When I was a young boy, my mother would cook meals for us kids. This continued up though the mid-1970s when she went feminist, divorced my father, and started working. But up until that time, she would make 1960’s era meals.

Those meals were some of my fondest memories.

Oh sure, after the divorce, eating TV dinners, pizza and hamburgers in front of a television was more the rule than the exception. But, you know, my favorite memories was sitting around the table eating as a family.

She used to make real great meals. Like curry chicken with chutney. Oh, after the divorce, i spent 5 decades without it. Of course, now today, I have no problem eating it. Lots of good food here in China.

So today, I offer up some food porn on the curried chicken side of things. Look at what I was missing. Ugh!

Today…

MM Influencer has created a repository of MM videos.

Collect what you want. It's important to archive this before it disappears. Here's what he said. I consider this valuable and very helpful. -MM

I thought you may find this useful one day.

Here’s my archive of your videos from your YouTube channel and Patreon.

I try to keep them updated.

https://mega.nz/folder/EzJh1ZwA#PPTKPyay-bVzzb61Oq-xpw

North Korean hyper-sonic missiles

North Korea has unveiled what it says is a new hypersonic missile dubbed Hwasong-11Ma, designed to be fired from a 10-wheeled transporter-erector-launcher (TEL) that can carry two of the weapons at once. Derived from the earlier Hwasong-11 series of short-range ballistic missiles, the Ma variation has an unpowered boost-glide vehicle on top instead of a traditional warhead and, as a result, is designed to function in a completely different manner.

The Hwasong-11Ma, or a mockup thereof, was among the weapon systems showcased at what has become an annual exhibition of the North Korean military’s latest capabilities this past weekend. Another hypersonic missile design, the Hwasong-8, was a prominent feature at the first of these events in 2021.

The Hwasong-11Ma, among other weapons, on display at the weapons exhibition in Pyongyang this past weekend. *North Korean state media*

The original Hwasong-11, also known as the KN-23 in the West, is a traditional short-range ballistic missile that can reach out to 430 miles (690 kilometers) and has a 1,000-pound (500-kilogram) class unitary high-explosive warhead. First shown publicly back in 2018, it is now a combat-proven weapon, as well. Russia has been employing them against targets in Ukraine since December 2023. Several other Hwasong-11 variations have already emerged in recent years.

Details about the Hwasong-11Ma, also referred to as the Hwasong-11E, are still limited. From the size and shape of the main body, the new missile looks to be based more directly on the previous Hwasong-11Da/Hwasong-11C version. This would make sense as the Da/C, another traditional short-range ballistic missile, is already an enlarged derivative designed to carry larger warheads than the original Hwasong-11. North Korea has previously said it has tested subvariants of the Da/C type with 2.5-ton and 4.5-ton conventional high-explosive warheads, and that it can also be fitted with a nuclear warhead.

A side-by-side comparison of the Hwasong-11Ma/Hwasong-11E, at left, and the Hwasong-11Da/Hwasong-11C, at right. North Korean state media

In line with its apparent size, Hwasong-11Ma/Hwasong-11E looks to use a similar, if not identical, 10-wheeled TEL as the Hwasong-11Da/Hwasong-11C. The original Hwasong-11 is fired from an eight-wheeled TEL.

A picture of a Hwasong-11Da/Hwasong-11C test launch showing the 10-wheeled TEL. North Korean state media

A picture of the launch of an original Hwasong-11 from an eight-wheeled TEL. *North Korean state media*

The Hwasong-11Ma/Hwasong-11E’s boost-glide vehicle is similar, in broad strokes, to other wedge-shaped types that North Korea has shown in the past as payloads for much larger missiles. However, the previously seen designs have distinctly different tail fin configurations from the one on the newly unveiled missile, which also has two long strakes extending on either side from the nose.

Pictures of the wedge-shaped hypersonic boost-glide vehicle designs North Korea has previously shown on the Hwasongpho-16 (at top) and Hwasong-8 (at bottom). *North Korean state media*

A close-up look at the Hwasong-11Ma’s boost-glide-vehicle. *North Korean state media*

In general, hypersonic boost-glide vehicles are unpowered and use ballistic missile-like rocket boosters to get them first to an optimal altitude and speed. They then detach from the booster and follow a relatively shallow, atmospheric flight path at hypersonic speeds, defined as anything above Mach 5, to their targets. Boost-glide vehicles are also designed to be able to maneuver erratically along the way. All of this creates significant challenges for defending forces to detect and track the incoming threat, let alone attempt any kind of intercept.

How close the Hwasong-11Ma/Hwasong-11E might be to becoming an operational capability is unknown. North Korea claims to have flight-tested multiple hypersonic boost-glide vehicle designs since at least 2021, but there continue to be questions about what degree of actual capability the country has achieved in this regard. Viable wedge-shaped boost-glide vehicles have historically been extremely difficult to design and then bring to an operational state. It is possible, if not very plausible, that North Korea has and continues to receive assistance in the development of hypersonic weapons from Russia and/or China. The Russian and Chinese armed forces have both fielded hypersonic boost-glide weapons with wedge-shaped vehicles. Russia has used military and other technology transfers of various kinds as part of its ‘payments’ to North Korea in exchange for the latter’s now direct involvement in the war in Ukraine.

The North Korean regime’s pursuit of hypersonic capabilities is certainly real and is a clear response to efforts by the South Koreans and their U.S. allies to expand air and missile defenses. The original Hwasong-11, which is very similar in form and function to the Russian Iskander-M and the South Korean Hyunmoo-2 series, itself is reportedly capable of performing a “pull-up” maneuver in its terminal phase of flight to complicate attempts to intercept it.

A side-by-side comparison of North Korea’s original Hwasong-11, at left, and Russia’s Iskander-M, at center, as well as South Korea’s Hyunmoo-2B, at right. via CSIS A side-by-side comparison of North Korea’s KN-23, at left, and Russia’s Iskander-M, at center, as well as South Kora’s Hyunmoo-2B, at right. *via CSIS*

In principle, Hwasong-11Ma/Hwasong-11Es could offer North Korea a useful additional layer of hypersonic strike capability for use against better-protected targets inside South Korea. Road-mobile TELs would offer additional flexibility, even if the missiles are relatively short-ranged, as well as a way to create complications for opponents trying to find and fix their locations.

“As the U.S. military buildup in the South Korean region intensifies, our strategic interest in the area has also increased. Therefore, we have allocated our special assets to key targets of interest accordingly,” Kim Jong Un said, speaking generally, during remarks at the opening of the weapons exhibition in Pyongyang, according to state media. “Can the South Korean territory ever be considered a safe place? That is for them to judge.”

The Hwasong-11Ma/Hwasong-11E’s development may also reflect lessons learned from Russia’s use of Hwasong-11s in Ukraine. The missile’s initial performance in the war was dismal, but Ukrainian officials have made clear that the Russians and North Koreans subsequently took corrective actions and that it is now a very threatening weapon. Earlier this year, Ukrainian Air Force spokesperson Yurii Ihnat also mentioned both the Iskander-M and the KN-23 while openly discussing how the Russians had made further improvements to their ballistic missile capabilities that have put serious pressure on the country’s air defenses.

The U.S. Defense Intelligence Agency (DIA), via an unclassified Special Inspector General report published in August, confirmed “the UAF [Ukrainian Air Force] struggled to consistently use Patriot air defense systems to protect against Russian ballistic missiles due to recent Russian tactical improvements, including enhancements that enable their missiles to change trajectory and perform maneuvers rather than flying in a traditional ballistic trajectory,” something that TWZ was first to report. The Special Inspector General’s report does not name the ballistic missiles that have proven challenging, but the Iskander-M and the KN-23 are understood to be, by far, the types Russia most commonly employs in strikes on Ukraine.

Last week, the Financial Times newspaper in the United Kingdom reported that Russia’s improvements to its ballistic missile capabilities may have notably helped them evade Ukrainian defenses in attacks on at least four drone production facilities this past summer, citing unnamed U.S. and Ukrainian officials.

As it stands now, U.S.-made Patriots are the only air defense systems in Ukraine’s inventory that offer real anti-ballistic missile capability, and then only in the terminal phase. Ukraine’s Patriots are in high demand, in general.

The Hwasong-11Ma/Hwasong-11E also simply underscores the still-growing scale and scope of North Korea’s missile arsenal, overall, when it comes to ballistic and cruise, as well as hypersonic types. As already noted, the Hwasong-11 series has already become particularly prolific, with rail, silo, and submarine-launched variants and derivatives having been demonstrated, in addition to ones fired from wheeled TELs.

It is often the case that North Korea follows up the public debut of new missiles with equally public tests, and more details about at least the Hwasong-11Ma/Hwasong-11E’s claimed capabilities may now begin to emerge.

Why do some employers expect high work ethic but are unwilling to pay a living wage?

Because they are stupid, greedy people. I was a retail manager for decades. In that position I was paid as much as $100,000.00 per year. After I retired I took a part-time job as an overnight shift worker in a convenience store. Because of the company rules I was the overnight manager. I was paid 25 cents more than a day shift employee. Oh, I worked solo so I was my own boss. Are you with me so far?

Three months later, having been through company training, I was being asked to baby sit stores because of my prior experience. What quickly followed was being asked to train new people to become management for these locations. I undertook and trained several people, after that I was designed a “Rotation Manager” I now had 5 stores that I was working at so that the resident manager could have a day off for personal business. Still following? Good.

Because here’s the punch line. The persons that had authority to pay me more never found the time to increase my income, with over a year on the job which was six months more than the people I had trained, I was still receiving FMW + 25 cents. The people I trained were receiving twice what I received. This came to a head when I was introduced to the regional vice president As I shook his hand I stated clearly that this was my last day, that I quit. I told him why. His response was to fire the two district managers and all five store managers. Of course I was gone, had a store manager position at the competition waiting for me. A couple of weeks later I received an email from the past employer, they offered me $1,000.00 a week to come back. That’s twice what they paid other managers, senior discrimination is a federal crime.

What’s the most unforgettable food that you have eaten in a foreign country?

Pizza in Germany.

We don’t lack for good pizza in the U.S.

We didn’t invent it but we sure act like it.

We got New York thin crust. Chicago deep-dish. Detroit style. St. Louis. Every city seems to have their own special kind along with the normal Papa John’s, Pizza Hut’s, and Domino’s.

We also have the ridiculous over-hyped (and over-priced) joints with wood-fired “pies” garnished with three olives and a sliver of ham for thirty bucks.

But being an equal opportunity consumer of pizza, I never met a pizza I didn’t like.

Then I visited a German friend in Berlin…

That’s when I learned that pizza for them wasn’t pizza for me.

We were at the grocery store picking up a few things when she said, “Let’s get some pizza!”

“Hell yeah. Let’s do it.”

We walked over to the frozen pizza section.

Never before had I seen such an array of weird tiny pizza in my life. It was like the planet’s worst vegetables got together, found an underserved niche, and called it German pizza. Broccoli. Cauliflower. Squash. Corn. Beans. Everything you think shouldn’t be on a pizza was on a pizza.

There wasn’t a pepperoni in sight.

She picked up a few boxes. I winced. And off we went.

The next week, we were deciding what to eat for dinner. Her eyes suddenly lit up, “Let’s go out for pizza!”

She saw my reaction.

“Oh, come on. I know just the place. It’s good.”

So we walked to a little neighborhood pizza place with a great backyard and string-lighting. It reminded me of an old house. Maybe it was an old house. Anyway, we grabbed a table in the back near the fence.

I scanned the menu looking for any word that didn’t sound like a vegetable-mined pizza. My finger ran down the page.

Ah-ha!

“Pepperoni. That’s what I’m having.”

“You like pepperoni?” She asked me in a weird, quizzical tone.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I? I’m an American.”

“Okay,” she said, raising her eyebrows and turning back to her menu.

We ordered. I had a beer. She had bubbly water. And we waited. Twenty minutes later, the server walked up with our pizzas.

Finally. Real pizza.

The server set the pizza in front of me. Oh no. In front of me was a pizza full of green peppers. That’s it. Just peppers and cheese.

“What the hell?”

My friend looked up. “What’s wrong?”

“They gave me the wrong pizza.”

“No they didn’t. That’s what you ordered. Pepperoni.”

“This isn’t pepperoni. These are green peppers. Pepperoni is meat.”

“Pepperoni here are those peppers right there. What you’re talking about is called salami.”

“This sucks.”

Surprisingly, they swapped out my pizza for a real pepperoni pizza. My German friends have always said Germany is a “customer service desert.” Free refills and food swaps aren’t a thing there. Not so in this case. But I have a feeling it was out of mercy for my friend not having to listen to me complain the entire night.

Ironically, I’m pretty sure that would have made me a local.

WOW! Check out this video

Can I make my own steam engine for heat and electricity generation and to run off of portable fuel such as wood or pellets or gasoline? Is it practical for a motivated auto mechanic who welds to build?

Oh god no, at least not if you have a normal healthy fear of dying. You may be a skilled auto mechanic and welder, but boiler fabrication is a whole ’nother thing.

You know what you call an amateur boiler maker?

Dead.

And it’s a closed-casket funeral.

You probably think of steam as something like this:

This is cold steam. That’s why you can see it. Live superheated steam is invisible, hot enough to set things it touches on fire, and often under enough pressure to strip flesh from bone. It’s nasty, you can’t see it, and it will kill you gruesomely.

Steam engines large enough to do useful work are large enough to level your house if they fail and large enough to kill you in agony if they leak.

Do you know how you check for steam leaks in a steam engine? You wave a broom above it. If the broom suddenly gets sliced in half for no reason, you found a steam leak. (Remember how I said live steam is invisible? It will also slice through wood, or people, like a band saw. An invisible band saw.)

Do not, and I cannot stress this enough, do not imagine you can just weld together an actual steam engine and live to tell the tale.

Which nation is known for always breaking their promises and never fulfilling the covenants they make?

Guess:-

“AI Overview

The number of broken treaties is not precisely known, but sources indicate the U.S. has violated a large percentage of its over 500 treaties with Indigenous nations, with one source stating that more than 80% have been violated or remain unfulfilled. Some sources suggest that the U.S. has broken over 300 promises and that a long history of unkept promises exists.

High Percentage of Violations: Research shows that over 80% of the more than 500 treaties signed between Indigenous nations and the U.S. government have been violated or remain unfulfilled.

Significant Number: One source cites that the U.S. has broken fundamental promises over 300 times.

Ongoing History: The violations represent a “long history of unkept promises” by the U.S. government.”

Question: The origin of white man speak with forked tongue:-

“AI Overview

The phrase “white man speak with forked tongue” likely originated from a 19th-century interpretation of a Native American proverb, but the expression and its connection to dishonesty or hypocrisy predate this usage and have roots in European traditions and literature, such as Milton’s Paradise Lost. The specific phrase gained traction in the 19th century, particularly in contexts of European/American colonization, and was often used to describe the perceived untrustworthiness of European colonists.

Native American tradition: Many Native American tribes used the phrase “speaking with a forked tongue” to mean lying or being untrustworthy, and it was a serious accusation.

European origins: The metaphor itself has deeper European roots, appearing in works like Milton’s Paradise Lost to describe the serpent’s deceitful speech. The concept of a “forked tongue” as a symbol of duplicity was already established in European culture.

19th-century adoption: The phrase was adopted by Americans around the time of the Revolution and became common in the early 19th century. It was often used in treaty negotiations, as in an example from 1829 where President Andrew Jackson told the Creek Nation that he “spoke with a straight and not with a forked tongue”.

Possible specific origin: According to one 1859 account, the proverb specifically referencing the “white man” may have originated from a French tactic in the 1690s during a war with the Iroquois. The French would invite their enemies to a peace conference and then attack or capture them, a clear example of “speaking with a forked tongue”. “

Millions of Americans Are About to Face a Harsh Wake Up Call

Millions of Americans are already struggling to survive the cost of living crisis, but new bills and regulations could soon make life even harder for those living in cars, RVs, vans, and other vehicles. As inflation keeps driving up rent, food, and fuel prices, many have turned to alternative living just to stay afloat. But now, cities and states across America are introducing new laws that could push countless people deeper into homelessness. In this video, we’ll break down what’s really going on, how these new measures could impact you, and why this is a harsh wake-up call for anyone who thinks they’re “safe” from this growing crisis.

The Subterranean Jazz Den Scandal: A Tale of Avian Aggression and Accidental Art

Ah, the jazz den. Below the Whispering Willows of the farm, two tunnels down and one ill-advised right-turn past the compost heap, lay The Subterranean Den of Smooth Grooves. It was a mood, a philosophy, and a place where, according to owner Thelonious the Mole, the only thing allowed to be loud was the silence between notes.

Thelonious himself, a mole of impeccable taste and a tendency towards drama, was usually found polishing his single-lens spectacles with a tiny silk handkerchief. His club’s policy was simple: “We don’t dig the noise, we dig the music.”

This is where Ferdinand the Duck entered the chat, or, rather, entered the ventilation shaft. Ferdinand was a duck of simple, if misplaced, ambition. He believed his quack was a complex rhythmic instrument, an instrument he was determined to debut at Thelonious’s weekly “Mellow Mole Mondays.”

“I call this piece, ‘The Confused Honk of a Tuesday Afternoon,’” Ferdinand announced, waddling onto the micro-stage and ignoring the collective thump-thump of the mole audience hiding their heads in the dirt.

Thelonious winced. “Ferdinand, my friend, that is not an introduction. That is a threat.”

Ferdinand paid no mind. He took a deep, avian breath and began. What followed was less jazz and more the sound of a leaky pipe being violently disconnected from its plumbing. It was a cacophony of sound waves that ricocheted off the earthen walls, vibrating the dirt right out of Thelonious’s tiny, felt beret.

“QUACK-QUACKA-WAAHH-HOONK!” Ferdinand belted, attempting to scat-sing a B-flat. His voice, strained by the subterranean pressure, suddenly snapped into a perfect, crystal-clear, ear-splitting yodel.

Thelonious’s spectacles flew off his face and landed with a plink in a glass of organic dew-drop water. He surged forward, his tiny paws shaking.

“BANNED!” Thelonious squeaked, his voice dangerously high. “BANNED from The Den! You have violated the entire premise of Mellow Mole Mondays! This isn’t music—it’s avian aggression!” he grumbled, unaware that in his fury, he’d just uttered a Key Joke while Ferdinand accidentally yodeled a perfect B-flat.

“Aggression?” squawked Ferdinand. “I call it emotional velocity!”

A full-blown duck vs. mole feud erupted. Thelonious declared the surface world was a swamp of low culture and dug his club 50 feet deeper, renaming it “The Sub-Sub-Terranean Sanctuary of Silence.” Ferdinand retaliated by starting a rival club on the old club’s roof, a muddy mess called “The Honk Zone,” which specialized in only two genres: Heavy Metal Honk and Free-Form Funk-Quack.

The farm was split. The low-frequency aficionados stuck with Thelonious; the high-decibel enthusiasts followed Ferdinand.

It took the arrival of Jazzpurr, the mysterious Cat of Cultural Resolution (who claimed he was on sabbatical from a Parisian rooftop band), to intervene. Jazzpurr was impossibly cool, wearing a linen waistcoat and carrying a lute made from an artisanal gourd.

“Gentlemen,” Jazzpurr purred, adjusting his tiny beret. “We have reached a cultural impasse. The only way to resolve this is a sonic showdown, judged by the neutral ears of Groove the Mole.”

Groove the Mole, known primarily for his ability to tap out complex rhythms with his back feet on the kitchen floor, was dragged from his nap and given a small wooden box to tap on. He blinked, yawned, and assumed the posture of a seasoned critic.

The sonic showdown began. Thelonious played a deeply moving, 12-minute solo on a miniature harmonica that could only be heard by bats and other moles. Ferdinand followed with a piece that involved slapping his beak against a galvanized bucket and a terrifying, prolonged HONK-YODEL.

Then, Jazzpurr stepped up. He called his piece: “The Digging Duck Dissolution: A Free-Form Yodel-Jazz Fusion.” It began with the slow, subterranean tap-dance of a mole, morphed into a dizzying, off-key yodel, before collapsing into a single, sorrowful jazz chord on the gourd-lute. It was structurally baffling, emotionally confusing, and sounded, to be perfectly honest, like a train wreck in a tiny musical instrument shop. It was, objectively, terrible.

Groove the Mole sat still for a moment, then began tapping his verdict on the wooden box. Tap-tap-TAPPITY-tap. Pause. THUMP-thump-thump.

The translation, as rendered by a nervous squirrel stagehand, was: “It is terrible. The sound quality is poor. The melody is non-existent. However,” the tapping continued, “…it contains both the sound of the deep burrow and the sound of the high air. It is the sound of two opposites trying to listen to each other. It is an honest noise.”

Thelonious took off his spectacles and smiled for the first time that day. “An honest noise. I can dig that.”

Ferdinand, delighted by the “honest” review, gave a polite, measured honk of thanks. The feud was over. Thelonious welcomed Ferdinand back to the club, provided he stuck to instruments that were not his own vocal chords, and Groove the Mole was appointed the official rhythm consultant for all future performances. The Subterranean Den of Smooth Grooves and The Honk Zone became the same space, renamed “The Mole-Duck Mixer: Where Noise Meets Noodle.”

Moral:

Music unites—even if it’s terrible. Sometimes, the noise you make trying to belong is more important than the quality of the art itself.

Best Lines:

“Ferdinand, my friend, that is not an introduction. That is a threat.” – Thelonious
“We don’t dig the noise, we dig the music.” – Thelonious (on club policy)
“I call it emotional velocity!” – Ferdinand (after being accused of avian aggression)
“The Honk Zone,” which specialized in only two genres: Heavy Metal Honk and Free-Form Funk-Quack. (Narrative description)

Key Jokes:

“This isn’t music—it’s avian aggression!” grumbles Thelonious, as Ferdinand accidentally yodels a perfect B-flat.
Thelonious’s new club: “The Sub-Sub-Terranean Sanctuary of Silence.”
Groove the Mole’s verdict: “It is terrible… However… it is an honest noise.”

Starring:

Thelonious the Mole as The Mole Who Takes Jazz Far Too Seriously (And Needs New Spectacles)
Ferdinand the Duck as The Avian Aggressor of Accidental B-Flats
Jazzpurr as The Cat Who Solves Cultural Feuds With Bad Lute Music
Groove the Mole as The Drummer Who Judges Souls By The Quality of Their Tap-Tap-TAPPITY-tap

Post-Credit Scene:

Ferdinand and Thelonious are now co-owners. Thelonious installs a new microphone with a sign that reads: “Warning: Avian Dampener Required.” Ferdinand, however, discovers that if he whispers his quacks, they come out as highly amplified whale sounds, which is the only sound that truly bothers Sir Whiskerton when he’s trying to solve a case upstairs.

P.S.

If life gives you a duck with a perfect B-flat yodel, don’t ban him. Give him a solo spot and charge extra for earplugs.

The End.

What’s one small decision that completely changed the direction of your life?

I was completing my Navy A school and had two weeks before we finished and received orders to our next duty station. The class chief walked in and said…”I need two volunteers for special assignment. I can’t tell you exactly what it is or where it might be…but u will need to get a top secret clearance so if you have been in any trouble before u came into the Navy, don’t bother raising your hands. I raised my had immediately as I had learned that walking outside and taking weather observations was pretty boring. Two weeks later the Chief came in and handed out orders…all except mine. I timidly raised my hand and said….”Chief…I didn’t get any orders.” He wadded up the last paper on his clipboard and said…”I’ve been trying to get orders here for ten years…and you get them right out of school!” The orders were to London England, 1965 era. No barracks, we lived out in the city in a rented apartment, no uniforms, we wore coat and tie, two days and three days off at a time…so we could travel, my pay and allowances were almost double the average working mans pay at the time…the Beetles, miniskirts, dollybirds, got to travel all over western Europe…and I met the love of my life…for 57 wonderful years and 3 kids….that one split second…changed everything.

What is the strangest failure you have ever seen on a car?

Question: “What is the strangest failure you have ever seen on a car?”

OK. I had a 1999 low mileage GMC Sierra Z71 that had been perfectly maintained. Yet it had developed this loud metallic clicking noise coming from the left bank.

The clicking occurred under light load and acceleration. And it was louder when the engine was cold, louder still in cold weather, and quieted down as the engine warmed up. It was getting worse as the truck became older…from barely noticeable when I first heard it… and I could not understand what was causing it to become much louder now. I was certain that it was an exhaust manifold leak. But I could not find it.

I finally decided that it HAD to be a leaking exhaust manifold gasket. So I replaced the one on that bank with a thick soft aluminum gasket. Did not make any difference. Still made the clicking sound. I carefully tightened the exhaust manifold manifold bolts several times. Didn’t help.

I had installed Borla stainless steel exhaust headers on the truck very soon after buying it new. I remember, soon after installing the headers, sometimes hearing a slight sound on acceleration that I had thought to be light pre-detonation. I tried using a higher octane gasoline, but the sound was still there. I assumed that the tube headers, as they often do, were making more obvious a normal combustion noise that had previously been masked by the stock cast iron exhaust manifolds.

Then one afternoon I was using a fuel cleaning machine to clean the intake manifold and valves and injectors and remove carbon from the combustion chambers.

To use it you pull the fuse for the vehicle’s fuel pump, connect the machine to the test port on the fuel rail, use air from the shop compressor for fuel pressure, and run the engine on pure cleaner rather than gasoline.

The day was overcast and the engine compartment was dimly lit. The engine was idling, running on fuel cleaner. When checking the machine I happened to look at the left side of the engine and the exhaust headers and flange on the left side. On cylinder number 5 there was a very visible orange glow, like that from a bright neon lamp, making a circle on the exhaust header flange where the stainless steel tube for that cylinder is welded into the flange!

The exhaust headers had a bad weld and a hairline crack where the tube for one cylinder was welded into the flange. It was not the manifold gasket that was leaking. It was the manifold flange leaking through a bad weld. When the engine was cold the crack expanded making the noise louder. When the engine was hot expansion of the tube closed the gap. Running on gasoline and burning cleanly the crack was not visible. But the rich orange combustion gases produced by the OTC Fuel Cleaner made the bad weld show up like it had a neon sign on it!

OK. I had to replace the exhaust header. Bad: Borla no longer made or sold headers for that truck. Good: It was Borla, and the company guarantees their headers forever for the original owner. Really. They offered to get out their engineering drawings, set up their CNC machinery and make just one set of stainless steel exhaust headers for my truck, and send them to me without charge. They volunteered this without my having to ask.

Chicken Karaahi
(Traditional Pakistani Chicken)

Karaahi refers to a utensil resembling the wok.

62da017533d9f7b2790ae28a5912de10

Ingredients

1 kg chicken pieces
1/2 kg diced tomatoes
Garlic paste
Chopped coriander leaves
7 or 8 green chiles
5 whole red peppers
2 teaspoons salt
2 tablespoons oil

Instructions

Take the chicken pieces and marinade in the garlic paste.
Heat some oil in a wok (known as “Karaahi”) and add red peppers to brown.
Add the marinated chicken to the wok. Let the chicken cook on low flame until it becomes slightly tender.
Add the diced tomatoes mixing them thoroughly with the chicken. Let this cook also on a low flame for 15 minutes and then serve it by garnishing it with green chiles and coriander.

Attribution

Lior’s Kitchen Talk

Trump Tried To NUKE Iran & Was Stopped By General! Says Fmr CIA Analyst Larry Johnson

WTF! WTF! WTF!

Time Is All We Have, My Friend.

Written in response to: “Center your story around someone who has (or is given) the ability to time travel.“

James Scott

Reginald saw no change at all in the man sat across from him. He didn’t appear to have even moved. His old face was still creased with deep lines; his cheeks were redder than they used to be and what was left of his hair was just as grey as always. The damn fool had gone and gotten old. He hadn’t truly noticed until that moment. But then, when was the last time he had really looked at his friend? It never seemed necessary. He knew the twit’s face well enough, having to deal with it every damn day for the past thirty years. No matter. He was looking now, and he saw nothing the slightest out of place.

“Well…?” He snapped.

“It worked…” Jasper mumbled, wide eyed, “Reg, we’ve done it! We’ve actually gone and done it this time!”

“What are you talking about, you daft prat! You didn’t go anywhere. I was watching the whole time! You didn’t move!”

“Maybe not from your frame of reference…but I’m telling you, Reg, I’ve been sat here for the last minute, itching to tell you. I had to be sure though, had to go through the motions, until I caught back up to the present.”

“I don’t believe you. What number prototype is this?” He said, gesturing to the crude box of circuits and wires on the table between them, “I lost count years ago. Still, I’d know if it had worked. I’d have seen it.”

Jasper just nodded smugly. Man of few words was his colleague, and it suited Reginald just fine. Spend enough time locked in a lab with the same man and you began to wish only for silence from anyone. Jasper tossed his pocket watch across the table. It landed face down, with the loud clack of metal on wood. Spinning to a stop, it proudly displayed the engraving Reginald had paid an arm and a leg to have scratched onto the back plate of the time piece. A kingly gift for the mans fiftieth. “Time is all we have, my friend” it had once read crisply. Now it was battered and scraped with use. With a huff, he reached out and flipped the old thing over, and there it was. A minute ahead. He even pulled out his own matching model to compare. He had set them both himself before the testing began. They had read the same time. He was sure of it. Reginald looked up to see the satisfied grin on Jasper’s weathered old face. He’d just time travelled a minute into the past, and he knew it. After so many years of perseverance, Reginald should have been overjoyed. They had finally cracked the fourth dimension. Instead, curiously, all he felt was a sinking in his stomach.

Glancing between the watch face and that of his friends, then back again, Reginald’s mouth worked, unable to produce a sound.

“I know!” Was all Jasper could say, still nodding.

“After all this time? After all of this…” Reginald whispered, looking around the room at all the government funded equipment lining the walls, “We’ve really done it? I guess I never actually believed-”

“So, where are you going to go, old boy!?” Jasper barked, as excited as a fresh pup. His smile so broad it made his face seem foreign.

Reginald looked down at his hands, still clutching the two watches. His wrinkled, veined and spotted hands. He was old, it was true. They both should have retired years ago. But no one else could have done what they had done, none understood what they did. It had taken a lifetime to wrap their own two heads around it. Now that they had succeeded, did age even matter anymore? Would it ever again?

“What are you on about?” He asked, realising he had mostly forgotten the question.

“It’s late. The whole facility is closed up. We’re alone. Before the powers that be come to claim our work as their own, we agreed to test it. Just us. Remember? I would take the risk and go first, since you’re a giant girl’s blouse, and if it worked, you’d go for real. So… where…when are you going to go?”

“I-I don’t rightly know.” He admitted.

“Oh, come on! Don’t tell me you didn’t decide a decade ago!?”

“Of course!” Reginald snapped, sliding the mans watch back across the table to him. He caught it deftly. It was impressively done. The old fart must have been brimming with adrenaline. “But it’s real now. That sheds a different light on things. I’ve thought so long and hard about what this could be used for, I’ve come full circle a dozen times.”

“Lets make it simple then,” Jasper said, tucking his watch into the inside pocket of his jacket, “Future or past?”

“Can you imagine me in the future?” Reginald laughed, “We might be leaders in our field, my friend, but I still need my son to show me how these damned phones work these days, and I barely understand a word my grandson spouts!”

“Agreed, past it is then.” The other man said, rubbing his chin and looking to the ceiling, “Hitler?”

“Perhaps we should aim a little smaller than changing the entire course of human history on day one? Who knows what effects something like that could have…although maybe none, if you remember my theory.”

“That it would have just been someone else anyway?” Jasper asked.

“Well if you look at the state of Europe at that time, it was a powder keg!” Reginald began to argue.

“Yes, yes, I know.” His friend said, waving away the debate for another time, “You’re right, you should just observe. Like we talked about. No changes that could end with us anywhere but here, now. That’d be some feedback loop, sending you back, resulting in it impossible to send you back? That’d melt a few brains hey, old boy!”

“Yes, quite right.” Reginald said, pushing his glasses up his nose. Suddenly nervous.

“How about satisfying that little boy in you? Dinosaurs?” Jasper suggested.

“Tempting…but I’m not much for running anymore. Wouldn’t want to get eaten…” Reginald smiled, attempting to appear lighthearted about the idea. He stood up, grimacing at the ache in his ankles and the twinge in his back. Their funding hadn’t exactly stretched to comfortable chairs and if sitting was so arduous, hiding from gigantic reptiles in a tropical forest was most certainly out of the question. He tottered stiffly along the rows of equipment, tracing his finger along the polished tabletops.

“Look at all this,” he said, “all the tool’s we basically invented, in order to create that thing. If we were able to share even one of them, we would be heralded as visionaries. Ever regret taking their money? Agreeing to their terms?”

“Reg, stop procrastinating. We don’t have all night! They’ll find out soon enough. Then the chance will be gone, and it’ll be someone else taking the first steps on this proverbial moon.”

They both paused for the barest second and then simultaneously roared with laughter. Reginald slapped the stupid sod rather too hard on the shoulder and wiped the tears from his eyes, chuckling away as his mirth wound down.

“Just to be clear,” He wheezed, “anyone knocks on that door…who ever is closest hits the button and jumps back to the beginning of this conversation, then speeds us along. Deal?”

“Yeah, alright, Reg.” Jasper said, rubbing his own eyes dry, “Sorry. its late. I’m not a half-wit, I promise.”

“Bah! You’ve always been a pleb!” Reginald laughed, patting the man a couple more times on the shoulder.

They both thought in silence for a few minutes. It wasn’t uncommon in their field to spend time exploring their own thoughts before lending them voice. Reginald was the first to speak up, his voice soft and conspiratorial.

“What about the other plan?” He ventured.

Jasper sighed and leaned back in his chair, placing both of his hands on the back of his head and stretching out his elbows.

“We never really entertained it before.” He said, evading the question.

“We should consider it now though, right? Now that its possible?”

“Well, I can confirm that when you go back, you’ll enter your own body of the time. I appeared right here, behind the same eyes, just as I was the previous minute. Except with knowledge of the sixty seconds to come. I knew everything you said, everything that happened, because I had already lived it. So that rules out any kind of ‘meeting yourself’ paradox.”

“So I could do it. Take the knowledge of this final product back to the younger versions of us? The poor sods who worked out of your aunts damp garage those first few years. I could save us thirty years of labour, simply returning with the solution?” Reginald asked.

“Wouldn’t that mean all of that work never happened though? So how could you return with a solution that had never been developed? Except that it would still exist, just without the work having been done? Isn’t that an issue?” Jasper asked.

Reginald slapped an open palm to his forehead and swore in the only way his wife had ever allowed.

“Biscuits!” He gasped, “Madeline. I met her while we were spending all that time at your aunts place. She and Maddie’s mother, they were friends. If I change this, none of that will happen. I’d never meet her. I can’t have that.”

“You could wait? Until after you meet? Reveal it then?”

“No. It wouldn’t work. What would she see in me now? I’m an old man! She was so full of life back then, so adventurous and bright. And I…I was so hell bent on my dreams, so passionate…”

“You’ll be in your old body you dolt!” Jasper laughed, “She’ll still see you as you were!”

“Will she?” Reginald snapped, “I don’t think so. Maybe in my face. My body. But I’m so different now. She will see it. She always saw it…always saw me.”

“I miss her too.”

“Its tempting though, ain’t it?” Reginald smiled, “She was a firecracker, no doubt about that. Or hey! What about Samantha. She admitted not so long ago she always had a crush on me back then. Maybe I could, you know, make that happen a little different? Before I ever meet Maddie?”

“Reg! You’re a dog!” Jasper cackled, “You’ve got my mind running now! All those missed chances…”

“Ah, to correct all the dumb things we moron’s did! Spare ourselves these thirty something years of struggle! Wouldn’t it be something!?”

“Sure would, Reg. Sure would. It wasn’t all bad though. Most of it, for sure. The lifetime of poverty and stress, chasing a dream straight out of a science fiction novel. Most people still think we are crazy, you know? But it wasn’t all bad. Not all of it.”

“No. Not all of it, old friend. Not at all.”

Silence reigned again and Reginald dumped himself back down into his chair. It had started as a gentle lowering, and ended with the uncontrolled drop of a man who should have been in bed hours ago.

“So,” Jasper said, hand back on his chin, muffling his words, “Dinosaurs are out, Hitler can live his sordid life. We commit to doing the work, for Maddie. What else is there? Maybe you go small, just drop in, grab a newspaper and come back?”

“Newspapers can be forged. Preserved. Its no kind of proof. Always thought that was stupid.” Reginald yawned.

“Well, whatever! Make it Napoleon’s hat for all I care! Just do a quick fly-by. No harm, no foul.”

“That’s what I think I’m coming to,” Reginald said, “I don’t think there’s any action I could take that wouldn’t cause harm. Future or past. I know you’ve thought on it as much as I have, Jasper.”

“A damn sight more, I should imagine.” He scowled.

“Can we really hand over something as powerful as this to our government benefactors? Will they sit around a table and talk like we are now, or will they just hit go and send some meat head with a machine gun leaping headfirst into disaster?”

“I think we both know that answer to that one,” Jasper said, rolling his eyes, “What are you saying here, Reg?”

“I’m saying I’ve had a good life. I’m an old man and I’ve certainly made my share of mistakes. But I own my past. I treasure it. I wouldn’t give it up. Not a second with Maddie. Not my children or my grand babies. Not a minute of the time I’ve spent with you on this project. You damn fool. Would we really rewrite all that we’ve become? Because make no mistake, any single butterfly would do it!”

“You’re a sentimental jackass,” Jasper said, shaking his head, “But damn it if you aren’t right.”

“So what do we do then?” Reginald asked, lost for the answer himself. His mind foggy and wanting little more than his pillow.

“We do this.” Jasper said, leaning forward. The old man wobbled, putting all his slight weight on one hand against the table. With the other, he grasped a fistful of wires and half a circuit board and yanked hard, turning all their hard work into a mess of nothing.

“Alas, prototype number seven-hundred-and-forty-two is another failure. I do keep count.” He smiled, “So, back to it tomorrow? We’ll need to begin designs for the next one.”

“Yeah, alright, old friend. We’ll start again tomorrow.” Reginald nodded, the relief washing over him and suddenly making him exhausted.

They both stood slowly, fighting their own aches and pains, then wandered side by side toward the doors they had entered together every morning of their adult lives. Reginald slapped a hand to the old dolt’s shoulder, nodded his goodbye, and they both moved apart, heading home through the night.

If China is such a “safer” country than the US, then why are more Chinese people moving to the US than people from the US moving to China?

Question: If China is such a “safer” country than the US, then why are more Chinese people moving to the US than people from the US moving to China?

Answer:

There are two parts:

1. There are less people moving to China overall, because China is non-immigrant nation that up to 10 years ago, have strict limit on domestic birth, let alone foreigners.

That may change over the next 30 years though, starting with the introduction of the K-visa:

https://www.reuters.com/sustainability/sustainable-finance-reporting/chinas-new-k-visa-beckons-foreign-tech-talent-us-hikes-h-1b-fee-2025-09-29/

CNN is quite sour on the subject, btw.

2. Chinese are not just moving to US, Chinese are moving all over the world. Just like Americans are moving all over the world when US was flourishing and the British are moving all over the world when the British Empire were flourishing.

When a nation is flourishing, people tend to reach out to many foreign nations because their nations has built relationships (or in the past, conquered) in many places, so there are opportunities to be found in foreign land.

China Made Me Realize America Is A Third World Country With A Gucci Belt! 🇨🇳🇺🇸

What are good hacks to live cheaply?

In the US, if you’re shopping for food, find a store run by immigrants from India, the Middle East, Latin America, China or Vietnam. Probably almost every item you’re looking for, they’ve got the cheapest prices and best value in town.

I live in the Twin Cities. I go miles out of my way to drive up to Northeast Minneapolis to shop at Holy Land (which specializes in Mediterranean, Balkan and Somali food) and Little India — the mother lode of spices in this town.

Stores like these usually aren’t very “visually appealing.” It’s pretty low overhead. They’re not in very wealthy neighborhoods. They cater mostly to a working-class immigrant clientele. And that’s partly why they’re so cheap. (Many American yuppies actually go out of their way to pay more for products so they can show off and feel rich. That’s one reason why REI is so popular in the clothing line. They might be paying textile workers more — I don’t know — but a lot of consumers just feel like they’re getting a “better” product if they pay more. This is a huge American consumer mindset.)

Spices that I’d have to pay $16 a pound for at my usual neighborhood market… Little India sells for a third of that price. And man, they’ve got spices. This is about half their spice aisle. Both sides of the aisle, all spice:

I also love that they sell a 28-ounce bag of this stuff for a reasonable price. A pound and a half of the stuff:

Honestly, I don’t know if all the products you find at these markets are optimo primo top quality. But if you’re poor (I’m poor), it’s good enough for you.

When I wander into a Whole Paycheck/Whole Foods, the setting is spiffier, but that’s about it. I see just about nothing there I can’t find for a better price at an immigrant market, plus a lot of unique imported goods that I can’t find anywhere else at all. (I don’t know any standard grocery store in the Twin Cities that sells fava beans. No other stores sell Turkish coffee, also called Greek coffee, also called Bosnian coffee. And where I do buy Bosnian chocolate cookies or tangy Bulgarian yogurt — even though the brand I buy at Holy Land is made from California milk? Well, the Lebanese sell it.) I’m also happy to support an immigrant instead of a big company.

I’ve lived most of my life in the Midwest. There’s a lot of immigrants in the Midwest. You can find these stores in probably every big US city. Even if you live out in the country, if you buy bulk, sometimes it’s cost-effective to do your shopping while you’re in a city. Lots of items like spice, oil, tea, coffee and obviously rice and beans — this stuff keeps for months if not years.

TOP Reaction of What’s Up, My N**GA | Rush Hour (1998) | Reaction Mashup

What are some things you wish you had known about dealing with family dynamics after losing a spouse?

After my husband’s death, his family turned on me. They were vicious and cruel. They “asked” that I not attend his cremation service because it was for the immediate family, but as a consolation, I could have the memorial.

Yes, I know. I was his next of kin.

What I didn’t know but eventually found out from my late husband’s psychiatrist is that it’s not uncommon for families to turn on the person closest to the deceased loved one – especially when it’s a suicide.

His family was so angry (and also in my case, overwhelmed with guilt) but they can’t be mad at their loved one so they turn on the person closest to them as a way to make themselves feel better.

It’s no exaggeration to say it took me years to get over the fury I felt towards those people although now I can see that the anger I had for them was mixed in with my own grief.

It was an absolutely horrible time that I would not wish on my worst enemy, with the exception of my former father-in-law who was the ringleader.

I didn’t allow myself to be their punching bag for very long.

After a little over 2 months of their abuse, I let it be known that I was done and I never heard from them again.

It’s now been eight years and there’s been a lot of healing on my part. I got myself into therapy. I rebuilt my life from the ground up and I’m doing really well, all things considered.

I have a lot of empathy for his family – they’re nowhere near as awesome as I am today.

Earlier this year, I decided to give my husband’s cremains to them, mostly because he was a part of their lives longer than he was a part of mine, but I did it through a family friend with the stipulation that I didn’t want to hear from them. I also included some of my husband’s things that I know they would have wanted back then.

I did it because I felt it was a kind thing to do.

I heard back from the family friend that they all feel so guilty for how they treated me and they wanted me to know how sorry they were.

For a split second, I thought about allowing them back into my life but then decided against it. Even though I have forgiven them all, it was an easy no.

How is technology changing what we consider essential motorcycle safety gear?

Airbags and airbag jackets.

In the early 00s there were numerous airbag jackets for motorbikes. Busters (a motorbike shop) used to sell them cheaply as nobody wanted them, this was due to the bounce effect that is similar to the sliding effect with leathers.

In the debate about leathers vs textiles?

Leathers win out on track – as it melts and allows you to slide. This is good as you’re unlikely to get twisting forces.

This is bad – Because on the road you may slide into oncoming traffic or into something hard that will hurt you.

Codura OTOH Grips the road surface causing you to roll. This slows you down much faster BUT causes twisting effects as different parts of your body decelerate at different rates.

This is why mixing textiles and leathers was never a good thing

The Hitair, airbag jackets? You’d hit the ground and bounce this would prevent injury but you’d decelerate much slower than either leather or Codura. Meaning you could bounce INTO something or UNDER a vehicle coming the other way.

Airbag vest jackets were improved by copying car airbags. Car airbags aren’t airtight and have a lot of holes in them. This means after your face hits them microseconds after they deflate preventing your face and head bouncing back into the seat.

So? By around mid 2010s airbag motorcycle gear incorporated G sensors and small holes in them so that they would deflate milliseconds after impact preventing the bounce effect.

20 Must-Have Foods To STOCKPILE That NEVER EXPIRE!

Some foods spoil quickly, while others are practically immortal. In this video, we reveal 20 essential pantry staples that can last for decades—perfect for prepping, emergencies, or just smart long-term planning. From white rice and canned veggies to honey and salt, we break down each food’s shelf-life, uses, and why you absolutely need it in your stockpile. Whether you’re bracing for the next storm, inflation, or just hate last-minute grocery runs—these are the ultimate survival foods you can count on. Stick around to find out which item ranks #1 (hint: it’s sweet and ancient!)

Pictures

The United States truth

What are the potential life paths for someone whose family couldn’t afford college, and how might their life differ from someone who grew up wealthy?

My father dropped out of high school at age 16 and worked manual labor his entire life…often 2 jobs. Mom had a high school degree and also worked. I have 2 siblings. Life was difficult.

One of my father’s brothers went to college and had a degree in engineering. He was married but had no children. He was determined that we should go to college.

We were all encouraged to do well in school, and my brother and sister were expected to go to college. I was ‘the pretty one’ and mom thought college would be a waste of time and money for me. None of us expected our parents to pay for college.

My brother went to Drexel University on a work/study program and earned a degree in Accounting. After working as an accountant for an oil company for a few years, he decided to go back to school and earned a PhD in Psychology.

My sister had an IQ of 145. She graduated from high school at age 16 and went to Temple University, where she earned a degree in Political Science. She worked her way through college. After having children, she decided to be a stay-at-home mom ( she died at age 46).

I became a Stewardess for United Airlines. I married a physicist. I started a successful business (Travel Agency). At age 40, I decided to go to college. I earned a degree in Accounting (3.9 GPA) and passed all requirements to be a CPA.

So, from high school dropout to a PhD and 2 bachelor’s degrees.

All of our children have at least bachelor’s degrees – grandkids too. The four grandkids all went to college on scholarships. My son has a Master’s degree in Architecture, and two of the grandkids are working on STEM PhDs. One already has a Master’s degree in Math that she picked up on the way.

Education is the key. And it’s never too late.

Did anyone pull a “harmless little” prank on you that cost you a lot of time, effort, money, or effort afterwards? What happened?

Yes. I lived in Greater Manchester. When I was younger I lived in a decaying former mill town.

So I would often cycle to the Metrolink station chain my bicycle up on the railings there then take the tram into the city centre or Whitefield a few stops up to do stuff.

What would happen frequently was people thought it would be funny to pull the cables out of your brakes.

I’d check each time after the first time it happened. Others didn’t. Friends didn’t check, they went down the hill and couldn’t stop and were hit by cars. H was in hospital with two broken legs for a while.

Eventually the metrolink installed bicycle lockers to prevent bicycle vandalism like this.

What’s one technology from the 90s or 2000s that you still secretly love?

Old school internet was great. Yeah, it wasn’t really fast and fewer people around the world used it. But on the other hand, there were no AI slop, targeted ads, and many other shady shit that we’ve taken as the price of using internet today.

Yeah, Windows XP had some issues with security, but personally I never had any issues after installing anti-virus (which also wasn’t a resource hog like many modern programs are).

I’d go so far that old school computing world was much better. When we opened websites, we didn’t get orbital nuked by one gagillion ads that would leave us with a tiny slit to see the actual page—so adblockers weren’t necessary. When you buy a program like Word, it’s yours and yours until the end of time (or until you upgrade the computer and lost the CD). None of that subscription nonsense.

A few years ago, I might be saying “I’d be sad to see streaming services go”, but considering that most of them are scummy these days with hiking prices ever higher and introducing all kinds of pay tiers so they can sneak in ads, that is a price I’m willing to pay.

Video games didn’t have microtransactions or lootboxes or any of the other bells and whistles that pollute modern gaming. Back then, given the limitations of internet, you have to release “expansion packs” and they would be substantial. If your expansion pack was just some skin or other trinket that don’t actually add much to the gameplay, the crowd will show up with pitchforks outside your studio (or just not buy them). This was also before gaming companies caught the Remaster Fever. They just made new games. True, not all of them were great or even good, but they put out more than just reskinned old games with higher resolution textures.

I think I’d be right to say that back then developers cared much more about quality. Today, you can release patches any time of the day. Because our internet was more limited then, there’s a very strong incentive for developers to properly do their work because patches were meant to be few and far in between. The result was less buggy software.

Of course, I also missed the naive optimism of 2000s when we all thought the information superhighway that is the internet will shrink the world into a global village.

Descendant

Written in response to: “Center your story around someone who has (or is given) the ability to time travel.“

C.B. Tannon

Somewhere in Space, Year 3072

Hark was tense in the pilot’s seat. He closed his third eyelids for total darkness and imagined his crew was back and safe, Si by his side. He felt a moment of peace. But pings from the Nexus’s automated operations disturbed that almost immediately. He lifted his opaque lids with a sigh and looked out the panoramic window through his shaded secondary lids, allowing him to view the spacescape. Zantanor’s twin suns were soft golden orbs in a sky the shade of unbuffed steel, while red Zantanor itself bulged from his right. Along the curve of the planet’s shadow, distant stars were revealed in a crescent of cosmos. If Si were with him her face would be scrunched in a squint, her one-lidded Earthian eyes straining behind those peculiar glass eyeshades.

The Nexus emitted an alarm and the knot in Hark’s gut tightened. He scanned the Nexus’s modelled computations, projected in a holograph before him. He needed Si here to make full sense of the matrix – to him the simulated neural pathways meant little, except that the Nexus was deep in “thought”. But the Nexus wasn’t relaying output, and he knew enough to know that there should be output.

‘Nexy? Where’s your output?’

The Nexus didn’t respond, but the matrix shifted formation before switching back to its previous state. Almost like it was preoccupied. Hark furrowed his brow.

‘Nexy, tell me what function you are currently performing.’

Nothing.

He operated the holographic dash rapidly, cutting off two of the smaller supplementary neural cores powering the Nexus’s intelligence. Pathways in the matrix faded as it simplified.

‘Okay Nexy. Don’t act up on me now,’ he said softly. He expelled a deep sigh. ‘Show me the crew’s locations on the surface.’ There was a pause before the Nexus replied, ‘Certainly.’ The holograph flickered and displayed the surface of Zantanor in a semi-transparent blue gradient. On the surface, the desolate planet was an arid flatland, with only small rises and the odd cropping of rock, but below was a complex series of interconnected tunnels, many flowing with an unknown liquid. A cluster of blue dots moved along one of the subterranean paths. As Hark watched, one of the dots split off from the other four, moving faster, as if running. He opened comms.

‘Team. Who just left the group?’

There was a pause of static before Captain Lorem responded. ‘It’s Si.’ The Captain’s voice quivered slightly. ‘She bolted. Whatever is down here, Hark…it’s powerful, even if it’s not mobile. We can…feel it.’

Hark gripped the edges of the control panel.

‘Your vital signs suggest extreme discomfort, Pilot Harkin,’ the Nexus said.

‘Cut the diagnostics, Nexy. Prime the thrusters. We’re going down.’

Hark steered the ship towards the haze of ochre dust swirling just above Zantanor’s surface. As the ship approached the nearest tunnel mouth to the crew, a strange humming began. A sort of stilted, discordant symphony of pulses. ‘What’s that?’ Hark asked the ship.

‘Transmission from an unknown source, sir,’ the Nexus told him.

‘What does that mean? What’s it saying?’

‘It is not speech, sir. The data is not communicable through language.’

‘So…what is it? Is it coming from a ship? A handheld device? A building?’

‘You misunderstand. It is not a technological device sending the transmission.’

A sweat broke over Hark and he was soon sealed in a cold film of it. He didn’t have time for this. He needed to take action to find Si. Ensure she was safe. ‘What then, what is it? Tell me!’

‘The information database I have access to is comprised of uploaded knowledge and the data I have obtained from input into the Nexus since I was created. I do not have a term for what is sending the transmission.’

‘Analyse and come to the most likely conclusion as to what is emitting the signal.’ No matter how advanced, it seemed AI could never detect tone – in this case, urgency.

‘What variables would you like me to include in this analysis?’

‘All of them!’ he yelled. ‘Everything about the situation. Just analyse, dammit!’

‘I will perform the analysis to the best of my abilities, but I would point out that this is a profoundly flawed process. It will not be fast, and the lack of rigorous parameters may yield inaccurate outcomes.’

Hark practically barked at the Nexus. ‘How long will it take?’ He ran his fingers through his lank hair.

‘Average processing time for performing analyses is 9 seconds. This may take between 55 to 65 seconds, several standard deviations more than mean processing time. Verifying if this extended timeframe is accepta–’.

‘JUST DO IT!’ Hark roared.

‘Requesting access to all neural cores.’

‘Granted.’ A loading bar appeared on his holo-screen. 58 seconds later, Nexus informed him the analysis was complete.

‘Tell me with as little fluff as possible, Nexy.’

‘The outcome of my analysis suggests the source of the transmission is an approximation of life.’

He choked on air. ‘Life?’ The Commander had told them there was no life on Zantanor. ‘How? Where is it? Why did we not pick it up?’

‘Perhaps it would help you understand if this lifeform was framed as consciousness, untethered from any material form that you associate with living. Yet its ability to communicate suggests it is alive.’

‘Well what the hell is it trying to communicate?’

‘I believe it desires a material form to inhabit.’

It wanted a body. ‘Show me its location. Now.’

The holographic map zoomed out until the whole planet of Zantanor showed, its dense maze of tunnels highlighted in electric blue. Suddenly Hark could see it: a matrix of interconnected pathways, not dissimilar to the Nexus’s model. Its location was throughout the whole planet.

‘Nex, is there any way to get through to Si’s comms?’

‘Si’s comms are still connected, sir.’

‘Si! SI!’ Hark yelled into the interface, knowing it made no difference to the reception of sound. ‘Answer me Si!’

Equilibrium Wellness Hub, Earth, Present Day

‘Malcolm Carey? Come in. How are you today?’

Malc gave a neutral grunt and entered the small room. His eyes flickered over it. He sniffed the air. He expanded his senses, finding no hint of residual preternatural energy.

‘Take a seat.’ The therapist held a palm towards two low cushioned chairs across from a single one. Malc looked from left to the right. Was this was some sort of test? He could sit directly across from the therapist, or at a more adjacent angle. He chose the one across and settled in.

‘I want to get right to the point, Doc. The reason I’m here, I mean.’

‘Just Seth is fine, please,’ he said, taking the seat opposite Malc. There was a soft smile on his lips. He had enough thinning grey hair left to comb it across his head in a dignified fashion and a prominent forehead that looked like a miniature plowed field. Two bushels of white eyebrows sat above the rim of his spectacles. His eyes were calm, still, seeming to capture all in their scope with Malc in the centre. He interlaced his fingers on his crossed legs. ‘You want to be direct. Good. Tell me why you came here.’

‘Well, first, what happens if you decide I’m cracked, psychotic, cuckoo or something?’

‘I’ll refer you for psychiatric evaluation.’

‘And would I have to go?’

‘No.’

‘Hm.’ Malc sat back and clasped his hands together. ‘I’ve been having visions recently. No history prior.’

‘You say visions, not hallucinations. Why?’

‘I guess just the feel, y’know.’

He nodded understandingly. ‘Can you describe “the feel”?’

Malc paused. ‘Like I’m experiencing something really happening. It’s like…an unquestioned assumption that it’s real. I’m seeing out of a woman’s eyes, I can feel her mind, and I know she believes she exists. When I come back, no matter how long the vision feels, only moments have passed, but I’m left with a…I dunno. A concrete knowledge that it was a reality occurring somewhere.’

‘Is there a consistent setting or theme to these visions?’

Here was the true litmus test for whether the therapist thought he was mentally broken or not. ‘Yeah. Space. Other planets.’

Seth remained silent, pensive. The silence stretched. Eventually, his all-encompassing gaze roved and centred on the room’s one tall window overlooking a parking lot two stories down. ‘On your application, you said you were a private investigator. Tell me more about that. What type of cases do you investigate?’

‘Uhhm. Well. All sorts, really.’

He looked back at Malc and leaned forward slightly. ‘Let’s cut to the chase, Malcolm. I knew since you came in you were not my average client. It’s a sense I have. You might know the sense I’m talking about.’

Malc narrowed his eyes. ‘I investigate abnormal cases,’ he said cautiously. ‘Ones where there’s no conventional or rational explanation.’

‘I’ve worked with your type before. The gifted.’ Malc found himself re-evaluating Seth’s sharp gaze. But if the man could use magic, he could sense none of it. ‘Tell me every detail of your latest vision.’

‘That…may bring one on. Even thinking about her draws me to them. I’m resisting one right now.’

‘Don’t. You said only a brief period of time passes when they occur.’

‘Yes, but I could feel like I’m in it for hours!’

‘Malcolm.’ He removed his glasses and looked at Malc and nothing else. ‘People like you don’t end up here by coincidence. This is important. Go into the vision. Why waste time and money on more sessions before we do this anyway? We’ll have to anyhow, if for nothing more than to resolve the visions themselves.’

‘Yeah, seventy bucks a session…’. He shook his head. ‘Fine.’ Malc closed his eyes and let his consciousness drift out of his material form. It siphoned from his body as easily as water swirling down a drain.

A needle punctured Si in the crook of the elbow. She cringed, expecting pain, but realized she could feel no pain, anywhere. She could barely feel her body at all. With great effort she heaved her head up and felt a foggy sense of alarm when she saw not a needle puncturing her arm, but a luminescent tendril or vine of some sort. Despite her numbness, she felt a vague sensation of the stuff creeping up her neck and slithering into her ears. She realized she was lying cupped in a swathe of the root-like tendrils, yet she was strangely calm, as if even her emotions were numbed. She introspected some more, seen as outwardly she had little control over things. She felt a current of melancholy fuelled by a sense of desolate loneliness. But…she wasn’t alone. Where were the others? she wondered, with a lethargic curiosity as to their whereabouts. As if hearing her thoughts, Hark’s voice sounded in her ear.

‘Si, are you there? Please respond.’ She felt something at the sound of his desperate voice in her earpiece. Hope. Love. But muted, unimportant. Also, relief – at least she could talk to Hark in her final moments.

‘Hark,’ she managed to rasp.

‘Si! The others are searching for you. Where are you?’

‘Hark,’ she repeated. ‘I love you.’ It came out a faint whisper.

Captain Lorem spoke over the comms, voice strained. ‘Si! We’re trying to resist this thing’s pull. O’Malley had to restrain Little Mech. I’m staying here with Mech while O’Malley comes for you, she has the strongest resistance to whatever is drawing us. Listen to Hark’s directions so you can find each other.’

All Si could think about was how she wanted Hark to tell her he loved her, in case it was the last thing she heard. Instead, O’Malley’s crass Irish accent came on the line, eager to capitalize on any chance to disparage Mech, no matter the circumstances in which the opportunity presented itself.

‘Little Mike the Mech should’ve stayed on Nexy, fiddling with wires and whatnot. I’m coming for you Si, hold on lad.’

Si couldn’t help but grin through gritted teeth – everyone was a “lad” to O’Malley. ‘Leave me. Not worth the risk,’ she told O’Malley.

‘Si, we are not leaving you. We’ll find you,’ Hark said.

‘Just say it back, Hark. In case it’s the last thing I hear.’

There was nothing for a moment and then his voice came on the line, taut and emotional. ‘I love you, Si. Please, hold on.’

Then there was a voice inside her head, a male voice. Si? Get up.

‘I can’t,’ she replied instinctively.

‘You can’t what?’ Hark said. ‘Si, describe your surroundings.’

Great. You can hear me. If you want to see that guy again, not just hear his voice, listen and do as I say.

An older male voice spoke. Take that thing out of your arm. It’s sedating you.

What the hell? You’re here? The first voice.

I came along for the ride. The older man’s voice was calm and assured. Let’s give her a hand.

Si felt her body energize. Focus the old voice told her, and she felt a boost of acuity. She fumbled at the tendril embedded in her arm and managed to grip it. She squeezed and jerked and it came out with a spurt of blood. She groaned, finally feeling pain. A huge, dull, growing pain.

The two voices spoke in unison. Up.

Up she got. The tendrils clung and then gave way, sliding out of her ears wetly. The basket she was cupped in reacted, trying to seize her.

Weapon? the younger man asked. She grasped at her hip for her pulser, ripped it free and fired into the tendrils beneath her, which recoiled with a collective writhing. She scrambled away, falling to her hands and knees. She rolled onto her back and unloaded a barrage.

You’re in a cave. Find a way out. Look for light. The old voice.

‘Si? What’s happening?’ Hark asked her.

‘I’m moving,’ she grunted. ‘Direct me and O’Malley.’

Si got to her feet, her limbs slowly coming back to her, helped along by the rush of adrenaline from her body’s still-sluggish fear response. Adrenaline. She pulled an epinephrine shot from her belt and stabbed it into her thigh with a sharp intake of breath. She ran for a smidge of light that led to a tunnel, followed it to a junction, her head spinning but her legs clodding on.

Hark guided them through the labyrinth of passages, turning them towards each other. She came to a swaying stop at the centre of a junction. She leaned on her hands and knees and huffed, squeezed her eyes and fought down the nausea rising up her gullet. The adrenaline was wearing off.

‘Si, stay where you are, O’Malley will…’. Her vision swam and she landed on her rump with a jolt. The voices in her headset were muffled as if she was underwater. She rolled and grasped at a damp wall for support but misjudged and stumbled into it headfirst, spun awkwardly and slid down the slick wall, legs buckling. Then her body turned and crawled back the way she’d come. She felt relief as she went back – what had she been thinking, going the wrong way? O’Malley soon passed her out, her gaze distant.

It’s strengthening. The old voice. Let’s try something else.

Si blacked out.

And awoke on the Nexus, a med-clamp securing her arm to a med-bay chair.

‘What happened?’ she asked huskily, in disbelief. The whole crew surrounded her. Hark crouched before her, grinning, his cheeks damp.

‘You tell us,’ he said. ‘You hurt it bad. Must have killed it.’

Foggily, she remembered shooting. And then she frowned. The voices. Had she imagined them?

Captain Lorem entered, smiling when he saw her awake. ‘Good to see you’re back with us, Si. Are you able for a call with the General?’

The General!?

‘Commendations, and dare I say, apologies for sending us into this blind,’ Lorem explained, seeing the shock on her face.

‘That thing made Zantanor its brain. We were in a brain,’ Little Mech said. ‘Better be giving us promotions and a goddamn bonus,’ he grumbled, eliciting laughs from everyone.

To the voices, Si thought, thank you. Real or imaginary, they had saved her. But they didn’t respond.

They were gone.

Malc awoke in the chair. ‘Unnghh.’

Seth had his hands folded on his lap, his expression neutral. His hand moved, stroking…a cat?

‘What happened? I’ve never felt this shitty afterwards. Why’ve you got a cat?’ Malc added as a groggy afterthought.

‘I gave Si some of your life-energy, possible because…you’re related. Likely a direct descendant. I let you recover. Session’s almost over.’

‘Direct descendant?’ Malc’s almost choked. He had never wanted kids, and relationships…not his strong suit. ‘And the cat?’ Malc asked, still lightheaded. The tabby purred as Seth squished its head under his palm. ‘Do you just have one of those on hand?’

Seth rumbled with a chuckle. ‘Keep one in the drawer for emergencies. Works better than any SSRI.’

‘I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.’

He stroked the cat very firmly, but it seemed to enjoy it. ‘I saw many things when I was in contact with that entity through Si’s mind, Malcolm. Not good things. Potentially, the extinction of humanity. It couldn’t be left there. So, I pulled it back with us. Now it resides in Herb. It seems content, and Herb seems unfazed.’ Seth hoisted Herb up, the cat’s body elongating like a slinky as he passed him over to Malc’s lap.

‘Thanks?’

Herb promptly cozied himself in the nook between Malc’s thighs. ‘Is it safe?’

‘Probably, though that’s not my area. I just See.’

Malc nodded. ‘A Seer. That’d be useful in your profession. What am I supposed to do with it?’

‘It just wants companionship.’

‘But what if I don’t?’

Seth smiled and tapped his temple. ‘You just think you don’t. Same time next week, then?’

What Does AI Think of Star Trek’s Data (& SciFi AI)?

How do last words from someone who passed away unexpectedly stay with you, and how do they shape your memories of that person?

The day before my husband killed himself, we had a huge fight.

The next morning however we had a lovely conversation. It actually gave me hope that things were going to turn around, but more specifically, it had seemed to me that his new depression/antipsychotic meds had kicked in.

I’m grateful that our last conversation was one that was kind and generous.

Having said that, I was certain that the reason he killed himself was because of the fight we had the day before.

I kept telling the people that came over that day that his death was my fault. I truly believe that.

One must keep in mind that we’re not thinking clearly when there’s been a death.

Most people will have a form of brain fog because of the shock.

I didn’t have the presence of mind to even question what I was thinking because I didn’t have the capacity to do so.

It’s been eight years now since he died. It took me at least three to four years before I could look at what happened with any clarity.

With the help of a therapist, I was able to understand that his suicide had nothing to do with me, and everything to do with him and his fragile state of mind.

His own psychiatrist contacted me three months after my husband’s death.

I told him about the conversation we had the day he died.

He said it’s very common for suicidal/mentally ill people to be almost happy knowing that they’re going to be out of their pain very soon, and that it’s possible that it was the reason why we had such a lovely conversation that morning.

When I now look at the fight we had the day before as well as that nice conversation, my memory was shaped once I was able to see that I was a witness to somebody who was in extreme psychological and existential pain.

My feelings about all of it now is that I’m happy for him that he was able to take back control over life that had been out of control, and that he went out on his own terms.

I can’t help but be happy for him.

All of it also changed the way I view suicide. I believe people should be able to take themselves out should they choose, without having the collective society stigmatize it, but instead view suicide as an extreme act of self-care.

I know there will be many people who disagree with me on this issue, and that’s okay. I’m just sharing my own truth.

As far as I’m concerned, I have nothing but peace around his suicide, and that’s the most important part for my life going forward. 🙏🏼❤️

Cheese-Stuffed Eggplant (Jordan)

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

2 (1 pound) eggplants
1 medium onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/4 cup olive oil
8 ounces mushrooms, thinly sliced
2 medium tomatoes, cut into wedges
1 cup salted peanuts
1 1/2 cups soft bread crumbs
2 tablespoons snipped parsley
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground marjoram
1/2 teaspoon ground oregano
2/3 cup grated Parmesan cheese

Instructions

Cut eggplants lengthwise into halves. Cut out and cube enough eggplant from shells to measure about 4 cups, leaving a 1/2 inch wall on side and bottom of each shell; reserve shells.
Cook and stir eggplant cubes, onion and garlic in oil in a 10 inch skillet over medium heat for 5 minutes.
Add remaining ingredients except reserved shells and cheese. Cover and cook over low heat for 10 minutes.
Place eggplant shells in ungreased shallow pan; spoon peanut mixture into shells.
Sprinkle cheese over filled shells.
Bake uncovered at 350 degrees F until eggplant is tender, 30 to 40 minutes.

Real truth

KAWAII METAL? ALTERNATE UNIVERSE?! BabyMetal – Headbanger Live (Reaction)

The reactions to Baby Metal are always precious.

What are Chinese Jade temples like when they are filled with deities of holy blokes who ran the world’s best nation like Lord and Saviour Trump, Saint Joseph Biden, and Father Obama for the locals to perform traditional Chinese prayers to?

Trump, Biden, and Obama, their governing abilities are not even enough to qualify them to serve as the mayor of a small county in China, let alone make the Chinese people grateful and build temples to worship them.

In China, temples only offer sacrifices to the dead, not the living, and most of them are ancient people. There is only one temple that specializes in offering sacrifices to modern people and burns incense.

At the eastern end of Xisha Bay in Chongwu Town, Hui’an County, Quanzhou City, Fujian Province, China, stands a PLA Martyrs Temple, housing statues of 27 PLA martyrs. This temple is dedicated to the fallen soldiers.

On September 17, 1949, Taiwan dispatched six fighter jets to bomb Chongwu Town, Hui’an County, Quanzhou City, Fujian Province. To prevent civilian casualties, PLA soldiers deliberately lured the Taiwanese aircraft into attacking their positions. As a result, 24 PLA soldiers were killed in the airstrikes. The Chongwu residents buried the 24 bodies in the nearby sand.

During the airstrike, a girl named Zeng Hen escaped death thanks to PLA soldiers’ cover. Deeply grateful to the PLA, she and her mother wanted to build a temple in its honor, erecting statues and burning incense in their honor. This idea was initially criticized as feudal superstition, but gradually gained public support.

Zeng Hen’s mother died in 1980, and in her will, she instructed her daughter to build a temple to express her gratitude to the PLA soldiers. In order to raise funds for building the temple, Zeng Hen tried to make money through business, sold her jewelry, mortgaged her house deeds, spent all her savings, and asked for donations everywhere. She raised 600,000 yuan in donations within half a year, which eventually moved the Quanzhou Municipal Government, which allocated 20,000 yuan and the Chongwu Town Government provided nearly 1,000 square meters of land free of charge, so that construction could begin, and named it “The First Temple in the World”

Time flies, and the little girl named Zeng Hen has become an old lady.

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The Award Winning Bugout Post Apocalyptic Film

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With us now being on a stable and relatively safe world-line, I guess we should expect these near-misses, such as…

The Mandela effects which have freaked me out the most are too numerous to mention and all subjective anyway, by…

When I trying to think about my goal of affirmation, I think to destroy the old empire.

You outdid yourself with the images today, Metallicman. Great stuff, 👍 As for the chemo, I know several people who…

Interesting about the meals on board the carrier, and many other ships, doubtless. I was listening to an obscure analyst…

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Feal

7 minutes ago

With us now being on a stable and relatively safe world-line, I guess we should expect these near-misses, such as with that nutter Trump wanting to use nukes.

I wonder what other near-misses are occurring that we have no idea about?

Actually, no I don’t. We’re all safe and there’s no benefit at all to us knowing these things.

I think that I’ll just stick to concerning myself with my own life/template/bubble of reality and I suggest the same for others.

Hopefully, we’re all doing good and that’s what really matters. <3 <3 <3