The way around this is to find a relationship; a boyfriend or girlfriend. They will come complete with a selection of friends and family. Or work. You can make friends though those you work with.
Occasionally, you can make friends with people who you befriend at a restaurant, or club or someplace where you frequent. You simply ask them when they get off work and offer to buy them a dinner.
Having a friendship is the most important priority that you must establish once you land in a new area. And to that, I must state again, take the time and put this as your first priority. Once you have friendships everything else will fall into place.
Now, some places are difficult to make friends at. It’s a regional cultural issue. While other places it’s really quite easy.
I found it easy to make friends in Boston and Kuala Lumpur, and difficult to make friends in Indiana, and Japan. You have to keep on trying though. Just don;t give up and keep on trying.
Enough of that. Today…
Have you ever seen an employer fire someone without realizing what a crucial role the employee played?
I used to work in a state government position that handled government funding for public schools.
Sometime toward the end of my two-year stint there as a contractor, the government announced a new ruling that would reduce the number of contractor roles by making them official state employees – which means we would be entitled to leave, sick pay, and everything that comes with an official full-time title.
Sounds great, right?
The catch was that we had to interview for our current role. Yes, you heard that right – we had to re-interview for the position that we were currently in. Not only that, but the position was to be advertised externally and publicly, which meant anyone could apply. It was beyond ridiculous; not only did we have to re-interview, but we were also competing with the general public.
My team was specifically in charge of maintaining asset data and the portfolio was well into the billions. Not only had my team – which was exclusively made up of contractors except for the team leader – had improved stakeholder relationships, but had successfully removed hundreds of millions in incorrect data from the system via indexation which saved even more hundreds of millions being allocated incorrectly, and had improved internal processes by around 47%. Further to this, I had also implemented over $600 million dollars worth of new asset data before End Of Financial Year – something that had never been done before. I even received a personal thank-you from the CEO.
But to say that the contractor staff were not happy about the new ruling would be a gross understatement. Unions were contacted, lawyers were engaged, and meetings were held daily to update us on the progress. Some people quit on the spot, and others had to be escorted from the premises when they did not pass their re-interview.
In the end, we all re-interviewed for our positions but we unfortunately did not pass. My entire team, except for the team leader, was out of a job. Their excuse was that they found more qualified people when in reality, our new manager that had been appointed some weeks before, wanted to bring in her own friends to fill the positions. She even brought in someone who was on a 6-month visa – something that is illegal to do for state government positions as you need to be a citizen or at least a permanent resident to apply.
In the end, that team had become a revolving door of employees who either did not understand the work or were woefully underqualified – most times, it was both. I heard from co-workers who stayed there that the team’s output had decreased significantly, and that the asset data was so incorrect that millions were allocated incorrectly and they spent months trying to fix it. They were also a year behind in adding in new asset data which meant that those schools were a year behind on funding.
I got a phone call from a recruiter about a year and a half later who wanted to see if I was interested in going back. I asked him if a certain manager was still there and he said yes. I told him that she was the reason I wasn’t in that job anymore, and as long as that sneaky, sly little bitch worked there, they could not pay me enough to go back.
How would Europe react if Trump and Xi plan to split the European economy? Does Europe have any economic leverage against the US and China’s economic aggression?
Biden already weakened Europe’s economy. He dragged it into the Ukraine war. In the very early stages, France and Germany tried very hard to prevent its escalation. They must have been delighted when Ukraine and Russia reached an agreement to terminate it. And were very disappointed and aghast when Boris Johnson with Biden’s support, convinced Zelensky to reject it. They did not have courage of their conviction.
EU faces high energy cost, its standard of living is under threat, its industries have lost competitiveness, and it is in danger of deindustrialization. Its economy floated along the x-axis in the last few years.
Trump could weaken it further with tariffs, and demands that it raises its military spending. He would not tolerate if EU were to cut down on its purchases of expensive LNG from the US.
But there is no threat of a Trump/Xi agreement to split Europe’s economy.
US already has Europe on a stranglehold. Why would it want to share the loot?
China would not be interested.
China would prefer a strong Europe to trade with and to invest in.
There will be vast opportunities post-Ukraine war, to rebuild its industries and economy. It could help broker a reconciliation between EU and Russia, and a resumption of the trade that both sides had prospered prior.
Europe does not need to have any economic or other leverage on the US or China. It needs to have courage and builds a spine.
INTERVIEW: Hell no, we won’t go
Banana Rum Cheesecake
Ingredients
- 1 pre-made Graham cracker crust, baked and cooled
- 1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
- 8 tablespoons dark brown sugar
- 8 ounces cream cheese, softened
- 1/2 teaspoon fresh lemon zest
- 1/2 teaspoon fresh lime zest
- 1 cup heavy cream, chilled
- 4 teaspoons Sailor Jerry Spiced Rum
- 4 ripe bananas, thinly sliced
Instructions
- Beat together first five ingredients until fluffy.
- In a separate bowl beat together rum and chilled heavy cream until soft peaks form.
- Carefully mix 1/3 of cream/rum mixture into the cream cheese mixture then fold in the remaining cream/rum mixture, being careful to evenly incorporate everything.
- Place bananas in the bottom of the crust and smooth the filling over it.
- Chill, loosely covered, for 20 minutes.
Why do some rich people show off but some don’t?
Five most common reasons people show off
A. They are expected to PUT ON APPEARANCES
Rich People who have Public Limited companies must put on appearances and spend money to show that their companies are rock solid and they are rolling in wealth.
You are expected to act rich
B. They have risen from poverty and middle class and feel the urge to vindicate their economic status
Many people who rose from Poverty feel like splashing their wealth all around to prove to themselves how far ahead they have come
One of Natashas allegations was that Hardik Pandya would splurge money without reason just to vindicate his rise from rags to riches. She stated how he berated her for not buying the most expensive clothes and demanded she order the most expensive food because “He could afford it”
C. Their family members may cause them show off
They have sons or wives or daughters who love to splurge and force them to show off
Like Ambanis son Anant
The obviously unattractive and obese Anant getting married likely became such a matter of inferiority complex to his father that he compensated it by splashing wealth all around (And if you tell me she loved him for what he is, please contact Director Vikraman in Ashok Nagar)
D. They are in deep trouble and dont want to reveal it
Typically when Rich people splurge too much, especially the non Ambani level rich people, it could indicate they are actually broke
When I was in the bank, one guy hired a BMW to come to the bank and wore the best clothes and the best watches but his desperation showed when he wanted a ₹ 6.5 Crore overdraft, so we got wise to him
E. To IMPRESS THEIR WOMEN
If a 6/7 guy has a 9/10 girlfriend, then (unless they started with a friendship and fell in love), he will really want to impress her to push his ranking higher
Tulip Joshis husband spent ₹2–2.5 Crore on a birthday bash for her with exotic and expensive wine and getting Boyzone singers to record a message for her
He could be compensating even if she may not have wanted all this luxury
Most common reasons why Rich People don’t like to show off :-
A. Afraid of ‘Buri Nazar’
Many Rich people are afraid of other people’s jealousy and also afraid of provoking the Gods
It’s called the BALRAJ SAHNI phenomenon after his iconic dialogue in the 1965 film WAQT
Dhirubhai was one person who believed and practised this
He splurged as Reliance CEO but never as plain old Dhirubhai
B. Afraid of attracting attention
Spending money attracts attention of others
Kidnappers, Income Tax, CBI etc
So unless you are squeaky clean, you wouldn’t want to shout to the world that you are rich
C. Afraid of other reasons
People with shaky companies or too much debt wouldn’t like to showcase their wealth
We all saw what happened with Vijay Mallya
Should personal devices of private citizens in Australia be banned from using DeepSeek AI services?
Oh, absolutely! Let’s ban personal devices from using DeepSeek AI in Australia—because clearly, the biggest threat to society is someone asking an AI for a lasagna recipe or how to unclog a sink. Forget about actual problems; we must protect the world from the horrors of AI-assisted productivity and mildly entertaining conversations. Bravo, Australia, for leading the charge in the War on Convenience!
Chinese Rednote app Destroying Years Of USA Propaganda – Americans Left Shocked!
The Vietnamese government website claims that “Tet” or Chinese New Year was invented by proto-Austroasiatic and Baiyue tribes, then Chinese copied it. Why education is failed in Vietnam from top to down?
You are forcing your way into Chinese culture, and you are right that all small countries use nationalism to civilize their people, especially when there is a powerful civilization that has survived for thousands of years next to it. The fundamental problem of Chinese New Year is the calendar, which requires a long time (decades and hundreds of years) to observe astronomy, record astronomy, and then form a calendar through calculation, and then revise it through continuous observation. In other words, observation is the basic of the calendar, and recording is the focus of the calendar. Observation requires astronomical observatories, and the government has set up a department of sky surveillance, and it requires large-scale observation, from south to north, from west to east. The result in this case is that small countries are not able to do this (e.g. South Korea, Vietnam) because of the large number of record samples required. As I said just now, observation needs to be recorded, and recording needs writing, and of course this writing must be Chinese characters. Even if ancient Vietnam and ancient Korea were independent states, what script did they use? This will further explain that Vietnam and Korea are all part of China because they all use Chinese characters.
After the calendar came out, there was one part that the Vietnamese found difficult to justify. That is, there are 24 solar terms in the calendar, and the 24 solar terms are Frost’s Descent, Minor Cold and Major Cold. Vietnam is in the subtropical climate, where the frost, minor cold, major cold. Vietnam has always had its own ambitions, understandable, but China still exists, it is not desirable to want to plunder Chinese culture by other means, the Japanese are very hate, but the Japanese have a point to admit that culture comes from China, and use the Gregorian calendar to celebrate. Vietnam and South Korea have little ability, but have always had the ambition to dominate Chinese culture.
Here again, the Vietnamese have always been reluctant to admit that their culture comes from China. But they want to steal Chinese culture and think of themselves as little China, higher than other countries in Southeast Asia. It must be pointed out here that Vietnam used to be an Annam province of China and was forced to become independent in the 18th century due to French invasion. Vietnamese clothing, also originated in China, but the current Vietnamese have always strongly denied this. Why are Vietnamese costumes so similar to Chinese Ming costumes and so different from Southeast Asian countries such as Cambodia and Laos? Southeast countries are more cool and subtropical climate dress, while Vietnam is like China, so heavy.
Finally, Vietnam, the more you try to deny China’s influence on you and make up your own history, the more confused you will be and the more you will lose yourself.
One Percent Killer
Submitted into Contest #210 in response to: Write a story about a character who is trying to share groundbreaking news, but isn’t being taken seriously.… view prompt
Tim Rathz
“They’re not, but fuck it. They’ll never solve it without me. I’m the only one willing to look into possibilities that no one else will even consider.”
“True, but I think that is exactly why you’re on suspension. You don’t exactly have tact while accusing our very popular, duly elected public servant of being a serial killer who murders rich women.”
“Tact isn’t my thing. Never will be. What’s up?”
Allen waited a few seconds to respond to me. I could tell he was debating even making this phone call. “I think you should meet me at the diner,” he said with reluctance in his voice.
“Why? What have you found?”
“Just be there in an hour.”
As I hung up, I knew this was something big. Allen didn’t believe in making a big deal out of things that shouldn’t be, and he was not one for theatrical drama, so I was sure this was going to be worth my time.
I pounded the rest of my third cup of coffee and sped out the door. 30 minutes later, I found myself at the Primrose Diner. It was an old fashioned, 50’s-style roadside diner, just off of highway 37. It was far enough outside the city that Allen and I could meet and not be noticed. We’ve had many cups of joe and slices of hot cherry pie a la mode over the years, while discussing various murder cases. I had a feeling this one was going to top them all.
The bell rang as I walked through the front door and instantly the smells of roasting java beans, greasy eggs and bacon smacked me in my face. I could feel my arteries clogging on the spot. There was a long, quartz counter with 20 or so pleather bar chairs. The diner was about half full, as to be expected on a Wednesday morning. If I were to come at this time on a Saturday or Sunday, there would be a line wrapped around the building. I’ve found the weekday crowd to be much more tolerable.
Behind the counter was Kermit, a squat, balding man with a decently trimmed beard. I have no idea if that is his real name or a nickname, but it’s what he goes by. He had worked here for years and always gave Allen and me a free slice of pie with our order. His dad had been a cop, so he always told us how much he appreciated us. A good man for sure.
“Hey, Hardin! How’s it going today? He’s over there.” With that he extended his fat left arm to point to my usual table, where Allen was already sitting.
“Thanks, Kermit!” I walked past five four-top booths to get to the table where Allen was sitting.
“I thought you said to be here in an hour. It’s only been 30 minutes.”
“You know how much I love Kermit’s pies,” he said with a forced laugh.
“Pie at 6:30 a.m.? I sat down, poured my fourth cup of coffee of the morning from the pot Kermit had already left on our table, and stared straight at Allen. “Ok, your weirdness has piqued my interest. What do you got?”
Allen seemed like he couldn’t believe what he was about to tell me.
“Hardin, I think you’re right. I think your crazy ass is right.”
“About the Mayor?”
“Yes, about the fucking Mayor. What else would get me this worked up?”
“Well it took you long enough! I’ve been on this for months. Lost just about every friend on the force I got because of it, except maybe you.”
“Well, don’t count your chickens before they hatch. I was just about to leave your ass on that crazy island you’ve made for yourself, but…”
“But, what? You clearly found something. What is it?”
“Hardin, what do all 14 of these murders have in common?”
“You mean besides the taunting notes from the killer? Well, the victims are all well-to-do women, their throats have been cut ear to ear and their hair has been cut off, probably with the same knife, after they were already dead”
“Right. The hair. What is the killer doing with the hair?”
“We don’t know. We haven’t found the hair. The killer takes it with him.”
“Exactly. But what the hell is he doing with it?”
“Sewing a toupee. Weaving a basket. Making a furry costume. Who knows?”
“Hardin, have you heard of the Mayor’s Growing Hearts initiative?”
“Well, yeah. Everybody has. It’s that giant vegetable garden in the center of town. Volunteers grow the food and use it to feed the homeless.”
“Exactly. Have you ever read the documentation the Mayor’s office released to the press?”
“Of course not. Get to the point.”
“Well I have a screenshot of one of the paragraph’s in my phone right here. You want to read this out loud?”
I took Allen’s phone and began reciting, “The Growing Hearts garden will flourish, thanks to the expertise of five local master gardeners, who designed the garden’s layout and gave recommendations for fertilization. The garden will be fertilized mostly by all natural compost, containing fruit and vegetable scraps, coffee grounds, egg shells, grass clippings, and donated hair clippings.” I read that last part slowly, not believing what was in front of me. “You gotta be shitting me.”
“I shit you not, my friend. Now, this obviously isn’t enough to take him down, but it’s quite a coincidence, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I think.”
Allen sat there staring into space. I was building up my courage.
“I have no choice. I have to break into his house.”
Allen’s head immediately spun to me while his jaw popped open. “What? Are you fucking insane?”
“There’s nowhere else I’ll be able to find any evidence to link him to it. I have to find out when he won’t be home, and get into his house and start digging around. The answers are all there. Look, it shouldn’t be that hard. He doesn’t have a family. He lives alone. He’s always out doing campaign dinners and whatnot. I just need to find out his public schedule and go then. There won’t be any security at his house if he’s not there. Not much anyway.”
“You’re on your own for this one, Hardin. The Mayor may not have a family, but I do. I’m not risking losing my job, or worse, for your dumb ass.”
“I didn’t ask you to. You’ve done enough. I’ll take it from here. Thanks, buddy!” I raced out of the diner and back to my house to start making plans for this stupid thing I was going to do. Maybe I am crazy. But I’m going to nail that son of a bitch if it kills me. And who knows, it just might.
I spent the next few days and nights going over and over in my head, what I wanted to do and how I wanted to search the house. It was a Monday morning and I was about to make some waffles, when my phone pinged. This time the headline read: Victim number 15. Mayor Stevens to give a press conference at 5 p.m., just two hours before what should be his biggest campaign speech of the election. This was it! Tonight is my chance. The Mayor will be gone, campaigning at a $300 per plate dinner with the Teachers’ Union.
The phone rang and I knew it would be Allen. “Hello?”
“I assume you’ve already heard about number 15?”
“Yes. I’m going in tonight. Right when he’s giving his little speech to the teachers””
“I don’t suppose there’s any way to talk you out of this.”
“Nope, I’m going.”
“Ok, Hardin. I can’t stop you. Just be careful.”
My heart was racing as I hung up. This is my chance to nail this bastard. He’s been getting away with this for way too long. He’s cocky and I guarantee he’s made a mistake. I just have to find it.
The hours ticked by and it was finally time to be on my way. I listened to the press conference during the drive to his home. I had been driving past the house a few times during the last couple days, just to get the lay of the land. I knew there was a security camera attached to the garage and a doorbell camera on the front porch. It was quite a modest home for the most powerful politician in the city. Probably a 2000 square foot ranch, with merlot shudders and a blue spruce in the front yard. Surprisingly light security, but he had always championed himself as the “People’s Mayor,” living modestly among the common folk. Douchebag.
I parked two blocks down the road, in a Kroger parking lot, and waited an hour or so for it to get dark. I knew I could approach the home from a side alley that ran alongside the next door neighbor’s house. Then I could simply hop the back fence and try to jimmy my way into a back window. Of course there’s a good chance every window is alarmed, so all this may be for not, but I have to try.
It was go-time. I left my phone in the car, so I wouldn’t be distracted. I was glad it was a cold night, so I could wear heavier clothes for more cover. I had on dark jeans, a navy blue Columbia jacket and a New York Yankees hat. I don’t even like the Yankees, but the hat helped me keep my face hidden, in case there are some looky–loo neighbors. I walked down the Mayor’s street, keeping my head down and eyes and ears open. I was aware of the entirety of my surroundings.
I finally reached the side alley, next door to my mark. I quickly, but casually ducked down the alley and walked until I was out of sight. Then over two fences and I found myself in the backyard of where I wanted to be. Now the fun starts.
There were three back windows to choose from. All three had the blinds pulled, so I couldn’t see which rooms they led to. When in doubt, pick the middle one. It’s as good a guess as any. I crouch-walked up to the window and looked around one more time to make sure no one could see me. I figured I’d try the obvious first. So I placed my gloved hands on the window and pushed in and up. It budged! By the grace of God, this window wasn’t locked. I pushed it all the way up and pushed the blinds out of the way as I hopped up and into the house. There were no beeps or alarms going off. Could I be so lucky that the alarm wasn’t set as well? This appeared to be the case. This was great! Or was it? Nothing is this easy. It made me leery, but there was no alarm, so I decided to continue on. This guy is either stupid or incredibly arrogant.
The window I entered belonged to the bathroom. This room seemed to be clear, so I kept going. I slowly walked from room to room, using a mini flashlight to see, careful not to shine it through a window for a neighbor to be curious about. The bedroom, living room, office and kitchen were all clear. I couldn’t find anything at all to link this guy to these murders. There was no laptop, desktop, phone or note for me to look through. This was it. I hit a dead end. Fuck.
There was still a hallway closet to check, which could be a good hiding spot for a killer to store his tools, so all hope wasn’t lost yet. I walked to the closet door and opened it. It wasn’t a closet. There were steps leading down. This was a basement! My spider senses were on red alert. My cop instincts were screaming at me that I was about to find something of value. The hair on my neck and arms were standing straight up.
I turned on the light and walked down the steps. It looked like a fully finished basement with a couch, huge 70 inch tv and a fully stocked bar. Quite the man cave indeed. I walked around, searching every inch of the room. I stumbled upon a closet and opened it up. There was nothing in there except a black trash bag. I opened it, looked inside and pulled out a wig of long blond hair. IIn an instant I threw the wig and fell backwards. It wasn’t a wig at all. It was hair, tied with twine and covered in dried blood. I grabbed the trash bag and emptied it to the floor. Several more hair bundles fell out.
“Pretty bold of you, Sergeant Stone,” a voice rang out from behind me. I turned to see Mayor Stevens in a midnight blue suit pointing a revolver at me. “Surprised? I have a silent alarm that alerts me when some dirtbag breaks into my home.”
“Oh I’m the dirtbag? I’m not a serial killer. You were supposed to be at a campaign dinner.”
“Didn’t you know? It got canceled when word got out they found a 16th body.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you doing this? Isn’t it enough to have the power of politics behind you?”
“This is for the little people. The poor. The overlooked. No one gives a shit about them. The top one percent have everything while standing on the backs of the poor. It’s shameful and it’s time they get what’s coming to them.”
“Then why just women?”
“That’s a personal reason.”
“So, you’ve been rejected by women, so you kill innocent people. You’re a real fucking hero.”
“Innocence is in the eye of the beholder. You should’ve just stayed on suspension. If you wouldn’t have made your way down here, I would’ve just had you arrested. Now I have to kill you. Goodbye.”
I quickly reached down to pull the spare gun from my ankle holster, but it was too late. I heard a crack, saw a flash and fell backwards. My pain sensors clearly hadn’t reacted yet. I looked down to see where I was bleeding from. I couldn’t find anything.
I looked up to see a wide eyed One Percent Killer mayor with his eyes and mouth wide open. Then a stream of blood trickling down his mouth. He fell straight to the ground with a crackling thud. Behind where he was standing was Allen, gun in hand, arm still extended from the shot he just fired.
“Thought you might need some help. Once I heard he canceled his dinner I raced straight here. I’ll go call for back-up. You collect yourself. You think it was bad before? Now the real shit show begins.”
I looked up in disbelief. Somehow all I could muster to say was, “I could really use some cherry pie a la mode right about now.”
U.S. LOSES Cheap Canadian Oil to China as Beijing SUES the US Over Tariffs – What’s Next?
Shorpy
If Canada had actually gone through with making the Avro Arrow, would we be better fighter pilots than the States?
I think what you’re asking is, “would the Arrow be better than all US fighter/interceptor airplanes had it been developed?”
Eh… better for Canada probably, but not universally true. The Arrow was developed for the RCAF for RCAF needs specifically, so if done correctly, it should be the answer to their particular problem of stopping Soviet nuclear bombers coming from the North Pole before they can bomb Canadian (and US) cities.
But “the best [machine] in the world” is a completely meaningless statement and only obvious to amateurs. At the end of the day, these machines are solutions to a problem.
If it answers the problem well, great, then it works.
The “best” machine is the one that answers the problem with the least cost on the user (like fuel, money, effort, whatever).
However, just because it can solve a problem, it doesn’t mean it can solve ALL problems. However, just because it cannot solve a problem it was never intended to answer, it doesn’t mean it’s “bad”.
The way I see it, the Arrow would be amazing interceptor, but an OK fighter (all-missile armament and designed to sprint rather than maneuver). It wasn’t designed for air-to-ground and was not provisioned for that at all, so it might suffer if pushed that way.
The F-4, designed around the same time with roughly the same specs, was originally an interceptor, but it turned out to be a more-than-decent multi-role airplane, good at many, many things.
Can Canada turn the Arrow into something like this? Who knows, but Canada also has fewer resources (and money) than the US so it’s probably hard. All the math and theories can point you one way or another, but those are just conjectures. There’s just no way to find out unless the Arrow was actually developed and became operational.
The real value of the Arrow would be that Canada wouldn’t have to rely so heavily on imported weapons. After the Arrow was literally cut into pieces, the tools disposed, and Avro disbanded, the engineers packed their bags and left. You can bring back the factories fairly easily, but not the talents—especially not when you’re competing with NASA and their tons of money for the Apollo program and whatever else then.
Do you like Trump or Hillary better?
Neither. And I hope you don’t either of them. For me, there are two views to see this. My social responsibility as a Chinese communist party supporter means we think Trump initiated the hostilities against the peoples republic of China and caused the entire debacle. This is obviously regrettable and Trump’s inflammatory rhetoric against us obviously isn’t returned with love.
Another, my personal and America-friendly POV: I think no one actually thinks that trumpism is good for the country. They are just fed up with the “role model” elite of society: virtue signalling Hollywood stars, private jet owning billionaires who want to encourage bikes and veganism etc. Voting Trump is a tantrum and a big middle finger to those who think they are in charge. Hillary (and later Harris) is a boring, typical, centre-left establishment mouthpiece who has no problem with war with the full diversity hire package. Her ties with the Clinton political family makes her less attractive, not more.
I do agree with Trump’s removal of DEI and ideas for fiscal sustainability, but he is still a destructive force, imperialist and sex offender.
What is the best thing that has ever happened to you for being nice?
At the time I was a federal cop. My wife and I were vacationing in DC. We’d tried to get in for one of the public tours of the White House, but they were all filled.
I looked across the street at the other homes there. One of them is called Blair House, and, for awhile, President Truman and his family lived there while the White House was being refurbished. But I didn’t know which one it was.
I went to a guard post and asked one of the White House uniformed cops (they’re officially known as US Secret Service Uniformed Division; they used to be called the White House Police) which one of the homes across the street was Blair House. He pointed it out to me.
I asked, “Is there a plaque or something to mark where Officer Coffelt died?”
Leslie Coffelt was a White House Policeman who was murdered in the line of duty when a pair of terrorists tried to assassinate President Truman during the time he was living in Blair House.
“Yeah,” he said. “There sure is. You a cop?”
I showed him my badge and creds.
“You get into one of the tours?”
“We tried,” I said, “but they were all filled up.”
So he got on the phone, made a call, then told me to be back at that gate at a certain time, and they’d get us into the next tour.
OK, that wasn’t that nice of me. But, from their perspective, I was showing respect for the history and lore of their agency. And I was a brother cop.
But, here, as Paul Harvey used to say, is . . . the rest of the story.
We show up for the tour, and are shown into the White House parlor where the tours start. Some of the tour guides are pages. Some are administrative assistants. Some are White House cops. I look at one of the White House cops and he seems familiar.
“Al?” I say.
“Jim?” he says, looking at me.
We’d both been civilian cops at a military base that closed. When it closed, we both transferred to other federal cop shops. He wound up as a uniformed cop with the Secret Service. I wound up at an agency that . . . well, let’s just say it’s a little lower on the federal law enforcement food chain.
We embraced, shook hands, and I introduced him to my wife.
He asked us what we were doing after the tour. We said we hadn’t any fixed plans.
“Meet me back here,” he said. “I’ll be going off duty. I’ll take you on a tour of the place the public doesn’t usually get to see.”
So afterwards, we got to see a bunch of Norman Rockwell paintings he painted especially for the White House. We saw the basement of the place, where the scorch marks from when it was burned down during the War of 1812 can be seen. We went all the way up to the entrance to the Oval Office (not inside, but we got to bend our heads across the threshold as long as our feet remained outside). We saw historical artifacts that are usually seen only by special guests.
It was the highlight of our trip.
When we were finished, naturally we both thanked him profusely. He wasn’t, after all, a particular friend. We liked each other, but it was a work relationship. We didn’t socialize away from the Job. I’d never done him any particular favor that I was aware of. Nevertheless, here’s what he said.
“Hey, when you’re a nice guy, nice things happen to you. If you’d been most of the mopes who worked there, I’d’ve just said ‘hi,’ and left it at that.”
Don’t know exactly what I did, but something about the way I did my job, and the way I interacted with my co-workers impressed him to such a degree that he went way out his way to do something really special for my wife and me.
TRUMP’S LIES: China DOES NOT sell fentanyl to drug cartels, or anyone!
Sir Whiskerton and the Case of the Chicken Dance Craze
Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for another whimsical adventure on Sir Whiskerton’s farm, where the animals are as eccentric as ever, and the mischief is always just a whisker away. Today’s tale involves Cluckadia, the farm’s most vociferous hen, who starts a bizarre fashion trend where all the chickens dance in circles before they eat. Ferdinand the Duck, Cluckster the Rooster, and Big Red (another rooster) join in, singing at the top of their lungs, creating a racket so unbearable that even the scarecrow is considering moving to a quieter farm. So, grab your sense of humor and let’s dive into The Case of the Chicken Dance Craze.
The Plot Thickens
It all began on a sunny morning when Sir Whiskerton was enjoying his usual sunbeam on the barn roof. The peace was shattered by the sound of clucking, squawking, and the unmistakable twang of Ferdinand the Duck’s operatic voice.
“What in whiskers’ name is going on now?” Sir Whiskerton muttered, peering over the edge of the roof.
Below, Cluckadia was leading a group of chickens in a bizarre dance routine. They were spinning in circles, flapping their wings, and clucking in unison before pecking at their feed. Ferdinand, ever the showman, was belting out a song to accompany the dance, while Cluckster and Big Red provided backup vocals—if you could call their off-key squawking “vocals.”
“Cluck-cluck-spin! Cluck-cluck-spin!” Cluckadia chanted, her feathers fluffed with pride. “It’s the latest trend! All the cool chickens are doing it!”
Harriet clucked in agreement. “Cool chickens! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Lillian promptly fainted into a pile of hay.
Porkchop the Pig, who had been trying to nap nearby, snorted in annoyance. “What is this nonsense? Can’t a pig get some peace and quiet around here?”
Rufus the Dog, who had been chasing his tail, stopped mid-spin to bark, “It’s driving me bonkers! And I like noise!”
Sir Whiskerton sighed. “This has gone too far. I must put a stop to this madness.”
The Plan to Restore Peace
Sir Whiskerton knew he couldn’t tackle this problem alone. He needed help from the farm’s most calming influences: Bessie the Tie-Dye Cow and Jazzpurr the Beatnik Cat.
“Bessie,” Sir Whiskerton said, approaching the laid-back cow, “we need your ‘peace and love’ vibes to calm these chickens down. Can you help?”
Bessie nodded dreamily. “Sure thing, dude. I’ll get them to chill. Just leave it to me.”
Next, Sir Whiskerton found Jazzpurr strumming his bongo drum under a tree. “Jazzpurr,” Sir Whiskerton said, “we need your groovy beats to drown out Ferdinand’s singing. Can you handle it?”
Jazzpurr adjusted his beret and grinned. “You got it, man. I’ll lay down some smooth tunes that’ll make even the noisiest rooster mellow out.”
The Great Chicken Intervention
That afternoon, Bessie and Jazzpurr made their move. Bessie wandered into the barnyard, her tie-dye coat shimmering in the sunlight, and began humming a soothing melody. The chickens, mid-dance, paused to listen.
“Hey, dudes,” Bessie said, her voice calm and serene. “Why don’t you take a break from all that spinning and clucking? Just, like, breathe in the good vibes, you know?”
Cluckadia tilted her head. “Good vibes? What are you talking about?”
Before Bessie could respond, Jazzpurr started playing a smooth, jazzy tune on his bongo. The chickens, mesmerized by the rhythm, began to sway in time with the music.
Ferdinand, not to be outdone, tried to join in with his operatic singing, but Jazzpurr’s beats were so groovy that even Ferdinand couldn’t help but mellow out. Cluckster and Big Red, meanwhile, stopped squawking and started tapping their feet.
The Moral of the Story
As the sun set and the barnyard returned to its usual peaceful state, Sir Whiskerton addressed the gathered animals. “Well, my friends, it seems we’ve learned an important lesson today.”
Cluckadia clucked softly. “That dancing before eating is bad?”
Sir Whiskerton shook his head. “No, Cluckadia. The lesson is that sometimes, it’s good to let loose and have fun, but it’s also important to know when to dial it back. A little peace and quiet can go a long way.”
Bessie nodded. “And remember, dudes, good vibes are always better than bad noise.”
Jazzpurr strummed his bongo. “Like, keep it cool, man. Life’s a groove, and we’re all just riding the wave.”
Ferdinand, ever the diva, quacked, “And if you must sing, at least try to stay in key!”
The animals laughed, and even Cluckster and Big Red joined in, their squawking now more harmonious than ever.
A Happy Ending
And so, the chicken dance craze came to an end, replaced by a newfound appreciation for peace, good vibes, and groovy beats. The animals returned to their usual routines, content in the knowledge that once again, Sir Whiskerton had saved the farm from chaos.
Ditto, who had been watching from the sidelines, echoed, “Good vibes! Good vibes!”
Echo, not to be outdone, added, “Good vibes! Good vibes!”
And with that, the barnyard settled into a peaceful evening, the sounds of Jazzpurr’s bongo and Bessie’s humming filling the air.
Bartholomew, the resident piñata, wisely said nothing.
The End.
What restrictions do Chinese Communist Party officials face regarding their children’s education?
This is our foreign minister S Jaishankar
His wife is a Japanese born Naturalized Indian Citizen and his both his sons are US Citizens
Logically he would be inclined to kowtow to the US even if it was better to be with China or Russia in the long run for India
Many of our foreign ministry officials, Judges, Policemen, Ministers have children who are US Citizens or Foreign Citizens or Permanent Residents
Would such people have India’s best interests in mind?
The CPC many years ago decided to ensure such divided loyalties don’t affect Mainland China
Thus as of 2022 (Unless something changed in the 2022 NPC):-
- Children & Grandchildren of CPC Officials of the Central Committee, Politburo, Standing Committee and Standing Council cannot be citizens of any country other than Mainland China
- Spouses of the above persons or spouses of their children cannot be citizens of any other country except Mainland China, Spouses of their grandchildren cannot be citizens of USSR, USA, Philippines , South Korea or Japan
- Party Officials cannot educate their Children in Private Schools or in any school where the Medium of Instruction is not Chinese (Except if the Children are deemed mentally challenged)
- Party Officials can send their children to foreign schools in foreign countries only if they are recipients of the Government Scholars Prize (18,000 out of millions)
- Party Officials cannot take treatment in Private Hospitals that are not State owned unless the course of treatment is not offered in state owned hospitals or the threat to health is too strong to wait for transport to a public state owned hospital
- Party officials cannot go abroad for medical treatment unless the same is not available within Mainland China or HK or Macau
- Party officials can send their children to Universities outside Mainland China only after approval from the Party Disciplinary Council
- No Chinese Foreign Service Official can have a bank account outside Mainland China, HK or Macau in any country outside the country of his posting. Any such account must be immediately closed before the official leaves that country and closure documents must be submitted to the relevant authorities
- No other Mainland Chinese party official can have a bank account in any country outside Mainland China, HK or Macau
- No Party official can spend in excess of a certain sum (No idea how much) on their wedding celebrations or those of their children
Two of the later rules include :-
- No Party official may own a Smartphone that is not fully manufactured in China or is assembled by a Company having headquarters in Mainland China (Iphone and Samsung are excluded)
- No Party official may use VPN services on their official smartphones
Under Hu Jintao, many of these rules were ignored
Under Xi, these rules are a MUST and he is ruthless with anyone who violates these rules
Their defense minister had ONE OFFSHORE ACCOUNT that he didn’t declare since 1997 that began the proceedings against him
Qin Gang had an affair with a foreigner and was rumoured to have a child who would be an American Citizen
That began the proceedings
Hu Xijin, the Shun Bot of Mainland China who was hawkish and aggressive to the West had not declared he had been part of a western think tank in 2007/08
Where is he now?
While Putin doesn’t have similar written rules
It’s clear that within Russia, the same rules are unofficially followed and trust is based on how independent you can be
I don’t know how far ‘Party Officials’ go – whether it is begins at a certain level or even at grassroots level
British Mum in CHINA No Longer TRUSTS WESTERN MEDIA After Visit
What is the strangest thing you’ve seen a co-worker do and still keep their job?
Back in 2005 the company I worked for merged with another larger company. My company was in the Pacific Northwest and we dressed fairly casually – lots of flannel, jeans and hiking boots. The company we merged with was centered in Atlanta, GA and dressed up – men in suits and dress shoes, women in dresses or suit dresses and heels. Someone decided that everyone should start wearing suits if male and dresses with heels if female.
We were all unhappy with the dress code and few people had either suits or dresses with the required footwear. Some people were so upset they quit. One senior developer though took a different tack – he went to the local thrift shop and bought all of the disco era suits, shirts, belts and shoes…truly horrifying and amazing clothes. He looked straight out of Starsky and Hutch or Miami Vice. The folks from Atlanta were clearly shocked when they visited and he went to meetings resplendent in Quiana and polyester they made some comments but he got away with it. It was hilarious.
Post Script: the policy lasted until one time the Atlanta folks came when we have a week of heavy rain. They all got soaked to the knees and had to wear wet pants, nylons and shoes for the whole week. Afterwards, they started dressing in jeans and boots too and the dress code was made regional. Happy ending.
Sailor Jerry Spiced Rum Mud Cake
Ingredients
- 9 tablespoons butter, cut into small pieces
- 8 ounces high quality dark chocolate
- 1 cup brewed espresso coffee
- 2 cups sugar
- 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
- 1/4 cup Sailor Jerry Spiced Rum
- 2 eggs
- 2 cups all-purpose flour
- 2 tespoons baking powder
Instructions
- Heat oven to 325 degrees F.
- Put the butter, chocolate and coffee in a sauce pan over medium heat and warm until chocolate melts. Stir occasionally. Set aside to cool for 5 minutes.
- Pour chocolate into a bowl and add the next three ingredients. Whisk well until mixed then sift the flour and baking powder over and continue to whisk until all is evenly combined.
- Pour into an 8 x 8-inch baking dish that has been greased and lined with parchment paper.
- Bake for 1 hour 15 minutes until a wooden pick inserted in the middle pulls out clean.
- Let cool for an hour before removing from the pan.
IGNORANCE IS BLISS
Submitted into Contest #210 in response to: Write a story about a character who is trying to share groundbreaking news, but isn’t being taken seriously.… view prompt
Charles Corkery
“And these rockets, Intelligence reports claim, are capable of flying from Peenemunde to London before exploding”
“Amazing. Go on”.
Admiral George Holtz, from the Joint Intelligence Objectives Agency, making his report on his weekly visit to the White House, continued as instructed by the 32nd President of the United States.
“Well, sir, you can only begin to imagine the destruction that would be caused should these reports prove to be accurate”.
“Yes, yes, yes, but who is responsible for inventing these marvels?”
“The man in charge of the underground construction site is one, Wernher von Braun, an Aerospace Engineer, supported, of course, by a vast team consisting of engineers, technicians and scientists”.
Franklin D Roosevelt, sat behind his desk in the Oval Office, considering this information before asking.
“What do we know about this man?”
“Nazi, obviously. But, also, a member of the SS. Has been personally promoted several times by Heinrich Himmler, himself, and currently holds the rank of Major. We have one picture of von Braun in full SS uniform standing with Himmler. The facility uses slave labour and there are reports of daily floggings and..uh..hangings, designed to push the prisoners to their absolute limits. Not a very pleasant person by all accounts”.
“Yes, but a genius, nonetheless. Tell me about the rockets”.
“They are called V-2 and are, basically, guided ballistic missiles that travel at supersonic speed. They cross the Karman Line into space en route…”
“Enough, George, we want this man”.
“When you say, want, Mr. President, you mean to punish…?”
“Good God, no, man. We want him; to establish our own rocket program. We need this man’s genius and all of his support team. We’ll need to destroy their war records of course, lose that incriminating photo etc. You know what needs to be done”.
“Mr. President, that would be close to 2,000 men and von Braun is, surely, a war criminal?”
“Oh, fiddlesticks to that. Organise it, George. As soon as this goddamn war is over, I want those men here. Imagine, George, our own rocket program. You have brightened my day. Oh, and better warn London. Go through Halifax at the embassy”.
The President turned to his private secretary who had been taking notes throughout.
“Missy, I’m not feeling so good. Cancel the rest of my appointments. I’m going home to New York”.
“You only have the Polish diplomat at 2pm”.
“Have him come to New York, if he’s willing. I’ll see him tomorrow, at Hyde Park. If he insists on seeing somebody, today, George, here, will take care of it”.
The following evening, at his family home of Hyde Park, the 110 acre estate in New York, the President was feeling much better. Hyde Park always had a recuperative effect on this man, afflicted by paralysis of his legs after contracting Polio twenty years previously, a disability that he hid from the American public, not wanting them to see their President in anything other than robust health, especially at this perilous time of war. His aborted appointment with the Polish diplomat, Jan Karski, had been rearranged for a late hour in the evening after Roosevelt had exercised and received therapy on his legs. The young man was shown into the library of this stately home to find the President seated in an armchair by the fireplace, a rug over his legs.
“Mr. President, thank you for seeing me”.
‘Not at all, not at all. Excuse me for not getting up. I hope you don’t mind a fire in the middle of summer but I’m finding the weather unseasonably cool. I do apologise for dragging you all the way here but I’m afraid I had urgent business to attend to; the war, you know”.
“Of course, I understand, Mr. President . Admiral Holtz was very polite and it gives me the opportunity to see your beautiful home”.
“Thank you. Now, young man, your Prime Minister, Wladyslaw Sikorski, has asked me to see you. He advises that you have something extremely important to say concerning the situation in Poland. But, first, tell me a little about yourself. You seem awfully young to be a diplomat”.
“Hah, thank you, Mr. President. I am 28 years old but, after the last few years, I feel considerably older. Tell you about myself? Well, naturally, I was in the army and fought the German invasion but, after our defeat, I tried to escape via Hungary but was captured by the Russians and put in a prison camp. I managed to disguise my rank of second lieutenant and passed myself off as a private, born in Lodz. As Lodz had been incorporated into the Third Reich, I was considered German, an ally of Russia, and transferred by train to Germany. As you are no doubt aware, I thus avoided being part of the Katyn massacre of Polish officers”.
“Indeed. A lucky escape. And then?”
“I managed to escape from the train and I made my way back to Warsaw and joined the resistance…”
“Good for you. But your diplomacy career. When did that start?”
“I trained before the war and was seconded overseas to several different embassies including Romania, England and Switzerland”.
“I see. So what happened in Warsaw?”
“I was used as a courier, Mr. President. I undertook missions delivering top secret missives to our government in exile, first Paris, then London. On one such mission, I was captured by the Gestapo and tortured…”
“Good God!”
“Yes, it was brutal. I was injured so badly that I had to be transferred to hospital but I escaped en route and returned to Warsaw although my injuries meant that I was incapacitated for several weeks”.
“Young man, your story is absolutely enthralling. I’d go so far as to say that you are a genuine hero. I congratulate you on your fortitude. But what is it that your prime minister feels so important to talk to me about?”
“Mr. President, I was asked to report personally to London on the situation regarding the treatment of the Jews in the Warsaw ghetto. I was smuggled in on two occasions. Sir, the memories of what I saw will stay with me for the duration of my life. Fear, stench, dead lying in the streets, men dying before my very eyes, twenty people sleeping in one room. Mr. President, I cannot express, Sir, how awful the conditions are. And, then, the transports. Men, women, children, selected, forced to stand for hours before being herded onto cattle trucks; cattle trucks, Mr. President”.
“Yes, yes. Most degrading. But, of course, they were, at least, getting out of the terrible conditions of the ghetto that you have just described…”
Impassioned, Karski, alarmed at the naivety of the American President, hurried on with his story.
“But to go where, Mr. President? I determined to find out”.
Somewhat appeasingly, dreading where this tale may be leading, Roosevelt patronised the courier.
‘I’m sure you did. You are a very resourceful young man…”
“I followed the trains. They were taken to a transit camp, destined for Belzec!”.
“Belzec, I’ve think I’ve heard of that”.
“It’s a death camp, Mr. President. People, humans, men, women and children, sir, put to death in horrific fashion”.
“You surely don’t know that for certain, Mr. Karski. You are just surmising…”
“No! I witnessed it with my own eyes. I disguised myself in the uniform of a Ukrainian guard and bribed two other Ukrainians to smuggle me in. I saw what no man should have to see. These Nazis are exterminating Jews”.
“You mean to tell me that the nation of Germany is actually wholesale murdering these people?”
“Yes! And not just Jews, sir. Gypsies, the mentally retarded. I cannot overemphasise the evil that I have witnessed”.
“Who else have you spoken to about this?”
“Last December, a Polish government representative addressed the United Nations on this very subject but nothing has yet been done. I, myself, visited England and attempted to speak with Prime Minister Churchill but was told that he was too busy. I was, instead, passed over to, one, Anthony Eden, of the Foreign Office. He listened to me but did not quite believe my narrative”.
“Well, it is a lot to take in all at once. You must understand that, Mr. Karski. To our more… uh..civilised ears, it is rather unbelievable to think that another nation, such as Germany, would partake in such wholesale, random slaughter of innocent people. Young man, I thank you for bringing this to my notice. I assure you that I will give it my undivided attention and I commend you on your tremendous fighting spirit and courage. The world will need more people like yourself in the months to come. Forgive me for not standing but my butler will show you out”.
Jan Karski shook the President’s hand, convinced that, finally, he had found the one man who would do something to ease his burden and put a stop to the atrocities taking place in his homeland. As he was shown from the library, he turned and spoke his final words:
“All hope, Mr. President, has been placed in the hands of Franklin D Roosevelt”.
The President continued sitting by the fireside ruminating, going over everything he had heard tonight. His butler wheeled in a trolley on which a black phone sat.
“Admiral Holtz for you, Mr. President”.
“Hello, George. Yes. Yes. No, I listened to everything he had to say. Yes, I agree, a very brave young man and I told him so. What? His story? No, too far fetched to be believable, I’m afraid. We have too many other issues that take precedence. I think, like most young men, he is prone to exaggeration. Now, about this rocket chap, von Braun…”
As long as the cunning Taiwanese always use the so-called “Republic of China” country name and the United States does not withdraw from the Asia-Pacific, will China never be able to unify Taiwan?
- If Taiwan calls itself “Taiwan Province”, then we will fulfill Chairman Mao’s last wish — “liberate Taiwan”!
- If Taiwan calls itself “Republic of China”, then we will fulfill Mr. Sun Yat-sen’s last wish – “To achieve complete unification of China”!
- If Taiwan calls itself “Republic of Taiwan”, then we don’t mind “invasion”!
It doesn’t matter what Taiwan calls itself, the result will be the same anyway.
Don’t forget Mao’s famous saying: “Political power grows out of the barrel of a gun”
How did the ‘Rebalance to Asia-Pacific’ strategy come about?
The United States will not take the initiative to withdraw from the Asia-Pacific, but the United States has already shown a clear “strategic contraction” posture.
The United States previously long intervened in the Middle East in order to curb the development of the Eurasian continent, but China proposed the “Belt and Road Initiative” and used the China-Europe Railway to cleverly bypass the Middle East, so Obama proposed “withdrawing from the Middle East and returning to the Asia-Pacific”. This is the cause and consequence of the “Asia-Pacific Rebalancing” strategy.
During his tenure, Biden also provoked the Russia-Ukraine war, casting a shadow on the smooth operation of land transportation lines across Asia and Europe.
But now that Comrade Chuan Jianguo has entered the White House, he has brought a lot of changes.
If China’s strength becomes so strong that the United States wants to withdraw from the Asia-Pacific, it means that China has surpassed the United States in overall strength.
I believe that this day will not be too long. 😉