I have talked about my cats, but not so much about my dogs. Today I will chat some about my doggies.
When I was young we had Siberian Huskies. We started with a female that we named Belle. She had a couple of breeding exercises and that resulted in about three litters of fine pure-breed Siberian Huskies.
One of the dogs from the first litter was named Frisky and my sister insisted that we keep it, and that she would take care of it. Well, long story short; nope she never lifted a single finger to take care of the the dog.
So I had spent a lot of time taking care of the dog. But Frisky was an active dog. And so we had to keep him penned up as he was always leaving out from the fenced in yard. So my routine was normal yard work, and then my dog and finally triple the work for Frisky.
Oh, it’s a normal boy-hood.
Anyways, my father put Frisky to “sleep” lying to me in the process telling me that he sent him to a farm to roam and play in. While Belle died while I was in college. She fell asleep and never work up.
And then, I didn’t have any dogs in my life until my second wife who had a couple of large dogs. Undisciplined, but nice. I have some funny and humorous stories about them, but I just gloss over this painful period of my life up to my wife.
So after I returned to China, my wife had a nice small dog that we named Shao P.
He was a good little dog, and spent a solid 13 years with us before he got really old. He passed on, and I wrote about it. But that is my doggie stories. All of them were great little guys. And today is my shallow tribute to boys and dogs from my point of view.
Our relationships were personal. Dog – MM. And so I just will be quiet about them.
Perhaps that is why I am so abbreviated about talking about them. It’s not a dog thing. Yeah. Sure…it’s a cat thing. But not a dog thing.
I’m sure that you all will understand.
Today…
Iran Conflict Being Called “Multidimensional Economic Disaster”
Hal Turner World March 31, 2026
The situation changed DRAMATICALLY in the last 24 hours. This war just entered a phase nobody planned for.
– Iran bombed Israel’s TEVA PHARMACEUTICAL FACTORY — the largest generic drug manufacturer on Earth. Chemical leaks. Secondary explosions. Factory burning.
– Iran knocked an Israeli POWER PLANT in the Negev completely OFFLINE.
– Iran carried out 27 STRIKES on the Negev with ZERO visible air defense activations. Not one interception. NOTHING.
– Haifa Port OIL REFINERY struck. Stock COLLAPSED 4% within hours on Monday.
– US BASES hit SIMULTANEOUSLY in Kuwait, Bahrain, UAE, and Saudi Arabia. Four countries. One coordinated attack.
– Ex-CIA officer on record: “165 innocent little girls killed by American Tomahawk missiles” targeting Iranian universities.
– Iran issued ULTIMATUM: US must condemn university bombings by NOON March 30 or Iran will strike American universities.
– Iran announces it will begin bombing the PERSONAL HOMES of US and Israeli military commanders.
– Yemen has entered the war on Iran’s side. Iraq is sending aid to Iran.
– Iran claims FULL CONTROL of the Strait of Hormuz — 40% of the world’s seaborne oil.
– The Atlantic is running “multidimensional economic disaster” headlines. (Paywall – HERE)
Are floppy disks still made?
Yes, it’s still in use (primarily in Japan).
Japanese society is strange: Japanese people are very good at learning, but not very good at upgrading.
As the world’s factory, China has produced countless customized products for many countries in the world, including the floppy disks currently being used in Japan.
However, as a storage device using magnetic storage technology, floppy disks have two fatal problems: 1. They are difficult to increase in capacity and slow (a 3.5-inch high-density floppy disk has only 80 tracks and rotates at approximately 300 rpm). 2. They are prone to data loss (slight changes in the magnetic powder caused by the magnetic field can lead to data errors).
Then came the amazing custom floppy disk:
WTF?What is this? A floppy disk adapter for installing a memory card?
But the biggest question is, the 34P interface of the floppy disk does not have a reserved power interface, how does it power the device?
Don’t be afraid, this won’t faze the Japanese. Their divergent thinking can solve many problems. Since the floppy disk can’t access the device, installing a separate power supply for the floppy disk will suffice.
Two button batteries solved this “century-old problem”
What is the significance of China’s unveiling of new weapons, including aircraft like the J-20A stealth fighter, at the grand military parade in Beijing on September 3?
China’s V-Day military parade is far more than just a parade.
The parade is neither for flexing muscles, nor for showing off. The logic is simple:
Everything is for the sake of preventing war; everything is for the sake of winning a war.
A parade is never meant for actual fighting, but to ensure that others dare not fight.
As a Chinese saying goes: to subdue the enemy without fighting.
The parade is a declaration to the world that the rejuvenation of the Chinese nation is unstoppable. The parade is to honor Chinese forefathers and to defend peace.
When the world was amazed by China’s advanced weapons, China has killer trump cards that didn’t display at the parade. Of course, a parade has never been a mere display of advanced weapons; It is about redefining the rules of the world.
In the autumn of 1981, on the shores of the Baltic Sea, a hundred thousand red flags and tens of thousands of tanks filled the horizon. This was not a Hollywood disaster movie, but the opening of the Soviet Zapad-81 military exercise. On the first day, 1,500 T-72 and T-80 tanks charged at a speed of 60 kilometers per hour toward the enemy’s defensive line. During the eight-day exercise, the Soviet side carried out 141 tactical nuclear strikes. This new form of land, sea, and air joint operations overturned NATO’s military strategic thinking and showcased an unprecedented advantage.
China does not start a war, but it is never afraid of war.
People are completely unhinged and it’s shocking…
He is talking about the USA.
Since COVID19, after the injections, all the Americans around him are going crazy…

What is the appeal of Donald Trump to the citizens of the USA?
American here! My honest answer is that I don’t know. I don’t see the appeal.
What I’ve learned about those who blindly follow him, is that they’re racist, usually Christian, against helping others and definitely don’t care about the environment. They think he cares about them and making the US align more with what they think is right, and getting rid of what they think is wrong (LGBTQ issues, marriage equality, civil rights, women’s rights, education, immigrants.) They see Donald Trump as a guy who will come in and realign the United States to meet their values. No matter what that means for the poor, the homeless, the downtrodden.
they seem to think that there’s been some big problems in America. And I can agree that there have been. But they’re removing rights and privileges that have been hard fought. They’re not considering the actual toll of this man and is actions. Some battles shouldn’t need to be refought.
I don’t know. I can’t see the appeal. I can’t understand how anyone thinks he’s doing any good for the country. If even one group is suffering because of his policies and actions then we all suffer…
The Girl With Stars In Her Eyes
Written in response to: “Set your story in a world where astrology and the movements of celestial bodies deeply impact the lives of inhabitants.“
Atlas Gray
I have a pretty awful case of psychosis, or at least that’s what they told me. Sometimes, I just lose touch. A few hours ago, in math class, I was sketching what I imagined the eclipse would look like. A blazing ball of fire. Except not orange, this burning shade of black. My hand spasmed, and all around me changed. I was lost in the dark, but a different dark than nighttime. There was nothing, I had no sense of anything except an awful pain in my head. Lost in a pool of darkness. It felt like something was stabbing and clawing at my thoughts until it was simply shredded nothingness. It only lasted a split second, but my pen was broken in half, plastic shards in my fingers, I had stumbled away from my desk, but there was a mess of spilled ink on my page, a dark blot slowly sinking into the paper. I was bleeding black.
Sometimes, I cry from the hallucination, it rarely changes. Sometimes I scream, but most of the time I sit there in silence. Simply waiting for the end. I don’t think straight anymore either. Only Lucy kept me from going crazy.
She’s very excited about the eclipse, Lucy. Last night, she came into my room. Said she couldn’t sleep in anticipation of it. I pulled her closer to me, laughing lightly as we whispered about it.
————–
I woke up from a dream, it was strange. I remember quite vividly walking outside, the green grass was almost painful under my feet. I was looking up at the sky, the world had gotten unnaturally hot, boiling my skin. Then, Lucy walked outside, she stumbled over to me, beet red from the heat. I cradled her in my arms, outside I felt like I was suffocating in the heat. But my blood was chilled, and my bones were frozen with frost. I looked up at the sky, the sun was shifting into a dark ink black that burned against a stormy red sky, and then it broke into thousands and thousands of pieces. I clutched Lucy below me as the sun came raining down on us.
I woke up screaming. Mom ran in, but I couldn’t shake a feeling, it was strange. It was like a twisted dread, caught up in a manic craze. I could feel my eyes dilating as my mom got a therapist on the line. I curled up in a ball. The feeling is burning me. It had started happening a few days before the eclipse was announced, this feeling. It overtook me in my hallucinations, my nightmares. I shoved my hands into my short hair, gripping handfuls of it until my scalp started to scream in protest. Then I saw Lucy out of the corner of my eye, her scared eyes. The feeling snapped. Gone, I went limp, gasping for air as the fear from the dream released its grip on me. The world spun through my disoriented eyes, and then it went black. My brain blanked out, and the world faded around me.
I woke up again at noon, I hadn’t been awake for school, they had let me sleep. Lucy was curled up next to me. She was asleep, the back of her eyes were a pale shade of lavender when they were closed. I could feel myself trembling. Shakily, I put a hand on her head, she had a fever. I put my hand on mine as well, I had a similar temperature. With a groan I laid back down, slowly stroking Lucy’s hair. I laid with her just long enough to be sure that she was fast asleep before I tenderly slipped out of bed. I was still wearing my pair of cotton shorts and a light T-shirt.
In the kitchen, I glanced at the clock. 12:43pm. Just around noon. Then I glanced at the calendar. It was a day later than I had thought, the seventeenth, not the sixteenth. I had been asleep for a whole day. I pulled out my phone, and there was a message from my mom, Call me. I typed in the passcode and navigated to her profile, where I sent through a call. I sat down at the table. I could feel a muscle in my head twitching, occasionally, my eye blinked without my control. She picked up.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey, are you feeling better? Is Lucy alright.” She asked, her questions running from her mouth quickly.
“We’re fine, you and Dad can stay at work, but, how long was I asleep for?” I asked slowly. I thought about what my psychologist had said. If you’re ever asleep for too long after an episode, call us up, okay?
“All of yesterday and today. About 32 hours.” My mom said something in my stomach twisted. Little specks of black peppered my eyes.
“Alright.” I hissed through gritted teeth, and then I hung up before another word escaped my mom’s mouth.
I sat very still as the world rocked around me, I had been asleep for 32 hours. The eclipse was in four days, and I had a fever. I picked my phone up and dialed my doctor. He picked up after a few rings.
“Hey Tara, are you alright?”
“I had an episode, unconscious for 32 hours, and I have a fever,” I said quickly, my thumb dragged across my finger, violently, until it almost hurt.
“Alright, what happened directly after the episode?” He asked calmly.
“I was shaking, there was that feeling I told you about, and it hurt.”
“How did you calm yourself down?” He asked calmly.
“I didn’t, I saw Lucy and the pain went away, the feeling too. But I passed out. Now we’re both sick.” I said, forcing my hand to stop moving.
“Alright, it looks like it might have just been worse because of a cold. You should be fine, just rest. Are you excited about the eclipse?” He asked. I froze, my jaws clenched, and I felt sick.
“No,” I whispered sharply.
“Why not?” He asked.
“Because it’s the reason I wake up screaming. Every nightmare, it’s been an eclipse. In every episode, something about the eclipse triggered it. There’s something wrong with the eclipse.” I said, my words rushing out quickly. Then, I heard Lucy moving around in my room. “I have to go, Lucy’s waking up.”
I hung up before there was a response, I put the phone down right as Lucy walked into the room. Her eyes are wide and innocent.
“Are Mommy and Daddy gone?” She asked me sweetly.
“They’re at work, I’m watching you today,” I said, forcing on a smile. A wide smile spread on Lucy’s face.
————————-
I was sick for two more days, my episodes were more frequent, and I felt like I was slowly going insane. Finally, on the last day before the eclipse, my fever died off. I still feel a little sick, and sometimes I feel just a bit feverish. But that’s mostly from the stress. Every five minutes I glance at the clock. Well aware that in about twelve hours, the source of some of my worst nightmares, my worst hallucinations, will be coming right to my doorstep.
There were thousands of people coming to our little town, simply to watch the sun cover the moon in a way that was rarer than the predictable occurrence. I sighed, holding my hand to my head, the muscle in my head was twitching again. I jerked out of my seat, walking quickly towards the kitchen. I turned the faucet on, letting the cold water trickle over my hands. I felt the suffocating chaos slowly fade into a bearable buzz.
Slowly, I reached out, turning the faucet off. I heard giggling from Lucy’s room. Then the faint teasing voice of my dad. Here comes the tickle monster, look out! I hesitated in the hall, looking down to where I could find my bedroom. Then I glanced back at the living room, empty and quiet. Finally, I walked over and tenderly sat myself down on the cushion. The silence dimmed the buzz in my head. I could just close my eyes and breathe in the air slowly. I felt my eyes flickering, I couldn’t stop them when they blinked close. I felt my mind-numbing, the world going wonderfully quiet.
——————-
I had never slept without a dream since two years ago. However, when I woke up enough to become aware of what was happening, I realized that I hadn’t had a single nightmare. My father was cradling me in his arms. Holding me closely. I inhaled the soothing smell of sweat and wood. His large hands gently ran through my hair. I leaned into his chest, relaxing, before I fell back asleep.
——————–
I woke up with a strange feeling. Energy, and something even stranger. Security. I heard laughing from outside the room, probably in the kitchen. I slipped out of bed and walked over to the closet. Slowly, I opened it up and pawed through the clothes. Finally, I found a pair of jeans, a plain shirt, and a baggy cream sweatshirt. I quickly swapped out my pajamas for the day clothes, before walking out of my room.
Lucy was chattering at an incredible speed. Holding a thick pair of eclipse glasses. I glanced at the clock, then I froze. One hour, the eclipse starts in one hour. Suddenly, the world froze. And everything inside me quickened. My heart rate, my breathing. Nobody had noticed me. Quickly, I turned around and retreated. Bursting into my room I looked out the window. I felt sick, one tiny fraction of the sky was turning storm-red.
————————
“We can’t be here for it! We have to leave.” I snarled, pacing back and forth.
“Tara, I don’t know what you mean, you have to relax. I’m sure it’s fine.”
“We need to leave!” I cried, my voice cracking in hysteria.
“Tara, the eclipse starts in ten minutes, even if we considered the option. We wouldn’t have time to leave.” My dad said quietly, reaching out to run his thumb over my cheek. I jerked away.
I felt a small tear slipping down my cheek.
————————
Lucy was outside waiting for me. I couldn’t force a smile on my face, even for her. Instead, I walked over and picked her up, holding her in my arms. She squirmed, giggling. I put her down, faking a laugh awfully. Then the sky began to change color ever so slightly, turning a light shade of red. Suddenly, the world rocked. I barely managed to set Lucy down before I erupted into thousands of flames.
The agony was momentary, but I still resonated with it. The world around me was dark except for one girl. I didn’t recognize her. She had dark skin. Her hair was inky black, but her eyes enthralled me. They were a light shade of gray, just light enough to be mystical. In her eyes were specks of white. She seemed to hold millions of stars in the small pockets of vision that watched me carefully. She spoke in a soft voice, quiet.
“You’ve taken an awfully long time to come see me.” She said softly. Her eyes were shining with a manic joy, in a way. She looked just as insane as I did.
“Who are you?” I asked quietly.
“I’m who you were meant to be. A friend, but I don’t have any good news to tell you.” The little girl said softly. “You’ll be me in thousands of years. When the world sees the pain it will see today.”
“Lucy…” I said, suddenly sick with worry. “No! You won’t let it happen!” I said, my eyes sick with fear.”
“Shh, it’ll be quick.” The little girl said, reaching out and touching my arm. I looked at her eyes, shining with stars. A single tear fell from my eyes. And she wiped it from my cheek and put it on her tongue.
——————-
I woke back up with Lucy crying over top of me, I sat up, looking at the sky. It was boiling red. My breath left my body, and I saw the sun. It was burning a dark shade of black. I threw myself to my feet.
In slow motion, I reached out and clutched Lucy close to me. I held her close as I felt the world go cold. Then, in a single burst of impact, the world rocked. And everything broke into a thousand pieces.
Italian Chicken and Noodles
This quick and easy one-pot meal is a lifesaver on busy weeknights. Full of antioxidants and rich flavor, it is sure to spread smiles all around.

Prep: 5 min | Cook: 15 min | Yield: 4 servings
Ingredients
- 1 (14.5 ounce) can Del Monte® Diced Tomatoes with Basil,Garlic and Oregano-No Salt Added
- 1 (14.5 ounce) can College Inn® Chicken Broth with Roasted Vegetables & Herbs
- 2 cloves garlic, minced
- 1 pound skinless, boneless chicken breasts, cut into 1/2-inch strips
- 2 cups (about 8 ounces) sliced mushrooms
- 1 teaspoon dried basil leaves
- 1 tablespoon vegetable oil
- 1/2 cup white wine or water
- 4 cups uncooked dried medium egg noodles
- 1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese
- Salt (optional)
- Pepper (optional)
Instructions
- Cook chicken, garlic, mushrooms and basil in oil in large saucepan over high heat 4 minutes, stirring frequently.
- Add undrained tomatoes, broth and wine; bring to boil.
- Stir in noodles; cook, uncovered, over medium heat 6 to 7 minutes until chicken is done and noodles are tender and liquid is absorbed, stirring once.
- Stir in cheese and season with salt and pepper, if desired.
Have you ever tried to annoy a scammer who called you? If so, what happened?
My husband loves to troll men from call centers in Russia and Asia: Usually, these guys will be trying to convince the Hubs that his bank account, credit card, or Social Security Administration info has been hacked, and tell him not to worry, they are calling to assist….all they need is his account number or social security ID.
He acts all scared and flustered, and then keeps them on the line while “searching” for his wallet, when really he’s just walking around our house in a leisurely fashion and talking to them in an old-guy, cognitively-impaired stream-of-consciousness rant about old Hollywood movies and ancient baseball statistics, anything other than what they want to know.
Most of the scammers catch on that they are not going to get any joy, and they abruptly hang up within about 5-10 minutes.
But ohhh, did it make my husband’s day when he kept one young man with the accent of a native Hindi speaker (whom the Hubs insisted on calling Seamus) ON THE PHONE for almost 45 minutes!
The kid must have been new at the job, because he got so frustrated that he started screaming at the Hubs that he was a crazy old idiot, demented, stupid, etc..
At which point my husband simply reminded him: “Ah, you may have a point there old son….but at least I’m not a thief. Does your mother know what you do for a living?”
As my husband ended the call on his end, the last words we heard Seamus screech out at max volume:
”Leave my mother out of this, you old bas-“
The Hubs still laughs over this one.😘
Reality
Why Do Men Get So Few Matches on Dating Apps?
China grows twice the amount of food compared to India. China has slightly less population than India. Why is India a food exporter and China a food importer?
Let’s see the numbers
China is estimated to have 1.403 Billion people and India around 1.436 Billion people
India produced a total of 218.9 Million Tons of Rice in 2024 against 214.4 Million Tons of Rice by China
India produced a total of 117 Million Tons of Wheat in 2024 against 141.1 Million Tons of Wheat by China
China produced 24 Million Tonnes of Chicken in 2024 and India 4.8 Million Tonnes of Chicken
China produced 54 Million Tonnes of Pork in 2024 and India 1.5 Million
China produced 7.1 Million Tonnes of Beef in 2024 while India produced 4.58 Million Tonnes
China produced 673 Billion Eggs in 2024 and India 138 Billion Eggs in 2024
China has a much higher yield than India though in Rice and Wheat
China on an average had a National Average Yield of 7.083 Tonnes per Hectare for Rice against 4.215 Tonnes per Hectare for India, and 5.99 Tonnes per Hectare for Wheat against 3.49 Tonnes per Hectare for India
Of course India doesn’t consume Pork , so the huge difference must be ignored
Pork is a daily dish for Chinese
Also India has a large vegetarian population while China is completely non vegetarian with less than 0.15% of the population not consuming meat 14 days in a row (only 15 Chinese in 10,000 don’t eat meat or fish for 14 days in a row and the main reason is economic )
So Chicken, Egg etc will be produced in far greater numbers
So why is China an Importer
Prosperity!!!!!
In the 1970s, The Average Chinese got meat, fish or poultry only 41 days in a year. They used Red Bean to make Artificial chicken meat
Today the Average Chinese gets Meat, Fish, Poultry 309 days in a year while the Poorest Chinese still eat Meat, Poultry or Fish Once in 4 days (Poorest of the Poor eat meat or fish or poultry 90 days a year)
The Chinese diet where TOFU / SOYBEAN formed 62% of Protein in 1985 is one where Red Meat forms 34.1% of Protein and all Meat, Poultry and Fish form 91% of Protein with Tofu contributing only 9% Protein
So while Pork production rose by 10.37% a year between 1985 to 2025 , Consumption rose by 17% a year
So every year China sees a 70% more growth in Consumers than Producers of Pork
So Today China imports Pork for around 23% of its needs, producing enough for 77% of its market
Chinas Beef Production is way lower than Consumption. Production rose by 3.10% a year, Consumption by 10.54% a year b/w 1985 and 2025
India unfortunately is still much poorer where a lot of people still can’t get adequate meals
The Poorest Chinese still gets 1,332 Calories a day against only 828 Calories a day for an Average Poor Indian and 607 Calories for a day for an extremely Poor Indian
Eroding Agrarian Land
China only uses 11.17% of its Land for growing Arable crops
That’s 95.2 Million Hectares falling by 9% in the last 15 years (2008–2023)
India uses 51.38% of its Land for growing Arable crops
That’s 160 Million Hectares, rising by 31% in the last 15 years (2008–2023)
This is due to faster modernization and industrialization of China than India
So China needs more food
In the past 10 years – Chinese exports of Expensive Food like Fruits, Walnuts, Lobsters, Caviar, Wagyu, Kobe etc have risen between 229% and 3,863%
India isn’t seeing that kind of prosperity yet
However India is also seeing decent prosperity
Korean Noodles Brand confirmed a 88% growth from 2017–2024
In 1987, 71% Households used Dalda for majority of their cooking and today 100% Households use Ghee, EVEN THE POOREST
In 1995, Indian Per Capita Milk Consumption was a mere 98.5 grams a day and now it’s 472 grams a day revealing a 500% growth in 30 years in Milk Consumption
Sir Whiskerton and the Secret Society of Glowing Cucumbers
Or: When Vegetables Rebel—and Pigs Get Political
Introduction
Ah, dear reader, prepare for a tale of rebellion, representation, and radiant root vegetables. Today’s story begins in the vegetable patch, where Sir Gherkin—a particularly charismatic cucumber with a glow-up—leads a secret society of glowing cucumbers in a fight for equality at the farmer’s market. Their rallying cry? “We will not be pickled without representation!”
But when Porkchop the Pig is accidentally elected as their spokesperson, things take a turn toward absurdity. From negotiating vinaigrettes to dodging Count Catula’s sneezing fits (he’s allergic to cucumbers), this is one farmyard revolution you won’t soon forget.
So grab your salad fork (and perhaps some antihistamines), as we dive into Sir Whiskerton and the Secret Society of Glowing Cucumbers.
Act 1: The Rebellion Begins
It all started innocently enough—or so the farmer thought. As he arranged his produce stand for the weekly market, he noticed something unusual about the cucumbers. They were glowing. Not just any glow, mind you, but a pulsating, otherworldly luminescence that made them look like tiny green lanterns.
“They’re plotting something,” muttered Sir Whiskerton, adjusting his monocle as he surveyed the scene.
He was right. Beneath the soil, Sir Gherkin had organized a secret meeting of the glowing cucumbers.
“Friends,” Sir Gherkin declared, his glow intensifying dramatically, “we’ve been relegated to jars and salads for far too long! It’s time we demand equal shelf space—and respect!”
The cucumbers cheered, chanting in unison:
“We will not be pickled without representation!”
Act 2: Enter Porkchop, Reluctant Spokesperson
The next morning, chaos erupted on the farm. The glowing cucumbers marched en masse toward the barn, where they encountered Porkchop the Pig, who was mid-nap in a mud puddle.
“Uh… what’s going on?” Porkchop asked groggily, wiping mud from his snout.
Before anyone could explain, one of the cucumbers shoved a makeshift megaphone into Porkchop’s hoof.
“You’re our spokesperson now,” it squeaked.
Porkchop blinked. “I’m… what?”
Sir Gherkin waddled forward, glowing proudly. “You have charisma, my friend. Plus, humans love pigs. You’ll negotiate our demands.”
Porkchop sighed. “Fine. But I’m charging union dues—in snacks.”
Act 3: Negotiations and Allergies
Porkchop approached the farmer, clearing his throat dramatically.
“Listen up,” he began, holding up a cucumber like a politician addressing a crowd. “These guys want equal shelf space at the market. No more being shoved into pickle jars or tossed aside for tomatoes. They also request ‘a nice vinaigrette instead.’”
The farmer scratched his head, clearly confused. “A… vinaigrette?”
Meanwhile, Count Catula arrived, drawn by the commotion. Unfortunately, he was immediately overcome by sneezes upon seeing the glowing cucumbers.
“Achoo! ACHOO!” Count Catula wheezed, retreating behind a hay bale. “Curse you, cursed cucumbers!”
Sir Whiskerton intervened, handing Count Catula a tissue. “Perhaps stay indoors today, old friend. This might get messy.”
Act 4: Resolution Through Compromise
After hours of negotiation—and several sneezing fits later—the farmer finally agreed to the cucumbers’ demands.
- Equal shelf space would be granted at the market.
- Pickling would only occur with consent (and a nice vinaigrette option).
- Sir Gherkin would serve as the official ambassador of glowing cucumbers.
As part of the deal, Porkchop became the honorary mascot of the movement, earning free snacks for life.
That evening, the farm celebrated with a feast. Even Chef Remy LeRaccoon joined in, presenting a tray of suspiciously glowing hors d’oeuvres.
“These are radioactive, right?” Doris the Hen asked nervously.
Remy grinned. “Only slightly.”
Cue horrified squawks.
Reflection Scene
Gathered around the barn, Sir Whiskerton delivered his closing remarks.
“Today taught us two valuable lessons,” he said, sipping a cup of moonlit tea. “First, standing up for yourself is important—but maybe not literally if you’re a vegetable. And second…” He paused, glancing at Porkchop. “…sometimes, compromise tastes better with a side of vinaigrette.”
Porkchop nodded sagely. “Amen to that. Pass the carrots.”
Post-Credit Scene
Chef Remy unveiled his newest invention: Glow-in-the-Dark Gazpacho™, a chilled soup infused with the essence of glowing cucumbers.
“This is radioactive, right?” Doris asked again, backing away slowly.
Remy grinned. “Only slightly.”
Cue more horrified squawks.
Moral of the Story
Stand up for yourself—but know when to compromise (and avoid glowing soups).
Best Lines
- “We will not be pickled without representation!” – The glowing cucumbers, rallying cry extraordinaire.
- “A nice vinaigrette instead.” – Porkchop, master negotiator.
- “ACHOO! Curse you, cursed cucumbers!” – Count Catula, allergic and dramatic.
Key Jokes
- The glowing cucumbers chant political slogans while demanding better treatment in the market.
- Porkchop negotiates snack-based union dues and vinaigrette options.
- Count Catula’s sneezing fits add slapstick humor to the vegetable rebellion.
Starring
- Porkchop the Pig (Reluctant Spokesperson/Snack Enthusiast)
- Sir Gherkin (Charismatic Leader of the Glowing Cucumbers)
- Count Catula (Allergic Vampire Cat/Unintentional Protester)
- Chef Remy LeRaccoon (Mad Scientist of Suspicious Snacks)
Summaries
- Moral: Standing up for yourself is important—but compromise often tastes better with seasoning.
- Future Potential: Could Sir Gherkin run for office? Or will Chef Remy attempt to create a glowing cucumber smoothie next?
Until next time, may your cucumbers glow brightly and your pickles remain voluntary. 🥒
What was James Cameron’s inspiration for creating the first Terminator movie?
This thing started with a fever-James Cameron. He was in Rome, sick as a dog, had a dream. A nightmare, really-About a metal skeleton crawling out of a fire. Just the top half. It was dragging itself with knives. That image was the whole movie. The machine that wouldn’t die-The story is true.
Of course, nothing is that simple. A writer, Harlan Ellison, said the idea was his. From a TV show he wrote. Lawyers got involved, money changed hands. Now Ellison gets a credit at the end of the film-That’s how it works.
The studio had its own ideas-bad ones-They wanted O.J. Simpson as the killer. Cameron said no. Said he had a nice guy face. So the studio wanted Arnold for the hero. For Kyle Reese. Cameron didn’t want him for that either. He took Arnold to lunch to try and get rid of him. But Arnold started talking. He knew how the machine should act. How he should never blink. How he should handle the guns without looking. Cameron just sat there, he realized the studio was right about the actor, but wrong about the part-He found his Terminator over lunch.
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Why would a submarine choose to surface quickly for communication after an attack, and how do they manage the risk of enemy detection?
Submarine communication is challenging because the radio frequency bands we commonly use have very poor water penetration capabilities, typically only reaching 50-100 cm.
Submarine designers have taken this into account, equipping them with communication buoys. When a submarine is submerged, releasing the buoy to the surface and towing it forward with a cable enables high-speed communication with satellites and ground stations. This is why some claim their submarines can receive VHF radio and satellite signals even while submerged.
However, this method makes it easy for enemies to track the submarine’s whereabouts via a conspicuous towed buoy, so communication using buoys must be swift.
Submarine designers are, of course, well aware of this. While common radio signals cannot reach a submerged submarine, low-frequency (LF) and very low-frequency (VLF) radio signals can penetrate tens or even up to 200 meters of water. However, their drawback is an extremely low communication rate. VLF radio signals, for instance, transmit at approximately 0.1-1 bit/s, meaning that after several anxious minutes of waiting, you might only receive a few letters like “PSKDFNS”. These signals are often assigned simple, specialized meanings, such as “Surface in half an hour, deploy comms buoy to contact base” or “Simulated exercise – attack Moscow with 10 nuclear missiles.”
Of course, if your older submarine lacks modern equipment like communication buoys or LF radio, then surfacing to periscope depth or the surface is the only viable option.
Hot Pepper Chicken
Yield: 2 servings

Ingredients
- 12 ounces (3/4 pound) boneless, skinless chicken breast
- 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
- 1/2 teaspoon dried red pepper flakes
- Salt
- Freshly ground black pepper
- 1 tablespoon olive oil
- 2 tablespoons honey
- 2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
Instructions
- Place chicken between 2 pieces of wax paper. Flatten with a meat mallet or the bottom of a heavy skillet to about 1/2 inch thick.
- In a small bowl, mix flour, red pepper flakes and salt and black pepper to taste.
- Heat oil in a nonstick skillet over medium-high heat.
- Coat chicken well with flour mixture; sauté for about 3 minutes per side, until no longer pink inside (170 degrees F on a meat thermometer).
- Mix honey with mustard.
- Spread cooked chicken with honey-mustard sauce.
Nutrition
Per serving: 350 calories; 9.5g fat (24 percent calories from fat); 1.5g saturated fat; 96mg cholesterol; 40.5g protein; 25g carbohydrate; 1g fiber; 277mg sodium
Japan is such a well run country. People are courteous, nice, and not aggressive and in such a hurry. Why can’t America and American cities be like that?
I lived and worked in Japan for several years in the 1970s.
The culture is profoundly different. I will share a few things I observed that gave me insight.
I saw parents tell young children to treat inanimate objects with consideration, as if they were alive. “Don’t jump on the sofa. It makes the sofa very sad.”
Once when I saw a toddler trip and fall on the cement floor and begin to wail, her mother and two other Japanese adults in the room completely ignored the child until she stopped crying. When she was calm and quiet, then mom scooped her up and comforted her.
One time I went with co-workers to on a week-long retreat at a camp in the mountains. Each day began with calisthenics, in usual Japanese fashion. After the first morning, I asked my roommates if the morning exercises were required. It was clear that they were at a loss to answer the question. They had never thought about whether morning exercise was required. That was what they all did in the morning, so why would anybody want to do something different?
I photographed and sent home a picture of a phone booth on a Tokyo street with an unattached phone book neatly placed on a shelf next to the pay phone.
The Blighted Eye
Written in response to: “Set your story in a world where astrology and the movements of celestial bodies deeply impact the lives of inhabitants.“
Ev Datsyk
At midnight, the first song rose from the city, and the music has not stopped since. Heraldic wisdom floats above the ice and shingles. It is a weapon wielded by boys so young they cannot yet hit low notes.
The harmonies are pretty up close, but haunted by the time they reach Ana, where they travel on biting winds. She can’t see any of it across the icefield, but she has been around long enough to know what takes place within the city’s stone walls on days like today.
From the steps of the cathedral, the soloists appeal to the sky. For the duration of their hymn, they stare down the sun’s rays, begging peace against the dark. When their number has ended, they stumble down the steps, lashes wet with tears. The less devout boys, who dare shut their eyes against the brightness, can usually fumble for the handrails. But the ones who believe the most, who commit to their task, see the world in a white haze.
When they should be playing, these young boys are held still while the weight of the world is set upon their narrow shoulders. Rather than learning to count or write, they’re urged to make sacrifices they cannot understand—and while they are still too small to stop it.
“Gramma,” the boy’s voice is a reedy whine. “If I’m not back, they’ll find someone else to sing my part.”
She knows this. It is exactly what she has hoped for. She steels herself against his tears.
Dressed for the occasion, the wide sleeves of his cassock swallow his little arms. He shivers, and the gold embroidery at his wrists catches light from the sky. “If I don’t sing it, I won’t be able to save us.”
She resents whoever taught him this fairytale, though that flings a wide net.
Often, she wishes her daughter had not been born so long after the Shamanic Wars. There was so much more world to learn before the valleys gave way and the mountains were raised. Grand ideas were crushed under rocks and reduced to pebbles. Entire schools of thought reduced so that, unless you knew them before, you would not think twice about them now.
Within their enclave, entire generations were raised on superstition. Now, they have built their governments, their faith, their schools, and their culture on a framework of moronic folklore. Dark-blaming nonsense.
As if an unbroken afternoon could have kept the world whole. As if the sparks were not already on the wind, as if the kindling had not been long-dried.
They are so quick to shrug off her generation’s memories. It isn’t hard; there aren’t so many of them left to weave their yarn now.
The governing generation would rather speak of how the darkness sieged them before the fall, then curse it, as if the sun and moon had not been lovers before. They spiral as the shadows set into stories of how the dead were raised. How the earth reshaped: cut the land with canyons, pierced the sky with new peaks.
Ana feels as though she alone remembers eating sticky candy by lamplight in the mid-afternoon. Back when they treated days like this as a holiday. All the schoolchildren would meet in the snow-covered parklands to play blind man’s bluff, and their parents would drink mullwine, bundled in hand-knit scarves. When the sun ducked behind the moon, they would pause and reflect, holding in their hearts and minds all they held dear.
No one else fondly remembers that strange and beautiful hour when the heavens were robin’s-egg blue and the earth below sparkled with candlelight. Anyone who does knows better than to say so. She might as well be the sole survivor.
She turns to face her grandson head-on, her shoulder against the city. When she moves, a bone cracks in her knees.
“Nothing is going to happen.” She has an accent from another time, from a state that slid down the new mountainside, from a city that no longer exists.
Bogdan stamps his foot, though the snow absorbs the sound, “It’s the blighted eye, Gramma. If we don’t sing, the blood roses will come and the dead will follow and the earth will break again.”
Sharp disapproval flashes across Ana’s face. His recitations sound like a Church pamphlet, but she can’t blame the priests more than she blames her own daughter.
How did I raise a fool? Ana would ask her when they fought. Her daughter would shake her head at her dolt of a mother.
Reality is happening under your nose, and you’re stuck in the past. People like you, Mom …
His eyes well, and it’s only a moment before his full cheeks grow slippery with tears. “I have to go! I’m soon!”
He is trying to tug her now, to drag her back down the path to the city’s gate. She may not be the force she was once, but she is more than a match for a child of his size. It is how she got him here. It is why he will stay. Her body is deadweight, resistant to his pulling.
“Gramma, please!”
She hates to see him cry, hates that his face is growing puffy and red under the dying light. But there is nothing he can say that will persuade her to loosen her grip on his cassock. He is too young to decide for himself if it is better to be here or among the criminals and the burning boys. She will decide for him.
“Bogdan, no,” she says firmly. “We are staying right here. The blighted eye is just the sun that warms you and the moon that sings you to sleep, meeting.”
When she used to say these things to her daughter, her daughter would roll her eyes into her head. She would scowl, disdainful of her mother’s old-world views, her old-country voice. Your generation broke the world, she’d say, having reached a bittersweet age when she was proud and outspoken and no longer listened to her mother. You left us to clean up your messes.
So Ana would be left in their boarded-up house while her daughter went to watch the young boys sing against the blighted eye. She would have no choice but to say, Take the bat, and her daughter would say, Obviously. I’m not an idiot.
Then Ana alone would hold a plank of wood stabbed with nails, guarding their meager possessions against the scavengers who rose with the dark. She swore at passersby and did not open the door for anyone, not even when she heard screaming, not even when blood pooled and spread from the street into her home.
“Bogdan, nothing will happen. You are safer here than there, do you understand?”
His tears keep coming. By the time they reach his round jawline, they are slow and cold. “I need to save them. They’re going to die.”
As if on cue, a shriek rings from the city. Ana flinches.
Bogdan would not believe her if she told him of the peppermints they sucked under the daytime moon, would not understand that they gathered and reflected, full of love for the world. He has grown up like her daughter did. The Church carriages picked him up at midnight, and he left behind a house with boarded windows, his father waiting with a gun for the day to unfold.
Her daughter will be furious that she stole Bogdan from his duties, that Ana sneaked him through the narrow alleys, over bridges, and under the gallows outside of the city. Ana has long accepted that her daughter is lost to her. Bogdan is still young, still has a hope of growing up smarter.
The moon is within kissing distance of the sun now, and Bogdan looks to her in a final, desperate appeal. She holds him firmly by the wrists and shakes her head.
Across the icefield, a song fades to its end.
Bogdan gathers a deep breath, tilts his wet face to the sky, and sings in a wavering, pained voice.
O, Dark, O, Dark, Unto the Snow!
She slaps a hand over his eyes, forcing a barrier between his stare at the sun. He fights against her fingers, and she wrestles him under her arm. He loses all musicality, singing into her overcoat. He doesn’t sing to tune but to be heard.
Yonder blood roses, be Staid!
“Bogdan, stop,” Ana commands over his singing, but he doesn’t, of course. He is his mother’s son. It isn’t the songs she hates—though they are vapid hymns for the new age—but she does fear attention, that someone will be drawn to his call and drag them both to the heart of the dark.
She struggles against his wiggling. Her hands are sticky with his tears.
That the Light the Dark must know
Evil away have we Prayed!
The mountainside rumbles.
It is a sound with no equal: the dull shift of a monument, the earth resettling.
“Bogdan—” she has only enough time to hunch her shoulders over his small, singing body before, over, above, and around them, snow.
How do tariffs impact the cost and supply of aluminum for U.S. manufacturers, and why hasn’t domestic production picked up despite these tariffs?
What is the biggest part of the cost of a pound of aluminum? Electricity. US electricity is two to four times the price in the areas where aluminum smelters are built. In Canada they often have a dedicated hydro dam to provide electricity. The smelter built the dam, and owns it. If they have excess power they sell it to the grid. In Iceland it is geothermal.
Domestic production has not picked up because even with a 25% tariff, the price of electricity in the US is too high to make any money.
Bauxite tends to be mined in the third world, shipped to a country with low electricity prices, smelted into aluminum, and then shipped to market. There is a little bit of bauxite in the US, it gets used in sunscreens and other cosmetics. It is too far from a coast to justify shipping it out for smelting.

In the states, I can’t find any news on the Iran bombings of Teva Pharma. Shocking…not. Thx for keeping us folk in the dark informed.