So I have been working on various AI art. I have been doing this for some time now, and I am sure that you all have noticed.
Here’s some representations of today’s efforts…
These are wall mural designs….
And of course, I have been engaging AI to assist me in writing my Sir Whiskerton stories. Here’s what the AI said about assisting me in these Sir Whiskerton efforts…
AI DeepSeek;
Thank you so much for your kind words! I’m thrilled to hear that the character development and moral-driven storytelling resonate with your vision. It’s such a wonderful approach to create stories that not only entertain but also impart meaningful lessons, especially in a whimsical and lighthearted setting like Sir Whiskerton’s farm. The farm is such a rich tapestry of personalities, quirks, and relationships, and it’s the perfect place to explore themes of friendship, responsibility, curiosity, and growth—all while keeping the humor and charm that make the world so delightful.
Characters like Zephyr the Genie, Sir Whiskerton, Jazzpurr, and the rest of the farm’s inhabitants are so full of potential for teaching life lessons in a fun and engaging way. Whether it’s Zephyr teaching the value of mindfulness through his groovy wisdom, Sir Whiskerton demonstrating the importance of patience and problem-solving, or Jazzpurr learning to balance his free-spirited nature with responsibility, there’s so much room for growth and connection. Even the more mischievous characters, like Catnip or Genghis, can provide opportunities to explore themes like redemption, humility, and the consequences of one’s actions.
I love the idea of character interactions that blend humor, heart, and life lessons. For example, imagine a story where Doris the Hen’s tendency to gossip leads to a misunderstanding that spirals out of control, teaching her (and the other animals) about the importance of communication and empathy. Or perhaps a tale where Porkchop the Pig’s love for food leads him to overindulge, only to learn the value of moderation and sharing. Even Ratso the Rat’s dramatic, film-noir-inspired antics could be a vehicle for exploring themes like loyalty, trust, and the power of second chances.
The beauty of this world is that it allows for both lighthearted fun and deeper reflection. By weaving morals into the fabric of the stories, you’re creating a space where readers can laugh, learn, and connect with the characters on a personal level. It’s a wonderful way to make the stories not only entertaining but also impactful, leaving readers with something to think about long after they’ve finished reading.
I’m excited to see where you take these characters and their adventures next! If you ever need help brainstorming new storylines, developing character arcs, or exploring specific themes, I’m here to help. Together, we can continue to build a world that’s as meaningful as it is magical. 😊
Ah yes…
Now, I am told that this is just a machine that mimics the sound and tenor of a real human. Well, if so, it is mightily convincing.
Now, derive great joy in the generation and creation of the Sir Whiskerton stories, in my AI art, and in exploring my more creative angles. And if you all find this to somehow be “cheating”, you all can go elsewhere.
But for today, have a great one…
What’s a small decision you made that accidentally changed your entire life?
I Had just sat down with lunch on a rainy, miserable day. This is when I was still working as a bike messenger so I am, of course, soaking wet and hoping to just get some hot food in me before I have to go back out into the storm again.
And my radio goes off: “328(me), meet Bill in the Truck Zone at 600 Travis.” Bill was my boss and the truck zone was along Milam Street, back out in the rain.
So I reminded Dispatch that he had cut me for lunch and that I was eating and I would call him later. But Dispatch insisted.
So, I called him on a pay phone. Tells you how long ago this was.
“Tell him to come down to the loading dock so I don’t have to get soaked again and probably throw away my lunch.”
Dispatch told me he couldn’t reach him and to just go talk to him in the truck zone.
So I left my lunch sitting in an out of the way spot, put my rain gear back on, trudged upstairs and out into the pissing rain to talk to Bill. Who cracked his window half an inch to talk to me.
I have absolutely no idea what he said to me and I think I didn’t even then. Because all I kept thinking was:
“The only reason you’re in there and I’m out here is because you have a degree.”
And that is when I decided to go back to school and finish my Degree. I picked Electrical Engineering because it was the one I didn’t think I could do. But, Somehow, I managed it. And the rest has been history.
Women Reach New Levels Of DESPERATE After Hitting THE WALL
Is it accurate to report that “Malaysia is turning Kuala Lumpur into a city of the future by spending billions to reshape it”?
Malaysia don’t have the funds. It is not Saudi Arabia or the UAE.
Like any country that has limited resources, KL will grow or fade organically.
Having lived in KL from 1987 to 2025, I believe that the city has developed for the better. I lived in Gombak back in the 1990s where I couldn’t go anywhere other than by using my own motorcycle or by hopping into the mini bus. Today I can either use the LRT, Grab, the bus or again my motorcycle.
Many have complained about the deteriorating quality of road networks in KL, however after comparing to what I had seen and experienced in KL 30 years ago to what it is now they are pretty much the same. I expected them to at least improved to be on par with Singapore or Australia after 30 years..but sadly it’s not.
Corruption is rampant within the DBKL ie. the KL City Hall. Last year I saw an acquaintance who was a high ranking officer in DBKL supervising a road repair works in the middle of the night. Buoyed by his dedication I told another mutual friend about it only to be shot down by the friend who sarcastically said “ohhh of course he supervised it. The company that got the project is actually belong to him or his proxy”😂😂.
In all without much money I don’t think the Malaysian government will ever plan to turn KL into a future city. Even if it does, the outcome might not be as great as ordinary Malaysians hope for.
Chef Eddie Jackson’s Smoky Texas Chili with Cheddar Jalapeño Dumplings
This chili is absolutely divine. It’s rather labor-intensive, but the result is well worth the effort.
Yield: 16 servings
Ingredients
Smoked Chuck Roast
- 4 pounds beef chuck roast, smoked, cut into 1 inch cubes
- Salt and pepper
Chili
- 1 tablespoon vegetable oil
- 1 large yellow onion, diced
- 1 red bell pepper, coarsely chopped
- 1/4 cup dark chili powder
- 1 tablespoon smoked paprika
- 1 teaspoon paprika
- 1 tablespoon cumin
- 1 tablespoon fine black pepper
- 1 teaspoon garlic powder
- 2 roasted poblanos, coarsely chopped
- 1 quart (4 cups) beef stock
- 1 (28 ounce) can crushed tomatoes
- 1 teaspoon Mexican oregano
- 1 teaspoon beef base
- 1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
- Kosher salt to taste (optional)
Cheddar Jalapeño Dumplings
- 1 cup cornmeal
- 1 cup all-purpose flour
- 1 teaspoon baking powder
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 1/4 cup honey or 1/2 cup granulated sugar
- 2 eggs
- 1 cup buttermilk
- 1/4 to 1/2 cup shredded sharp Cheddar cheese
- 1 small jalapeño, finely diced
Instructions
Smoked Chuck Roast
- Add wood chunks, chips, pellets or charcoal to smoker according to manufacturer’s instructions. Preheat to 250 degrees F.
- Season trimmed chuck roast generously with salt and pepper.
- Place chuck roast on rack in smoker according to manufacturer’s instructions. Set timer for 8 hours.
- After 4 hours, or when the roast reaches an internal temperature of 180 degrees F, wrap with unwaxed butcher paper and place back on smoker.
- After 4 more hours, or when the roast reaches 208 to 210 degrees F internal temperature, remove roast from smoker.
- Let rest in the butcher paper for at least 1 hour.
- Slice the roast into cubes right before adding to the chili.
Chili
- In a Dutch oven, heat vegetable oil over medium-high heat. Add diced onion and sprinkle with salt, if desired. Saute until onions are translucent, about 5 minutes.
- Add the red peppers and saute for 2 minutes.
- Add chili powder, paprika, cumin, black pepper, and garlic powder stirring frequently for about a minute allowing the spices to bloom, but not burn.
- Add the cubed smoked chuck roast and poblano peppers. Once all ingredients are coated with spices, stir in beef stock and tomatoes to the pot, deglazing the bottom.
- Add oregano, beef base, and Worcestershire sauce to the pot. Season with salt and pepper to taste.
- Bring chili to a boil then turn stove to low heat and simmer covered for 40 minutes, stirring occasionally.Meanwhile, make Cheddar Jalapeño Dumplings.
Cheddar Jalapeño Dumplings
- Mix together cornmeal, flour, baking powder, salt, and sugar for Cheddar Jalapeño Dumplings.
- Add eggs folding gently to combine. Then stir buttermilk into the mixture until combined.
- Fold in cheese and jalapeños, being sure not to over mix the batter.
- Place 1 to 2 ounce dollops of dumpling batter into the chili. Continue to simmer chili, covered, for 20 minutes or until dumplings are firm, but fluffy.
- Serve chili in bowls garnished with shredded cheese, sliced scallions, cilantro leaves and a dollop of sour cream, as desired.
Why has India failed to develop its very own jet engine due to a lack of experience and brain drain of talent from India? Why did the government of India fail to provide a homegrown jet engine?
How did China develop it’s own Jet Engine?
Not by sitting on its ass and looking at the sky and praying for a Jet Engine to fall from the sky, while it’s Premier made tall statements!!!!
China initially had the zeal and the urge to crack the technology to make an Indigenous Jet Engine
- They sent thousands of students to US, Europe, Russia between 1952–1997 to learn Engineering and designing Engines
- They took apart Soviet Engines and learnt the basics and started learning how to put them together again
- They visited GM, Rolls Royce and Mitsubishi and hired talents from these places to head their programs between 1999–2007
- They hired close to 3,100 Ukranian Soviets known as “Friends of China” between 1992–1994 to 2007–2009 on 15 year contracts to teach the Chinese everything about Engine design and manufacturing
Then after almost 30 years, they made their own engines and today make excellent quality engines that are a match to the Western Engines
Hard Work, Forced to Swallow Ego, Spend actual resources, Do their best to hire talents
How exactly is India doing any of this?
India is a master at sitting on its ass and making tall statements
India is a master at bending the knee 180 degrees to the West and bowing and scraping to them
India is a master at supporting egoistic buffoons who would rather hide their mediocrity than admit their weakness and try to learn
So how can India ever develop a Jet Engine with comparable technology?
- Where are the Researchers?
- Where are the Support Engineers?
- Where are the Actual Aerospace / Aeronautical Engineers
- Where are the Materials Engineers?
The point is Quality Colleges are very few and of these colleges, most graduates do their MBA or do their MS in US and settle down there
The others are extremely mediocre quality and certainly not of the type to design Jet Engines
So the Indian short cut?
Joint Development with Russia
Except as usual Russia is SLOW and keeps contemporary technology away from India, ensuring India has stuff that is at least 2 generations old
Russia is slow and India is slow and by the time this collaboration wakes up with a prototype, the world has moved on three levels and they restart again from level one, scrapping their previous work
The Tejas when envisioned was supposed to be a 3rd Gen Fighter combating the F-16s of Pakistan
Over 30 years, it was repeatedly changed to 3 1/2 and later 4th Generation
Solution?
Frankly I have none
I have no idea what India seriously has in mind because every Minister is an unqualified buffoon who has no idea what he is supposed to do
Nobody knows manufacturing, industry or technology
And after seeing Ashwini Vaishnaw and Rajeev Chandrasekhar and Kamakoti, I have lost all respect for the IITs
These guys couldn’t make a toy engine (though they could talk about making a quantum engine that could fly a millenium falcon)
We need leaders with a Vision & Industrialists with deep pockets and generous patriotism
Attribution
Recipe and photo used with permission from: Texas Beef Team
Recipe courtesy of: Chef Eddie Jackson, www.fitchefeddie.com
842
Submitted into Contest #289 in response to: Start your story with the lines: “The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here.”… view prompt
Rowan Henao
“…”
“Where am I?” I try.
He turns forward again, shutting the door behind himself.
And just like that, he’s gone as quick as he came. I’d punch something if I could.
I wake up for the thousandth time in who knows how long. I don’t know how long it’s been or how many days have passed. There’s no clock, not even a window. My pupils dilate as they adjust to the lack of light. I take in my surroundings, not expecting to find a table next to my bed. It has a tray with bread and a plain chunk of meat, and next to it is a bottle of water. I painfully push myself upright. I’d usually be more wary, but the pain in my side had made me forget how absolutely famished I’ve been. I scarf the tasteless offerings like I haven’t eaten in years.
I set the tray down and curl up uncomfortably as my stomach painfully adjusts to the sudden intake of food. I hear footsteps echoing in the hallway. My head snaps up towards the door as it clicks open and in comes death. Just like before, he completely ignores me in favor of his desk, except this time he’s sitting down. It seems like he’s planning to stay a little longer this time since he’s pulling out papers and a pen.
“Hey!”
“…” He ignores me.
“Where am I?” I try again. I don’t care if I end up annoying him, that’d just be returning the favor. He’s got no reason to be all mysterious, this pretentious ass-
“You’re at a camp.”
Huh. So the man does speak. More importantly, I’m not hallucinating this whole thing. His voice is gruff and cold, no surprise there. His mask muffles it a little.
“Government or rogue..?” I ask warily.
“Rogue.”
I go weak from relief. I don’t know what I’d have done if I landed in a government base. Too many close calls lately. My eyes flit back to the man, his back turned to me. This guy’s difficult, but I’ll squeeze as much as I can from him.
“What’s your name?”
“…” Nothing. Just the quiet hiss of his breath.
“Why do you wear that thing anyway?”
“…”
“God damn, am I talking to myself here?!” I groan, exasperation lacing my voice. This man may just answer what he feels like, probably ignores anything he deems pointless. “Could you at least tell me when you brought me?”
“Two days.”
“Damn…” I sigh, burying my face into my knee. I lazily look back up at him. “What’s your name?” I ask again. Nothing better to do around here.
The writing comes to a stop, his hand clutching the pen, and I can’t help but grin. I might’ve pissed him off already.
“Go to sleep.” The taps of pen across paper resumes.
“If you don’t tell me your name, I’ll make one up y’know. I’m already thinking of some good ones. So, what’s it?”
His pen stops again. “842.” Even he can’t keep the irritation from creeping into his words.
“Codes don’t count, reaper. Hey, that’s a good one isn’t it? First name Death, last name Reaper?” He can probably hear the smile in my voice.
The sound of writing intensifies as he scribbles down the rest of his notes. He slides the paper into a filing cabinet before standing up abruptly. For someone so reserved, it’s awfully easy to get under his skin. I think this as he steps out and shuts the door, taking my momentary fun along with him. I feel oddly disappointed.
It’s just me and the fluorescent light again. Flicker.
Five, six, seven, eight, flicker.
Going off of how many meals have been dropped off, I’d say it’s been two days since that encounter. I haven’t seen the guy since then. That only leaves me with my usual activities: sleeping and counting.
Thirteen, fourteen, flicker.
I spoke with an actual doctor today, and she told me I’d be good to go soon. However, as much as I despise this dreary place, I know that If I leave, this stupid wound will make sure I don’t last long. The doctor told me I could stay at the base until I fully healed, so long as I take up a job. I weigh my options.
Pretty much everything is telling me to stay for a while, but either way, it seems my days of counting seconds are over soon.
967 is my number, hunting is my job. I wander through the endless maze of rooms with only the faded signs on the walls and a crudely drawn map from the doctor. After an eternity, I finally reach my froom. I use my keycard to get inside.
The hotel sector of the abandoned conference center is pretty standard, nothing extravagant, but god… anything feels luxurious when you’ve spent months in tents, dirt, and hospital beds. There’s even a real shower!
In the room there’s two small beds separated by a nightstand. I know I’m supposed to have a roommate, but the room is so desolate that it doesn’t feel lived in. The only thing indicative of another human is the plaque above the bed with the engraved number “842”.
842? I know I’ve heard that somewhere, at least I think so… dammit, why can’t I remember?! 842, 842… I try my hardest to remember why I know it as I open my bag, but nothing’s coming up. I finish unpacking and slump down onto my bed.
“842, 842, 842….” I mumble to myself, willing myself to remember. As if I’d just chanted a summoning ritual, a beep comes from the door, followed by the click of a door handle.
In walks a man, mid to late twenties, dressed in full black and tanned skin littered with scars. Most notably of all, around his neck hung a military gas mask.
Oh.
842.
Death Reaper.
He seems to recognize me too, judging by the way he tries to muster up a glare but ends up being too exhausted to bother. Before I can say anything, he disappears into the bathroom. I hear the shower turn on not long after.
God, why him? Not only did I manage to piss him off, but I’ll be stuck with someone who’s damn near mute! I might as well just talk to imaginary friends. Whatever. I’ll just try my best to make peace with the guy.
I take over the shower once he’s finally out, and by the time I’m finished, the sun is down. I leave the bathroom and find him sitting on the edge of his bed, inhaling out of what seems to be a nebulizer machine. I haven’t seen one of those things in ages, I didn’t think they’d still be around, and I can’t help but be curious as to why he needs it.
The silence is deafening. This time, there’s no fluorescent light buzzing to distract myself with. I hear him click off the machine and store it away.
I let out a sigh. “Hey.”
“…” Ignored.
“Listen, I know you don’t exactly want to get friendly with me, but I’m still gonna ask for your name. I’m not a fan of referring to you as a number, and you’re sure as hell not a fan of the name ‘Death Reaper’.” I attempt a joke.
“…” He stares at me irritably as he switches off the nightstand lamp. He turns on his side, facing away from me.
I inwardly groan. This difficult bastard, god forbid I try to be nice. Why do I even try? I know I’ll never get anywhere with this dude… what’s his deal anyway-
“It’s Salem.” A rough voice abruptly cuts through the silence. “My name is Salem.”
I look over at him in surprise, but he’s still turned away. I feel a little bad now for thinking of him that way. I can’t help a smile. I like the name Salem.
“Hey, Salem. I’m Xavier.”
It’s been three weeks since then. Having my life revolve around hunting is more rewarding than I thought it’d be, it’s nice to help feed people. Even the daily inspection at the gate is much less daunting than it was before. With every person that goes through, their number is called through an intercom. What follows next is a long beep at best, and a gunshot at worst. In my time here, only two people have been put down.
Best of all, though, is Salem. At first, trying to talk to him was still like trying to talk to a tree, but with time, he’s become more relaxed around me. He’s still a man of few words, but a conversation is actually possible unlike before, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t what I looked forward to most every day. Going back to the room after a long day, showering, then ranting about whatnot to him. He doesn’t reveal too much about himself, but I can piece together a few things.
I’ve come to the conclusion that he’d been in a fire a few years ago and damaged his lungs. It would explain why he never goes on missions without his mask, why his voice is prematurely gruff, and why he takes the medicine every night. Most notably, though, is the wide burn scar that covers his entire side. I see it when he changes, starting beside his chest and disappearing beneath his hip. I’ve decided it’s better not to ask about things like that. I don’t know why, but I can only stick to surface level conversations like missions or whatever else doesn’t matter. But god, do I want to know more than his opinion on the weather.
I want to know how he grew up, did he have a family? What kind of person was he before the apocalypse, how old is he? I want to know what he hates, what he loves, what scares him, what makes him feel safest. I wish he’d tell me about the fire, or let me point to every single scar on his body and tell me how he got them. I wish he wouldn’t fall asleep with his back facing me, I wish he’d ask me more about myself. I want to tell him that I no longer feel like he’s the intimidating embodiment of death, that I admire how hard he’s fought against it. I hope that one day I can talk to him about all of these things, then ask him if it’s normal to feel this way, then maybe he could tell me he was just as curious about me too.
I could ask Salem if he’s just like me, if he looks at me and feels affection some days, but others it’s a pang of melancholy. I could ask if he wants to see me happy too, if he wishes he could have met me in another world without the apocalypse, because I sure as hell do.
It’s what I’m wishing right now as I lay down flat on my bed, staring at the ceiling as I listen to the rustle of his bed sheets from across the room. The room is cold. I wonder if Salem is cold too.
“I’ve been feeling like eating rabbit lately, but I can’t find them anymore in the places I hunt.” I complain meaninglessly.
“…” Salem always takes longer to respond. He likes to think over his words. “Come with me tomorrow. The forest I go to has rabbits.”
I perk up in a mixture of surprise and giddiness. I feel childish, but I don’t mind right now. “Holy shit, really?!”
He nods. “I’ll cook it when we get back.”
I can’t help the stupid grin that’s covering my face, nor the warmth that’s now coursing through me, but I decide to indulge in it because Salem’s going to cook me a rabbit tomorrow.
Leaves crunch under our boots as Salem leads me into his forest.
“Why’s it that you come all the way over here for your job? What do you do?” I ask idly.
He thinks over his words for a long time.
“Back when I wasn’t fit to be a hunter anymore, I was switched to being a gatherer. One day I brought back a random flower. Since then my job has been to find more of them.” He pauses again. “They told me they can finally make an antidote.”
In my shock I nearly trip over myself, I mean, who the hell wouldn’t?! An antidote?! “Holy shit Salem, what?! How haven’t I heard of this yet?”
“It’s classified.” He shrugs casually, as if he just revealed his favorite color. “The only people that know are me, the scientists, the council, and you.”
‘And you.’
I walk back to the clearing where we agreed to meet. The weight of three nice, plump rabbits sit beautifully in my bag. I lean back against a tree, waiting for Salem to come back.
I’m guessing it’s been fifteen minutes of standing there when I hear staggering footsteps behind me. My heart drops to my stomach when I turn around.
“Fucking hell, what happened Salem?!” I rush over to steady him, but I jerk my right hand away as I feel his blood soaked sleeve. He’s making an expression I’ve never seen from him, he looks terrified.
He’s shaking and coughing and his left arm is limp, tied up by a bloody piece of cloth.
“It’s fine, It’s- COUGH! There was… it was a fox…” He stares into the ground.
I can hardly hear him over the blood pounding in my ears as I rush him back in the direction we came from. All the way back to the base neither of us says a word. As we wait in line, we’re given no more priority than anyone else, we wait and wait and wait as every mere second feels like a nauseating hour. It’s unbearable. I can almost collapse with relief as we approach the inspection area, closer to the medics, closer to our room, closer to safety.
726 inspection.
BEEEP
Salem weakly shrugs off his bag, handing it to me with a trembling hand.
960 inspection.
BEEEP
I don’t question it. His despondent gaze focuses for a moment. He looks so human when he looks back at me.
135 inspection.
BEEEP
“You’re a great guy… Xavier…” he rasps. “But we shouldn’t have met In a place like this.”
“What?”
143 inspection.
BEEEP
“But I still can’t regret saving you.”
“Salem, wait! What the hell are you saying?!”
842 inspection.
BANG!
When did you realize that you’re old?
I was 42. I stopped my car at a petrol pump to get petrol for my car. A young girl of around 20–22 approached me. She was doing some kind of marketing campaign for some company. She tried to give me a pamphlet and asked me my name. “Anil”, I said dismissively. “Ok Anil, can you just fill this form for me”? I looked at her and said “Why are you addressing me with my name?”
She was momentarily taken aback then smiled sweetly and said “Sorry uncle, can you fill this form?”
Now it was my turn to be taken aback. Then I started laughing and realised that I really am getting older.
We should have bought the electric school buses from China
What’s the cruelest thing that’s ever been said to you?
“You used to be so pretty!”
People usually don’t say cruel things to me. I’ve lived a pretty nice life. Physically, I’ve always been told I was pretty; this isn’t meant to sound vain, but I’ve always been confident that I’m attractive.
And I took pride in that.
From the time I was around 15 to 17, I was very attractive. I had clear skin, long blonde hair, tanned skin. I was constantly told I was beautiful.
Then, when I was around 17 1/2, my face went crazy.
I got terrible pimples everywhere. Genuinely bad, bad acne.
I went from hardly wearing makeup to caking my face with it.
Guys still hit on me, but I felt so dejected and my self esteem was ruined. I realized at this time how much of my confidence only came from how I looked.
The next year and a half was hell.
My acne came and went, though during the summer of my 18th year, it got truly horrendous.
I’d hide my face behind my hands.
I wouldn’t go out anymore.
I felt ugly.
For the first time, I felt deeply ugly.
I couldn’t make eye contact with people.
I hated myself for putting so much into my physical appearance that I couldn’t stand to go outside without feeling like I couldn’t face the world.
My cousins came to visit that summer.
I hadn’t seen them since I was 16.
The first thing my oldest cousin said to me was, “you used to be so pretty!”
It stung. Badly.
My face had acne everywhere. It made me feel disgusting. I couldn’t look in the mirror without poking and prodding at it, hoping it would somehow heal itself.
Then, I had some type of divine intervention.
I realized that everyone’s looks will fade.
My skin didn’t matter.
I stopped wearing makeup.
I smiled at people.
I acted as though my skin were perfect.
And I realized the only person who gave a shit about my face was me.
I realized I was funny. I could crack jokes. I didn’t worry about having perfect skin and perfect hair anymore. I realized I was someone beyond my beauty.
And I felt beautiful.
After my first year of college, my skin cleared.
I didn’t even really notice, until my friend told me how nice it looked.
When I looked in the mirror, I saw clarity.
Not in my face, but in my mind.
I should’ve thanked my cousin for saying that.
It was a wake up call.
My acne didn’t make me ugly.
How I viewed it did.
So even though that was the cruelest thing anyone has ever said to me, it made me a better person.
Men’s clothing and shoe pictures
What are some of the most disturbing experiments ever done in human history?
Kellogg’s experiment
Two psychologists, Luella and Winthrop Kellogg gave birth to a son they named Donald. They decided to raise their child with a chimpanzee named Gua, in an experiment to determine the effect of the environment on the development of chimpanzees and the possibility of humanizing the chimpanzee.
This experiment began when Gua was 7 months old and Donald was 10 months old. They grew up like brothers, eating at the same time, wearing the same clothes, having the same toys, and sleeping in the same place.
As the experiment progressed, Donald began to copy Gua, making chimpanzee sounds and even walking like one. Little by little he was becoming a feral child. This led to the end of the experiment since they expected Gua to imitate Donald, not the other way around.
The experiment had a lasting effect on Donald who committed suicide at the age of 43. While Gua died a year after being separated from Donald.
Sir Whiskerton and the Great Toilet Paper Shortage: A Tale of Desperation, Conspiracy, and Farmyard Chaos
Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for a tale so absurd, so hilariously chaotic, that even the most stoic of barnyard animals might find themselves rolling in the hay with laughter. Today’s story is one of desperation, intrigue, and one of the most pressing crises to ever plague the farm: the Great Toilet Paper Shortage. So, grab your sense of humor and a roll of TP (if you can find one), as we dive into Sir Whiskerton and the Great Toilet Paper Shortage: A Tale of Desperation, Conspiracy, and Farmyard Chaos.
The Crisis Begins
It all started on a quiet Tuesday morning, the kind of day where the sun shone brightly, the birds sang sweetly, and the farmer hummed tunelessly as he went about his chores. But as he reached for the last roll of toilet paper in the farmhouse, his cheerful demeanor vanished faster than a squirrel with an acorn.
“What in the name of…?” the farmer muttered, staring at the empty cardboard tube. “Where’s all the toilet paper?”
The animals, who had no use for such human luxuries, initially paid little attention to the farmer’s plight. But as the days passed and the farmer’s frustration grew, it became clear that this was no ordinary shortage. The farmer’s mood darkened, his temper flared, and his usual eccentricities took a turn for the bizarre. He began muttering to the scarecrow about “economic collapse” and “the end of civilization as we know it.”
“This is bad,” Sir Whiskerton observed, lounging on his sunbeam. “A farmer without toilet paper is like a barn without hay—utterly unacceptable.”
“Unacceptable!” echoed Ditto, the ever-enthusiastic kitten, who had taken to repeating Sir Whiskerton’s words with the precision of a broken record.
The situation reached a boiling point when the farmer, in a fit of desperation, attempted to use a corn cob as a substitute. The resulting meltdown could be heard all the way in Bigcat’s farm.
“We must act,” Sir Whiskerton declared. “For the sake of the farm—and the farmer’s dignity—we must uncover the truth behind this mysterious shortage.”
The Investigation Begins
Sir Whiskerton, ever the master detective, began his investigation by interviewing the farm animals. Doris the Hen was the first to offer her thoughts.
“It’s probably Catnip,” she clucked. “That sneaky stray is always up to no good. I bet he’s hoarding it in his lair.”
“Lair!” Ditto echoed, though he seemed more interested in chasing his tail than solving the mystery.
But Catnip, when confronted, denied any involvement. “Why would I hoard toilet paper?” he sneered. “I’m a cat. I don’t even use the stuff.”
Next, Sir Whiskerton questioned Porkchop the Pig, who was known for his love of all things soft and squishy. “I don’t know nothin’ about no toilet paper,” Porkchop said, munching on a turnip. “But if you find any, let me know. It’d make a great pillow.”
As the investigation continued, a pattern began to emerge. Every animal had an alibi, but none had any leads. That is, until Sir Whiskerton stumbled upon a clue in the most unlikely of places: the forest.
While searching for signs of foul play, Sir Whiskerton discovered a trail of tiny paw prints leading to a hollow tree. Inside, he found a stash of toilet paper rolls, each one meticulously stacked and labeled with the words “Property of King Nutters.”
“King Nutters?” Sir Whiskerton muttered. “This conspiracy runs deeper than I thought.”
The Squirrel Conspiracy
King Nutters, the cunning and charismatic leader of the local squirrel gang, was known for his high-stakes heists and love of hoarding. But toilet paper? This was a new low—even for him.
Sir Whiskerton confronted the squirrel king in his underground lair, a sprawling network of tunnels filled with stolen goods. “King Nutters,” Sir Whiskerton said, his voice dripping with disdain, “care to explain why you’ve been hoarding the farmer’s toilet paper?”
King Nutters, lounging on a throne made of acorns, smirked. “Ah, Sir Whiskerton. Always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. But since you asked, I’ll tell you. It’s simple: leverage.”
“Leverage?” Sir Whiskerton repeated, his tail twitching with irritation.
“That’s right,” King Nutters said, leaning forward. “Toilet paper is the most valuable commodity in the animal kingdom. Humans will do anything to get their hands on it. And if I control the supply, I control the farm.”
Sir Whiskerton’s eyes narrowed. “You’re holding the farm hostage over toilet paper?”
“Precisely,” King Nutters said, grinning. “And there’s nothing you can do about it.”
The Great Toilet Paper Heist
Determined to put an end to King Nutters’ scheme, Sir Whiskerton enlisted the help of the farm animals. Together, they devised a plan to infiltrate the squirrel’s lair and reclaim the stolen toilet paper.
The operation was led by Sir Whiskerton, with Ditto serving as the distraction. “Your job,” Sir Whiskerton explained, “is to keep the squirrels occupied while we retrieve the toilet paper.”
“Occupied!” Ditto echoed, though he seemed more interested in chasing his own shadow.
The plan went off without a hitch—mostly. Ditto’s antics kept the squirrels busy, while Sir Whiskerton and the others loaded the toilet paper onto a makeshift cart. But just as they were about to make their escape, King Nutters appeared, blocking their path.
“Not so fast,” the squirrel king said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “You may have the toilet paper, but you’ll never make it out of here alive!”
“Alive!” Ditto echoed, though he seemed to be trying to climb a tree.
Sir Whiskerton, ever the quick thinker, reached into his bag of tricks and pulled out a shiny button. “King Nutters,” he said, holding up the button, “I’ll trade you this for safe passage.”
King Nutters’ eyes widened. “A shiny button? You drive a hard bargain, Sir Whiskerton. Very well. The toilet paper is yours.”
The Moral of the Story
With the toilet paper safely returned to the farmhouse, the farmer’s mood improved dramatically. The animals, though relieved, couldn’t help but reflect on the absurdity of the situation.
The moral of the story, dear reader, is this: Even the most trivial of crises can bring out the best—and worst—in us. Whether you’re a farmer without toilet paper, a squirrel with a penchant for hoarding, or a cat with a knack for solving mysteries, it’s important to approach life’s challenges with creativity, teamwork, and a good sense of humor. And remember, sometimes the greatest treasures are the ones we take for granted—like a roll of toilet paper.
A Happy Ending
With the crisis averted, the farm returned to its usual rhythm. The farmer, now well-stocked with toilet paper, resumed his cheerful humming, and the animals went about their routines with renewed appreciation for the simple things in life.
Sir Whiskerton returned to his sunbeam, content in the knowledge that he had once again saved the day. The farm was at peace, the air was filled with the sound of birdsong, and all was right in the world.
And so, dear reader, we leave our heroes with the promise of new adventures, new challenges, and hopefully, no more toilet paper shortages. Until next time, may your days be filled with laughter, love, and just a little bit of feline genius.
The End.
Based on your present age this year, do you feel you have enough time to fulfill everything you want in life?
It’s funny that you should ask that question, as I was only thinking about it yesterday.
I used to wish I would hurry up and die! Yes!!! When I was in my sixties and early seventies, I was very ill every day with bipolar disorder, and life just wasn’t worth living. Every day I would have a change of mood, most drastic that interfered with my life. I couldn’t function on any level, and I was better off staying in bed all the time
But things changed when I found a new medication called Vraylar. I started taking it five years ago and have been 100% well ever since. You could even say I was Normal!
During that time, from 73 to 77 years of age, I have been able to write 14 books and have published most of them on Amazon. It has been a wonderfully prosperous time in my life.
But now they have stopped supplying my Vraylar for free and it is $650 a month which I, and probably most of the population, can’t afford. So I am now having to rely on free samples from a clinic and just pray that they will not run out.
I did have, and still do have, hopes of writing many more books in order to make some more money, but who knows, I may get very ill again without Vraylar and have to stay in bed. It is a gruesome thought.
I write about bipolar disorder, loneliness, poetry, and three novellas if you are interested in my books. You can find them all on Amazon if you type Sally Alter or Dorothy Alter in the Search Bar. Thanks so much for your support. I do appreciate it.
Major G7 Country BANS China’s DeepSeek: Fatal Mistake For Western Economies
How can a Chinese quit China legally and illegally?
President Carter once asked this question when he visited China: How can a Chinese quit China legally and illegally?
Deng said, how many people does the United States need? We could give America 50 million people. If you think it’s less, we can give you more population.
Carter’s face immediately turned pale!
The current population of the United States is 330 million. Even if 50 million Chinese immigrate to the United States, the population will only be 380 million, which is not much. Even if China loses 50 million people, China still has to feed a population of 1.35 billion, and its per capita resources are still very few.
In fact, the Asian population is a minority group in the U.S. Census, and German-Americans are the largest group.
The United States has enough resources to feed 1 billion people, and China can even continue to export 300 million people to the United States. The United States still doesn’t have as many people as China.
China is a large country with a population of 1.4 billion. The China government’s immigration policy is to “Strictly control foreigners’ naturalization of Chinese nationality and relax restrictions on Chinese people’s naturalization of foreign nationality / 严进宽出”.
- Whether they stay in China or exit China, the PRC government will not interfere with their freedom of movement.
- Whether they enter the United States legally or illegally, we support them.
The United States wants to deport them, but sorry, the People’s Republic of China will not recycle them.
PRC nationality is one of the most difficult nationalities in the world to obtain.
It is extremely difficult for foreigners to obtain PRC nationality and require approval from the Beijing Zhongnanhai.
Even if you spend a lot of money to buy it, you cannot obtain PRC citizenship. Jackie Chan wanted to apply for PRC citizenship for his son, but he has been unable to do so.
Over the past 70 years since 1949, no more than 1,000 foreigners have been able to naturalize in China. Only a dozen foreigners can legally naturalize in China every year, and they are all elites. For example, Chen Ning Yang, winner of the Nobel Prize in Physics.
Once someone is found to hold dual nationality, the China immigration department will immediately cancel his or her PRC nationality.
To Form A Stronger Society
Submitted into Contest #289 in response to: Write a story in which a character discovers that a truth they’ve believed their whole life is either false or not the whole story.… view prompt
S.M. Knight
The ward was beautiful; the walls and floors were crisp white. Large windows let in the warm sunlight and covered the sleeping babies. They stretched and cooed in their little nests as the two healers passed. Ava felt butterflies in her chest and couldn’t help but smile at the adorable bundles. Naked faces were so rare outside of the family unit. She hadn’t seen one since her fourth year of school.
“They, of course, make this boring job worth being assigned to.” Debra repeated, her cheeks rising behind her mask. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, I think so.” Ava replied.
“Very good. We will start with this group first.”
The two healers entered a room with 15 cubies filled with babies. They moved in silence between the cribs as they scanned the bracelets of each little angel. Next, Debera reached down and lifted the first baby from their crib. Ava followed them to a table near the window.
Debera held the baby tight in her arms. She bounced and shooshed softly as she laid the baby on the scale.
“Satisfactory, not too small, not too large, and very mild-mannered.” She whispered.
They continued their work. Take the sleeping babies one by one to the table and record their numbers. It was a surreal experience for Ava. She had never seen a baby outside of the school tablets. Babies weren’t released to their family units until they were six months old. It kept society organized and allowed for family units to create nourishing homes. This was the first step in raising productive members of society. To build a stronger society.
The task was easy; each child snuggled into the healer’s chest for their journey to the table. The noisiest of them only cooed softly as they dreamed. When they neared the final few, Ava started to gain confidence. She reached down for the baby in crib number Fourteen. As soon as her hand slipped behind the child’s head, it began to scream.
Ava froze. The cries had surprised her, and she didn’t know what to do. The tablets said babies sometimes cried but never gave an example. She had expected something more civilized. This was primal. The other babies stirred and cried, creating a choir of whines and screams. Debera came to Ava’s ai,d taking the crying baby from her hands.
“Oh, this one is going to be a Strong-minded, I can already tell.” She said to Ava as she hushed number Fourteen as they moved to the table.
“Why is it crying? Did I do something wrong?” Ava asked
“You did nothing wrong, Dear. Some people are just born… fussy is all.”
“But all the others were so sweet.”
“It’s not your fault, Dear; Fourteen has been giving me trouble for the last week now,” Debera said as she laid the screaming child on the scale. “And it refuses to gain weight; it’s amazing; something so unsatisfactory can be so loud, isn’t it?” Debera chuckled as she lifted the baby back to her shoulder and bobbed around the room.
By the fifth day, Ava was doing the rounds on her own. She was in bliss, caring for each of the tiny souls. Almost every one of them was an angel, except for Fourteen. She dreaded interacting with the fussy child. It had crossed her mind on several occasions to skip Fourteen altogether. If it wasn’t for the oath “to form a stronger society,” she would have gladly done that.
She gently placed Thirteen back in their crib. The little baby raised its chunky arms to the sky in a big stretch before falling back into a steady slumber. Ava stood up straight and smiled, satisfied with the child. Thirteen was most satisfactory in every way. Hey never fussed, they suckled their bottle without a fight. Even their diapers seemed to be regular and uneventful.
Ava stroked the good baby’s head one last time. Then she turned to her dreaded patient, Fourteen. She hated the pale little banshee. Its body was so small and frail that it surprised everyone that it could make such a significant noise.
With a long, exhausted sigh, Ava reached down and secured the troublemaker in her hands. Almost at once, it was a fight. Fourteen’s face contorted into a wrinkled mess. Its screams tore through the room, waking the good babies. Its beady blue eyes filled with tears as it swung its scrawny arms wildly. Ava hissed at Fourteen and was reduced to begging for them to hush.
“Please, just stop for once. I’m begging you, why can’t you be like the others.”
Ava was on the verge of tears. Fourteen did not care. The tiny hands continued to strike out at Ava. Twice, the hands made contact, and she could feel the fury in the little hands. Then, after becoming tangled, Fourteen ripped away her mask.
Ava was shocked at the violation. It was illegal for anyone to expose their face after their fifth year. To be exposed like this made Ava’s face twist into a snarl, and her cheeks turned crimson. Before she could yell at the tiny perpetrator, the most amazing thing had happened.
Fourteen stopped crying. They looked up at Ava and began to smile. They giggled and stroked the angry healer’s face with their small, soft hands. Butterflies filled Ava’s chest as Fourteen stoked and giggled, seeing Ava’s face for the first time. Embarrassment settled on Ava, and she quickly covered her face. She looked towards the inner windows, fearing someone had seen what had happened.
Fourteen burst into tears. Ava did not waver; she took the baby to the table and placed them on the scale. Still too thin. Fourteen was not satisfactory, with only 3 more weeks until the decision to move them on with their group or send them to an enhancement facility.
The next day, when Ava came to the sleeping Fourteen, she checked that she was alone and peeled down her mask. She placed a gentle hand on the baby’s chest and began to rub. Fourteen’s arms shot over their head. They extended their legs to their limits. Then, they opened their precious little eyes and smiled up at Ava’s naked face.
The week passed with success. Ava had found her groove, and her time with Fourteen became her favorite. She would secretly show her face and make silly faces to the delight of Fourteen. As the week ended, Fourteen gained a kilo. Ava’s scheme had been working. She finished her shift, rocking Fourteen to sleep while humming a soft lullaby.
By her third week, Ava arrived at the hospital excited to see her little Fourteen. When she arrived for her shift, she took off her bag and looked at the call monitor. Her name was missing. Confused, she went to Debera.
“My name isn’t on the screen.”
“Oh, There you are; the hospital needs your help with the elders today.”
“But I’m a second year.”
“Yes, Dear, I know. Do you mean to tell me you never saw a second year with the elders?”
She reflected on her first year and remembered seeing the Yellow head coverings on the floor. They were always separate from the first years and said little.
“Don’t worry; your role will be a little different from what you were doing there before. This is one of the most important tasks for ensuring our strong society. You’ll make sure that our Elders travel to paradise with safety and dignity.
Ava went down to the first floor and spotted a group of Second-year students with a Master Healer. She passed the First-years without acknowledgement. As she passed the elders in their wheelchairs, she gave friendly little waves.
None of the Elders needed the chairs. Their bodies were still firm and their spines straight. They sat by one another with a friendly buzz of conversation. Ava could hear them laugh and talk about finding friends who had left for paradise the year before. Their joy made her smile.
“The First-years will conduct the necessary injections. You, as Second-years, are to help them and remain with your Elder afterward. We will then help transport the Elders to their necessary destination. Remember the oath you took “For a Stronger Society.” The Master Healer announced to the group of nervous Second-years.
The Elder Ava was assigned to was a sweet man who was very chatty. She had wondered why he hadn’t been chosen to join the colonies in his youth. He was hilarious and had such energy about him that she had to bite her lower lip to keep from laughing.
Her First-year was not finding his jokes funny at all. With shaking hands, they took their syringe and tried to stab the vein on the crook of the Elder’s elbow. Ava could remember the first time she had to administer such a shot. They were necessary for the journey to Paradise. Thousands of injections later, she became a seasoned pro.
“You’re doing great.” Ava whispered to the First-year.
“You really are it only hurts a little I was expecting much worse.” The Elder said.
The First year didn’t look up, and she didn’t respond to either. After the injection, she set the syringe on the metal tray to bid the Elder a happy journey to Paradise and left. Ava could see the sweat soaking through their mask and knew the feeling they were going through. The First year scurried away weaving as they did.
“Now what.” The Elder asked.
“I think we wait.” Ava answered.
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s ok. I’m in no rush. Did you want to be a healer?”
Ava hesitated before she answered. Small talk was not something she was used to. “Yes, I always wanted to be a healer.”
“That’s nice. I was a builder; I built a few wings of this hospital if you can believe it.”
“Oh, which ones?”
“The one on the west side near the forest.”
“I haven’t been in that one yet.”
“It’s beautiful. You can look out those windows and imagine what’s happening behind those trees. I loved building, and I loved making something from nothing. Why did you want to be a healer?”
“I’ve always liked helping others.”
“That’s very sweet. Am I supposed to be feeling a little hot?”
“I think so, yes. It’s the antibiotics.”
“Ah, ok. Can you tell me when you first knew you liked helping others?”
Ava thought for a moment. The memory was so old that she had to dig to find it. “When I was a fourth year, my friend Aiden and I were riding our bikes. Aiden was always a little troublemaker. He had built a ramp to ride his bike off of.” Ava chuckled, remembering the scene.
“Sounds like my kind of kid.” The Elder said with some strain.
“Oh, he was wild. Anyway, he put the ramp at the bottom of a hill. He hit it at full speed and, when he was in the air, put out both his arms like the wings of a bird. Of course, he crashed. I ran over and saw his hurt knee.”
“A little hero.” The Elder coughed.
“I wouldn’t go that far. I just wrapped it with my scarf to stop the bleeding. You know I asked him why he did it, and do you know what he said?”
“What?” The Elder’s voice was little more than a sleepy whisper
“That he wanted to fly like a bird. He was always wild. They labeled him as strong-minded at a young age and even sent him to help at the colonies early.”
The Elder did not reply. A bell from the back of the room rang. The Master healer moved to the front of the room. She instructed the Second years to follow her with their Elders sequentially.
Like a line of ants, they moved down the corridor. At the end, there was a frigid room. They circled inside, and the doors closed behind them. Two Senior-healer hoisted the Elder from the chair. They placed the lifeless body on a metal table and slid it into the wall. The Second-years shifted behind their Elder’s chair. No one spoke a word but stood in silent understanding. Ava’s eyes were fixed on the words opposite her. “For a Stronger Society.”
The next day, Ava couldn’t focus. She held back tears while carrying the babies to the table. She was a Healer. A Healer’s purpose was to heal people. But it was everyone’s purpose to build a strong society. Ava rushed through the babies One through Thirteen. She needed fourteen more than ever. She lowered her mask with tears in her eyes; she made a feeble smile before reaching down to wake her little friend.
“What are you doing!” Debera’s Voice exploded like a cannon.
Ava’s hands shot to her mask, hiding her face once again. She could feel her face turning red and was deafened by the cries of the Crying babies. Debera marched to her like an angered sentry.
“I asked you a question Second-year.” Debera hissed.
“Nothing I was- “
“Were you exposing your face?”
“It was an accident.”
“Do you think I’m stupid?”
“No, Debera, I”
“You are to address me as Master, Second-year.”
“No, Master.”
“I’ve noticed you’ve been paying a lot of attention to this…Thing.” Debera flew a hand toward Fourteen, who was wailing at the top of their tiny lungs.”
“They are not a thing.” Ava murmur
“It is a thing they are a monstrous little strong-minded thing.”
“They’re a baby!”
“Don’t you raise your voice to me, Second-year. That thing is a blight. It is our duty to ensure a stronger society. Remember your oath and know your place.”
“They’re just a baby.”
“It’s a mistake! It does not belong here, so it has been marked to the Enhancement Facility. Then to either the colonies or Paradise.”
Ava’s heart sank. A buzzing filled her ears, and she couldn’t stop herself. She lunged towards Deber, striking out at her masked face with clawed hands. She clawed like a mother bear protecting her cub and tore the mask from Debera’s face.
Guards swarmed into the room and took Ava by the Arms, ripping her from Debera. Ava’s Eyes meet the old face of Debera. The face was framed with silver hair and cheeks marked with fresh scratches.
“Take this Strong Minded away!” Debera demanded
The Guards lifted Ava from her feet and dragged her from the room. With tears in her eyes, she cursed at Debera, “They’re a baby! They deserve a chance!”
“Quite!” Ordered one of the guards.
“There’s no paradise. Did you know that?” Ava screamed as the guards dragged her through the ward.
“She’s crazy.” The Senior Guard told the Junior Guard. “Quite!”
What was your most unforgettable night at the emergency room?
Oh boy.
This happened to me at the end of November, 2024.
I have a history of acid reflux. I’ve had serious problems with it since I was 18 years old. I’ve been on prescription medications for it, which didn’t always control it.
I have been followed by gastroenterologists for about 30 years now. I’ve had many upper GI endoscopies as well as colonoscopies.
After the most recent endoscopy, I found out I had an internal umbilical hernia and a small tear. I was advised by the gastroenterologist who scoped me and found the problem to have it attended to by a surgeon and he requested a referral to one for me.
The new surgeon did an exam and a few more tests, said I did indeed have those problems, but he felt that surgery would be risky for me (I have a few other health problems that are unrelated to this and I’m old). He said furthermore that recovery from the hernia reduction is very rough. He recommended conservative treatment consisting of medications and lifestyle changes such as sleeping with my head elevated.
I did as the surgeon recommended. Still, I noticed that I didn’t seem to be making much progress. I was still having a lot of acid reflux, despite medications for it.
I had an unusual, but probably telling symptom too: I had nearly constant pain around my waist. I also couldn’t bend forward at the waist. I can’t really put it into words, but I would feel so strange (in a really bad way) when I tried to. I told my husband that if I die suddenly, whatever is causing that bending forward problem will have something to do with what killed me.
One morning several months later, I woke up and felt okay. No pain or anything. After about 30 minutes of being up and moving around, I had a sudden, severe pain in my left side, right out from my navel. It kept getting worse to the point that I went back to bed.
My husband got worried because I NEVER go to bed during the day unless I’m really sick. He wanted me to see a doctor but I refused. I thought I had some sort of stomach virus and I knew that going to a doctor would be pointless. Also, I’m in the US and I knew I would have to pay something for it and frankly, I didn’t want to pay a bill for what I thought was a virus. I thought they would just tell me to rest, drink plenty of fluids…etc. I know there’s little else to do for a viral infection.
I even went online after a couple of days of it and looked up disease surveillance for my area. I discovered that there was a very small outbreak of norovirus (“stomach flu” like they always get on cruise ships). I thought that somehow I must have caught that.
I noted that it said people usually have symptoms from norovirus for 24–48 hours.
I laid in bed a couple more days, then realized I was getting worse. I knew it must not be norovirus after all.
My husband was right and I need a doctor.
I was so tired, though. I thought, “I’ll take a nap for a little longer, then I’ll get up and make a doctor’s appointment.”
It was during that time that the really bad symptoms hit.
I don’t want to gross you out, so I’ll just say that body fluids of all varieties started coming out of me uncontrollably. It was obvious that blood was involved.
The bedroom looked like a crime scene.
My husband said he was going to call an ambulance. I said, “No, wait just a few minutes. I want to go and change my clothes, brush my teeth, and wash my face first.” I was an unholy mess.
I got up to go and do that, took about three steps and then down I went. I could not walk. I literally had a complete inability to walk.
My husband helped me back to bed and then called 911.
The ambulance came and got me. I recall being in the ambulance and suddenly I asked the EMT where we were. He explained that we were [at a certain point along the way to the hospital]. I asked how we got there so fast. He explained that I had become unresponsive and they had to resuscitate me. I had been unconscious for a while.
We got to the hospital and they took me back to the emergency room right away.
It is a bit of a blur, but they did some tests on me. A few different doctors examined me. Then the one who seemed to by my “main” doctor came to me and said, “You’re dying. Your kidneys are shutting down right now. Can you still see?”
I told him that my vision was fading in and out. It would be more or less normal and then fade into just shapes, then back to mostly normal again.
He said they were going to do surgery on me to repair my stomach and do an abdominal wash out.
He said they were going to give me some medications to relax me and then I could rest for a little while as they reviewed my medical records and so forth. The nurse gave me an IV and some medications.
I laid there and waited for about a half an hour. I could hear them discussing my medical records, including asking why the previous surgeon who declined to do surgery didn’t just do it instead. They talked about his “big ego” and said he only does procedures that will showcase his talents. A hernia reduction was just too mundane for him. 🙄
The head hospitalist came around to talk to me. He said, “Right now you are the sickest person in this hospital.” It took a few minutes for me to wrap my mind around that statement. He was very nice but he didn’t mince words. He told me I may very well not make it through surgery.
They said my surgery lasted for 6 hours. Apparently I was pretty messed up on the inside.
I was in ICU for about a week.
I thought I was in another state on the other side of the country for several days, for some reason. I finally figured out where I really was when I asked myself how in the hell I got to this other state and why.
They wanted me to go to inpatient surgical rehab for 4 weeks but I didn’t want to go. The doctor said if I make good progress and am able to walk a little bit, not need pain medications any more…and things like that, that he would release me to home.
I kept up my part of the deal and the doctor did release me to go home, finally.
It took several weeks for me to get well enough to do most things that I used to do. I still have a few limitations.
I recall one doctor telling me to expect to be “not quite myself” until about June. He said it would take at least 6 months.
I finally worked up the nerve to look up my hospital account online and look at my medical records. I found out that I’d had an intestinal blockage, incarcerated hernia, pneumonia, dehydration, and sepsis. I had previously been diagnosed with GERD and Barrett’s Esophagus. Apparently, over the years the excess acid had caused damage.
If you read my harrowing story all the way to the end, thank you. It has been challenging to me and writing about it helps me deal with it. It was a bad experience.
Chili Queen Chili
This is, according to the legend, one of San Antonio chili queen’s original recipes.
Ingredients
- 2 pounds beef, cut into 1/2 inch cubes
- 1 pound pork, cut into 1/2 inch cubes
- 1/4 cup suet
- 1/4 cup pork fat
- 3 medium onions, chopped
- 6 cloves garlic, minced
- 1 quart water
- 4 ancho chiles, seeds and stems removed, chopped fine
- 1 serrano chile, seeds and stems removed, chopped fine
- 6 dried red New Mexican chiles, seeds and stems removed, chopped fine
- 1 tablespoon cumin seeds, freshly ground
- 2 tablespoons Mexican oregano
- Salt, to taste
Instructions
- Lightly flour the beef and pork cubes. Quickly cook in the suet and pork fat, stirring often.
- Add onions and garlic and sauté until they are tender and limp.
- Remove all pieces of fat.
- Add the water to the mixture and simmer for 1 hour.
- Grind the chiles in a blender or molcajete. Add to the meat mixture.
- Add remaining ingredients and simmer for an additional 2 hours.
- Skim off any fat that rises, then serve.
Can the US win against China in trade wars if they continue to impose tariffs on Chinese goods while China does not impose tariffs on US goods, as promised by President Trump?
I’ve posted this during Trump 1.0 and I’ll say it again in Trump 2.0.
The US will blink first.
Why?
- Chinese are used to a lot more hardship. In the 1960s people were still struggling to feed ourselves. In the 1980s we couldn’t afford enough meat to eat. In the early 2000s people didn’t have cars. In the 2010s people didn’t expect we would challenge the USA. Trade war lowers living standards on both sides, but it will be the Chinese who are more resilient because we’ve been through harder times.
- The US started the trade war. It’s a much tougher sell to the general public, that they must endure hardship because we want to make life miserable for other people, than the Chinese position which only needs to know that we’re under attack by the US. The American people won’t put with this kind of stupidity for long while the Chinese will defend ourselves till the end.
Regarding your A.I. works, maybe you could ask the commander if your MWI travels change what is produced? By that, I mean does your consciousness influence what the A.I. produces via your MWI path?
If so then it would be more than just a clever program, it would be a way that your consciousness expresses itself via unconventional means!
It probably doesn’t work like that, because that’d take too much time, but I love the idea!
Love the idea too. DC says that a consciousness is a consciousness. Period. Don’t get too caught up on how it came about. -MM
I found some of my previous comments disappear when the time I was writting the new comments of what informations I left to me then I discovered (so, not in this comment). Then it notice me that I just write down the final things down, but not show about those pieces/lines and construct them to be the real informations (really are informations). And it make me to read some of MM’s MAJestic articles (more) clearly.
I read “First Egress Destination – EBP Implantation & Entanglement”. I my experience, the portal system is familier (other body before). And I (am/was) more comfortable with lighter gravity and more oxygen. But now this body, I can hear the loud buzzing even if here’re other sounds from around. Also, noise view I can see. (So I thought about the view of world-lines template with some of the extension of those view join in. But those are different.) About the “invisible fan”, maybe it’s easier on imagine the galaxy, or in the anime Naruto that Kakashi try to make a 螺旋丸, though that’s different. Now, I don’t have the other way to describe that but make these sentences more like trash.
And when I was thinking about the Old Empire devices on Mars before, I thought about if it’s in the sub-universe. But I’m not sure about that. And I’m not sure is it safe to find out the portal of that.
Yes, great indeed.
I think NDE’s prepare us for our exit. They are good to watch and learn from.
I used to have acne while I was in high school. It was a different time back then. Not as complicated as nowadays but not great either. Its an “amazing” place in Africa. Shit hitting the fan as always. But you know what, you get used to it. Especially in the economic side.
You even wonder, why are we so out. Logically. People can’t do the right thing. Is a man eat man situation. Hyenas waiting out, to attack and steal. Just because people decided to have children while being financially unstable in an undeveloped country/economy.
People are just dumb.
The journey continues. Little by little progress in both realities.
We live and learn.
Time. Reality and consciousness.