After I left the Navy, I worked in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania in a steel company. For a short period of time, I lived with my father’s mother; my paternal grandmother.
She was very “old school”. She was a traditional woman. And I want to relate just one story of a memory that I have of her.
And I want to relate her ideas about roles and the kitchen and bathroom situation.
- She was the sole and only person in charge of the kitchen.
- She permitted assistance from my sisters, and aunts. But no males AT ALL.
- Men were to sit down and eat. Not to do dishes.
- Men did not have access to the kitchen, and were not allowed to cook or make snacks there.
- She would set the table, cook the food, and I would sit down and eat it.
- After the meal was finished, I was to sit down and drink the coffee that she made for me, while she cleared the table, and washed the dishes.
Simple rules.
Old school.
And this is just a glimpse of what a REAL “Trad Wife” behaves in a traditional household.
That’s my story for today. I hope that you all learn something from this, and appreciate my little story.
Today…
What is the most outrageous “fee” you’ve ever been charged?
At my last corporate employer, the health insurance got more expensive and worse every year, but still covered two annual checkups.
I went to one and got automatically billed $480.00. The clinic that gave me the checkup called a couple days later and asked how I was doing. It was a two minute conversation tops, and I got billed $480.00 for that.
My mortgage is paid off and I don’t own a car or have any outstanding debt, so I won pretty quickly, but for people who do, insurance companies can drag this out until it lowers your credit rating and increases the interest on your mortgage, car insurance, and credit card debt, and many people just end up paying.
I still pay a maintenance fee and went paperless from the start, and I found out last month that unless I set up automatic payments, I’d have to pay a $3.00 surcharge. They didn’t mention it, it was just there on the bill, and I had to call to find out how to avoid the fee.
I’d have to pay to pay my maintenance fee.
I set up automatic payments, but some people can’t afford to have a set day.
Talking to my relatives in CA, I found out that they have to pay a $30 surcharge to pay their rent.
I have decent bank accounts that pay high APYs, but some people get charged if their balance falls below a certain amount. You have to pay to let them play with your money because it beats check cashing places.
Some poor people can’t afford to set up bank accounts or don’t have the time or resources to find decent banks, and the poorer you are, the worse it gets.
Everyone who actually does the work—garbage men, cops, the lower level people at corporations, janitors, delivery men, etc.—should collectively strike for a week and put an end to this crap, demand fair wages, and decent healthcare, or affordable healthcare that actually covers what you’ve already paid for.
“Trump Just DESTROYED The US Economy!” – Richard Wolff’s Terrifying Message
What is the extent of the jamming an EA-18G Growler can perform? Can it only jam larger radar sets, or could it jam the radar of an incoming missile?
My trusty steed is one bad mamba jamba! (click on pic to view…for some reason, every pic I choose with our war configuration gets blurred)
Good lord don’t mess with that guy and his wingman! HARM, jamming pods, AMRAAM, some of the most sophisticated receivers on an aircraft in production today…I don’t need to go on.
All those pointy-nosed missiles get all the attention but what’s on stations 3, 5, and 7 (middle station on both wings and then the center station right there between the engines) are really the only reason for our aircraft to exist: the jamming pods. The jamming pods are the ones with the propellers in front (their spinning in flight is what powers the pods).
Ok, so we’ve brought everybody up to speed on what a Growler is and what it carries. Now to answer the question. In theory, anything that emits in the radio spectrum can be jammed by our pods. One thing to understand about them though is this: with 3 pods and 2 transmitters per pod, I have 6 jamming sources. And those jamming sources are tuned to attack specific parts of the radio spectrum. Basically, one transmitter can’t jam all RADARs because it can’t transmit in all the frequency ranges RADARs use. We typically split the frequencies up into 10 chunks (we call them bands) and have transmitters that can work in those bands. The astute will instantly notice a problem: if there are 10 bands, but only 6 transmitters, how can you jam all the RADARs out there?
We can’t! We have to make trade offs, and one of those trade offs is sacrificing the ability to jam certain frequency ranges. So we’re pretty smart people who are tuned to efficiency and we come up with a game plan tailor-made to the targets we’re attacking. Generally, GENERALLY, those larger RADAR sets you’re talking about (I’m guessing you mean the size of the antenna) are our prime targets because of…reasons. Those big antennas mean low frequencies and that’s on the opposite end of the radio spectrum from missile RADARs. Because we’re so effective against lower frequency ranges, we tend to focus our jamming pods on that.
That’s our main focus but we’ll typically carry at least one source that can jam in a missile’s or fire control RADAR frequency range. So, yeah. We CAN jam a missile, but it would be suicide to do so. This ain’t classified because the tech has been there since the 60’s: Home on Jam (HOJ) or Track on Jam (TOJ) are modes of guidance for missiles that use the RADAR trying to jam it as its target. What that means is that the missile could be tracking me on its own and if I start trying to jam it, it’ll switch to HOJ/TOJ guidance and all you’ve done is make yourself a shiny, bright target for the missile.
Now of course over the years, we just may have come up with some ways to spoof missiles but the fact still remains that we are much more effective against lower frequency RADARs because of reasons. We go after the “larger RADAR sets” and not the missiles because we’re better at one vs the other.
Labyrinth
Submitted into Contest #279 in response to: Write a story from the POV of a zombie, mutant, or infected creature.… view prompt
Helen A Howard
On returning to their clifftop eyrie, the eagles deposited a sheep as a reward to Minna, the young dragon, for guarding their eggs. She’d earned their trust by regularly delivering tasty morsels to their remote clifftop nest. Impressed by their glorious plumage, yet baffled by their high-pitched cries, Minna nevertheless enjoyed the protection afforded by their hideout. She spent hours watching the creamy blotched eggs, longing for the day when the fledglings hatched. It would be good practise for when she laid eggs of her own. Remembering how her parents had been struck by the arrows of ignorant men while the sun was at its height, she consoled herself that at least they had died together. As far as she knew, she was the last of her kind.
Unless she could find a suitable mate.
Like her parents, Minna had been gifted with a cloak of invisibility which faded if worn for too long in the sun. Donning it now, she left her eagle friends and flew over the White Mountains, so named in the summer for their limestone slopes, and in the winter for their snow-capped peaks. Dipping her feet in the shallows of Serenity Pool, she thought of the suffering mutant. Falsely maligned as a beast and disdainfully referred to as the Minotaur, all she wanted was to rescue him from his dreadful maze now she was one of the few who knew a way out.
Minna was angered by false accounts of Asterion (the mutant’s real name) demanding to be fed youths regularly shipped in from the Greek mainland, to satisfy his voracious appetite. Only by smothering her rage was she able to prevent the tell-tale wisps of smoke that rose up from her nostrils and became visible to humans, whilst flying across the sky. It was galling to think Asterion’s diet only consisted of vegetables, and he was in fact a vegan. Half-human himself, at the bequest of his mother, he’d resisted all attempts to be fed human flesh. He’d told Minna he’d suspected his stepfather, King Minos, had privately ordered the young people’s destruction as a way of vexing Poseidon. It wouldn’t be the first time the king had angered the sea god with a display of arrogance.
Minna imagined Asterion joining her on one of the rocky outcrops that sprang up like huge marble stones from the sea. She’d once tried to describe them, but having lived in the dark for so long, he seemed bewildered. He’d never been to the sea, never known the turquoise charm of its waters, never witnessed the way it touched the sky turning it into a purple blue. But how would he view all this if released? While for Minna, the endless crash of white surf upon golden sand was a source of enchantment, such brilliance might prove dazzling. She intended to rescue him, but it wouldn’t be easy. How long would she be able to bear the weight of him on her back if he were to escape his dreadful prison?
She immediately cursed herself for defeatist thinking. Of course she could carry him. Love would find a way.
But all that was in the future. Presently, spotting a group of palms that broke the rugged landscape, she scooped up the dates, and continued valiantly on her journey to Knossos, home of King Minos and the terrifying Labyrinth.
***
Flying through cloudless blue, the heat was starting to pick up. Minna hoped to reach the magnificent palace in Knossos before overheating and revealing her true nature to the world. By which she meant the human world. Animals already had their eyes opened and either gave her a wide berth or were grateful for her protection. Oh, there was so many things unknown to humans. Only a few had true discernment and saw beyond the surface. So often they made melodramas out of nothing and waged wars that could have been avoided. Yet, they also had lovable, even heroic qualities.
But for now, with mind and body soaring, she cast aside the dangers and under love’s sweet umbrella, flew on.
**
Continuing her flight, Minna recalled the first time she’d heard the mutant’s melancholic, deep-throated roar. Stirring passions she hadn’t known existed, the sound had made her reckless when she should have been circumspect. Minna, knowing her cloak of invisibility could only last if she was able to withdraw from the sun’s rays and spend a few hours recovering, had ignored the spread of smoke shimmering in the sky.
Fortunately for the dragon, the people below had been preoccupied with their own business. There had only been an old woman dressed in a black cloak lingering near the palace walls. Her eyes were peeled heavenward, but that didn’t count.
Minna pondered on the proclamation issued by King Minos a month earlier. In it, he’d promised any man who could prove he’d killed a dragon would be rewarded with half his wealth and the hand of his beautiful daughter, Ariadne, in marriage. Minna recollected her parent’s wistful talk of ancient times when dragons had been loved and revered by humankind.
The young dragon shivered in spite of the heat. How had it all gone so wrong?
***
Now drawing close to the Cretan shore, a pod of dolphins sliced through the water, silvery backs leaping playfully. Moving in unison, they clicked and called out to one another in high-pitched notes, singing of shipwrecks and sailors lost at sea. Minna longed to join them for they were lovable animals, but time was running out.
Slowly descending, Minna saw light reflected from the palace’s open-plan white stone floors. They were held in place by pillars of opaque red. Now skimming the rooftops, Minna thought wantonly of the creature waiting for her in the underground chambers. The chattering of birds had ceased, and the air was strangely quiet. The bellowing from a creature that was half human, half bull, confined in the caves below, had alarmed them.
***
Minna’s discovery of the Minotaur’s real character had been the high point on a voyage fuelled by curiosity. On her first visit to the palace, she’d encountered the treasury and spied hoards of gold coins piled on a table. When the accountant had briefly left off counting, Minna had seized her chance. Following on from this small success, it was only natural to want to unearth the great secret of the maze, especially on hearing it was nigh on impossible to penetrate, let alone find a way out of. It only made Minna want to try all the more.
On her second visit, Minna found a vent, long disused, and covered in a mass of weeds, that led to the Labyrinth. After entangling the weeds, it had been easy to prize open the bars and enter the underground tunnels without detection. By the third visit, Minna had no trouble locating the creature housed within.
***
In a bid to impress his lovely dragon, the Minotaur had cleaned up one of his chambers. He loved Minna for many reasons. Not least, was the fact she seemed to be the only being who didn’t mind that his birth was the result of the King’s wife’s union with a bull. It was distressing to think that for many, his very existence was an abomination. When Poseidon, the vengeful god of the sea, demanded King Minos sacrifice an extraordinary snow-white bull after he had made him king of Crete, Minos sacrificed an inferior bull and kept the best one for himself. As a punishment, Poseidon made the king’s wife Pasiphae, fall in love with the bull. When she became pregnant and gave birth, she tended the mutant herself. Eventually, King Minos ordered Daedalus, his talented architect, against his will, to design a labyrinth to hold the creature. Out of love for his wife, Minos did not want the Minotaur harmed.
***
The Minotaur’s dark eyes shone brightly in the half-light, the curved horns well-formed and majestic. Seated on a roughly hewn bench, his golden-white skin glowed in anticipation. It was easy to see how his mother had fallen hard for his father.
Asterion blinked when he saw Minna. That uniquely shaped mouth with its endearingly restless movements had driven the dragon wild the moment she’d first encountered him. She had never seen his mother so could not know he had something of her smile before she’d been taken from him when he turned from a child/calf into a demanding adolescent. His man’s body with its powerful shoulders, soon emerged. Except with hooves for feet and claws for hands, it wasn’t quite a man’s body. The manliest part he covered with a tunic of linen. Minna remembered the transformation from beast to man, back to beast, from her last visit all too well. Now, quivering in his arms, she gasped as he pressed his mouth to hers.
“I knew you would come,” he said, tail wagging. “I’ve been dying to see you. It feels empty when you’re not around.” His bull nature coming to the fore again, he licked his lips suggestively. “Have you brought the food?”
“I have.” Minna laughed at his eagerness. She would have to teach him to savour the dates rather than swallow them whole.
“I’ve never shared anything before,” he admitted. “It feels amazing.”
After they’d eaten and enjoyed other delights which modesty forbids mentioning, the Minotaur asked Minna how long she was able to stay.
“Only a few hours, I’m afraid. It will be safer to get back before dawn breaks.”
“I miss you already.” His touch made her scales quiver.
“Have your thought any more about escaping? You could hide in the eyrie.” There were no easy answers to such questions, but she asked them anyway.
“Asterion withdrew his hand. “Escaping is a pipe dream, Minna. Unlike you, I have no cloak of invisibility to protect me. Besides which, my presence would endanger you and I couldn’t bear that. We are both outcasts, misunderstood by humans. And yet half of me is a human borne from a noble mother.”
A tear dropped from the large brown eye and landed on Minna’s hand, making her heart break.
“I can’t bear leaving you cooped up like this. It’s not right,” she cried.
“It’s all I’ve ever known since I was an adolescent and judged unfit to be seen.” He looked doleful.
“But I’m sure I could find a way to hide you. If only you’d let me try. You cannot remain like this forever.”
His smile emerged like sun from a dark cloud.
“You’re incorrigible, my darling Minna. I tell you what. If it will make you feel better, we’ll talk more about it when you next visit.” He winked. “Just make sure you bring me more of that delicious fruit. The grapes you brought me the time before haven’t yet fermented. We can drink them then. Will you be satisfied with that?”
Her sigh was a gentle rumble. “I guess I’ll have to be.”
***
Minna was guarding the newly hatched chicks when the eagles flew up to the nest accosting her with alarming news.
“It is said the prince Theseus from Athens has entered the palace maze with a sword and intends to slay your monster. He may never escape from the maze, but there’s no time to lose if you want to help him.”
Horrified, Minna looked at the sky. The midday sun had peaked, the worst time for exposure.
Ignoring the risks, Minna flew without stopping. Embroiled in a white haze, she saw nothing of her surroundings. Standing near the site of the Labyrinth, she recognised the old woman from before. One of the few humans able to discern the presence of a dragon, she called out to Minna.
“Do be careful! Theseus, the prince of Athens is searching for the Minotaur in the maze right now. King Minos’s daughter, Ariadne, gave him a red thread to enable him to make his way out of it without getting lost. You better not go in. You don’t know what you might find!”
“Try stopping me,” Minna said, the fire building in her belly.
***
The dragon heard the commotion before she reached Asterion’s chamber. Inside, was a scene of chaos. Asterion lay moaning in a drunken stupor on the floor while Theseus held a sword to his throat.
Snorting in rage, Minna gusted fire from her nostrils. Hearing the the hiss, Theseus turned round fearfully.
“Drop your sword! I’ve come to rescue Asterion,” the dragon bellowed.
Backing away, Theseus left the mutant exposed to the flame. With not a moment to lose, Minna threw her lover onto the floor rolling him until the flames were extinguished
When he recovered, Asterion grabbed the sword and pointed it at the trembling Theseus. “I’m not leaving until I’ve killed him, Minna,” he said.
Thinking fast, the prince raised his hands in supplication.
“Please let me go,” he pleaded. “If you let me leave this place alive, I’ll tell everyone I’ve killed you. Not only will it bring an end to your troubles, but I’ll be regarded as a hero. You can escape later under cover of darkness.”
The dragon, now in a calmer frame of mind, considered his proposal seriously.
“Don’t even think of going back on your word, or I’ll destroy you,” she said eventually.
***
Later that evening, the dragon’s cloak had grown dense enough for herself and the Minotaur to seem invisible. However, when they emerged from the maze, the ground was shaking and the pillars in the palace were starting to crack.
The old woman was still waiting outside the Labyrinth.
“We’re in the midst of an earthquake. Leave now! Before it’s too late!” She commanded Minna.”
The dragon turned to her. “What about you?”
“I’ve had my life. Now, go!”
Unfortunately, in her haste to leave Minna accidentally trampled on a unicorn.
“You clumsy oaf!” The animal screamed. “I curse you! Any eggs you produce will not hatch.”
As the earth shifted again, Minna’s salty tears soaked its mane. “Oh! Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She opened her wings and fanned him. “Let me help you.”
Seeing her distress, the unicorn relented a little. “It’s too late to help me, but maybe you’ve suffered enough already. I can tell you no good will come from your love of gold. It’s your destiny to leave this island and find another in the northern hemisphere where there are forests and rivers. There you must seek out the boy with the golden hair.”
“What do you mean?” Minna asked, but the unicorn had uttered his last breath. He gave a strange whinny and died in front of her.
***
The next day Poseidon’s antics had turned the sky an uncharacteristic grey, but Minna hardly cared. Homeland abandoned, she carried Asterion’s weight on wings borne of love, until reaching the westernmost point where the Aegean becomes at one with the Atlantic, her pain subsided. Some things are meant to be. She could only pray the eagles with their little family had been spared destruction on their rocky perch.
Now, if they were to have any chance of survival, the pair must head for the temperate isle described by the unicorn. They must depart their island of birth for another where new adventures awaited: maybe given time, the new inhabitants would accept them, and their differences would be celebrated, rather than feared. In the meantime, they’d have remain to undetected for long periods. The new isle might be a place of rain and grey skies where the days rarely grow hot, but it was also rumoured to be a paradise of forests furnished with oak, pine and birch, where rivers and springs flowed clear, and lush meadows abounded. Minna would keep searching until she found the golden boy predicted by the unicorn. She was less certain about the rest of his advice. Feeling the quickening of new life within her, she slowed her pace. For the first time, she was thinking with a mother’s mind.
Then, stretching her wings she let the wind carry them. Clutching the gold coins she’d wrapped in a cloth from Minos’s palace, she resumed the flight knowing things could only get better.
Pennsylvania Dutch Chicken and Flat Dumplings
Ingredients
Chicken
- 1 large (5 pound) washed chicken
- 1 large onion, quartered
- 3 stalks celery, cut into large chunks
- 1 teaspoon whole peppercorns
- 2 1/2 teaspoons salt
Flat Dumplings
- 2 cups all-purpose flour
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 4 eggs
- Water
Instructions
Chicken
- Place chicken in a 6 to 8 quart stockpot. Add remaining ingredients. Bring to boil. Simmer until chicken is done, about 2 hours.
- When cool, remove bones and fat from chicken. Cut into pieces, and return to pot.
Flat Dumplings
- In a bowl, mix together flour and salt. Make a well in the center, and gradually work eggs into the flour until stiff dough is formed, adding water a little at a time if necessary. Knead until smooth. Divide dough in half. Roll each half as thin as possible then cut into thin 1 to 2 inch squares.
- Bring the broth back to rolling boil. Drop noodle squares one at a time, making sure each are drenched in broth. Reduce heat, cover and continue to cook until noodles are done, about 8 minutes. DON’T PEEK!
- Serve in a large bowl and ladle onto plates at the table. Serve with chopped onion.
Tiktok Users Flee to Overtly Chinese App After Ban
Have you ever been to a restaurant that made you say “you have got to be kidding me!” when they brought out the food?
A few years ago I spent 5 weeks traveling, volunteering, and working in Crete. While I was working at a hostel in the northwestern part of the island, I made friends with a group of travelers- two girls from Latvia, one guy from Saudi Arabia, one guy from Mexico, and another from Romania. We took a day trip together to this beautiful beach in the south called Preveli. On the way back, we were getting really hungry and just stopped at the next place we saw. It was dark out, so at the time I thought it was in what looked to be a small village. The restaurant was pretty empty aside from our group. The waitress explained to us how it works: they bring out an assortment of family style dishes, no ordering, no menu, just whatever the chef had cooked for the day.
The dishes started.
And they kept coming.
And coming.
And they seemed to never stop. Each one was more delicious than the last. After the 5th or 6th dish I begin to feel worried, because the cost of all this food must be quite expensive. And I know they have yet to serve us the pairing of dessert and tsipouro (homemade Cretan brandy) treated on-the-house by many restaurants in Crete. But instead of serving dessert at this point, which seemed to be a reasonable point to throw in the towel, they brought more dishes.
When the bill came- €10 per person. I was in shock. Just absolutely shocked and couldn’t comprehend how I just ate so much delicious food for just €10!!!
By the way- the restaurant is called Taverna Alekos located in / near the village of Agios Georgios in the municipality of Rethymno.
How Tiktok Refugees From USA Getting Shocked On Rednote! Amazing Thoughts Of Creators
Fun Pictures
Is Australia under threat with Chinese war ships holding live fire missions off the Australian coast just outside our jurisdiction?
Let’s cut the bullshit and spell it out for Australia:
Why the hell do you think China’s burning fuel like crazy? To send a fucking message. Your fighter jets keep buzzing our doorstep? Fine. We’ll aim battleship cannons at Canberra. And no, that’s not enough.
Our Type 055s’ firepower? Weak shit. Roll out the Type 076 amphibious assault ships. Drop two full combined arms brigades on Canberra’s beaches. Let those clowns realize their “mighty white trash nation” is just a joke with zero muscle.
Yeah, I’m threatening Australia. And guess what? We’re not even going hard enough.
Every time Aussie forces step into the South China Sea, we’ll run a full-scale naval-air landing drill RIGHT off Canberra. Only when these snowflakes hear artillery thunder will they finally get it: they’re not at the dinner table—they’re ON THE MENU.
Or hey, let’s make a deal with the Yanks: You take Canada, we take Australia. At least those maple-clown “allies” deserve each other.
The Chinese must let the clowns lie on the bed and hear the sound of the gunfire, otherwise they will even think that they will not pay the price after challenging China at the Chinese door
Sir Whiskerton and Bonbo and Grumbles’ Treasure Map Mix-Up
Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for another purr-fectly delightful adventure starring none other than Sir Whiskerton, the farm’s most brilliant (and modest) detective. Today’s tale involves buried treasure—or so it seemed—two bumbling rodents, and a whole lot of digging. What follows is a story filled with laughter, puns, and a moral that will leave you feeling like teamwork truly is the greatest treasure of all. So grab your shovels and let’s dig into Bonbo and Grumbles’ Treasure Map Mix-Up.
The Discovery
It all began on a quiet afternoon when Bonbo the rat and Grumbles the mouse were rummaging through the farmer’s dusty old toolbox. As usual, they were up to no good, searching for something shiny or valuable to pawn off in their next scheme.
“Grumbles,” Bonbo whispered dramatically, “we’re gonna hit the jackpot today. I can feel it in my whiskers.”
“Whiskers?” Grumbles replied skeptically, scratching his ear. “I thought you said treasure was supposed to make your tail tingle.”
“Well, maybe both!” Bonbo snapped, rifling through the clutter. “Aha! What’s this?”
He pulled out a rolled-up piece of parchment, yellowed with age and covered in strange markings. It looked ancient, mysterious, and undeniably exciting.
“It’s a treasure map!” Bonbo exclaimed, his eyes gleaming. “Look at that big X right there. That’s where the gold is!”
“Gold?” Grumbles squeaked, his tiny nose twitching. “Or maybe cheese? Either way, we’re rich!”
Without wasting another second, the duo scurried off to gather supplies: a rusty spoon for digging, a flashlight made from an old tin can, and a flagpole they stole from Bartholomew the piñata (“Because every treasure needs a marker,” Bonbo insisted).
Digging Up Trouble
By sunset, the entire farm had descended into chaos as Bonbo and Grumbles embarked on their quest. Armed with their makeshift tools, they started digging near the scarecrow, convinced the X marked the spot.
“This must be it!” Bonbo shouted, tossing dirt over his shoulder. “Just a little deeper!”
Unfortunately, their enthusiasm quickly turned into mayhem. Within minutes, Rufus the dog joined in, mistaking the digging frenzy for a new game. Doris and her hens squawked in outrage as their favorite dust bath area was reduced to a crater. Even Big Red the rooster got involved, accidentally knocking over the feed trough while trying to supervise.
“Stop digging!” Sir Whiskerton called from atop the barn roof, his tail flicking irritably. “You’re destroying the place!”
“But Whiskerton,” Bonbo protested, holding up the map triumphantly, “we found a treasure map! We’re gonna be millionaires!”
“A treasure map?” Sir Whiskerton muttered, leaping down to inspect it. After adjusting his monocle, he studied the parchment carefully. His expression shifted from skepticism to amusement.
“Gentlemen,” he announced dryly, “this isn’t a treasure map. It’s a blueprint—for the farmer’s new chicken coop.”
The Realization
Bonbo and Grumbles froze mid-dig, their faces falling faster than a dropped acorn.
“A… chicken coop?” Grumbles stammered, his voice trembling. “But what about the X?”
“That ‘X’ marks the location of the nesting boxes,” Sir Whiskerton explained, smirking. “Not exactly pirate-worthy loot.”
The two rodents exchanged horrified glances. Their grand adventure had been nothing more than a misunderstanding. Meanwhile, the rest of the animals groaned in frustration.
“My dust bath!” Doris wailed, flapping her wings indignantly. “My feed!” Porkchop grumbled, glaring at the overturned trough. “My dignity!” Ferdinand quacked, attempting to preen his ruffled feathers.
Even Bartholomew chimed in, though his words were as cryptic as ever: “Sometimes, the real treasure is knowing when to stop digging.”
Teamwork Saves the Day
Realizing the mess they’d created, Bonbo and Grumbles slunk away, tails between their legs. But Sir Whiskerton wasn’t about to let them wallow in guilt—not when there was work to be done.
“Listen up, everyone,” he declared, addressing the disgruntled animals. “Instead of pointing fingers, why don’t we fix this together? The farmer’s going to notice if we don’t clean up before morning.”
Inspired by his leadership, the animals sprang into action:
- Rufus rounded up the scattered feed and helped refill the trough.
- Doris and her hens smoothed out the dirt in their dust bath area, clucking instructions to anyone nearby.
- Big Red supervised the reconstruction of the scarecrow, ensuring it stood tall once again.
- Bonbo and Grumbles , eager to redeem themselves, worked tirelessly to repair the worst of the damage.
By sunrise, the farm looked almost as good as new. The only evidence of the previous night’s chaos was a slightly lopsided scarecrow and a few extra holes in the ground.
A Happy Ending
As the animals gathered around to admire their handiwork, the farmer appeared, yawning and stretching. He glanced at the newly dug areas, shrugged, and muttered something about “finally starting that chicken coop project.”
Bonbo and Grumbles exchanged sheepish smiles. Though their treasure hunt hadn’t ended with gold or cheese, they’d discovered something far more valuable: the power of teamwork.
“Well done, everyone,” Sir Whiskerton said, settling back into his sunbeam. “You’ve proven that cooperation beats chaos any day.”
“And speaking of cooperation,” Doris added, eyeing the rodents, “next time you find a map, maybe run it by someone first?”
“Agreed,” Bonbo said, hanging his head. “No more shortcuts.”
“No more shortcuts!” Grumbles echoed, nodding solemnly.
The Moral of the Story
Not every X marks the spot—but teamwork does. While chasing dreams and adventures is exciting, true success comes from working together and valuing each other’s contributions.
Until next time, my friends.
The End.
What was the worst gift you ever received?
I was pretty much in the process of ending things with my ex-fiancé right over the Christmas holidays in 2017 – which was also our 8 year anniversary. He had come home from a work Christmas party a few days before, said he “couldn’t do this anymore”, and wanted some space to think. I was supposed to be spending the holidays with his family but instead I drove home in tears.
Before I left, we exchanged gifts anyway. This was the first holiday period where I had a full-time job (we were both 24 at the time) and I finally had enough money to buy him some really expensive gifts: a white gold cross with a matching white gold chain that was $450, an oak wood wine storage box with his initials stamped on a plaque on the front that was around $100, as well as gifts for his two younger siblings (Tiffany earrings and a videogame).
You know what he got me? His fiancée? His long term partner of 8 years?
A box of bath bombs.
I had never, ever used a bath bomb in the entire 8 years we were together. I had never once expressed the desire for them, nor had I even step foot in a Lush store.
And in that moment right there, I realized that he had checked out long before he decided to end things, and that he didn’t love me anymore.
Female Coworker Went To HR After I Helped Her During An Emergency, Now Upset I’m Being “Cold” To Her
The fact that US and Russia are scheduled to start peace talks in Saudi Arabia and neither Ukraine, Britain nor EU are even invited, does this prove that the Ukraine war always was a proxy war of America against Russia and now US is admitting defeat?
There is this very memorable quote from the second Three-Body Problem novel by Liu Cixin – “If I destroy you, what business is it of yours?”
If you were to check the bottom of your shoe right now, and see a random flattened bug stuck underneath – “hey, when did this get here?” – would you spend any time crying over it?
No, you wouldn’t. This is the ultimate arrogance of the strong towards the weak – that it can be so casual and nonchalant about destroying the latter.
During the Paris Peace Conference of 1919, the Republic of China was invited as a victorious nation on the side of the Allies in WWI. However, the nation was barely sovereign, poor and weak at the time. In spite of the passionate speeches of Chinese ambassador Gu Weijun (Wellington Koo), his pleas for the return of Qingdao to China fell on deaf ears. The occupied territory was instead transferred from Germany to Japan.
The Chinese delegation later found out that there was already a secret agreement between Britain, France, Italy, and Japan back in 1917, giving Japan the territory in exchange for military aid against Germany. That secret agreement was what sparked the May Fourth Movement, by the way.
If I partition your lands, what business is it of yours?
The law of the jungle is the only law there is in geopolitics. The latest meeting between the US and Russia in Saudi Arabia is another perfect example of this reality. Despite the meeting being entirely about the future of Ukraine and Europe, neither Ukraine nor the EU were invited, and their governments are naturally frustrated about this.
In mainstream European discourse, people are reluctant to acknowledge the reality that they are essentially vassals to the Americans (something the likes of EU foreign policy chief Josep Borrell, as well as French President Emmanuel Macron, have complained about). Europeans are, after all, an extremely proud and self-important lot, who would very much like to pretend they are still the masters of God’s green earth, or at least a leader in global affairs.
The ongoing US-Russia talks is proof enough that not only is the EU irrelevant in global affairs, it is also irrelevant in its own internal affairs; and that there is much truth to the narrative that Ukraine is an American puppet state, being pitted against Russia in a proxy war.
If I decide your future without your consent, what business is it of yours?
It is almost pathetic how hard Europeans have tried to be the perfect lapdogs…I mean, “enforcers” of American hegemony. The EU went along with the US in smearing the Chinese and bombing the Middle East, when non-alignment would have served it better in the modern era; the EU did not condemn the US for tapping its leaders’ phones and spying on them via the Danish secret service; the EU would rather blame Russia for blowing up the Nord Stream pipelines, even though it was obvious that only the US had the ability and the incentive to do such a thing.
Hell, the Trump administration is literally annexing Greenland before our eyes, and yet do you see the Danes putting up any kind of a resistance?
What was that thing former US Secretary of State Anthony Blinken said? Oh yes, “if you’re not on the table, you’re on the menu”. Europe needs to snap out of its hubris and know its place – it is no longer on the table, but rather on the menu, much like China was in the last century. Its moral posturing on Russia, and especially on China (a country that has never invaded Europe in its 5,000 years of history, and still bears the scars of European colonialism), is as hollow as it is laughable.
“Liberal Democracy”/“European values” is looking like a joke, now more than ever.
Pennsylvania Dutch Sour Cream Cabbage
Yield: 8 to 12 servings
Ingredients
- 1 medium head cabbage, shredded
- 1/2 cup vegetable oil (for frying)
- 1 teaspoon salt
- 1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
- 2 cups granulated sugar
- 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
- 1 pint (2 cups) sour cream
- 2 cups distilled white vinegar
Instructions
- Heat oil in a large skillet over medium heat.
- Add cabbage, salt and pepper and cook until tender, 15 to 20 minutes.
- Mix sugar and flour together in a medium bowl, then add sour cream and mix well; finally stir in vinegar and mix well.
- Add mixture to cabbage and simmer all together until desired consistency is reached.
Biden To Effectively BAN CIGARETTES, New FDA Rule Will Ban Almost ALL Cigarettes From The Market
Dated, yeah. But look at what this SOB did right before he left office.
Insatiable Part 2
Submitted into Contest #279 in response to: Write a story from the POV of a zombie, mutant, or infected creature.… view prompt
Mary Butler
“Daddy?”
The word scraped against something deep inside me, something buried under the roar of the hunger. My body moved before I could think, lurching forward, one decayed hand reaching. Her face twisted in horror as she stumbled back, pressing herself against the wall.
“No, Daddy, stop!”
Stop. Please, God, stop.
But I couldn’t. The hunger tore through me, relentless, demanding. Her heartbeat echoed in my ears, a steady drum calling me forward. I reached for her, my jagged breath wheezing like rusted hinges.
Her tears glistened in the dim light, her small hands trembling as she held them up, useless shields against what I was about to do.
I was almost on her when the memory hit, sharp and blinding.
Her tiny hand in mine, sticky with melted ice cream. Her laughter bubbling up as she looked at me, wide-eyed with trust. “I love you Daddy.”
The memory burned, more painful than the hunger. I stopped mid-lunge, my clawed hand hanging inches from her face.
“Get away from her!”
Emily’s voice rang out, fierce and trembling. She barreled into me with all her strength, the impact jarring but barely enough to move me. A flash of silver caught the weak light—she had a knife.
“E-e-emmmmmiiily.” My voice was a wet croak, unrecognizable.
She slashed at me, the blade tearing into the rotted flesh of my shoulder. I didn’t feel it. She planted herself between Grace and me, her chest heaving, her eyes locked on mine.
“You won’t touch her!” she spat, the fear in her voice barely hidden under the force of her words.
Emily shouted without turning, her voice ragged. “Go, Grace! Don’t look back!”
Grace hesitated, her tiny figure trembling, then bolted down the stairs.
Run, Grace. Run far away from me baby.
The sound of Grace’s retreating footsteps faded, leaving only Emily and me in the suffocating silence. She squared her shoulders, her trembling hand gripping the knife like it could keep the darkness at bay.
The hallway narrowed as Emily stepped forward, knife trembling in her hand. The dim light from the shattered bulb above flickered across her face, her jaw tight, her eyes locked on mine.
“Stay back,” she said, her voice steady even as the blade shook.
Stop! STOP! Please God stop me! This is my love! This is my life!
It wouldn’t let me stop.
The hunger surged like a wave, driving me forward. My rotting legs dragged against the floor, my fingers twitching as they reached for her. I screamed at my body to stop but it kept going.
Stop. Please, for God’s sake, stop.
But the hunger roared—it was a force, pulling my body like strings on a marionette. Emily lunged forward, slashing the knife, the blade slicing into my forearm. A wet sound, something that used to be flesh tearing open, oozing dark, thick rot.
I didn’t feel it.
Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second. She’d been expecting pain, a reaction. But there was nothing.
“David, listen to me!” Emily’s voice broke as she stabbed again, tears streaking her face. “You’re in there—I know you are! You love us. You love Grace!”
But her words barely reached through the roaring hunger, and my hands moved without me, reaching for her.
Her expression faltered, the resolve cracking just slightly, but she gripped the knife tighter. She stepped back, placing herself fully between me and stairs.
I lunged.
The knife slashed again, this time catching my ribs. I felt the wet scrape of the blade against bone, the sound sharper than the pain I couldn’t feel. She screamed for Grace again, her voice raw and desperate. “Run, baby, run!”
Grace’s sobs echoed from the bottom of the staircase, her small figure darting out of sight.
I lunged, my decayed fingers closing around Emily, seizing her in a moment when her eyes flicked toward Grace—a heartbeat of distraction was all the hunger needed to strike.
Emily screamed, her voice cracking into something raw and animalistic. Her fists pounded against my chest, each blow weaker than the last. Her nails raked my skin, peeling away rotted flesh, exposing yellowed bone. She twisted, fought, but I held her like a vice.
Her body was warm. So warm, it burned against the rot of my hands.
Her eyes locked on mine, wide and terrified.
For half a heartbeat, I thought I could stop.
Then the hunger surged again, tearing through me. My body moved before I could think.
My teeth sank into her neck, tearing through skin and muscle with a sickening wet snap. Hot blood surged into my mouth, metallic and thick, spilling down my throat in waves. The taste was fire and ecstasy, searing through what little humanity was left in me, and I hated how good it felt.
Emily’s scream turned into a gurgle, her hands clawing at my face, pushing weakly as I tore deeper..
Stop. Stop. STOP.
But I couldn’t.
The hunger was everything.
Her body jerked once, then stilled. Her blood ran warm and steady over my hands, pooling at my feet. Her lips moved, forming words I couldn’t hear, couldn’t understand.
Her eyes found mine, wide and glassy, but there was something else there—a flicker of recognition. A memory. Love, maybe. Or disgust.
Then it was gone. The light in her eyes snuffed out, leaving only the dull, empty stare of the dead.
I let her fall, her body crumpling to the floor like something broken, discarded. My hands shook, slick with her blood, her warmth already fading.
I wanted to scream, to claw at myself, to rip this hunger out of me with my bare hands. But there was nothing left. Nothing but the hunger and her lifeless body at my feet.
Emily, I tried to whisper, the word choking in my throat. Black ooze dripped from my mouth, pooling with her blood on the cold, unforgiving floor, the hunger inside me roaring in triumph.
No! What have I done?
Then I heard it—a small, sharp gasp.
Grace.
I turned, my body sluggish. She stood at the base of the stairs, her small hand clutching the railing. Her eyes were wide, red from crying, her face pale.
“Daddy?” she whispered.
Her voice cracked something inside me that should have died with Emily.
I tried to speak, to tell her I was sorry. But when I opened my mouth, all that came out was a moan, wet and broken. Black ooze dripped from my chin, pooling at my feet.
Grace screamed, her voice breaking into choking sobs. “Mommy! No, Mommy, please!” She stumbled back, gripping the railing as if it could hold her world together.
My chest—if I still had one—felt like it was caving in, but the hunger didn’t care. It surged again, pulling me toward her.
“Grrrraaaaacccce,” I croaked, the word barely intelligible, but she heard it. And she turned and ran, her small figure disappearing into the dark.
I stumbled forward, my body following her scent, even as my mind begged for the darkness to take me.
The hunger stirred again, twisting inside me, demanding I follow.
I looked down at Emily. Her blood was still warm on my hands, her lifeless body crumpled and broken at my feet.
I am losing everything!
The hunger didn’t care. It roared, pulling me to my feet, dragging me after Grace.
No. Please. Let her go.
But the hunger will never let go.
******
The street stretched out before me, empty and cold. My feet drag against the pavement, leaving wet, dark smears behind. The hunger had quieted, but it wasn’t gone. It never was. It coiled beneath my skin, waiting for the next surge.
I stumbled past darkened houses, their windows like hollow eyes. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked, sharp and frantic. I froze, listening, but the sound faded into the hum of distant traffic.
What am I doing?
Emily’s face swam before me, frozen in that final, lifeless stare. Her blood still clung to my hands, thick and sticky. My body ached, not from the fight but from something deeper—a guilt so heavy it made every step feel like wading through tar.
Then a flash.
Sterile white walls. A row of test tubes, their labels blurred and meaningless. A shattered vial, the liquid spreading across my face and hands like blood.
I stumbled, my shoulder hitting a streetlamp. The cold metal bit into my decayed skin, snapping me back to the present. The hunger stirred, hissing in my ears, but the memory clawed its way back, stronger now.
“We shouldn’t push this far!” My own voice, frantic, echoed in my head. I could almost feel the heat of a lab, the hum of machinery.
But the memory didn’t stay. It bled, twisting into something else. Emily laughing, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand, her hair falling loose around her face. Grace on the living room floor, cradling her teddy bear, her smile lighting up the room.
Stop. Don’t think about them.
The hunger seized those memories, warping them. Emily’s laughter turned into her scream. Grace’s smile faded, replaced by wide, terrified eyes.
I doubled over, gripping my knees. The hunger whispered. Keep moving. She’s still out there.
I obeyed.
The woods were silent except for the sound of my feet dragging through the underbrush. The world was muffled here, the thick canopy of trees blotting out the moonlight, the air heavy with damp earth and rot. My breath—or what passed for it—came in short, ragged bursts. The hunger had returned, gnawing at my insides like a rabid animal.
Then I saw her.
At first, it was just a shadow, something flickering between the trees. But as I stepped closer, the shape took form.
Emily.
No. It can’t be.
She stood with her back to me, her head tilted at an odd angle. Her clothes hung in tatters where I had shredded them, dark stains splattered across her blouse. Her arms hung stiffly at her sides, and her posture was too rigid, too… dead.
Emily? But voice cracked, low and growling.
She turned.
Her eyes were clouded, a milky gray that seemed to pierce straight through me. Her skin, once smooth and warm, sagged in loose patches, exposing butchered flesh. Her mouth hung open slightly, lips cracked and blackened.
For a moment, I thought I was hallucinating. My mind had been slipping since the hunger took hold, twisting memories into cruel replicas of reality. But this wasn’t a memory. She was here, standing in front of me, She wasn’t human anymore.
My hands trembled as I stepped closer.
Her head tilted further, her movements jerky, like a puppet with tangled strings. Her gaze locked on mine, and something flickered in her expression—a shadow of recognition.
The hunger in me stirred, hissing and coiling like a living thing. I could feel it inside her too, like a heat radiating from her decayed form. It linked us, bound us in a way that no words could.
She took a step forward, her movements uneven but deliberate. I didn’t move. I couldn’t.
Her mouth opened, and a low, gurgling sound emerged—half a growl, half a moan. She took another step, then stopped. We stood there, facing each other.
Then the sound of footsteps broke the silence.
A man appeared on the path, his flashlight cutting through the darkness. He was walking a dog, a large, lumbering thing that barked at the sight of us. The man froze, his eyes darting between me and Emily.
The hunger surged, roaring in my ears. My body moved before I could think, lurching toward him. Emily moved too, a grotesque mirror of my movements.
The man screamed as we collided with him, our hands tearing at his clothes, his flesh. His flashlight clattered to the ground, the beam illuminating the scene in harsh, stuttering flashes.
I felt my teeth sink into his shoulder, the hot rush of blood filling my mouth. Beside me, Emily clawed at his chest, her fingers digging deep into his skin. The dog barked frantically, pulling at its leash, but the man’s screams drowned out everything else.
His warmth seeped into me, dulling the hunger for a brief, fleeting moment. I turned to Emily. Her face was smeared with blood, her eyes still clouded but alive with something primal.
We fed together, tearing him apart piece by piece. His screams faded, replaced by the wet, sickening sounds of flesh being ripped from bone.
When it was over, we stood there, our bodies slick with blood, the man’s lifeless form crumpled between us. The dog had fled, its leash trailing behind it.
Emily looked at me, her head tilting again. The recognition was still there, faint but undeniable.
This wasn’t love. It was something else, something twisted and monstrous. But in that moment, it felt like we were connected, bound by the hunger and the carnage we’d wrought together.
I wanted to scream, to claw my way out of this nightmare. But all I could do was stare at her and wonder how much further I could fall.
The first one appeared the next night.
Emily and I had just finished. A man in a suit, stumbling from a bar, his tie loose around his neck. His screams were already fading, his body crumpled on the ground, when the hunger in me finally dulled. I was wiping the blood from my face when I felt it—a shift in the air, subtle but undeniable.
I turned, and there he was.
He shouldn’t have been moving. His chest was ripped open, his throat little more than a mangled, red mess. But his head twitched, then turned toward us. His eyes were empty, the sockets ringed with blood, but something stared out of them.
Emily tilted her head, mirroring his movement. A low sound came from her throat. The man stood, jerking upright as if pulled by invisible strings.
My legs felt weak, shaking beneath the weight of what I was seeing.
But then another appeared. And another. The woman from the gas station. The jogger by the park. Faces I hadn’t let myself remember, all shuffling forward, their limbs twisted.
The sound they made—a low, gravely moan, layered and deep—wasn’t noise. It was communication.
And I realized the truth: they weren’t individuals. They were connected. Not to each other, but to the hunger. To me. To us.
I looked at Emily, her blood-streaked face impassive, and I knew. We were leading them. Guiding them.
Grace.
The hunger stirred, roaring with purpose. I turned toward the dark horizon, where she was still running, still hiding. The horde moved with me, their jerking steps falling into rhythm.
We stand at the edge of the hill, the town sprawled out below us like a patchwork of light and shadow. Street lamps flicker, faint and distant, their glow seeping through the trees. The hunger twists inside me, relentless, pulling me forward. Beside me, Emily twitches, her bloodied hand jerking at her side, her head tilting toward the lights. She growls low, her broken body still and yet coiled, ready.
For a fleeting moment, something stirs—a memory, faint but sharp. Grace’s laughter as she spun in the backyard, her hands outstretched to the sky. Emily leaning against the doorframe, smiling, her hair catching the sunlight.
My family.
But the hunger shreds it, devours it. I glance at Emily, her clouded eyes fixed on the town, her mouth twisted into something between a snarl and a grin. The bond between us is no longer love; it’s need.
Endless, insatiable.
The horde gathers behind us, their collective presence amplifying the pull. I feel their hunger like it’s my own. Emily tilts her head toward them, growling in unison. There’s no division between us now—just a single, relentless instinct binding us together.
The lights of the town seem closer, brighter. The scent of life hangs in the air, thick and intoxicating. The hunger whispers, louder now, surging with the weight of the others. The mantra swells in my mind, stronger than before.
Grace. Grace. Grace.
Then, music.
It drifts up the hill cutting through the cool night air.The horde behind me stills, their jerking movements halting as the sound reaches them too.
I shuffle closer to the edge of the hill.
The source of the sound becomes clear—a parade, winding through the heart of the town. A line of floats glinting in the glow of street lamps. The faint murmur of a crowd rises and falls, a tide of laughter and cheers.
A girl, perched high on a float, her silhouette framed by an arch of shimmering lights. She wears a crown, its rhinestones catching the light in sharp, brilliant flashes.
Homecoming. The word slides into my thoughts like an echo from another life, a memory scraped raw by the hunger.
The horde stirs, their murmurs rising into a single, unified sound—a deep groan that ripples through the trees like a storm wind. The parade below doesn’t hear it, their cheers drowning out the first whispers of doom.
Emily lunges forward, and the horde follows, their shuffling steps gaining momentum. The trees shake with their movements, the ground trembling as the mass of us begins to descend.
The hunger in me surges, unrelenting, unstoppable. The distance between us and the town closes, the fragile tether of memory slipping from my grasp.
Grace.
The name whispers through my mind one last time before the hunger consumes it. The horde moves as one, and we descend the hill.
What are your thoughts on the unannounced presence of the Chinese Navy near Australian territorial waters?
Australia regards itself too highly.
The essence of this matter is Taiwan.
In 1996, during the first Taiwan Strait Crisis, China was very weak and poor, but it was ready to fight desperately.
The phrase “East of Xi’an” came from that time, meaning they were prepared for an all-out nuclear war with the United States, willing to sacrifice the entire eastern part of the country and retreat to the mountains of the west and southwest.
The U.S. did not go to nuclear war with China over Taiwan.
（We didn’t have many warships at that time, so we could only move old tanks onto ships. In fact, the real trump card was only nuclear weapons.）
By the 2016 Taiwan Strait Crisis, China was once again ready to fight desperately.
All its fleets were deployed, but by then, it had become relatively strong, and the U.S. military ultimately backed down.
By that time, our navy had already gained some strength, and the artificial islands built in the Nansha Islands could also be used.
We can use up all our navies and inflict heavy damage on the U.S. military, because the U.S. military is concerned with its global interests and is reluctant to consume them, while we far exceed the U.S. in terms of population and shipbuilding capacity.
In other words, the battlefield China had envisioned shifted from its homeland turning into scorched earth to directly breaching the second island chain.
I predict that Japan and the Philippines are unlikely to accuse or provoke China, as it would be pointless. (They are all within the range of land-based missiles.)
In 2025, if the Chinese navy aims to liberate Taiwan and the U.S. military intervenes, their potential ports and supply points would have already retreated to Australia.
So naturally, China would extend its influence near Australia—after all, it’s unlikely they’d allow the U.S. military to resupply freely during wartime, right?
Recently, Australia sent planes to snoop around near China’s territorial waters, which greatly displeased China because, to some extent, it signaled: “I will stand with the United States.”
China’s live-fire exercises in the direction of Australia are actually a way to force the U.S. to take a stance.
If the U.S. remains silent, Australia will realize: “I shouldn’t provoke China, because I don’t want to become the next Ukraine.”
Interestingly, Australia is an island. If a brutal war breaks out, they can’t escape via land routes like Ukrainians can.
Our current shipbuilding capacity is 232 times that of the United States.
If we want, I think we can launch a French Navy tonnage every month, assuming wartime.
But it seems unnecessary.
The US Navy’s ships no longer need us to sink.
They have no shipbuilding capacity and will naturally age and die.
Overall, I think the Taiwan issue has nothing to do with Australia.
There’s no need for them to sacrifice themselves for American interests.