When I was training at China Lake Naval Weapons Center, I interacted with many other people. All were associated with the Navy and various confidential projects. From janitors to executives and everything in between, there’s a lot of different people on these bases.
One of the gals that worked in one of our shared offices was married to a young man. Oh, we were all in our 20’s at that time. I want to talk about her in this post.
She was a nice chick. I liked her a lot.
Now, one day, she had an argument with her husband, and he left the house in great anger. He hopped on his motorcycle. Rode at high speed late at night.
And…
Got into a serious accident.
A really SERIOUS accident.
Bottom line was this; he became paralyzed from the neck down. Bed-ridden for the rest of his life at 26 years old. What a “ball breaker”.
There were other elements of this story, but I really don’t want to get into that. Just underline the facts.
You can change your life suddenly and permanently though careless action, rage and stupid ignorance. Boys and girls; please be careful out there.
No road rage.
Better to shut yourself off int he bathroom and hide rather than risk catastrophic change.
Today…
What is the rudest experience you had while going to a movie theater?
At 19 years old, I became the manager of a small local movie theater in upstate New York.
The theater had a policy that we did not give out free empty soda cups or bags. (Counting them at the end of each night was how we did all our inventory)
One day, a little kid comes out of a movie and asks for a soda cup. My employee tells him “I’m sorry we can’t do that, but I can give you this” (and hands him a small paper cup, like the kind you may keep on your bathroom sink) He takes it wand walks back in and immediately an angry woman storms out- his mother.
She demands a free soda cup to split her kids drinks or something. I said “I’m sorry, we can’t give them away as that is how we do inventory. I can give you another small cup or you can buy another drink.”
The lady is furious and buys another soda. She goes back in and that was that.
When the movie ended, I was standing at the end of the concession stand right behind the garbage can, not far from the front door.
I see the woman walk out of the theater, holding a soda and glaring at me. She then fires the cup (still with a lot of soda in it) “towards” the garbage but clearly AT me. It hits my chest and soda sprays all over my white collared shirt and everything else. She then smiled and walked out the door.
I followed her out. I called her a lot of names out on the sidewalk. had been as polite to her as I could be and was only following the companies policy. She kept walking and I never saw her again.
Why are Chinese ships sailing near Australia’s coast?
China no longer relies on Australian beef.
Remember Milei the best economist and biggest Trump ass-kisser from Argentina?
He tried to break up with every country but the US and worked hard to open the door wide enough for 500lb Americans to fit in.
“Opening the door” is not always a good sign. He wanted to privatize everything so anything can be sold and bought, including children and organs.
But the US didn’t want anything from Argentina, particularly when the US already “acquired” essentially all farmlands and mines in Ukraine through military assistance. Ukraine’s geographical location is way more strategically important than Argentina (Argentina’s strategic importance to China is telescopes and observatories). Financial support or any other form of assitance from the US to Argentina? None. Argentina has absolutely no value to the US, the US needed nothing from Milei, even though he completely opened his ass.
Milei turned to Xi. Xi gave him some “assistance,” not sure about the exact deal, but it was obvious since then there has been so much Argentine beef on market in China. So while western countries have been raising interest rates and printing money to curb inflation, China’s price levels have gone down.
So let’s figure out.
What can Australia offer:
Minerals, particularly iron ore. Here’s the trick. Once the steel reaches certain level domestically, iron can be recycled, no new ores are needed. With infrastructure projects and real estate developments slowing down, demand for base metals would plummet.
Beef. China has very good relationship with LatAm now. Shipping cost would not be significantly higher. China already ships frozen seafood in bulk back from Central and South America. Prime beef for steak? Just like overpriced German and Japanese cars (yes, even though some believe Japanese cars are cheap), more and more Chinese are waking up to the reality Japanese cuisine and steak are just foods by the barbarians, they are just marketed as delicacies to sell at a premium, similar to diamond (yes, the Chinese also sell diamond at 1/10 the price now, better physical and chemical properties).
Education. Degrees bought from Australia are worth almost nothing now. Job market doesn’t look great. It has become difficult even for graduates from top 10 US colleges. On one hand, there aren’t many opportunities given the shitty global economy (yes I mean the global economy), one the other hand, it’s already very competitive with PhDs from top 10 US and Chinese universities teaching in middle schools (the major ones apparently). Tenure? It is at least as competitive as in the US.
Fruits, seafood and wine. It’s same – LatAm. You can open a Chinese grocery app and find how many products are from LatAm – seafood, fruits, wines, almost everything travelling 10,000 miles to reach China. Even before LatAm products occupied Chinese market, imports from Australia weren’t in large amounts.
Now Australia can beg India for replacement demand and continue to be threatened by Indonesia militarily – yes, Indonesia. Remember merely 15 years ago all Australia talked about was how Indonesia was a threat because it had a stronger military. Then suddenly one day Australia found itself a military rival to China.
How does China justify its actions against Philippine vessels in the South China Sea?
What a terrifying question. The Quora Prompt Generator that posed this question seemingly implies that Philippine ships can casually intrude into the territorial waters of other countries without bearing any responsibility. We must be vigilant about how a large amount of fake news on the Internet has a negative impact on AI.
Let’s take a look at a recent example to ensure a correct understanding of the facts.
On February 15th, the panel discussion titled “Making Waves: Maritime Tensions In the Indo-Pacific” held at the 61st Munich Security Conference attracted many experts from European and American think tanks, as well as diplomatic and military officials. It was one of the few events at this year’s Munich Security Conference that specifically focused on Asian issues.
This is the Philippine Foreign Affairs Secretary Enrique Manalo. Not only was he late, but in his subsequent speech, he made a biased statement, picking and choosing only the points in his favor. He equated the so-called “South China Sea arbitration” award with the UNCLOS. While violating international law, he presented the Philippines as a “model country” that “abides by international law.”
However, as we all know, the facts over the past year or more have shown that it is precisely the Philippines that has been frequently challenging the authority of the Declaration on the Conduct of Parties in the South China Sea, attempting to encroach on new uninhabited islands and reefs. It is the Philippines that has gone back on its word and repeatedly overturned the agreements reached before. It is also the Philippines that has violated the principles and spirit of international law, including the UN Charter and the UNCLOS, by introducing the ‘Maritime Zones Law’ in an attempt to whitewash its illegal occupation of some islands and reefs in China’s Nansha Qundao.
The Chinese expert participating in the panel discussion posed a question to Manalo on the spot: The Treaty of Paris signed between the US and Spain in 1898 set the western limit of the Philippine territory as 118 degrees East longitude. So, how can Huangyan Dao and Ren’ai Jiao, which are located outside this boundary, be part of the so-called “territory” claimed by the Philippines?
This question stumped Manalo. After failing to find an answer by looking through his smartphone, instead of answering it, he switched to another topic. The atmosphere was rather awkward for a moment.
I must say, the Chinese representative raised a very good question. It’s actually not that difficult to answer, and it helps to restore historical facts, enabling the outside world to not just listen to the one-sided account of the Philippines. It also allows the international community to directly understand China’s claims regarding rights in the South China Sea and its policy stance on handling maritime issues. At the same time, it can reveal to the international community how the maritime frictions between China and the Philippines have developed step by step, and how exactly these issues should be resolved.
Southern Fried Chicken with Cream Gravy
Cook: 1 hour | Yield: 6 servings
Ingredients
Chicken
- Lard for frying
- 1 whole chicken, cut into 12 pieces (2 legs, 2 thighs, 2 wings, 4 breast pieces, back and neck)
- 2 teaspoons kosher or sea salt
- 2 teaspoons ground black pepper
- 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
- 2 teaspoons ground black pepper
- 1 tablespoon salt
- 1 tablespoon paprika
Gravy
- Drippings from fried chicken (can also use drippings from pork steak or round steak)
- 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- 1 1/2 cups whole milk or Half-and-Half
Instructions
- Add enough lard to reach 1 to 1 1/2 inches up the side of a large cast-iron skillet, and heat over medium-high heat until hot (between 350 degrees to 375 degrees F).
- Season the chicken pieces with 2 teaspoons salt and 2 teaspoons pepper and set aside.
- In a bowl, season the flour with additional salt, pepper and paprika.
- Dredge the chicken pieces through the seasoned flour. Carefully place the pieces in the skillet of hot lard, cover, and fry for 30 minutes, or until golden brown, turning once after 15 to 20 minutes.
- Remove the lid and cook the chicken an additional 10 minutes to crisp up the skin. Transfer the chicken to a paper towel-lined platter to drain.
- To make the cream gravy, pour off all but 2 tablespoons of pan drippings. Return the skillet to medium heat and whisk in the flour, salt, and pepper until smooth. Gradually add the milk, whisking continuously, until the gravy boils and thickens. Reduce the heat and simmer for 15 to 20 minutes.
- Serve the Southern Fried Chicken with Cream Gravy and Hot Pepper Relish, or your favorite hot sauce.
Did you see that exchange between Zelensky, trump and Vance? What do you think?
Honestly, what happened between Trump, JD Vance and Zelensky reminded me of what happened to George Bush years ago in Iraq, when an Iraqi journalist threw his shoes at the President of the United States in front of the world to see and shouted :
“This is a farewell kiss from the Iraqi people, you dog!” Mr al Zaidi shouted, before launching his shoe at the American president. Within a second, his second shoe came flying, followed by the words: “This is from the widows, the orphans and those who were killed in Iraq.”
Even though George Bush was badly insulted in that incident , he didn’t overreact or scream, actually he didn’t even speak loudly or use strong words to address what has happened to him, he simply smiled and remained calm.
Compare that to what has happened in the white house yesterday between Zelensky, Trump and Vance and you’ll see how different George Bush is compared to Trump and Vance in terms of political language and diplomacy.
In fact, Vice President JD Vance is the one who started the backlash in front of all the media, I’ve read that Vance isn’t competent to hold such a high office in the white house, and what happened yesterday only proves that to be true.
The man speaks so much about diplomacy, yet yesterday he humiliated not only Zelensky, but his own country as well in front of everyone to see on TV and the internet.
Robio’s face says it all.
This is like a diplomatic scandal on a high level.
Deactivation of Hal 9000
Which Lockheed military plane was more technologically advanced, the SR-71 Blackbird or the U2?
I worked on U-2’s for six years and I can tell you there is nothing magical or highly advanced about the plane.
Now don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love the airframe. It’s very reliable, very easy to work on and very pretty in its own way.
But in the effort to achieve high altitudes, exotic technologies (that might be temperamental or problematic) were eschewed in favor of simple and reliable systems that would not need redundant backups that added weight and complexity.
The original U-2A model was designed by Kelly Johnson and went from proposal to prototype in less than 100 days. In order to save time during the design phase, he simply used the body of the F-104 (another plane he designed), put glider wings on it and tried to sell it to the USAF without landing gear. In order to save every ounce possible it was supposed to take off from a cart and belly land.
Now how technologically advanced could it be if it were based on an older design, could be designed and built in 3 months and didn’t even have landing gear?
The Russians even had their own version, the Myasishchev M-55.
It had very nearly identical performance to the rebuilt U-2R models of the late 60’s.
You know what the Russians never matched?
The SR-71.
The SR-71 needed so many new technologies to be invented, just for the plane to be manufactured it’s hard to list them all. Here are some examples……
Using titanium in such massive amounts was unheard of in an aircraft at that time, most of it being sourced from the Soviet Union through shell companies. New fabrication methods and new titanium alloys had to be created to build the plane.
Corrugated panels that expanded without changing shape were used in a novel way, as well as new types of glass for the windscreen, and new ways of fusing it to the frame without the use of glue (that would melt under high temps) were used.
The fuel was routed through the leading edges of the wings to keep them cool, and to also pre heat the fuel for a better burn, novel approaches used for the first time on this plane.
The fuel itself was a custom blend, and had a radioactive isotope added to it that allowed the ionization to scatter Radar waves in the high atmosphere.
Oils and lubricants had to be custom blended for the aircraft in order to function at the high and low temp extremes the plane would encounter.
The David Clark company built a pressure suit for the pilots, as the one the U-2 pilots wore was insufficient. The U-2 pilots later adopted the same suit.
The tires had aluminum mixed with latex in order to withstand the temps that would be encountered in the wheel wells during flight.
The J-58 engine was a hybrid of the turbo jet and ramjet, and MOST EFFICIENT at Mach 3.2, unheard of anywhere before or since.
And this is just a small sampling of the technologies that had to be invented or perfected in order for this plane to work. No one else was capable of flying anything like it in the 1960’s and its performance has yet to be matched today, almost 60 years later.
Considering the rather plebian technologies used to make the U-2 fly, comparing the SR-71 to the U-2 is like comparing the Starship Enterprise to the Space Shuttle Enterprise. It’s just not even close.
The Messenger
Submitted into Contest #210 in response to: Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.… view prompt
Debra Snyder
Ash studied the cracks on the conference room table. “Yes, Ma’am.”
“You’re going to have to re-certify to prove yourself. Re-apply for the phone position, if you want it. As of now, you are downstairs working the messenger streams. I’m sorry, Ash.”
Ash trudged down the stairs to the sixth floor with his shoebox of desk sundries. Another high-ceiling room with a sea of tiny computer desks, murmuring voices and clicking keyboards awaited him. A big screen TV mounted on the wall in one corner showed muted 24-hour news, close-captioned in English.
He’d studied hard for the call center job, but his accent betrayed him time and again. Employees were to flawlessly disguise their Indian vocal identities at all times. Westerners, especially Americans, expected their call center support to be handled from their own side of the ocean.
Demotion to the sixth floor meant a significant pay-cut. His mother would be very disappointed in him. Again. He could hardly stand to think about going home in the morning.
A manager hustled over to his new station. “I heard you were coming down. Aakash, right?” Ash nodded, shook the manager’s hand. “I’ll send someone to review the basics with you in a bit. How much do you remember from training?”
“I think I can manage, Sir.”
“OK, well poke around a bit, but don’t go live until we’re sure you know what you’re doing.” The manager suddenly looked distant and mumbled something into his headset. He gave a thumbs-up and strode off.
Ash set his rocket-ship shaped pencil sharpener to the right of the keyboard. He moved to place the small, framed picture of himself and Sulakshmi next to it and hesitated. Instead, he tucked it back in the box, facedown. He sat in the ergonomic deskchair and leaned back, putting his hands behind his head. A star shined in the black sky through a tiny, dingy window near the ceiling. Considering his orientation and the time of night, he guessed it was Vega.
He sighed heavily.
Goodbye.
A messenger box blinked on the screen.
Ash looked around. His system should not yet be online. However, the blinking status of the message indicated it was just received and did not simply remain from a previous session. Ash stood up, scanning the vast room for the manager who just left him. All his new colleagues were busy peering at their screens and typing. He sat back down slowly and typed a reply.
Thank you for choosing Bay Area Bank, have a wonderful day.
Giraffe. Gargle Google. Incoming.
Ash blinked. He’d already had a bad enough night. He didn’t have the patience for one of Samir’s jokes, sitting upstairs sending him messages to taunt him about his demotion.
Your heading. Moving South, how to live?
Now Ash was sure it was Samir. Who is this?
Incoming interference. Soon arriving.
OK, Ash thought. I’ll play along. You are coming here?
Yes. Contact make want.
He was reminded of the grammatically challenged phrases Google Translate occasionally generated. He glanced up, hoping the manager would be on his way back to catch Samir in the act.
You happy?
Ash stared at the screen. Of course, I’m not happy, he thought. Who is?
Fooling Americans by pretending to be one of them was stressful and subtly demeaning work. Ash resented playacting inferiority. Combined with the long hours and monotonous work, he’d begun dreading his daily life. But he was the only one left to take care of his mother as she aged, and call center jobs paid well. Then there was Sulakshmi, his childhood sweetheart who moved eight hours north the previous summer to prepare for her arranged marriage.
The truth was that something vital and alive inside him withered a bit more every day.
But he could say none of this to the messenger, even if it was Samir.
Especially if it was Samir.
Yes, I am happy. Are you?
No. traveling forward I besides. Again contact soon.
Ash waited a moment and then typed, Are you still there?
There was no response.
***
“I can’t believe you’ve done this! Demoted at your job and lying about it! To your own mother!”
Ash closed his eyes. He hadn’t lied to her about his demotion. But he hadn’t exactly told her, either. Most likely, someone (Samir) told someone else (his own mother) who then told her.
He’d recently learned the American-English term “frenemy.” Samir resided firmly in that category.
“Am’ma, it’s OK. I’ll recertify. Work harder. This sort of thing happens all the time and…”
“I’m so ashamed! After all I’ve done for you, that you would lie to me!” she cried, tears rolling down her face.
Perfect, Ash thought. There wasn’t much he could do to calm her at this point. Anyway, it was nearly 10pm. He needed to leave if he was going to catch the bus to work. An image on the television in the corner caught his eye.
“…Human Space Flight Center in Bangaluru falls under the Indian Space Research Organization and is responsible for training the Gaganyaan crew. Preparations for the flight in December are so far on schedule…”
Ash felt a surge of mixed emotions – anticipation, envy, wonder, regret. His mother never understood his fascination with the space program, his passion for astronomy. Over and over, she’d reminded him that he was a silly dreamer, losing his mind over a fantasy.
“My dear husband gone, and my only son is lying to me! There is no one left I can trust!” She wailed.
Ash’s shoulders sagged. He loved his mother. But she was a relic, an anachronism; trying to fit old ways into an ever-changing mold. Ash wanted to provide something better for her, so that she could find peace. But he also had to admit that sometimes she simply chose to create drama where there was none.
“I love you, Am’ma,” he mumbled, kissing her trembling forehead lightly as he passed. He headed out the door of their apartment into the fragrant cacophony of the Bangalore night.
***
Hello.
Ash stared at the screen. It was nearly breaktime and he could have sworn he blocked other messages from coming in for the moment, so he could finish comms with the guy from Ohio and his endless stream of redundant questions. Except here was this new one.
You tomorrow agreeable? Delightful?
Ah, it’s the joker from the other night, Ash thought. I should probably tell the manager someone is hacking into the system. If it is Samir, it will serve him right to get into trouble.
You home in?
Ohio was finally saying his farewells. Ash typed in the messenger’s box, Hello, I am here.
Mumtaz!
Ash squinted. What language was that? Arabic?
Speed coming. Visit soon.
Where are you going?
Going your home. Visit you. The messenger added a sad-face emoji to the text.
The hair on Ash’s neck prickled. “Coming to his home…” What did that mean? He didn’t know how someone hacking into the system could have discovered where he was. But then, he didn’t know how they were hacking in, either. Ash noticed the messenger’s dialog box lacked the originating location of the querying computer’s IP address. He knew a location could be inaccurate but had been under the impression it was impossible to mask it completely.
Great. When will you arrive? And why are you sad?
Happy visit <heart face emoji>! Sad I should hurt <crying face emoji>.
Are you hurt?
Not I hurt, you hurt. You happy? You love?
I love. I am happy.
It wasn’t exactly true, but anyway, Ash thought, why do I have to tell this guy anything?
Good. I visit. Ciao!
Ash stared at the messenger’s blank dialogue box for some time afterward.
***
The next night, Ash expected the incoming communication. And there it was, at 11:52pm.
Hello, Friend.
He’d decided the messenger had to be some kook who also happened to be a genius hacker. He highly doubted anyone was actually on their way to visit, kidnap, kill, hold for ransom, or otherwise disrupt his life. It would probably turn out to be Samir, after all. On the bus to work that evening, he’d resolved that if things got weirder on that night’s shift, he would tell his manager.
Hello. How are you today?
I am quite well, thank you. I am nearly to your home.
Ash’s eyes narrowed. No reason for alarm. Yet. What do you mean, ‘to my home?’
Your planet, of course. I wanted to see it for myself.
Ash sat back and blinked. Now he knew he was dealing with a kook. A kook who gained a much better grasp of the written English language overnight. Why do you want to see it?
I have instructions to exterminate, and I am not certain this would be wise. Ah, I am at your home now! Such a lovely world. The ones with liquid water always are.
A chill rippled down Ash’s back. What do you mean, ‘exterminate?’
My people cultivate planets, making them proper living spaces suited for our kind. Sometimes that means… The stationary cursor blinked for several seconds. …evicting some of the current inhabitants.
Across the room there were excited voices and a mob growing around the TV mounted in the corner. Someone unmuted the audio. Shaky camera-phone footage showed a massive, pink blob appearing as big as ten suns, hovering in a blue, daylit sky.
Ash rose from his chair slowly, mouth falling open, eyes on the screen. Now there was live satellite footage of the blob, floating in space above the Earth. Ash’s heart hammered and his focus sharpened. He felt as though he just woke up from a dream.
He swallowed. He knew beyond any doubt. This was The Messenger.
Once a planet has been marked for extermination it is difficult to convince my people otherwise. However, I do not always agree with their decisions, and I do hold some sway in this regard. So, I ask you, Aakash. Are you happy? Do you love?
Ash fell back into his chair, knees shaking. You’re pink, he typed.
Over the top of the monitor, he watched the blob on the TV screen suddenly swirl and burst with color, like the skin of a squid. My visual aesthetics are adjustable. Do you prefer blue? Or perhaps black? The Messenger turned a bright sky blue and then faded to darkness, a black hole appearing where its mass obstructed the starlight behind. I can display colors outside your visible spectrum, but I suspect they may simply appear gray to you. However, some lifeforms on your planet can register the appropriate…
Pink is fine, Ash replied. Pink, only slightly less unsettling than the black hole effect, swirled back into place.
The TV reporter confirmed that emergency governmental calls were being made. Satellite defense systems were already training themselves on the object.
My people will hurt you, Ash typed.
They will try. They are afraid. This is normal. They cannot hurt me, however, and I will not stay long. At this time, I am here simply as an observer. You have been kind and patient with me, Aakash. Now, do you love? Please, I must know.
Ash’s throat was cottony, his hands clammy. He thought of his mother, clinging to her cherished traditions in a changing world. Sulakshmi moving away from him and the only home she ever knew to fulfil her promise to her family. His uncle missing fifteen years of his kids’ lives while working in a faraway country so they could afford to attend school. The jovial food cart owner who sold him the dal he planned to eat for lunch. The blind beggar he passed on the way to the bus to whom he gave the dal instead. The client from Ohio the previous night, who could not pay his mortgage because of his daughter’s medical bills.
He began typing. Yes, I do. We do. We are trying. We don’t always get it right. But eventually we will overcome our primitive natures. Someday we will finally get it right and join you in the stars. Just a few thousand years ago we still lived in caves. For each terrible, primitive-minded thing we do to each other, there are a thousand small kindnesses exchanged, a thousand evolutions of thought. We are on a trajectory. We deserve the chance to see it through, ourselves.
Ash realized he was babbling, and his eyes were watering. He wasn’t terribly eloquent, especially in English. He wished The Messenger had chosen a poet or a speechwriter with whom to communicate instead of him.
I see. It is quite valuable to gain the perspective of a native. You are indeed a fragile, unlikely people. Though most are unlikely in their own way.
The cursor blinked on and off expectantly. Ash slumped in his chair. He threw occasional glances at the TV screen, his mind too cluttered to type any of the questions clamoring there.
Ah, there we are. I have completed my data collection. Aakash, I offer respectful and deep gratitude for your shared perspectives and your kindness. I hope that you will not see me, or any of my kind, again for quite some time. Oh, and one more thing. Aakash, remember that tomorrow is never guaranteed. Go in peace, my friend.
The Messenger disappeared from the TV screen. Ash imagined hearing a “pop” as it blinked out of existence. There was a collective gasp from the viewing crowd.
Ash looked up at Vega, still twinkling dimly through the dirty window. He picked up his phone, dialed his mother’s number.
“Am’ma. There is something we need to talk about.”
Why are so many people overreacting to Trump’s trade-balancing tariffs? What’s wrong with making America less dependent on foreign forces by not putting all its eggs in one basket? Retaliatory measures against it are therefore unnecessary.
Re: Why are so many people overreacting to Trump’s trade-balancing tariffs?
First, because they have nothing to do with “trade-balancing”, and second because you have signed, ratified trade agreements in place.
It’s like if you rent a house, and the landlord says “utilities are included in the rent”. You sign a lease, and again, it says in black and white “Agreed upon rent includes all utility charges, and no addition monies will be due from Tenant to Landlord for any utilities.”
And then six months later, your landlord give you a bill for $350 for utilities.
And when you ask them WTF is this, they say “You are taking advantage of me by not paying utilities. Unfair. Very unfair. We need to make landlords great again.”
Is the US no longer “Leader of the Free World” after its bullying, rude and parochial treatment of Zelenskyy? Should Europe step into the breach?
Frankly, I would be surprised if Europe isn’t/hasn’t already deciding they need to pursue other options and taking those steps to dissociate from the US as much as possible.
It’s not like the mental patient in the Oval is new to the world stage. Europe got a taste of him four years ago. Granted, he’s much worse now due to age related mental decline and having more power to enforce his dementia -fueled ideas/hallucinations/delusions of grandeur because everyone in his cabinet will lay down like a faithful dog when he tells them to, but essentially he is the same lover of the worst people in the world he was the first time around.
Europe knows that the US intelligence channels are likely compromised with lackeys like Kash Patel and Steve Hegseth clearing out anyone who doesn’t support the Putin-loving president they serve and replacing them with unqualified stooges who will bend the knee. Tulsi Gabbard, a certain Putin asset, is running our intelligence Department. They know the Mental Patient in Chief can’t be trusted to keep his word, is a convicted criminal, is an inveterate liar, painfully stupid and ignorant, doesn’t respect his own government’s protocols (or laws), is careless with national intelligence, and loves Xi, Putin, and Kim Jeong-il.
I would find it hard to believe that Europe and other allies would still take the US seriously as an ally. Yesterday should have just been another data point confirming that actions already taken to isolate the US were correct, not the final call to action to begin protect themselves.
Provided Europe hasn’t already taken the steps to try to insulate themselves, they surely will now, I think.
Shorpy
What is your best “one time my dad … ” story?
One time my dad came into my room. I was busy studying with books in front of me and I was propped up on my bed.
The year was 2004. I was in the 12th grade.
“This month’s telephone bill is 2000 rupees. Care to explain?”
“I don’t know.”
“Your mom and I leave home at 10 in the morning and come at 7 in the evening. You are at home whole day. Who should know about it?”
“I seriously don’t know.”
“Okay. Whose number is 693****?”
“How can you see telephone numbers in the bill?”
“I asked for a detailed bill.”
I sat staring at him. With no words coming out of my mouth.
“What happened? Tell me you don’t know.”
I tried coming up with an excuse. I couldn’t think of any.
“You know right I was also once a 12th grade student?”
“Yes.” I replied meekly.
“I also had girl who were friends.”
“Hmmm..”
“I would also talk to them for hours. Not on phone. Because we didn’t have one. But after school. Near the ground.”
“Hmmm..”
“You know why I am telling you this?”
“No.”
“Because I don’t know where those girls are now. It’s been long. They never kept any contact in these years. Similarly, years from now these guys you talk to may or may not be a part of your life. So give time to those who are worth it.”
“Yes papa.”
“Next to next month onwards only 800 is the limit. Okay?”
“Next to next month?”
“Yes. Because you might have have already crossed that in this month right? Which will be shown in the next month bill.”
I smiled sheepishly.
He left and returned a moment later.
“And tell that guy to give a call sometimes. Why should you give a call all the time? Money is not in abundance in our home. Tell him to spare some too.”
I smiled.
It is proven by USAID documents that the BBC, the so-called an independent media, is not just funded by the UK regime, but also funded by the US regime to make & spread the US & western style of democratic nonsense & disinformation globally. Why?
It is not well known that the BBC is actually two different companies under one name, just like Boeing making airliners and weapons, each with separate eco-systems and economic models.
In other words, separate customer base and more importantly, RULES OF OPERATION.
Now, the BBC, or the British Broadcasting Corporation, was founded by royal charter in 1922. It is funded by UK taxpayers (through a television license fee) and is regulated by Ofcom, a statutory regulator.
So we have the BBC, a statutory corporation that is independent of the British government, but beholden to it for funding and discipline.
Where is the role of America, or indeed, non-crown influence?
The answer lies in the other BBC: the BBC World Service.
Unlike the regular BBC that is affectionately known as Auntie to the people of the isles, the BBC World Service that speaks to the rest of the world isn’t regulated by Ofcom.
In fact, the BBC World Service was originally incorporated ten years after the BBC was formed as the BBC Empire Service!
The new name is less odious, but the mission remains unchanged.
A tool of empire!
It is the BBC World Service that has gotten itself into repeat trouble with its China journalism. From xizang to Xinjiang, and especially Hong Kong 2019, because I kept a close watch on their horrendous treatment of chaos.
In fact, the BBC World Service riled so many feathers they were denied press access to the 70th anniversary parade, and doors remain firmly shut in their faces.
Thankfully, the most toxic and obnoxious figures have fled, with one fella, a John Sudworth, cleverly manufacturing his own extrication from a made-up threat.
Any Asian my age would have been exposed to BBC World Service programming for decades. The reader can form his own opinion on the quality, accuracy and bias in its reportage. I find it a consummate, formulaic liar in its coverage of Singapore, and Greater China. These topics are not only close to my heart, but I live realities shared among friends and family and I am qualified to judge said content.
Now, how do you suppose the BBC World Service is funded? By UK taxpayers? Hell no. Independent journalism died with the advent of the internet, which killed the printing press. The golden age of investigative journalism that gave birth to the Pulitzers is over.
We are left with legacy names that lend legitimacy to propaganda for a fee, and the BBC World Service is surely one of them.
Except the empire they serve is no longer British.
Were you shocked when someone said you are rude, because you thought you were the nicest person?
My girlfriend and I, and two other couples decided that we should drive to the city and see a movie. I was the only one with a car that would seat six. When we started planning it, they asked me if I would drive them, I said, of course, as long as we didn’t go see, a certain movie. I had read the book, and didn’t want to see the movie. We started going through the movie section of the local paper. This was back in 1981. There were more than 30 different movies to pick from, and one of the girls picked the movie I said I wouldn’t go to. Within seconds everyone agreed. I said that I wouldn’t go to that movie. Everyone said I was being rude and selfish. That the majority wanted that movie. I pointed out I had said I would drive to any movie, except that one, and I was only keeping my word.Everyone, including my girlfriend said that majority rules. I said that they had 30 other movies to pick from, and they had to pick the only one, I had said I wouldn’t go to. By this time it was the principle of the matter, when someone says they will drive to see any movie, except for one, and they just have to choose that one, its like they don’t care about you. Of course they said the same thing about me, not wanting to see a movie that the majority chose. It would have been different if I hadn’t made it a condition of driving, before we even looked to see what movies were available. I thought I was being nice by agreeing to take my car. I refused to drive, they decided to cram the five of them in another car. I broke up with that girlfriend shortly after.
Richard Wolff: The FALL of the US Empire–US Denial, Europe Burns, BRICS & China Rise
Sir Whiskerton and the Case of the Moonlit Melon: A Tale of Mystery, Mischief, and Metaphysics
Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for a tale that blends the absurd with the profound, the whimsical with the philosophical. Today’s story is one of strange happenings, odd characters, and a mystery that will leave you pondering the deeper meaning of life—or at least the deeper meaning of melons. So, grab your sense of humor and a slice of watermelon (for snacking), as we dive into Sir Whiskerton and the Case of the Moonlit Melon: A Tale of Mystery, Mischief, and Metaphysics.
The Mysterious Melon
It all began on a quiet evening when the farmer, ever the eccentric, decided to plant a single watermelon in the middle of the barnyard. “It’s an experiment,” he muttered to himself, as he carefully placed the seed in the soil. “I want to see if it grows better under the light of the moon.”
The animals, of course, were intrigued. “What’s he doing?” Doris the hen squawked, flapping her wings in excitement.
“Doing!” Harriet echoed, tilting her head.
“Head!” Lillian added, fainting dramatically onto a pile of straw.
Even Rufus the dog, usually more interested in napping, couldn’t resist the allure of the mysterious melon. “It’s just a watermelon,” he said, wagging his tail. “What’s the big deal?”
But as the days passed, the melon began to grow… and grow… and grow. It became a massive, glowing orb that seemed to pulse with an otherworldly light. The animals were mesmerized. “It’s… it’s magical!” Doris declared, her eyes wide with wonder.
“Magical!” Harriet clucked.
“Clucked!” Lillian added, still on the ground.
The Farmer’s Peculiar Behavior
As the melon grew, so did the farmer’s obsession with it. He spent hours each day talking to the melon, singing to it, and even reading it poetry. “It’s like he’s in love with it,” Porkchop the pig said, munching on an apple.
“Love!” Ditto the kitten echoed, popping up from behind a hay bale.
“Not now, Ditto,” I said, flicking my tail. “This is serious. The farmer is clearly losing his mind.”
Sir Whiskerton Investigates
Determined to get to the bottom of the farmer’s peculiar behavior, I decided to investigate. I approached the melon, which was now the size of a small barn, and gave it a cautious sniff. “Hmm,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “It smells… like watermelon. But there’s something else. Something… strange.”
As I pondered the mystery, a voice suddenly echoed through the barnyard. “Greetings, Sir Whiskerton.”
I spun around, my fur standing on end. “Who’s there?” I demanded.
“It is I,” the voice said, emanating from the melon itself. “The Moonlit Melon.”
The animals gasped. “It talks!” Doris squawked.
“Talks!” Harriet echoed.
“Echoed!” Lillian added, fainting again.
The Melon’s Message
The Moonlit Melon explained that it had been imbued with the wisdom of the cosmos, thanks to the farmer’s moonlit experiment. “I am here to impart a message,” the melon said in a deep, resonant voice. “A message of unity, harmony, and the interconnectedness of all things.”
“Interconnectedness?” Porkchop said, tilting his head. “What does that even mean?”
“It means,” the melon said, “that we are all part of the same cosmic tapestry. The farmer, the animals, the plants—we are all one.”
The animals were silent for a moment, processing this profound revelation. Then Doris spoke up. “So… does that mean I’m connected to this melon?”
“Yes,” the melon said. “And to the farmer, and to the stars above.”
“Stars!” Harriet clucked.
“Clucked!” Lillian added, still on the ground.
The Farmer’s Epiphany
As the melon continued to impart its cosmic wisdom, the farmer emerged from the barn, his eyes wide with wonder. “I… I understand now,” he said, his voice trembling. “The melon is right. We are all connected. All part of the same cosmic dance.”
The animals exchanged puzzled glances. “Is he… okay?” Rufus asked, tilting his head.
“Okay!” Ditto echoed.
“Not now, Ditto,” I said, flicking my tail.
The Moral of the Story
As the farmer embraced the melon’s message of unity, the animals reflected on the day’s events.
The moral of the story, dear reader, is this: Sometimes, the strangest things can lead us to the deepest truths. Whether it’s a glowing melon, a peculiar farmer, or a cat with a knack for solving mysteries, the world is full of wonders that remind us of our interconnectedness. And while it’s easy to dismiss the odd and unusual, embracing it can lead to unexpected insights—and a lot of laughs along the way.
A Happy Ending
With the mystery solved and the farmer’s sanity (mostly) restored, the farm returned to its usual state of peaceful chaos. The Moonlit Melon, having imparted its wisdom, shrunk back to a normal size and was enjoyed by all the animals in a grand feast. Even the farmer joined in, though he insisted on saving a few seeds for his next “cosmic experiment.”
As for me, I returned to my favorite sunbeam on the barn roof, content in the knowledge that I had once again saved the day. The melon was gone, the farm was at peace, and all was right in the world.
And so, dear reader, we leave our heroes with the promise of new adventures, new mysteries, and hopefully, no more talking melons. Until next time, may your days be filled with laughter, love, and just a little bit of feline genius.
The End.
Southern Shrimp Sandwich
Yield: 6 marvelous sandwiches
Ingredients
- 3/4 pound (340 grams) cooked shrimp, coarsely chopped
- 1/4 cup (60 ml) chopped green pepper (capsicum)
- 1/4 cup (60 ml) chopped celery
- 1/4 cup (60 ml) chopped cucumber
- 1/4 cup (60 ml) diced tomatoes
- 1/4 cup (60 ml) finely chopped scallion, green and white parts
- 1/4 cup (60 ml) mayonnaise
- Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
- Hot sauce to taste (optional)
- 6 hot dog buns
- 2 tablespoons (30 ml) butter
- 1 cup (250 ml) shredded lettuce
Instructions
- Combine shrimp, vegetables, mayonnaise, salt, pepper and hot sauce (if desired) in a bowl and toss to combine thoroughly.
- Spread the buns with butter and divide the lettuce among them.
- Top with the shrimp mixture.
US sanctions on China boomerang on us again, this time in space
What would you do if you walked outside and saw a mushroom cloud off in the distance?
Been there.
There I was, in 5th or 6th grade. It was morning recess at Nate Mack Elementary School in suburban Las Vegas. The usual stuff was going on: basketball, four-square, tetherball, etc. But suddenly the games were interrupted, because someone saw this:
My school was about 4 miles from “ground zero.”
Mind you, this was 1988. I wouldn’t say it was at the height of the Cold War, but all we kids knew was that the Russians were out there and they were bad. Many of us also knew that the greater Las Vegas area housed Nellis Air Force Base, although most of us didn’t know where that was. On actuality, it was waaaay on on the other side of town. But whatever… many of us figured this was the beginning of a Red Dawn scenario.
We all gathered on at the fence to watch the mushroom cloud rise. Most of us were a little scared, but probably more curious.
Then the shockwave came. (I remember it being a long time, like a few minutes, between seeing the mushroom cloud and feeling the shockwave. But after a quick calculation, it was probably on the order of 20 seconds. So much for memory…)
It didn’t literally throw us to the ground, but many kids fell off the fence probably due to reflexes or disorientation. And it was fucking loud. Curiosity definitely gave way to fright at that point.
We had no idea what was going on. Remember, 1988… no internet, no cell phones.
Instinctively, me and many other kids went to the front of the school where pickups/dropoffs happened. With complementary instinct, I indeed spotted my mom driving in. This didn’t take long… we lived maybe 1/2 mile from the school. I got in the car, we scooped up my sister at her school, and then drove… somewhere. I actually don’t remember where.
News came fairly quickly what had happened: The full Wiki article is here: PEPCON disaster. But briefly, a rocket fuel plant had… an accident. According to the Wiki article, around 4500 tons of rocket fuel exploded, with the explosive equivalent 1,000 tons of TNT — on par with a tactical nuke. Remarkably, there were only two fatalities (vs. 372 other injuries).
After the dust settled — metaphorically and literally — it came to light that there was a marshmallow factory next to the rocket fuel plant. There were toasted marshmallow jokes for years thereafter.
What is the creepiest unexplained event you know of?
We live in a very rural area on 5 acres of property. As many who live in the country, we have barns. We left one afternoon to do some shopping in the closest big city. After arriving back home, I drove the cart to a barn to store the chicken feed we just bought. The chickens have a play area that is covered because of predators like coyotes who can still find a way in through the fence. There were too many chickens in the play area. I had 10 chickens before we went to town. I started counting chickens and after 50 just stopped. On the way back to the house to get my husband I saw a huge blue awning laying behind a 2nd barn. It looked like it belonged on an RV. We don’t have an RV. After telling my husband all this, he wanted to take a look at the cams pointed to all entrances on the property. Nothing except us leaving and coming back. Before we had left earlier, I fed the 10 chickens and would have seen the awning. To this day, there are no answers how dozens of chickens got in a secured area and where the awning came from.
News 41
Submitted into Contest #210 in response to: Make a mysterious message an important part of your story.… view prompt
John Werner
This little place was an anomaly. The owner, Bobby, was the drummer of a local pop-punk cover band and he and his bandmates, roadies, and techs opened the place up about a year ago. It was an altar to the times, paying homage to everyone from AFI to Yellowcard. The walls were plastered with tour posters and framed tour shirts. Lacquered into the bar were printed tickets from venues all around the world. There were signed photos of Bobby with Green Day, Panic! At The Disco, Social Distortion, and even one of him on stage with the guys from Rancid.
Bobby was older now, but he used to be a sessions musician. He would play on the albums but not go out and tour with bands. He knew a lot of people and got to play music, but it also left time for him to pursue his passion, which was cooking. And so it was, that when he opened his little taco stand here on Main Street it became a ready hang-out for folks of a certain age who enjoyed music of a certain type.
I ordered my Mezcal Mule, a delightful cocktail of mezcal and birch beer in a chilled and sweating copper mug with a sprig of mint on the top, and was presented with my gratis basket of chips and salsa. That’s when I saw the news flash.
“Bobby! What the hell is that, man?” I asked, pointing at the television screen.
“I don’t know?” He shrugged and called to Stacy behind the bar. “Turn it up!”
“This is Charlotte Good from News 41 coming to you live with an exclusive story! Only moments ago we received reports of an unidentified flying object landing at Public Airport. You can see it here behind us.”
The reporter was standing in front of a black SUV emblazoned with the News 41 lightning bolt logo across the side. She and the airstrip were separated by a chain link fence and her face glowed with that mix of summer perspiration and makeup. As usual, the sound was crap and every couple of seconds it would glitch or lag. She kept talking and we could make out at least seven out of every ten words.
The shape behind her was not so different from what we might expect. Any fan of modern science fiction wouldn’t be particularly surprised by the design. It was nothing like War of the Worlds. Sleek, black, pointed nose, looking like a triangular prism with an angled back. Just then the side of the ship slid open, a telescoping ramp extending to the ground.
Down that ramp they strolled. They didn’t look so very different from us, aside from the blue skin and frilled ears, their faces looked like a face should look but their eyes were super big and their noses were fairly small. They had arms and legs, although the knees were hinged in the opposite direction from ours. They wore what looked like wet suits with a rigid oversized hood that framed their faces and joined at their shoulders. It was kind of a letdown. It looked pretty much like all those pictures you see of aliens everywhere.
“We are awaiting confirmation from local authorities that it is OK to enter the premises.” The reporter continued.
One creature noticed her, pointed to its buddy, and they ran over to the fence, lacing their fingers through the chain links. She continued to talk, the cameraman tried to get her attention but her camera-ready smile and professional composure only allowed for her to communicate her annoyance with a subtle lift of her eyebrows. The one on the left waved, which was awesome. The one on the right opened its mouth and began to talk.
On the first word, Charlotte Good screamed, spun on her heels, and promptly fainted straight away. The aliens looked at each other, and then at the cameraman, which is to say into the camera. They smiled and waved again, the one who spoke motioning to the mic which lay on the ground beside the prone Ms. Good. The camera moved awkwardly as the man bent, retrieved the mic, and tossed it to the alien over the fence.
Its words were completely incomprehensible, but it smiled as it said them. It seemed enthusiastic and friendly although impossible to understand. Its buddy said something, tapping it on the shoulder, and gesturing expansively. Raising one of its spindly fingers it motioned from its friend to the camera and back again. It raised its wrist and what looked like a predictably ordinary watch projected a perfectly cliche hologram.
It wasn’t a picture. They were symbols. The symbols were grouped in cycles of 4 sequences. There were fourteen of those cycles. Those were followed immediately by 33 additional cycles.
In the distance, great dust clouds could be seen rising off the ground as government vehicles raced across the tarmac. A human hand pointed into the view of the camera, we assumed it belonged to the cameraman, who was warning the aliens of the danger closing in. They looked at each other, one pointed to the other, they looked back into the camera and leaped the fence in one bound. One pointed to poor Charlotte, the other scooped her up.
“Put her in the car!” The cameraman shouted. “We gotta get out of here!”
The two aliens looked at each other and shrugged. The cameraman opened the door to the news van and motioned for them to place her gently into the passenger seat. He handed the camera to one of them, showing it how to keep the feed live, and then ran around the car and hopped into the driver’s seat.
“Seatbelts!” He turned, modeling for them the over-the-shoulder straps and how to buckle themselves in. They each did the same.
“That’s Dougie!” Bobby laughed, pointing to the screen.
“Classic Dougie!” Stacy laughed, her hand going to her forehead.
Dougie was their guitarist. His day job was working as a cameraman for the local news. He also ran all of their video and sound. The band’s. Not News 41’s. As previously discussed, News 41’s sound sucks. You had to be versatile when you were in a band. It paid to know how to do these things. With screeching tires, the government vehicles came skidding to a halt as they reached the fence. The camera panned to the other alien, who open mouth smiled in mock surprise as the News 41 van took off, leaving the Feds behind.
For many hours, experts of all kinds were stumped by what the strange symbols could mean. Cryptographers from all over the world provided their take on what might be the contents of that first message imparted unto humanity from these visitors from the stars. We sat there, all afternoon, watching those screens.
Dougie and aliens at the beach. Dougie and aliens at the Super Mart, getting slushies. Dougie and aliens winning twelve bucks on a scratcher at the corner store. The corner store? We ran out and saw Dougie, alien, Ash the clerk from the corner store, and a few other locals running down the street. At the end was the cameraalien who kept the live feed rolling.
“What is happening right now, Dougie?” Bobby demanded, reaching out a hand and pulling him in for a hug.
“I couldn’t leave these aliens with the Feds. I didn’t want it to end up like a Spielberg movie!” Dougie said. “They’re cool.”
“Cool?” Stacy asked. “What?” She flinched as the one behind the camera motioned to the other to get in close and he swung his long arm around her shoulders and pulled Bobby in on the other side. Once again, he vamped for the camera and they joined in.
Dougie ran towards the restrooms. There on the wall between them was a guitar signed by the great Billy Joe Armstrong. He took it down, plugged it into the amp below, strummed it once, and began to retune.
For their part, the aliens immediately responded. Apparently, air guitar is universal. Ash played along with them as Dougie finished up.
“I know what they’re saying!” He said excitedly. “Those symbols! They’re not words! They’re tablature! These dudes are here to rock!”
With the guitar tuned to his liking he motioned to the alien wristwatch. His blue-skinned friend once again raised it and activated the interface. As the patterns scrolled by, Dougie played that Billy Joe signed guitar for all it was worth. The minute it started everyone knew the words and sang along.
“They came all this way for punk!” Dougie shouted.
“All the Small Things?” I asked.
“Is that weird?” Stacy asked.
“Not at all,” Bobby replied with a shrug.
Dougie reached out and high-fived Bobby, turned and hit me, then Ash, and then the aliens joined in.
They called the band, set the stage, and played into the night. Everyone was skanking and drinking and having a blast. When Charlotte came to, she wandered in and I took the camera at her request. Not to put on heirs, but I had some experience myself.
“This is Charlotte Good from News 41 coming to you live with an exclusive story! Taco Tuesday will never be the same!”
That was the best night. Bobby, Stacy, Dougie, Ash, the locals, the band, the aliens, Charlotte Good, and me.
Tacos, mules, and punk.
Why didn’t America sanction China like what they did to Iran?
This is how the US treated China 70 years ago.
1. banned trade with China
2. carried out air raids and aerial reconnaissance on Chinese territory
3. Froze Chinese assets overseas.
Why not do that now? Because the US is no longer powerful enough to allow it.
1. China’s huge market is a major export opportunity for American goods, and the annual exports of American goods to China solve the employment problems of millions of Americans.
Iran does not have this.
The sanctions proposed by the US against China can only gain the support of some of its allies, and in many cases, not even of its allies, because China’s market is too large.
2. The influence of the Chinese and the ancient in the international arena, very often, the US needs the cooperation of China. Most simply, if China learns what the Soviet Union did and votes frequently against it in the Security Council, it can paralyse all US actions that use the name of the Council.
More importantly, China can support countries that the US does not like, through military and economic aid, etc.
For example, in 1950, the Korean War.
For example, in the 1960s, China supported Vietnam in its fight against the US.
For example, in the last three decades, China’s support for Burma has failed US attempts to overthrow the Burmese government.
For example, for decades, China’s support for Pakistan has prevented the US from acting arbitrarily in South Asia (giving Pakistan its own initiative).
To deal with these problems, the US would have to work with China.
With Iran, they don’t have the strength.
3. China is a nuclear power, with few nuclear weapons, but fully capable of destroying the US. This makes it impossible for the US government to use force against China, or nuclear deterrence against China.
That is, the US does not dare to use force against China as it did against Iran.
So why has the US not dealt with China as it has with Iran? The Americans have done it before, but when China’s strength developed, the US gave up (and its strength didn’t allow it anymore)
RedNote is Forcing Tik Tok Refugees to Face Some Hard Truths about Life in the U.S.
Will people in the EU and Canada really stop buying American goods because of the tariffs?
I work in a restaurant in Sweden. The other day we were ordering liquor for this month. We had a 20 minute argument whether or not to refill our stock of Jack Daniels. We decided not to. Make of that what you will.
How would Europe react if Trump went through with his EU tariff threat?
This time, they’re going to fight back.
They’ve already lined up retaliatory tariffs, targeting products from red states.
They are likely to offer him something they’re already doing so he can claim victory and back off without losing face (see: Mexico, Canada). But they’ve learned that appeasing a sociopath isn’t the way to go.
trump’s mistake was making the tariffs across the board. This eliminates the fiction he’s trying to redress something that was unfair to the US. This is just “give me money or else.”
A.k.a. extortion.
And no leader who wants to stay that way is going to let his voters see him/her succumb to the threats of a low-rent mob boss.
Short-term there will be a mess, but the real damage is long-term. In Canada, Trudeau is meeting with business leaders to figure out how to reduce their dependence on the US.
The rest of the world will follow that lead.
American businesses will suffer as a result of trump’s stupidity.
At what point did you realize your childhood was over?
I know precisely when.
In the August of 1972, when I was 9, I flew with my father up into Mokka Fjord, on Axel Heiberg Island — Pretty well as far north as you can go in the world, here’s a Google Maps link: Mokka Fjord
Anyhow, an oil company was doing some drilling there, and they wanted to know if the fjord was deep enough for tankers. In those days depth sounders were pretty rare, and my father had really nice Furuno, and so one fine day my dad and I and a few oil company guys took off from Resolute Bay in a Twin Otter with a rubber raft and a wetsuit and the depth sounder.
When we got there the weather was pretty crappy, and there was already ice forming on the fjord. They tried paddling the raft but they couldn’t, and then my dad in his wetsuit tried pulling the raft, but the ice was cutting his wetsuit.
I was watching this from shore, and thinking about the problem, and I yelled to my dad “Push the raft! Don’t pull it! Let the raft break the ice!”
He kind of looked at me, and then moved to the rear of the raft, and kicked with his fins, and what do you know? It worked. Afterwards we went into the tent that was the kitchen and had some lunch, and people looked at me differently. I was sitting at the adults table now, not the kids table.
And that was it. I realized that if I applied my brain and solved problems, that my age was completely meaningless. Because fundamentally, people want their problems solved. They don’t care about a bunch of factors that we sometime think are important.
And that was that. I was an adult. I was never again a child after that day. I proceeded through life on my own terms.
The one thing which was a bit weird is that my parents just sort of accepted this. For whatever reason, they never really treated me as a child after this. They didn’t tell me what to do, they generally asked me what my plans were, and then accepted what I told them. By the time I was 15, I was living a more or less independent life, with my own house I lived in while I was working, and the last time I lived at home was just after my 17th birthday.
Why are Chinese warships near Australia and New Zealand?
Isn’t it obvious?
BECAUSE THEY CAN!
China did what QUAD’s been doing in the SCS – protecting so-called freedom of navigation.
Just prior to this but of course unrelated, Australia had flown their military planes near China. PLA Airforce had to warn and chase away the Australian military plane.
This time. three PLAN warships conducted their own Freedom of Navigation voyage around Australia in international waters – all within the norm of legitimate FoN missions.
You don’t see Australia and New Zealand formally complaining because they can’t.
This is to remind Australia that continuing to be the U.S. attack dog has its consequences. China now has the world’s largest fleet of naval warships and Australia should expect more of these exercises.
President Trump made an offer to American companies that they will be immune to Tariffs if they move their business back to the United States? Would this be enough that only foreign countries will pay the 25 percent tariff Tax, not America?
You still don’t get it, NO, IT DOES NOT MEAN ONLY FOREIGN COMPANIES PAY THE TAX, it means YOU, pay the tax, if you buy their products, all imported products will cost you 25% more, NOT THE COMPANIES, GEEZ some people are thick. How many times must people say that before it sinks in? The tax is on the general public, not on the companies, they pay zilch YOU PAY IT,