1919, A building contractor named J.D. McMahon raised money from investors to build a skyscraper in Texas.

On the planning project papers he stated that the skyscraper would be 480″ tall.

The investors assumed that 480″ would be a printing mistake and thought it must be 480 ft tall, and without any further enquiries or cross questioning, they invested the $200,000 which was the asking amount. The value of that investment is around $3 million today, inflation adjusted.

The same year he completed the skyscraper that ended up being 480″ tall, with only 4-storey.

The construction cost was merely a few thousand dollars and the remaining money was his profit to keep.

This people, is the height of deceit. 🤦

When the investors saw the end project, they were horrified and angry, so they sued him. However the judge decided that McMahon’s wasn’t at fault at all. He exactly gave the investors what they signed for and McMahon got to enjoy the enormous profit from it. This wasn’t a scam in the eye of law, however the investors believed that they were ripped of their money and got scammed.

The building is called the Newby – McMahon building and is commonly referred to as world’s littlest skyscraper.

Why is Spain such a miserable country?

I’m French, but I’ve lived, grown up, studied, and worked in Spain all my life.

And honestly, it’s a shame that things have to be this way because, objectively, Spain is a country with incredible potential—probably enough to be a global reference and a major power. We have an outstanding cultural heritage, an enviable cuisine, a climate that many would dream of, and natural resources that, if not for political decisions and other interests, could probably make the country entirely self-sufficient.

And yet… we are still weighed down by our historical and political legacy, decade after decade. People remain divided—either “reds” or nationalists, left or right—and as long as this continues, real progress is impossible. Bureaucracy is a nightmare—efficiency in anything related to administrative processes is practically nonexistent. There’s a lot of talk about free public healthcare and education, even though they aren’t truly free, but the reality is that we’ve normalized a level of precariousness in these sectors that we shouldn’t accept. We need to demand much more—after all, we pay an absurd amount in taxes.

And that’s another issue: we keep paying, more and more every year, yet it’s never enough—there’s always another tax, another increase. Meanwhile, the quality of public services (healthcare, education, infrastructure, research) doesn’t improve in the slightest. It’s not like in other countries I’ve been to, such as Switzerland—there, you do pay a lot, but you actually see it reflected in your daily life.

Another issue is poorly designed left-wing policies, implemented with the clear goal of holding on to power and benefiting so-called “self-proclaimed vulnerable” groups at the expense of hardworking, law-abiding citizens. The immigration situation is an absolute disaster—we’re sinking on all fronts. Our culture is being severely undermined, and what used to be dismissed as an “ethnic replacement conspiracy theory” is starting to look less like a myth and more like reality.

Another major problem is the complete lack of coordination between municipal, provincial, regional, and national administrations. It’s a total mess—endless delays in procedures, inefficiency everywhere. And if we talk about political mass, it’s unbelievable that Spain is one of the countries with the most politicians per capita—if not the highest. It’s completely unacceptable. The lack of real consequences for corruption among public officials is shameful; the impunity with which they operate is staggering.

In short, it’s truly sad—and I say this with deep regret—that a country with the potential to be a global leader in every way has been reduced to a mere sun-and-beach tourist destination. Great for visitors, but a nightmare for those of us who live here.

My investigations started locally, with St. Peter’s – very apt since he’s the keeper of the keys, right? The least the custodians could have done was to secure the appropriate locks, but apparently, they are too trusting of their visitors. Slipping through a narrow, arched door from the nave (this one read “no public access”), I was amused to discover the storeroom for the gift shop. I must have known that stuff was held somewhere on site, but there is something unexpectedly irreverent about shelves and shelves of cardboard boxes of supposedly sacred items. I had never considered that such important symbols as the crucifix and the miraculous medal must be mass produced for the tourist market. But there they were – delivered by the van load and stashed in the dark until stock got low, like an ecclesiastical supermarket.

It was on my third trip out of town that I was first apprehended in my explorations. Sister Margaret, the Parish Sister at St Michael’s, opened the door to the vestry to discover me thumbing my way through the splendid priests’ outfits. Was ‘outfit’ an appropriate word to use for the sacred costumes they wear to preach in? Was ‘costume’ an appropriate word? Apparently not. Sister Margaret was a stern, but kindly woman and took a few minutes to talk me through the alb and amice, the stole, cincture and chasuble. She pointed out the grand mitre – a ceremonial hat reserved only for bishops, before she asked me, politely but firmly, to return to the public areas of the cathedral, and stay in them. I’m fairly sure she followed me about for the next thirty minutes, and very sure she’s the reason I didn’t return to St Michael’s for a more in-depth examination of the building.

Since then, I’ve been removed from offices, corridors, tunnels, staff toilets, stairwells, crypts and cloisters more times than I can remember. And, though I have never sustained any injuries, it has not always been so dignified as when Sister Margaret started my education with an overview of the vestments. The three volunteers at St Jude’s who found me in the treasury room (not the public one – where’s the fun in that?) not only manhandled me out onto the street, but threatened to call the police if I ever came back. I can only assume I was added to some kind of Catholic blacklist after that particular excursion, because, in the years that have followed, I have felt watched whenever I set foot in a church or cathedral.

That didn’t stop me from making my inspections of the fascinating back rooms of God’s houses. I just had to be more discrete. I didn’t go so far as to wear a mask or make up, but I did dye my hair blonde and throw on a pair of sunglasses when I attended St John’s.

A brief trip down a cordoned off stairwell and through a couple of arched wooden doors (the second one was difficult to unbolt) led me to a magnificent library. I flicked a light switch to reveal a tired prayer book resting on an ancient oak table near the door. Along each of the four stone walls stood wooden bookshelves, carved with angel wings and crosses on the ends of each bay and olive branches across the tops. The stonework above curved into an exquisite, vaulted ceiling, from which hung a series of ornate chandeliers – electric now, but I could imagine the room being candle lit a long time ago. The books housed here were leather-bound and had no spine labels like a modern library. Instead, small paper shelf markers in little brass frames sat underneath them and gave away their contents. Some of the titles were Latin. Actually, a lot of them were, and there was a great deal of gold leaf in view. An excited smile broke across my lips and my fingers tingled with the desire to lift a few volumes from their resting places, open the ancient covers, flick through illuminated texts and –

Footsteps and a loud cough in the adjoining room, and I ran to hide. The only place I could conceal myself was under the old table. I skittered across to it and ducked underneath just as the door swung open, and in walked a man in full vestments and carrying a mitre. A bishop, no less! I steadied my breathing and watched in silence as he crossed the stone floor towards my hiding place. He hovered a moment at the table, then paced to the far corner of the room. He was no longer carrying his mitre. In his hand now was the old prayer book. He pressed his foot quite deliberately against the bottom of the shelving on the far wall. There was an audible clunk and the shelves swung open towards him. The bishop stepped through the gap and pulled the shelves shut behind himself.

I made my way out of the vaulted library as quickly as I could, dashing back up the stairs and rejoining the other, less adventurous, tourists in the chapel of St Mary.

A week later I returned, better equipped and ready to investigate further.

I slipped down the stairwell a few minutes before mass was due to start – everyone would be too busy to notice me, and I shouldn’t be disturbed for a while. The first door was easy to open again and the second still stiff but manageable. Once inside the library, I opened my backpack and removed my Maglite and camera. Without the light from the chandeliers the room was filled with eerie shadows, creeping like the finger bone relics of dead saints across the flag stone floor. I scurried to the corner where the bishop had clunked open the shelves and I copied his movements. The same bay of shelving opened before me onto a dark passageway at the end of which a fire was burning.

Taking a final look back into the library, I stepped forward and shone my torch against the passageway walls. More shelves. More books. A secret library within a secret library!

I cast the light around. The books at this end of the corridor were much more modern than those at the other; they were still leather bound but less dusty and more uniform in size. I picked a recent one off the shelf and let the cover fall open in my hands. It was some sort of ledger. Handwritten entries detailed names, addresses and dates, and in the final column strange words were written, some were crossed out, others were not. The dates were recent. The last one being the same date I had first discovered the secret library, just one week ago. The entry for that date read:

Stella Banbury – 23 Monkswood Lane – 1^st May 2023 – Hebethel

I took a photograph of the page.

I returned the book to the shelf and ran the beam from my Maglite down the corridor. The smoke from the fire was sulphurous and starting to sting my eyes, but curiosity was stronger than discomfort. I crept towards the flames, pausing to listen and observe after each careful step. I took several photos on the way. After a minute or so the corridor opened out onto a huge fireplace with carved stone seats on either side. Images of the devil decorated the back rests, ugly fanged faces with horns and flaming bodies standing on cloven hooves. I dared not sit down.

“Why would a bishop have a fireplace dedicated to Lucifer?” I wondered, out loud, snapping photo after photo.

“Laura Marsh? I’ve been expecting you.” The voice was deep and silky, seductive.

I spun round looking for someone behind me, but the voice was coming from the flames.

“Is this a trick?”

“No trick. Though I am famous for those.” The fire burned brighter, and the flames licked higher. They wavered into each other and interlocked like a hellish collage of reds and yellows, until a face appeared within them. The lips were curled into a cruel smile and the eyes glowed white hot. Above the hairline were two sharp horns. “Won’t you let me show you one?”

“You can’t seriously be the devil?”

“Tell me, Laura, what would you do in return for eternal life? Would you contribute to my library? It’s rather beautiful, yes?”

There were footsteps in the corridor behind me and I turned to face them, torch shaking in my hand. I could tell from the outline of the clothing that it was the bishop on his way towards me. I wasn’t sure what was worse, being tempted by the devil himself or having a bishop discover me in that situation. As he reached a few steps away from me, I rummaged in my backpack and pulled out my rosary beads. Maybe it was time to pray.

“Ah, you must be Laura, and I see you’ve met my friend already,” said the bishop, gesturing towards the fire. He held out his hand below mine and I obediently dropped my rosary into it. “Interesting thing about these”- He held it up before his face – “the mass produced ones are never blessed before purchase. Not even in cathedral gift shops. I can’t imagine a girl with your lack of reverence for all things holy has ever bothered to put hers before a priest.”

“You know who I am?”

“We’ve been watching you quite closely, hoping you would make your way down here.” The bishop rolled the rosary in his palm and flung it into the fire where it hissed and spat. “We thought it would take more persuasion, but we didn’t really have to do much at all. You’re quite the explorer.”

“What do you want?” I asked.

The bishop put his hand on my shoulder and looked into my eyes. “I want to retire. Eternal life is wonderful for a few hundred years, truly wonderful. I have seen so many things. But at some point, I got tired. And heaven, though it sounds like a paradise, when you really think about it, its all about serving God, being a slave to his whims. Honestly the work must never end. Just when you think you’re ready for a nice long rest, there’s praying and worship and being holy to get in the way of it.”

“You’re not serious?”

“I’m absolutely serious. And I’ve found the way out.” The bishop gestured again towards the demonic face in the fireplace. “This way I can either be a ruler in Hell, or I can choose complete oblivion. Nothingness. I simply cease to exist. The latter is sounding more and more attractive each day. But first I must find my replacement.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” My breath felt short.

“Laura, Laura. I am asking you to take my place.”

“I’m not a bishop.”

“You don’t have to be. A cleaner or a librarian, a scholar or a restoration expert, any number of people, could just as easily slip down here unnoticed once a week. And you would be well paid for your supposed work. Of course, the real work is much more interesting. Let me explain.” The bishop took a seat next to the fire and indicated for me to do the same.

My legs were a little wobbly, so I sat down on the stone seat and became intensely aware that my skin was being warmed by something quite evil.

The deal sounded simple. In exchange for delivering demons to take possession of human hosts, I would be granted eternal life (or at least, life for as long as I should want it).

But the devil was, as ever, in the details.

“Lucifer will bring the soul of a demon through the fire into our secret inner library once a week. You will collect the prayer book from the table in the outer library and check the current ledger for the name and address of the next victim.” The bishop stumbled over the word ‘victim’ but it sounded correct to me. Correct and distasteful. I realised I was holding my breath and let out a sharp puff of air before inhaling more sulphur.

The bishop glanced at the face in the fire. “Then you’ll open the prayer book to reveal the hollowed-out page block and place it in front of the fire to receive the demon. Their essence resembles a twisting red flame but don’t worry, it isn’t hot to the touch. Once concealed in the book you will carry the demon back through the library, up the stairs, across the chapel and out of the west doors. Keep it shut in the book until you locate the host, releasing it nearby when that person is sleeping, drunk, or otherwise vulnerable.”

This sounded awful. Awful and fanciful. Surely no one was actually doing this?

The bishop went on. “Then watch the host for a few hours and see whether the demon is starting to take control, and record the outcome in the current ledger. If the demon doesn’t succeed, you cross his name out, return him to the fire, and he tries again the following week.”

I sat in stunned silence, staring at the bishop. I had almost forgotten that Lucifer himself was in the room.

“You have a week to think it over.” The flames grew higher as the silky voice filled my ears. “Only one week. If you decide not to join our cause you will go back to living your normal life, but I would appreciate it if you refrained from future ventures into my realm.”

I drove home electrified by fear and adrenaline, stoked by intrigue and curiosity. Eternal life? Was it real? Were demons even real? Had I really spoken with the devil? I was going to have to go back just to see if I had imagined the whole thing or not – and if I hadn’t, well, I had a big decision to make.

I got home, pulled the curtains closed and checked the images in my camera. Evidently the demon Hebethel had failed on several occasions recently. His name was crossed out next to five different entries in the ledger. He must be getting desperate.

Stephen Hackles – 1a Peregrine Street – 3^rd April 2023 – Hebethel

Petra Singleton – 18 Bendigo Court – 10^th April 2023 – Hebethel

Mark Castlemain – 12 Beaufort Close – 17^th April 2023 – Hebethel

Cassie Drunbridge – 8 Pearlview Drive – 24^th April 2023 – Hebethel

Stella Banbury – 23 Monkswood Lane – 1^st May 2023 – Hebethel

I stewed on it for two days. There were six days left until the next possession attempt on May 8th, and the day after that, the devil expected me back in the library to announce my choice. I wondered if Hebethel was as nervous as I was. I wondered how many chances he would get, and what the punishment would be for repeated failure. I wondered what would happen to me if I refused a deal with the devil.

Or indeed, if I took one.

Last night, the evening of May 8^th 2023, I stayed home at Trueman Avenue, rolling my options around in my head. I hadn’t visited a church or cathedral all week. Perhaps that was for the best. Maybe if I took the deal it would occupy me enough to stop me from trespassing into other strange situations. It could prevent me from getting into all kinds of other predicaments that are better avoided.

What is better avoided than a deal with the devil? Not much.

I opened a bottle of vodka and a bottle of coke. I can’t remember which one I used as the mixer, but they were both empty when I scraped myself out of bed this morning and slumped into the bottom of the shower. The water and steam didn’t help, and my trembling hands were not much use with the soap. Two strong coffees made me almost pass for human, and buttered toast enabled me to stand up without puking.

Driving wasn’t an option, so I caught a train. Its rhythm on the tracks jarred my stomach and the driver’s voice over the speakers pounded in my skull.

I arrived at St Johns with my head in pieces, but my mind made up: I’d take the deal. I’d definitely take the deal. I had no idea how I came to the conclusion, but I knew, I just knew. I stumbled across the nave into the chapel, sneaked clumsily down the stairs, pushed open the doors, collected the prayer book, crossed the library and jammed my foot against the bottom shelf.

The bay opened with a clunk and I stepped inside. I couldn’t help but wonder if Hebethel had finally met success, so I plucked the most recent ledger from the wall and flipped the pages. And then I knew. I knew how the decision had come to me so easily this morning. The unlucky demon had a new line in the book, only this time, his name was not crossed out:

Laura Marsh – 5 Trueman Avenue – 8^th May 2023 – Hebethel 

A few years ago, I owned a lovely 1977 Lotus Eclat.

It was a wonderful, though fragile car but had one particularly annoying issue. When driving in stop-and-go traffic, the brakes would lock up and the car couldn’t be moved for several minutes.

I do almost all my own auto repair (the only way I can afford the cars I have). But this problem stumped me. The previous owner told me he had recently replaced the brake master cylinder and all four calipers. Yet the car had this weird brake problem.

I called Dave Bean Engineering, the go-to antique Lotus parts supplier, I called automotive brake specialists, I called all the mechanics I knew and talked to mechanically inclined friends. All recommended rebuilding or replacing the master cylinder.

Eventually, I relented and bought a master cylinder repair kit (I was too cheap to buy a new master cylinder). The next sunny, Saturday morning I took my tools, the repair kit and all my gumption up to the (gravel) levee where the Lotus was parked (I live in a marina) and prepared for the job. This would include not just the arduous removal of the master cylinder and it’s rebuild, but then the bleeding of the brakes.

Settling in, I turned on the radio to keep me company while I worked. The humorous talk show on NPR Car Talk, with Tom and Ray Magliozzi was just starting. While I rolled up my sleeves Tom and Ray introduced their first caller. This fellow had a Volkswagen Beetle with the exact same brake problem I was having with my Lotus.

Tom and Ray explained that the master cylinder has a push-rod that drives the pressure piston and that its adjustable. They explained that if the rod isn’t adjusted to the correct length, the piston seals wouldn’t allow the brake fluid to drain properly after each use. Frequent application of the brakes would cause a buildup of brake fluid, increasing pressure and eventually locking up the brakes, until the fluid has had time to drain.

On hearing this explanation, I grabbed an 11-millimeter wrench, squeezed myself (upside down) under the steering wheel and proceeded to adjust the push-rod on my master cylinder. Once finished, I took the car for a ride.

It worked! The brakes were fine, even after many repeated applications.

But what a coincidence!

An what were the odds that as I was about to begin the rebuild, the very minute I turned the radio to Car Talk, out of all the years I’d listened to those guys, that they would be talking about my obscure repair issue at that exact moment?

I couldn’t begin to calculate the odds.

What is an “Only in Japan” moment?

Japan is full of vending machines. You can get almost anything, from a drink to a pack of freshly baked potato fries.

I was trying to quench my thirst on a hot day with a drink from one of these machines and ended finding this

A closer look

Someone forgot 900¥ (around 9$) after using 1000¥ in the vending machine. The next person had patiently put the change in a bag with a note and stuck it to vending machine for the first guy to get it back.

You are most likely to find your lost wallet or your lost phone. Just go to the nearby police station. Someone would have definitely returned your lost stuff there.

Can happen only in Japan.

What is stopping China from unlocking $20 trillion in household savings to drive growth, as suggested by Alibaba’s chair Joe Tsai?

The US.

It has launched a trade and tech war on China, and judging by what happened with Hutchison, the US wants to expand its war on China to key infrastructures around the world too.

China is not naive or stupid, it sees the trade and tech war no different than a military war. The emphasis is on the “war” part. At any moment the US can choose to open up a new front for war with China and that is beyond China’s control.

So China has effectively switched to a war footing.

During wartime, consumption is not important, the property market is not important, the stock market is not important. That’s why the Chinese government has allowed them to fall, made them fall even, while refocusing all energy on defense against the US, including trade, like anti-dumping against France and CPTPP talks etc., to fight back against American trade war, and tech innovation, so that China may stay ahead of the US tech-wise so US boycotting China from American tech can’y hurt China. All the while, China is building up its military just in case the US goes crazy and decides for military war.

Consumption is not important in such situation.

The NGO Scandal You’re Not Hearing About

Hong Kong signed a 50 year agreement back in 1997 to become part of mainland China after being part of British rule. what do you think will happen in 2047 since I will still be alive by then assuming I don’t get cancer or die from an accident?

Hong Kong didn’t sign any agreement to become part of mainland China.

For 156 years, Hong Kong was a British crown colony — a prize of war gained during the First Opium War between Britain and China. The colony comprised Hong Kong Island and the Kowloon peninsula. Then in 1898, to enforce its control of the area, the UK leased additional land, known as the New Territories, for 99 years. This lease expired on 30 June 1997.

Original British Hong Kong in grey with the New Territories in green

As Hong Kong developed, much of its transport and energy infrastructure, reservoirs and a lot of its population was in the New Territories. In short, without the New Territories, Hong Kong was not really viable. So as 1997 approached, Britain and China reached a deal over Hong Kong’s future. The UK would hand sovereignty of the territory back to China. Hong Kong would retain a high degree of autonomy as well as maintain its existing governing and economic systems separate from Mainland China for a period of 50 years until 2047.

As for what happens in 2047, I expect China will continue to keep Hong Kong as a Special Administrative Region. Firstly because this arrangement benefits both China and Hong Kong economically. Hong Kong plays an important role as a “superconductor” between China and the rest of the world. It’s a huge source of foreign direct investment into China, comprising 39.2% of total foreign direct investment in 2023.

[1]

Secondly, because, well, Chinese policymakers have already indicated that Hong Kong’s distinct status will continue after 2047.

“In reality, 50 years is just a figurative saying. There will not be changes after 50 years… the first 50 years cannot change. There is no need to change after 50 years.”

Shen Chunyao, chairperson of the Legislative Affairs Commission of the Standing Committee of the National People’s Congress

[2]

And thirdly, the Hong Kong government is already renewing land leases in the territory long past 2047. For instance, in 2020, the Lands Department granted a 50-year lease on a piece of land in Tai Po, taking the development through to AD 2070. Eight companies bid for the lease, showing they are confident enough to bet literally hundreds of millions on the community’s post-2047 continuation.

TLDR – unless there are drastic changes in China and the global geopolitical situation, I expect nothing much will change in Hong Kong’s status in 2047.

With his long drug addiction, how did Ginger Baker live so long?

Shorpy

Midwest Tart Cherry Pie

This beautiful lattice-topped cherry and cream cheese crust pie is kissed with a touch of almond.

Prep: 30 min | Yield: 10 servings

Ingredients

• 2 (14 1/2 ounce) cans pitted tart cherries in water, undrained
• 1 cup + 1 teaspoon granulated sugar, divided
• 1/4 cup cornstarch
• 1/4 teaspoon almond extract
• 6 ounces (3/4 of 8 ounce package) Philadelphia Cream Cheese, softened
• 3/4 cup butter, softened
• 2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour

Instructions

1. Drain cherries, reserving 1 cup liquid. Mix 1 cup sugar and cornstarch in medium saucepan. Add cherries and reserved liquid; stir. Cook over medium-high heat 12 minutes or until mixture comes to boil; cook until thickened, stirring constantly. Cook and stir for 1 minute; cool completely. Stir in extract.
2. Heat oven to 375 degrees F. Beat cream cheese and butter in large bowl with mixer until blended. Gradually add flour, mixing well after each addition. (Dough will be crumbly.) Shape into 2 balls; flatten slightly. Roll out half the dough on floured surface to 11 inch circle; place in a 9 inch pie plate. Fill with cherry mixture.
3. Roll out remaining dough to 11 inch circle; cut into 10 (1/2 inch wide) strips. Reserve remaining dough for garnish. Weave strips over filling to make lattice design. (See tip.) Fold edge of bottom crust over ends of strips. Cut remaining dough into shapes with small cookie cutters; arrange on pie. Sprinkle with remaining sugar.
4. Bake for 35 to 40 minutes or until filling is hot and bubbly and crust is golden brown.

Notes

How to Prepare with Fresh or Frozen Tart Cherries: Substitute 3 1/2 cups fresh, or thawed frozen, tart cherries for the canned cherries. Pit cherries; place in colander over bowl. Drain, reserving juice. Add enough water to reserved juice to measure 1 cup. Use to prepare filling as directed.

Nutrition

Per serving: Calories 400 % Daily Value Total fat 20g Saturated fat 12g Cholesterol 60mg Sodium 190mg Carbohydrate 52g Dietary fiber 2g Sugars 25g Protein 5g
Vitamin A 25 % DV Vitamin C 4% DV Calcium 4% DV Iron 8% DV
Nutrition information is estimated based on the ingredients and cooking instructions as described in each recipe and is intended to be used for informational purposes only. Please note that nutrition details may vary based on methods of preparation, origin and freshness of ingredients used.

This was my 21st birthday.

It was my mother who did it, I invited my parents (divorced but in a relationship) to my birthday dinner and afterwards they wanted to hang out with me and my friends, so we headed to a bar where I would hang out a lot. One of my guests was my dad’s ex-girlfriend’s daughter, so my mom kept abusing the girl all night and unfortunately I didn’t notice because there were a lot of guests and I thought she would be nice. I lived with my dad, but I was going to spend the night at my mom’s house with her, and when we got home her narcissistic traits boiled over when she said I invited the girl to provoke her, saying how she was prettier than both of us and how ridiculous I was. She had been smoking weed and drinking, eventually she said something to me that made me say something back so she cornered me against the wall and banged her head on my nose. There’s a lot of backstory and there’s some more aggression too, but it’s too much to fit into one answer lol.

But basically that was the night my nose was broken and I realized how abuse has affected my life, so I am no longer afraid of my parents or any other abusive person, and I no longer act out of anger because I know why I am always so hurt and angry. The abuse lowered my dating standards and I have had many terrible relationships. Now that I am with someone who treats me well, I am healing my wounds, we have our place and it is a great relief to live in peace.

Here’s me and my boyfriend, 200% happier, fatter and no more tears or signs of abuse. My demons from the past haunt me sometimes but I’m still 23 so I believe in myself and I know I’ll move forward.

I still hang out with my family, and I think they appreciate the times when we talk and see each other a lot more than they used to, probably because they understand that I’m doing better and that I could cut them off completely for what they did. But they’ve been helpful and supportive, so we’re okay now.

I have forgiven, but I will never forget.

Is it better to take the ferry from Aberdeen to Lerwick, Shetland Islands, or is it good to fly there?

Fly there, if you can. Cost can be an issue, but the ferry isn’t cheap if you take a vehicle. You could literally take a weeks holiday in Spain or Portugal for the same cost.

It also takes a minimum 12 hours, alternating as 14, every other day. To explain, that section of sea, between Orkney and Shetland, is commonly viewed by experienced seamen as being one of the worst stretches of water in the world.

In. The. World.

Last time I visited – having lived there very very happily for twenty years – I had all but forgotten the weather. We sailed up and it was calm as can be. We sailed down and I spent 14 hours in what was largely a Force 11, with the ships purser and Captain urging people not even to stand up and move about if they could avoid it, as you were risking injury when the wall suddenly became the floor. That sounds overdramatic? Tell that to my face, when I sat up to go to the bathroom and fell the length of the room, face first into the cabin door, when the ship pitched as violently as I can ever remember. And this is a big ship, not some wee car ferry. See picture provided. That’s a real photograph of the ferry, in heavy waters, below a Force 11.

One occasion we sailed, several cars were crushed, in the hold, when the weather was so bad, the chains holding the cargo trailers snapped and the trailers overturned, flattening a 4×4, and three brand new cars all being shipped to their new owners, who were waiting quayside, next morning, in dismay, as their ruined vehicles were winched and dragged out. Oh, and the 4×4 had a dog sleeping in the rear of it, as the owners had not wanted to place her in the kennel space. Tragic.

So, if you have the option? Take the 45minute to an hour plane flight, and enjoy the beautiful view as you land. Avoid the 14 hour trip through Hell (when the weather has been REALLY bad, going south, ships have been diverted from Aberdeen harbour and ended up in Rosyth, after what then became a 36 hour voyage!!

It’s your choice, but I know, as an adopted islander who travelled a lot (I was police, so was on and off the island, to court, courses, production runs to the lab, meetings and the Police College, all the time) what I would choose.

Every single time.

The last photo is to show you the actual size of the vessel, so you can see it’s not a flimsy wee thing.

Fly. Take it from me.

Every. Single. Time.

Who should be credited the most for making Apple a successful company, Steve Jobs, Steve Wozniak or Tim Cook?

It was fully on Steve Jobs to make Apple successful. Of course it would never have happened if not for the Apple I and Apple II which was made by Woz along with his amazing floppy disk controller.

But after that, Woz clocked out. He quit, then came back to simply just work at Apple, not inventing but just working and then he left. He never saw the need to make Apple IIgs, he never saw the need to make the Macintosh. All he wanted was the Apple II and possibly Apple IIe.

He once said that when he saw the Apple Newton eMate 300, the one with keyboard attached that he saw no need for computers to do anything else. Remember he had already sold designs to the Apple I to others. He was happy, actually he was very happy working at HP making calculators.

I am not dissing on Woz. He had his hopes and dreams. He is my all time hero. He seriously is.

It was Steve Jobs who wanted to change the world, and he did change the world. When he came back to Apple, he had a decade long experience as a manager, both at Pixar and NeXT. He had been making deals with IBM and Disney. He knew his stuff. He saved Apple.

It was he who made a deal with the recording industry to sell music, without limitations. That part, on it’s own, took Apple from a few billion dollar revenue to tens of billions and eventually to hundreds of billions. It was he who made Apple use the NeXT operating system and developer tools for the iPad and eventually iPhone. Remember that many people thought he was crazy, they had some system that was running on the iPod after all. But Steve being Steve, he did not take no as an answer.

It was through endless amount of work that Apple did launch their own stores, which were still in top 3 at least of the most revenue per square meter of any store. Have you been inside an Apple store? You can play and test a computer that costs around $20,000 and no one will ask you to leave. They have auditorium where famous musicians and film directors, movie editors and other professionals just talk about how they work, free entry. Those stores are amazing and frankly, they are hugely responsible for both that Apple and the Macintosh are still with us. I also loved hearing how they hired top executives from other famous stores to run them, only to fire them for MBA tactics. They are not run like other stores.

It was completely Steve Jobs who made sure the iPod took off, which in turn made way for the iPhone and turning Apple into a trillion dollar company.

But Steve Jobs could not have done this without Tim Cook.

It was Tim Cook that made the deal with Hitachi on the 1.8″ hard disks used in the early iPods. It was Tim Cook who took Apple product stock from 1–2 months down to days. Remember that 1–2 months of products lying around was considered amazing, and it was again Tim Cook which had streamlined things from much longer time. Tim Cook came with a lot of experience from Compaq, which was once the largest computer company on the planet. Steve Jobs found him and got him to leave Compaq which was doing quite well in 1998 and join Apple which was borderline bankrupt in 1998.

I would say that it was Steve Jobs who made Apple like it is today. Steve Jobs created what is called Apple University inside Apple. It isn’t a real university but all managers at Apple must go through it. It teaches you what Steve thought was most important. Finishing touches, nice artwork, functionality. By doing this, Apple is certain to be around for a long time.

Like I said above, it did need a guy like Tim Cook to take Apple out of bankruptcy and onto being the most valuable company on earth.

Steve Jobs laid the ground work and with the excellence of Tim Cook, the company became the juggernaut it is today.

“Fortress America” – Trump Preparing for Global Financial Collapse; European “Capital Controls”

Hal Turner World March 13, 2025 

Every once in awhile, a caller to the Hal Turner Radio Show brings an absolute Gem of information to the audience, and last night, “Billy Boy” from Florida did exactly that.

He talks about Trump needing to erect “Fortress America” for the coming Global Financial Collapse.  He also shocked nearly everyone when he revealed that some ten (10) TRILLION dollars has come out of the European Union over the past few months, and that no country, no continent, can afford that kind of removal of Capital, so CAPITAL CONTROLS are supposedly going to be implemented in the European Union, perhaps as early as April 7.

Below, you can hear that 5 minute call, as it was broadcast live on the radio last night.

Given the information he revealed, readers are urged to Plan accordingly.

Listen Below.

Direct Link:  https://htrs-special.s3.us-west-2.amazonaws.com/Billy-Boy-from-Florida-Hal-Turner-Radio-Show-03-12-2025.mp3

UPDATE 2:01 PM EDT —

The word about 10 TRILLION leaving Europe is apparently spawned by the announcement two days ago saying the European Commission has determined there are ten trillion EUROS sitting dormant in SAVINGS ACCOUNTS, and the EU is going to “mobilize” that money to feed the European military-industrial-complex to re-arm Europe!

The headline read as follows:

 

If the European Union GRABS that Savings account money, and issues (maybe) a sort of I.O.U. to the account holders, there’s no telling when or if they will get any of their money back!  Most __thinking__ people understand this.

It is also possible that Europe will implement CAPITAL CONTROLS just before they actually do this, so as to PREVENT people from getting their money out.

People in Europe would be left DESTITUTE by an action like this, so it is now logical they are pulling the money out as fast as they can, and getting it outside the EU.

Is JD Vance right that the United States has “become almost pathologically anti-child”?

This is probably the answer to a lot of things that Vance thinks:

The US is seeing a frightening decline in birth rates alongside the rest of the world. While certain demographics will do better than others (religious better than non-religious, Muslims better than most other religions but the Amish better than pretty much everyone), this decline is true across the board.

However, this isn’t because these countries are “anti-child,” it’s because most countries have gotten richer over time.

I heard a saying once “In poor countries, kids are free labor. In rich countries, kids are expensive conversation pieces.” And while it’s a little bit dark (I tend to think of kids as more than just conversation pieces…) there is some truth to this.

When most countries were poor, rural, agrarian societies, kids would help work the farm and they’d take care of you when you were old and so, if you could, you’d try to have a whole mess of them that way if one of them dies young or one of them becomes a drunk, you can be sure to still have a pretty solid workforce.

Now, that was all well and good but child labor is…ya know…bad. And so, as countries get wealthier, they can afford to stop doing that and offer a better life for their kids. One that includes school, sports, playing piano etc.

That’s a great thing, but a byproduct of that is that now the dynamic begins to flip over time. Over time, kids become costlier and costlier to raise and ideally they don’t pay dividends at all because the parents are taken care of by a retirement account or social security.

The benefits that having kids offers now mostly pertains to the relationship you have with them as you age. And for most people, they only need to have one or two kids to get that kind of satisfaction. They most certainly wouldn’t have 12 kids or something like that.

In short, it’s not that America hates kids or something, it’s that when a country gets rich, kids become an expense and people tend to try to minimize their expenses.

“China Shock” in legacy semiconductor markets as Chinese foundries gobble up global market share